by Derek Barton
“NO! Stop this! Let Tiama g—” Her mother begged, but Kayam punched her in the stomach. She whimpered and sobbed in pain.
“You exiled us, King Haedrec – we were leaving!” the girl’s father protested. “This is madness!”
Taihven could not understand what this was all about. Exile? He thought to himself. The only exile he had heard of was the Cros’seau family banishment after their failed coup attempt. The Cros’seau had strong connections among the merchant families and thus had a powerful presence in the Court.
While not a topic discussed by his family nor in great detail in his historical study classes, he had learned that just before he was born, Duke Bareth Cros’seau had led an orchestrated attack upon the Artadeus Court. Taihven’s young uncle and aunt were murdered while in defense of the Adventdawn Castle. After a public trial, they were summarily banished from the continent of Tayneva.
Yet, this is not a trial. Was there another family? Or was this after all the Cros’seau family?
Tiama, for her part, had not shown any emotion nor any tears. A look of resignation was all that she gave the Artadeus family as Kayam Veld escorted her by them. When she was placed in the hands of the Beleardea, she stood listless as her dress was torn from her body. Chains were bound to her hands and feet. They hauled her body up and over the platform and she hung without dignity in the air. Twin smoking braziers of hot coals were placed behind her. Twin silver bowls were centered under her naked form.
Taihven glanced at his mother and saw only anger and hate in her eyes. Her bloodlust manifested into a sneer upon her face.
A loud snap of a whip brought Taihven’s attention back to the hanging girl. A cat o’nine tails whip tore into the flesh of her back. Tiama screeched and cried out as the tiny metal hooks snagged into her flesh, but nobody moved to interrupt the atrocity. The girl bled freely into the silver bowls. The entire scene around him froze as Taihven witnessed her endless torture. She endured the lashing even through her death and the blood spilled over the rims of the bowls.
The ritual whipping only ended when the flayed body expended its rain of red drops. The hooded Beleardea collected the bowls and splashed their contents into the purple-black mists. Taihven tried to bolt in terror as he spotted tiny, clawed hands snatching at the droplets inside the fog. His legs refused and were locked in place.
The ground shook more violently than ever under Taihven’s feet as a set of three metal, black and bronze cubes emerged from the depths of the lake. These were identical to the cubes of his episode within the white sand desert. The bronze cubes hovered above the cloud and floated closer to the platform.
Tiama’s body was lowered and removed from the chains. The Beleardea priests dumped the girl’s corpse without ceremony into the water.
Why are they going along with this? Mother… Father!!… Can you hear me? Stop this! Taihven screamed inside his head.
The grieving parents were escorted next by the Royalguard down to the bloody platform. Their faces were strained with the horror from witnessing their daughter’s torture and death.
Her sacrifice was pure evil and the darkest of rituals. Acts like this blood-letting had led to the Beleardea being dismantled. This was madness that his mother and father were a part of this nightmare. Why were they ignoring him?
He had only heard whispers of such deeds and had never been involved firsthand. Taihven could not fathom how he was seeing this now.
The black-hooded men crossed over and walked to the condemned couple. In unison, each unsheathed the giant scimitars from scabbards hung across their backs. One motioned for the Royalguard to have the couple bent over a wooden bench and the twin silver bowls were again placed below their necks. More blood was due for collection.
The executioners stood stiff and looked towards Taihven.
“Continue. Blood for blood. I will not show these murderers mercy!” Taihven realized this time that his father’s voice was coming from him. Somehow he possessed his father. The prince saw his arm raise as his finger pointed to the other Cros’seau children and the grandmother. “All will pay for their bastard father’s sins today!”
This was all a vision – a hellish memory of his father’s.
The scimitars slashed the air and the blood of her parents splashed and joined the eldest daughter’s upon the platform. The guards also dumped their remains to join Tiama in the water. The surviving Cros’seau children sobbed and clung to each other while their grandmother knelt behind them and uttered a prayer.
All of the Beleardea cult members within the cave took up the chants. The summoned energy swelled within the cavern and a purplish aura encircled the metal cubes. The top of each of the rotating squares opened.
When the Royalguards grabbed the young girl, her older brother roared and charged for the Artadeus family. The young man’s rage took the guards by surprise. The Wyvernguards stopped pulling his sister and gawked. Before he could react, Taihven felt himself moving and he scooped the avenging boy into his arms. Then Taihven or really Haedrec held the squirming child up before him by the neck.
“You are filth like your father!” He carried the young noble boy kicking and flailing down the pier.
As he held him over the open metal cube, the boy spat in the king’s face. “I will never stop. I will kill you and all of your bloodline! All of Tayneva will die by your actions today – I swear it!”
With a roar of disgust, the king threw Cros’seau’s son hard into the box.
The Beleardea bayed out louder and channeled more darkening forces. The walls vibrated and shook off loose stones. The robed men’s howls filled their ears. The baby girl and the grandmother were also dumped violently into separate cubes and the lids sealed shut cutting short the prisoners’ pleas and curses.
The fog coalesced into a circular window. The energies evoked an open portal to which all could see another sky. It was black and starless as it hung over a white sandy desert with stunted ebony trees.
A pair of the Beleardea marched together to the end of the pier. They lifted in synch the silver bowls filled with their prisoners’ blood. “To which these tainted souls we do bind, to the dankest depths of the Chaos Realm, and forever the Cros’seau name will be banished from this world.”
Then each dipped a hand into the bowls and dripped the hot liquid onto the metal boxes. Taihven heard the eerie plink plink as the blood splashed. The purple aura surrounding the metal boxes mutated to a reddish black. By some unseen force, the cubes lifted and entered the portal one by one.
The chants rose to crescendo in a frenzied pitch. With a bright flash, the portal winked out, slammed shut with a thunderclap, and the cubes and the desert vanished.
***
Taihven fell back against the floor. His head bounced off the rocks opening a small gash. He was not so much stunned by the fall, but what the nightmare had shown him. If this bloody sight was actually a true memory then its horrid implications revealed much to the young prince.
He laid motionless on the cool ground for several moments catching his breath until the white form reformed and hovered again above the stream.
“Who are you? How do you know this?”
No answers came to him or were spoken in any way.
Taihven rose to his knees, felt the cut on the back of his head and stood to brush off his pants.
“How do you expect me to believe this if I do not know who you are?” he lashed out, his voice edged with frustration.
He put out his hand to touch the cloud, but it backed away.
His own shocking answer came to him; he whispered, “Father?”
#3
Letandra’s legs wobbled and she grabbed at the walls of the castle hall for balance. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did not bother to wipe them away. Her shoulders lurched up and down as she tried to harness her hard sobs.
She had already dismissed the guards at Taihven’s bedroom door but had not gotten the strength yet to go inside.
Taihven
had been found in his cell, still absorbed by his episode. She had him taken from the dungeon cells by Royalguards and returned to his room under the premise he was very sick. He remained there under constant guard supervision.
King Haedrec’s death would not blindside any of them, but now that the day had arrived, it hung over everything like a choking cloud of smoke.
Queen Demetryce and the princess were escorted by the High Freahl down to her father’s chambers. He had begged the family’s forgiveness for his failure to bring them before the king had died. There had not been any time to do so.
His remains had been unrecognizable to the both of them. The body had caved in on itself and flattened like a gross portrait on the sheets. Nearly all of the liquids within his body had congealed and then evaporated. These were the horrid after-effects of the Withering Disease.
“I will gather the remains as best as I can for the Reclaim-Pyre, but I cannot recommend a mass viewing, Your Majesty.”
Queen Demetryce nodded without much recognition of his words.
Princess Letandra hugged her mother around the shoulders and guided her back to her own room. The queen would share her bedroom for the bereavement period.
Letandra shook her head to clear her thoughts. She leaned in and listened — no sound or voices came from Taihven’s room.
Letandra pressed on the latch and eased it open. It budged loose and swung inward. The door then collided with something upon the floor and rebounded just as quick and shut with a click.
“Hey! What…” She put her shoulder to the door and shoved it wide.
Her brother’s body laid flat in front of her and unresponsive on the floor. Letandra’s heart rushed when she spotted blood puddled in a halo around his head. She was frozen, paralyzed in the doorway.
Taihven stirred and moaned.
She broke free, squeezed in passed the door and ran to him. “Taihven! Are you alright? What happened?”
He sputtered, “Father?”
His eyes were rolled up inside his head. She cradled him and propped him across her thighs. Small blood trails had run from his nose and from a cut above his left eye. His lips were bruised and swollen.
Was he attacked or had this happened inside his mind? Letandra thoughts were racing.
She moaned aloud, “Do you even know about father?”
He grasped at her arm, “What about father?”
Taihven was back with her; his eyes were half-closed. His breathing remained shallow and raspy.
The princess leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I… I am sorry. Father is…”
She held him tighter but could not go further. Letandra’s tears trailed down and mixed with his blood.
#4
The skies erupted with flashes of lightning and an icy downpour. Gusts of rain and sleet pelted the eager crowds that lined up outside the gates and below the balcony pulpit. It had been storming several days straight. Taihven made note of a set of seven, metallic gongs resounding within the elaborate Cambelda Monolith Tower at the heart of the city. The clerics of the tower followed up with a series of hollow chimes and heavy bells — the Dirge of the Lost and Passing.
The mass of peasants had braved the weather to see their former Warrior King. Some came in fear of the future, others came to hear from the surviving royal family members. While the majority was made up of an unruly mob which shouted their angry protests and reasons for coming to the funeral.
“What are you doing? Where are you now?”
“You cannot protect us! Where do we go?”
Crates of rotted vegetables had been brought to the courtyard. The putrid garbage and bottles pelted the Adventdawn Proper’s walls.
“We are not going to stand for your neglect!”
Sergeant Devin hunched his shoulders with his back to the biting wind and overlooked the courtyard filled with the irate faction. “Get back! Get away from the walls!” He ordered from his place right of the pulpit.
He pivoted his position to nod to at an archer brigade standing ready. They advanced to the wall turrets upon his signal and stood in armed positions with a stony silence. The rocks-garbage-and-bottle-throwing came to an abrupt end. The mob’s voice had been muted for the moment.
A stretcher holding the king’s remains was carried out by Taihven, Captain Ruessard and four of the Royalguard as drums announced its arrival and the funeral commencement. A purple and gold banner with a red wyvern emblem had been draped over the stretcher. Proceeding in a measured march behind him, Queen Demetryce and Princess Letandra were brought in by twin, black-shrouded box carts. The guards lifting the box carts broke to the right and left of the pyre, leaving ten paces between them. Haedrec’s stretcher was then rested upon a polished, stone pile pyre.
When the royal dirge ended, Freahl Kesnan walked in with an enormous tome in his arms. He was escorted by four servants who held up a black tarp overhead. At the pulpit centered on the balcony, he faced his audience and began a recital of the ritual blessing. He then read aloud from more passages in the sacred Kreatihen dialect. The peasants grew restless; murmurs were barely audible over the thunderstorm.
He completed the Reclaim-Pyre rites with a solo chant and signed in the air the Blessed Symbol of Dea’Aer.
“While our blessed royal protector has left us, we shall endure,” he paused and scanned the sodden citizens before him. “We shall honor all of the deeds and gifts bestowed onto us by the royal Artadeus bloodline.” Again he stopped and studied the funeral attendants. They were scowling and some cursed, but all were scared and anxious for news of the future. The crowd glowered back at him.
“This eve, we will hear from the Throne: Our Queen Demetryce, Lady Magistrate Letandra and Prince Taihv—” Shouts and profanity cut the Freahl’s words off. Taihven’s actions at Charner’s Hall had not been forgiven or forgotten. Freahl Kesnan looked over at Captain Ruessard who stood next to the queen’s box. The veteran soldier signaled for the priest to continue.
“Our days have darkened indeed by the sad passing of good King Haedrec, but the Artadeus Throne and Court will thrive on and will lead us through to the Daylight of Lady Haethraa.” He bowed and motioned for the queen to come forward. Captain Ruessard rapped his knuckles on the door to her box cart.
Swathed from head to toe in matching, ebony cotton material, she stepped out of the box cart in the ceremonial grieving dress with a silver longsword in her hands. The hilt and blade were wrapped in black and red roses. The captain held her hand and helped her make her way to the pyre. She stood for several heartbeats, staring at the King’s remains and lost in thought.
The body shape under the blanket was artificial. The real remains of King Haedrec had disintegrated into a mound of peach-grey dust which had been collected into a golden chalice. The chalice was then placed inside a wooden carving that resembled the King’s form.
The queen wobbled a bit, but steadied herself by catching hold of several of the pyre rocks. The new widow trembled with grief, gave out a short wail and collapsed against the pyre. Ruessard rushed to her side. He retrieved the longsword from her shaking hands and placed the weapon on her behalf onto the left side of his body. The captain then scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to her box cart. She was not able to continue.
Letandra had gotten out of her box cart and stood waiting for the Freahl’s signal. She had in her hands a matching silver longsword, but it was wrapped in red and white roses. And like her mother, she was dressed and swathed in grieving garb and veils. She walked stiffly over to the pyre and placed her sword opposite to her mother’s.
She traced her fingers over the form of his face. “Goodbye, dear father. I hope your pain is over now.”
Cheers and clapping greeted her when she approached the podium. Letandra felt touched by the crowd’s shift in mood and their support for her. She lifted her lace veil over her head.
“My father spent his entire life restoring the lands of Tayneva and sacrificed himself to protect all of us fro
m the wilds and the dangers of this land. He gave his last breath to ensure our lives would go on. My father was a legend. And yet, he was human. No, he did not make all the popular decisions nor go down the favored path that you all may have wanted. These choices were made for the good of Wyvernshield and for the Throne. He did so all the while knowing that this allowed you to criticize and to even hate or fear him. Why?” She asked as she scanned the faces of her audience.
“Because as a king, as an Artadeus, it was critical to keep this peace; this freedom that we all enjoy. The disease that destroyed my father in his last days was never an obstacle in his fight for you. He loved every part of this land, this city, his people! While my father was not able to remain with us in this bleak hour physically, know that he is leading us now in spirit and...in-in our hearts,” Her words stammered as a sob caught in her throat and bitter tears rolled down.
