The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “Why don’t we head back, then? There was another tunnel the way we came from,” Rose said, nocking an arrow to her bow, her hunter’s eyes watching the darkness surrounding them with suspicion.

  “Makes sense. If we’re to find a way out of here, I figure it’s through the sewers; I doubt there’s a way here,” Rust replied.

  An hour passed before they saw a glimpse of anything promising. At first, they thought it was yet another opening. Fearing for nests, they proceeded with caution, but not a whisper was heard. It took Ronan a while to understand why this opening seemed so… different to him, but he then realized it was the lack of shadows; the place had a source of light, somewhere. Then they saw something of interest. An old wooden bucket. Ronan thought it peculiar: what was a bucket doing in the middle of this place?

  “I see light,” Rose stated, awestruck by the sight of an old, abandoned well just above them.

  “We made it,” Rust gasped.

  “Aye. But how are we getting up there?”

  “Think this will hold?”

  Rust tried the old, worn-out rope. It looked sturdy but worn. How could the possibly risk it? A fall from half-way would undoubtedly kill them. They had two large, heavy men with them. He then remembered Rose.

  “Okay, hell no. I know what you two are thinking.”

  Rust looked at Ronan and shrugged. “She’s the only one light enough.”

  “I said no.” She shook her hands violently, stepping back.

  “Someone’s gotta do it, I reckon. Or do you want to stay down here with the Lycans?”

  “Fine,” the girl grumbled, angrily kicking at the rocks down at her feet, “but if I fall and break my neck, I’m going back to haunt your asses.”

  “Fair enough,” Ronan said, suppressing a smile.

  Rose pulled at the precarious rope above her, hoping perhaps that it would break so she wouldn’t have to risk it. The opening laid far above, a tiny spot of bright, blinding light up in the sky. Ronan understood her hesitation well; if the rope failed all the way up there, the fall would kill her.

  “Wait,” Rust grunted, gently shoving Ronan out of the way. His brows knitted together as he locked his fingers with Rose’s. To Ronan’s surprise, Rust embraced her, pressing his lips against hers. “Take care of yourself, you hear me?” Rust gently swept away the sweat-stained, red hair from the blushing woman’s eyes.

  “Why did you have to do that,” the woman muttered, cheeks flushed, turning his back to Ronan.

  Ronan could see her lips curl upwards ever so slightly as she grabbed the rope in front of her and started climbing. She moved herself up with surprising agility, using both her legs and feet to propel her upwards. She had experience climbing, Ronan realized. “She’s nimble.”

  “You have no idea,” Rust grinned.

  The rope was sturdier than it seemed; it held Rose’s weight well. She reached the top in no time at all, waving at them from the surface. Rust thought he’d try his luck, but the second he did, the rope broke.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” Ronan sighed.

  “She’ll find another one. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I know.”

  Hours passed, and they heard nothing of the woman. Ronan was getting worried. He knew the woman was hot-headed, but still, she seemed to genuinely care for Rust, in her own way. There was no way she would leave the two of them on their own, was there? What was she to do in a city completely unfamiliar to her? Ronan looked at Rust with pity; he seemed out of it.

  “Do you think she left us?” Ronan said.

  “No. She wouldn’t do it to me. To us,” Rust barked. His voice turned into a whisper. “Not to me.”

  Ronan jumped back, alarmed when they heard a loud noise coming from above. Something fell to the bottom of the well. A rope?

  “I knew she could find a way!” Rust clapped his hands together, testing the new rope.

  “See? This one’s sturdy; it’ll hold the two of us, easy.”

  “Aye, I reckon it will.”

  Ronan watched Rust grunt with the effort, his skills in climbing no match to the elegance of Rose. He feared the man might fall at some point, but somehow, with sheer force of will, he grunted his way to the top. He saw the man disappear out of sight.

  “Here goes nothing,” Ronan grunted, lifting himself up, slowly. “You can do this, old bastard. This is nothing.”

  Ronan heaved with effort; his lungs felt like they were burning by the time he reached the top. He looked at his bloodied, callused palms and grimaced. He looked around, expecting to see Rust, or at the very least, Rose. “Where are you?” Ronan whispered, careful not to rouse any attention.

  He had thought correctly, after all. They had been down a well—an abandoned one, aye, but a well, nonetheless. This part of the city seemed quiet, abandoned, eerie. The sun had all but set for the night; nothing but the weak light of lanterns several streets away illuminated the streets around him. “I thought there were supposed to be people here,” Ronan mumbled to himself.

  “Ah, but there are, my friend. They all rest safely in their homes, after a day’s hard work, for the people in these parts are all responsible citizens,” a voice boomed from behind the building to Ronan’s right. Ronan turned towards the speaker, his hand ready to draw his axes.

  “Except you.”

  Ronan swallowed. “I mean no harm to anyone.”

  “That so?” the man was almost at an arm’s reach. Ronan could finally see the man’s worn, wrinkled face. The insignia painted on his chest plate belonged to the city guards, the same ones they had seen all over the city walls.

  “Then why did you and your friends sneak into the city, armed to the teeth, under the cover of the night? The man pointed at Ronan’s axes, accusingly.

  “I reckon a man’s got a right to protect himself. I can’t do that unarmed, sir.”

  “That may very well be,” the guard replied grimly, “but I’m going to need you to hand those things over. Nothing personal.”

  Ronan hesitated. “Where are my friends?”

  “Waiting over there,” the man pointed over to the alley in the distance, “safe and unharmed, waiting for you to join them. You will not be harmed unless you resist; you have my word.”

  Ronan looked deep into guard’s eyes, frowning. His eyes were tired. This was a man who had experienced much, lost much. He was calm, composed, and he seemed trustworthy enough. But it could all be a sham, couldn’t it? For all he knew, his friends were dead already—or in chains.

  Ronan sighed. “Very well. Take good care of these. Fine weapons they are, freshly forged and all that.”

  The man nodded, smiling. He seemed to relax immensely. “A fine choice. Your weapons are safe with me.”

  The old man raised his hand upwards, and two guards stepped out of the shadows. They bound Ronan’s arms, and escorted him away. Wide, fearful eyes of two small boys dressed in rags peaked from behind the curtain of a nearby house, only to be reprimanded by their mother.

  The guards dragged Ronan from one alley to the next. He had his doubts, but he had decided to trust the man. A while later, they reached an alley where they held both Rose and Rust. They were both in chains, and several guards watched their every move with silent, grim determination. Ronan couldn’t fault them, not really. After all, three strangers had infiltrated their capital. Did they think them spies?

  We really didn’t think this one through, did we?

  “Is this all of them?” a stern-looking officer asked the old guard that had persuaded Ronan to give up his arms.

  “Yes. The boy saw two men and one woman enter the sewers.”

  The officer grunted. “Make sure his family is well rewarded.”

  The old guard saluted the officer, and quickly departed, leaving Ronan to the uncomfortable silence that followed.

  “So,” the officer cleared his throat. “What makes a foreigner sneak into our beautiful city, through the sewers, no less?”

  Ronan shrugged.
“Your front door was locked.”

  The officer nodded to the blank faced guard next to him. His fist connected with Ronan’s stomach seconds after.

  Ronan heaved. He puked and heaved, only to be lifted back up by two strong arms.

  “You think you’re smart, eh? Well, let’s see how smart you feel like when you meet our inquisitor. He’s a resourceful man, mind you. Who knows, maybe when he’s done with you, you’ll be more… open.”

  “Bastards,” Rust growled.

  “What was that, eh? Do I need to show you how to behave, too?”

  “That is enough, soldier.”

  An older man approached the alley with determined steps. The guards saluted him immediately, and so did the officer, making him way.

  “Yes, General.” The officer stepped to the side, bowing.

  The General nodded his approval. “So, these are the three strangers you caught wandering around in our sewers, officer? They hardly look like Nubian spies to me, I have to say.”

  “Yes, sir. A boy, belonging to the family of Redwood, respectable merchants the whole lot, mind you, reported suspicious activity outside our gates. The boy saw them enter the sewers near the eastern wall, not close from our gate. I sent guards to investigate and saw that the iron bars to our sewers had been tampered with.”

  “I see,” the old man muttered, locking his eyes with Ronan. “And what might be the reason you three chose to enter our home by the route of thieves and spies?

  “Necessity, old friend,” Rust’s voice boomed.

  The old man frowned, eyes narrowing. “It can’t be, that voice—,” the man whispered.

  “Aye, old friend. I’m afraid it is.”

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Aye,” Rust grinned, approaching the General with hasty steps, hands bound behind his back. The guards tried blocking his way, but the General waved them away.

  “After all these years,” the old man whispered. “To find you alive and well….” His voice quivered. His hands shook. “You there,” the man said, voice full of command. “Remove the bindings from these people. They are not spies, I give my word on that.”

  “But—,” the officer complained, only to be silenced by the General.

  “Do you not know this man, officer? This man’s a war hero. Lieutenant Rust Drakensworth. He has guarded the King himself. This is a man who has survived torture in the hands of our enemy.”

  “Please, General. There’s no need for that,” Rust said, avoiding his gaze. “It was so long ago. I’m a different man, now.”

  “Nonsense,” the old man said. He turned his gaze to the officer. “Leave us.”

  The man hesitated. “Sir are you sure you want to be left alone with these… people?”

  “Yes. And I have no wish to repeat myself,” the General said sternly.

  The officer saluted the man, and grudgingly left the alley, leaving the General alone.

  “So, here we are,” the General said.

  “Here we are,” Rust replied.

  “I believe I told you never to return here, Lieutenant.”

  “I remember your words well, Devalt.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “Aye.”

  “But why?”

  “The Empire marches towards Eyria as we speak,” Rust replied immediately. He didn’t mince his words, and instead went straight for the jugular.

  “The Nubian Empire?” the General muttered. “No, Lieutenant. You must be mistaken. If they were to march here, then surely, we would have received word by now? Our border guards are nothing if not efficient.”

  “It’s the truth, General. I have seen their armies by my own eyes,” Rust replied with a grave tone, taking a step closer to the General.

  The General appeared distraught, his wrinkled face convulsing with emotion. He stared at Rust in silence. “I… believe you, Lieutenant. Gods curse me, but I do. We must… no, I must notify the King immediately. Our forces need to be rallied. Preparations need to be made. This… are you certain, old friend?” the old general looked at Rust with eyes full of pain, fear.

  “Yes.”

  The man let out a frustrated groan. “So, this is how our peace ends? And for what? For more bloodshed? I prayed I would never have to witness the horrors of war again, but I see now I was but a fool. An old fool….”

  “Devalt,” Rust whispered, placing his hand on the General’s drooping shoulders.

  “No matter.” The General’s voice turned grave, he brushed Rust’s arms away. He looked at both Ronan and Rose with a blank face. “I see you have traveled far to bring us this news. Go. Rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I expect to see you, Rust, and your friends at the castle by dawn.

  “We will be there.”

  “Good. You have my permission to explore the city as much as you please until then.” The General’s face darkened. “But should you fail to arrive tomorrow morning, I will send the guards after you, no matter our history, Lieutenant.”

  Rust saluted the man. “I would expect nothing less, General.”

  ***

  “Ronan?”

  Huh?

  “Ronan!”

  Ronan opened his eyes, staring at the strange ceiling with bewildered eyes. He yawned, groaning with effort as he lifted himself up, every muscle aching. “I’m awake.”

  “About time,” Rose said, charging through the door, not minding the fact that Ronan was stark naked, laying in his bed. She looked at the Northman and frowned. “Get dressed. Something’s up.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Rust. His sister’s dead,” Rose answered, avoiding his gaze.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Shit,” Ronan muttered, “of all the times….”

  “Go to him,” the woman whispered, still avoiding his gaze.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Rose said, biting her lip.

  “Aye. I’ll go, but why me? Don’t take it the wrong way, but I reckon you’re the closest to him.”

  Rose shook her head violently, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I can’t help him, Northman. I don’t know… how. Please, just help him,” she whispered.

  Ronan nodded. “I’ll go.”

  The tables downstairs were swarming with eager travelers conversing over the sound of mugs of ale hitting the table. Famished mouths watered over the roasted bacon the cook carried over to one of the tables. The sizzling fat reached Ronan’s nostrils, his own mouth watering with the thought. Then he saw Rust, sitting, alone in the corner. He recognized the man’s mood well-enough: blank eyes, staring into nothingness.

  “Rust.”

  “Huh?” The old Lieutenant of the Eyrian Kingdom grunted, barely lifting his head. “Oh, it’s you, Ronan. Good morning. Please, have a seat,” he replied, trying to show the faintest smile, but failing miserably. His eyes were red. When had the word reached his ears?

  “I heard. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah,” Rust sighed. “Makes you think, doesn’t it? You never know when your time comes. Not only my mother, but my sister, too. I expected something might’ve happened to my mother—she was old, frail when I left. But my sister… she had her whole life ahead of her. That’s all the family I had left in the world, you know?”

  “How did she… die?”

  Rust gritted his teeth. The question seemed to pain him greatly. “She was mugged. Raped. Left to rot in a ditch of some miserable alley with no name. They wanted money, but my sister didn’t have any. So, the thieves took it out on her.” Rust’s voice seemed to break. “The guards caught one of the bastards. He told them it was an accident, that they didn’t mean it to go that far.”

  “Gods damn it,” Ronan whispered. The saw in his friend’s face made his heart ache with sadness. “No man or woman deserves that kind of end.”

  “Aye. And do you know what the worst part is? Even vengeance was denied from me. The thieves now hang from city walls, their bodies eaten by crows. J
ustice has been met, aye, but that gives me no satisfaction,” Rust laughed bitterly.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Ronan asked.

  Rust shook his head, taking a gulp of the half-empty mug in front of him. Ronan realized this was not the man’s first ale.

  Did you spend all night here, alone, drinking? I would have joined you, if only you had asked.

  Rust saw the worried glance his way and shook his head. “I needed some time for myself, Ronan. Don’t you worry about me. I’m all right—or I will be, that is.”

  “Aye,” Ronan nodded. “You’re the toughest Southern bastard I know. You’ll manage just fine, I reckon. But if there’s something I can do, all you can do is ask.”

  “Aye. My thanks,” Rust grunted. He looked around him, confused for a moment. “I… what time is it? Can’t be late before the King, can we? Gods, we’d be sent to the gallows if he thought we came here to falsely claim of an invasion,” Rust snorted.

  Ronan shrugged. “Still a few hours, I reckon. Plenty of time for you to sober up.”

  “I doubt that will be enough,” Rust laughed weakly. He paused, looking at Ronan strangely. “Ronan,” He said.

  “Out with it.”

  “There’s something you could do for me, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  Rust looked troubled, almost embarrassed. “Could you come with me for a moment? I… I want to visit her grave. I don’t think I can do it… alone. It’s too much, you know?”

  Ronan nodded. “That’s the least I could do, I reckon.”

  Ronan noticed Rose had been approaching them slowly. Had she been listening to their conversation? The woman looked at Ronan and nodded, showing him a rare smile. “I’ll wait here.”

  ***

  “This the place?” Ronan said.

  “Aye. It’s not much, but it’s the custom here. Every man and woman in Eyria is equal when death comes knocking.”

  The air was filled with the misty freshness of dawn, only moments after downpour. Ronan could still see the droplets of a morning mist gather in the untouched green surrounding this hallow place. They had walked far to get here, all the way to the other side of the capital, past the houses and past the streets. The cliff they now stood on was far less grand than the Royal Plateau looming above them, but the view was breathtaking nevertheless.