Chapter 14
The road to Braexmirth was surprisingly beautiful. After making the crossing from Patrivah, Soren, Baz, and Enara found themselves in the wide-open expanse of Braexmirth’s flatlands. This section of the province was where the inhabitants raised their livestock and grew certain crops that could survive their harsher climates.
They had arrived in the early evening, and the sun was beginning to fall past the large mountain range in front of them. The farmlands were set ablaze in dark oranges, reds, and yellows that reminded Enara of the heart of a sunflower.
The sunset contrasted the colors of the first set of mountain ranges. The warm tones swirled and melted with the charcoal grays, greens, and blacks of the stones, like paint on woven fabric. Their school texts had always spoken of the great mountains of Braexmirth, but they had always assumed them to be drab and gray since no pictures had been provided.
They camped out at the halfway point to Olecastor, choosing to sleep under the stars. As evening turned to dusk, and the golds faded to silver, they settled onto their bedrolls, staring up at the stars for a while when Baz broke the silence.
“Hey, Sor?” he asked, his tone hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“I think your dad would be proud of you.”
The admission caused her throat to constrict, and she looked at him tearfully. “I hope so,” was all she could muster before the drop fell.
“I know so,” Enara said from beside her. “Not many would still be standing after all you’ve been through, lady. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“Thanks, guys.”
“We love you, Sor. Let’s get some rest.”
Baz yawned and curled his arms around Enara’s waist. “Love you,” he murmured against Enara’s neck.
“I love you guys, too,” Soren replied then whispered up to the stars, “I love you tons, too, Dad.”
* * *
The entranceto Olecastor lay at the apex of the rocky expanse. The city itself spanned the entire mountain range, but the royals resided in the castle built into the eastern side. The cliff faces loomed up ahead of them, and their pace slowed as they reached the large stone door flanked by a guard on either side.
Soren could not help but feel intimidated. These were not the simple guards of Tree City. These men were huge, and the early morning sun glinted off their armor. Soren held up her hand to shield her eyes as they approached, unsure of what to expect.
As they reached the threshold, the guards shifted, lifting their long swords into the ready position and holding out their hands to halt them.
“Speak your business.”
It took Soren a moment to respond. Their accents were harsh, and their voices were so low that she struggled to take their meaning. She opened her mouth to reply when Enara came to her rescue.
“We have come to hold court with King Elias.”
The bearded guard to her left raised a brow, eyeing the group with suspicion. “What business do you have that would require a meeting with the king?”
“We have news from the House of Drekar, King of Patrivah.” Baztien’s voice was strong and firm, and Enara blinked at him in surprise.
The guards seemed to consider this and exchanged a look. Then the bearded one nodded, startling them by yelling, “Kedaestach!” in his native tongue.
They braced themselves as the twenty-foot-high door shifted open, the stone grinding against the massive metal hinges.
The two armored men stood aside, and the second one spoke in the common tongue. “You may enter.” Then he nodded to his bearded comrade. “Callan will go with you.”
“Thank you,” they responded and rushed after the man named Callan, who was already ten strides ahead of them.
Soren quickened her pace to match the lumbering giant and looked up at him. He was younger than she had first thought. His dark blond hair held a reddish hue, and the front pieces were pulled back from his face in braids and twists affixed with small metal clips. The length of it fell just past his shoulders, and his beard was fashioned to match.
“How long have you guarded the gate?” Soren asked, curious about these people she knew so little of.
Surprised at the question, he looked down at her with eyes the color of a cornflower field. He cleared his throat before responding in his deep baritone, “This is not my normal post, but the secondary guard’s wife is birthing their youngling and requested his presence.”
“You speak common tongue well,” Soren observed.
“Yes, my father forced lessons upon us all.”
“What is your normal post?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he said in annoyance.
She was about to continue when Enara grabbed her sleeve, pulling her back to where her and Baz had followed behind them.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“What? I was just curious,” Soren replied.
“We have to keep these people happy if they are going to help us. We have to tread carefully.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right.” Soren looked down, as if scolded, and picked at her fingernails.
The trio followed Callan along the narrow valley floor until they reached a secondary door. The guards there took one look at the large man and opened it immediately, bowing low as they walked past.
The trail opened up into a wide valley that connected multiple mountain ranges. There was a river of the clearest blue flowing down from the farthest one, cutting through the thick rock and trailing out the base of the castle built into the cliffside.
The air tasted of iron and smelled of molten metal and crushed stone. Plumes of smoke drifted from deep within the walls of rock, no doubt stemming from the forges that lay beneath.
Everything in the city seemed to be carved out of stone, from the houses that snaked back and forth up the mountainsides to the castle that looked like it was part of the range itself. All harsh lines, and thick walls, the greens and grays were the only color amongst the black rock.
Callan led them up a large, curving staircase to the front gates of the castle. The guards again bowed to him as they let them pass.
The trio was left speechless upon entry, for the entire room and the hallways that lay beyond were as black as the midnight sky, an unworldly beauty. Though most would imagine it to be foreboding, the walls spoke of a quiet strength rather than darkness to be feared.
Emerald rugs lined the floors, and sconces made of hollowed-out fire opal refracted mischievous patterns on the obsidian walls. There was little in the way of artwork, but the few pieces they did see had been formed out of differing metals, melded and arced together in a fantastical array of golds and silvers.
As they reached the end of the west hallway, Callan brought them down another twisting staircase then a short, wide corridor that ended at a set of double doors made entirely out of jade. The entrance towered above them and was covered in intricate carvings, depicting kings and battles long since past. Soren struggled to keep her emotions in check as she gazed upon it. Dad would have loved this.
“When you enter, you will speak when spoken to,” Callan’s voice broke through the thought of her father.
“Easier said than done,” Soren muffled.
Callan gave her the side-eye before loosing a breath. “Just let me do the talking.”
Baz and Enara nodded in agreement, and then Callan called out, “Kedaestach, brathairs,” which meant, “Allow entry, brothers.”
They walked through the entryway, keeping their heads bowed, unsure of the customs required in meeting the King of Olecastor, but a booming voice from across the room greeted them.
“Lift your heads, friends. Hold them high, for you are welcome here.”
The voice came from the obsidian throne that lay on the other side of the large room. Atop it sat a large man, clad in armor that matched the guards, with kind blue eyes and a long beard. His previously blond hair was fading to silver, and his face was battle-weathered.
He was flanked by two more men holding long, onyx staffs, the tips forged from xethriel, the strongest ore in Entheas. The men themselves were tall and lean, every muscle toned and pulled taut against their dark skin. Their coarse hair was twisted into long, ebony locks that were pulled back in an intricate weave, the sides shaved to their scalps. They had serious, deep-set brown eyes, full lips, and were identical in their looks. The only way to discern between the two was a pale scar that lay across the left one’s scalp.
The king assessed them once more before speaking again. “So, tell me, why has my son brought you here?”
Soren looked to Callan, whose stony expression hinted at a smile before untying her tongue to speak.
“Sir,” she started, “we have come to request aid for Patrivah. We have news from the House of Drekar.”
“My dear girl, we have already heard of the goings-on in Edras Mora. Tragic, really.”
A look of confusion passed between Soren and her friends before she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t catch your meaning.”
“Not to worry yourself, young one. My scouts have already informed me that the king is dead.”
* * *
“What?”Soren couldn’t help the sudden outburst. “What do you mean, the king is dead?”
The leader of Braexmirth chuckled. “I thought I had learned the common tongue well, but I guess not. Is there another term for the end of life I should know?” The beginning of his Rs rolled slightly and ended as if something caught in his throat.
“Father,” Callan spoke, “I believe the word you’re looking for is murdered.”
“Ah, yes, that’s the one.”
“That can’t be possible,” Enara said, shaking her head. “We were just there not but two nights ago and had heard news of no such thing.”
Baz put a hand on her lower back, just as confused as she was. “What exactly did your scout report?” he asked hastily then added, “If you don’t mind me asking?”
The king ignored his question, noticing the sword at his back. “Bring me your blade.”
Baz stiffened, worried he might have offended the man, but he brought forth his sword and bent on one knee to present it.
“I know this blade,” the king said, taking in the blue sheen of its length. “This sword has been passed down through generations of the McKenna family. Now, tell me, boy, how it is that you have come to possess such a weapon?”
“It was passed to me, from my grandfather. He fought with Draestel during the war, and Lord Krikseth gifted it to him for taking out Bao Ren’s commander.” Baz waited as the king contemplated his response, stroking a hand through his long beard. A nervous sweat settled on his brow, and it felt like an eternity before he spoke again.
“Yes, I seem to remember hearing something of this, though I am surprised to find that you yourself are of Xian Dao heritage.” The king beckoned him to stand, handing the sword back.
Baz swallowed thickly. “I was adopted,” he explained. “A couple from Draestel took me in after my parents died trying to flee the country, and Byron Greymark was my mother’s, Laraline, father. He left the sword to her, and she passed it on to me.”
“Ah, that explains it, then. I myself am an adoptive father of sorts. Found these two”—he nodded toward the guards—“along a mountain pass at the age of five. They said they came through a portal from the Esinian Isles.” He smiled fondly at them. “Kids, I tell you. I raised them as my own, along with Callan. He is my blood son.”
“They are lucky to have you,” Baz acknowledged.
The king chuckled again and stood, clapping Baz hard on the shoulder. “They might not tell you that, though.” He gestured to the three of them, his eyes twinkling, “Come; we must celebrate that the heir to such a great ally has come to visit us.”
“But, sir, we have much to discuss, and you haven’t told us what happened in Patrivah,” Soren said, exasperated.
“All in good time, my dear,” the king replied, already heading for the doors. He turned to Callan and said, “Prepare them for the festivities. We can discuss more serious matters in the morning.”
“Yes, Father,” he replied, bowing.
“But—”
Callan caught Soren’s arm as she tried to interject.
She glared up at him, wrenching her fist away. “I wasn’t finished speaking with him,” she said sharply.
Callan smirked. “Well, he was finished speaking with you. And take it from me, he will talk when it pleases him, not the other way around. You would do best to try to enjoy the evening, and you will have your answers in the morning.”
“We have friends in Edras Mora who would be greatly affected by the king’s death,” Soren said, worry for Jai filling her heart.
“If it puts your mind at ease, your friend is not in any danger. I do not know the details, but my father did inform me that the perpetrator has been caught and has been sentenced to death.”
She pressed her lips together and looked to Baz and Enara. “What do you guys think?”
Baz spoke first. “I think Jai is one of the most resourceful guys we know. He can make it a day or two more without us.”
“Yeah,” Enara joined in. “Besides, this may be a good way to show the king we mean well. I say we join in the festivities.”
“Okay, then.” Soren nodded then looked to Callan. “I hope you know how to throw a good party.”