Chapter Ten #2
Her home she would not let them claim.
She knelt and prayed to her lord Garren,
With hope in her heart, she called for aid.
To his devoted he closely listened,
He answered her prayers, and to her he bade:
“The sun will rise and banish the dark,
Stoke the flame, be the spark.”
The last two lines are taken up by the others in the room, whispered in a fervent chant. Goosebumps raise the fine hairs along Sindra’s arms.
Quietly, she leans toward Antoni and asks, “Is the chapel we’re in the same chapel Abella was from?”
He shoots her a dark look for her interruption. “No, it was closer to the border, north of where you arrived. Now, hush.”
Sindra glances at the others. Mortimer listens politely even as his attention wanders elsewhere, while Vera seems to cling to the bard’s every word, mouthing the lyrics from memory. She sways with the music of the song, and when her shoulder bumps against Moss’s, the ranger doesn’t move away.
Sindra leans back in her chair, tail snapping, as the bard continues.
Abella was not a warrior,
But she took up sword and shield,
And donned a set of rusted armor,
Ill prepared, but refusing to yield.
The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds,
Bathing Abella in their light.
She felt Garren’s presence there on the field,
As he imbued her with holy might.
Suddenly her armor shone bright gold,
And a crown appeared on her head,
Each spike shaped like a ray of the sun.
Blessed, she raised her sword and said:
“The sun will rise and banish the dark,
Stoke the flame, be the spark.”
Under her lead the first battle was won,
And then the war, in the time in between.
And when the devils were banished for good,
Moros named its first Garren-blessed queen.
Thus the crown is passed down her bloodline divine,
A relic we won’t soon forget,
Of Garren’s promise of hope and love,
And a sun that will never set.
The sun will rise and banish the dark,
Stoke the flame, be the spark.
Once again, voices join in with the bard’s for the ballad’s final lines, giving the song a hymnal, holy quality. Eyes in the crowd shine with unshed tears, and everyone claps uproariously as the bard bows. With their tense jaws and fierce smiles, Antoni and Vera look more determined than ever.
And though she hates to ruin the moment, Sindra still has questions—but Moss beats her to the first.
“Is that why there are so many tieflings here? Because of Moros’s history with devils?”
Vera nods. “Exactly. It is said that the earth remembers.” She looks to Sindra and smiles slightly. “My mother has horns like yours, as do many Morosians.”
“I want to know the rest of the story, though,” Sindra says, invested. “How did Vadrien come to be in power? What happened to the magic crown, and the sun?”
Antoni takes a long drink from his mug before answering.
“The crown was passed down through generations of Abella’s line, who were the only ones able to wear it; it rejected any others.
During that time, the realm knew peace. Queen Abella’s bloodline was well and truly blessed by Garren—and the kingdom prospered from it, too.
But there were those who did not respect that hers was the only bloodline destined to rule. ”
Vera exhales shakily. “The bards and the witnesses—what’s left of them—recall varying truths; no one knows exactly how it happened.
Only that one night, the castle went dark, its inhabitants were slaughtered, and the crown was locked away; the reigning King Ursan’s head was displayed on a pike the next morning.
From that day forward, the sun disappeared from the sky, the dead crawled from their graves, and Vadrien ruled in all but name.
He started the curse, though we don’t yet know how. ”
Sindra idly taps her pointed fingernails at her lower lip. For the second time, with earnest hope in her wide eyes, Moss asks the question Sindra is thinking. “What’s the plan? What do we do?”
Vera’s expression goes hard with resolve. “We take the crown back,” she says simply.
Hope and optimism paint everyone’s faces bright—but Sindra winces, and doubt clouds her tone.
“You seek to find the true heir?” Privately, she thinks, Would it even make a difference?
Perhaps the people would rally behind the realm’s true monarch, but would it be enough?
Sindra and the others fought off one skeleton horde, but just barely—and they were trained to fight.
And that’s without even considering how the years lacking food and sunlight have weakened the kingdom’s citizens, or just how many undead Vadrien has at his command.
Sindra’s yellow gaze scans the room, noting how few of these rebels look to be trained in combat.
“If one even lives, yes. Vadrien killed every member of the king’s family,” Vera says impatiently.
“But were you listening? The crown holds knowledge and power. It cleansed the realm of evil once, and it may do so again. That’s why Vadrien keeps it locked away—it’s the only threat to his power, and he can’t wield it at all. ”
Moss’s tone is gentle. “But only the Callasters can access the crown’s power, right?”
Vera looks down at the table. “That is true,” she says slowly. “But we hope, given the circumstances, Garren may bless the people of Moros again.”
Antoni suddenly stands. “Come. Let us go back upstairs to speak with Zevor and lay out our strategies.”
Hope. It’s so little to go off of, Sindra thinks skeptically. It’s a terrible plan, just about as useful as ordering the clergy to start praying for a new crown, and gods know they’ve probably already tried that.
“You’re putting a lot of trust in an empty wish,” Sindra says.
“It’s all we have,” Antoni says bluntly.
Moss nods. “Then it’s where we’ll start.”
Internally, Sindra sighs as she and the others climb the stairs back into the heart of the chapel. Perhaps it’s time for her to start praying, too.
“Okay, okay, take it easy, Shakespeare,” Colin teases as he squeezes Wesley’s upper arm. “What the fuck was that, iambic pentameter?”
Mona lets out a sharp laugh. “No, it wasn’t,” she says dryly. And then she’s quick to assure Wesley, “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good! It was good!”
She may not use her English degree as much as she originally planned to, but it rears its head at the funniest times.
After we finish cleaning up from the session, we linger on the sidewalk outside of Game Knight as Colin fishes a ring of jangling keys from his pocket and locks up the store.
We’d gone on a bit longer than usual today, but in true D I can smell the chalky sweetness on his breath.
“Fuck off,” I say, though I can’t keep the fondness out of my tone.
I’m so caught up with Wesley that I don’t realize Mona’s telling the others about our weekend plans.
“You all should come with us,” she says brightly. “We don’t mind.”
We don’t? For weeks, I’ve been preparing to go with just Mona, trying to ignore the memories of when we went with our old crew. I’m not sure I’m ready to open it up again.
But Wesley’s eyes shine.
“ComicConnecticut? I had plans to go anyway.” He grins and focuses on me. “I’ll be there.”