Fintan had spent more nights away from the comforts of his bed chambers and soft linens than he had in them throughout his busy life. The pokiness of the hay, the coldness of soft ground seeping through his blankets into his body, the smell of burnt twigs and sticks to make for a toasty fire—all things that gave way to a fairly average morning arousal for the Magi Knight. This morning, however, had a new sensation in store for him.
He awoke with a jolt as a pale of cold water found its way over his body, sending his lungs into a fit as water suffocated them of air. His eyes were forced as wide as they could go, and water dripped from his hair into his gaping mouth to add to the stale saliva of the night's rest. Vince mirrored his reactions, cursing and muttering something about a terrible bar's maid from some odd dream that had boggled his mind. Fintan's mouth finished gasping for air when the smell of a nice, early morning's gift from a horse's rear side sat by Fintan's head sent a nauseating aroma through the air. Lifting his head from the contaminated bed of hay, Fintan's usual morning awakening took its worst turn yet when his eyes met the fine end of a blade pointed inches from his face.
"Move no further, sorcerer. You'll be coming with us. The good news for you—the dungeons at Ranhold will more likely have human feces rather than that of your bed partner there." The man nudged the tip of his sword towards the droppings from the horse. A host of around ten men were gathered behind him with hands at their hilts.
"I am no sorcerer. I am Fintan of the Magi Order and I will have you stand down. Put the steel away, I'd rather not ruin your morning, because you've certainly ruined mine."
The man's sword did not budge, but rather he jutted it closer to Fintan's face mockingly.
"That is quite funny, Fintan. You call yourself a Magi, but I do not see your blade, nor your stone. Your kind has those pretty little stones, don't you? Well go ahead, why don't you show us? I have some cool rocks too." The man with his sword pointed tossed a few pebbles from his cloak pocket onto Fintan's lap.
"I was ransacked by a group of rogue Magi called The Dark Knights of Dundor. Now please, just go ahead and move the blade." Fintan put his hands on the hay behind him to pull himself to his feet but the boot of the knight before him sent him back down to the hay.
"Aye, you have heard me not, sorcerer. I am Ser Fallon Diehurn, son of King Erilin Diehurn. Do not make a meal of this or it could make for a dreadful meeting when you stand before Weptswur's royal courts. I'll keep this blade right where it is if I wish to do so until sundown." Gerith stood behind all of them with his butcher's apron on and a scowl upon his face.
It was his sister. He had not liked that she bathed us. What a basket case, and without my stone my strength will falter like a mangled old man. Fintan slowly lifted his hands over head and Ser Fallon Diehurn nodded over to Vince to do the same.
"And you, where's your stone?" One of the men beside Fallon was staring accursedly at Vince.
"You expect him to have a stone and not I? We have travelled together, surely you aren't fool enough to think he would have his, and his master not?"
"Fair enough. Up you stand then." Ser Fallon Diehurn had hard features, and a permanent scowl that suggested he had aged beyond his years. Their plated armor appeared dirty from long travel and some had blood smeared across the dull breastplates. Fallon wore a cape attached at the shoulder plates, a fine red cape displaying the colors of House Diehurn of Weptswur.
Fintan and Vince stood now and were guided out from the thick bales of hay. As soon as they had exited the smelly stable, Fallon gestured to Vince, "Off with your clothes. All of it. I want proof that you are a man of your word. No stone. You as well, sorcerer."
Vince's loose tunic top was stripped away, leaving him unable to hide his necklace he had fashioned from bootlace that contained the magical items. A Valligian Tusk and a Dragon Tusk swayed lightly from the necklace as Vince stood in defeat. Ser Fallon Diehurn simply stared for a moment, curious of the items.
"That is no stone of Ertorin. Tell me truly are you Magi Knights or not? Those look a lot like tokens from the darker realm of magic." Fallon Diehurn had come very close to Vince's face now and his presence made Vince uneasy. He got the sense Fallon Diehurn was not a man who cared whose blood he spilled, especially not in his home land. He had the backing and wealth of such a large royal family such as the Diehurns.
Fintan stepped to Fallon Diehurn, causing swords to slip from their scabbards all around him. "Tell me, Ser Fallon Diehurn, son of Erilin Diehurn. Who are you to question us? Who have we harmed that is of such concern to you?"
"As far as I'm concerned, you may have harmed no one. But you bear the signs of a Magi turned Dark. Those tokens your friend wears across his neck—those are the signs of one who speaks to the dragonfolk. And you don't exactly look like the image I have in my head of a Magi yourself. The Magi I know would never be without his Ertorin stone."
Fintan bit his tongue back. Anything he said here was left to ten witnesses plus Fallon himself—and who knew what sort of crime Fallon would have him hung for if he kept his mouth running. Well, so be it. We are headed for Weptswur anyway.
"Fine, m'lord, Ser Fallon Diehurn, son of Erilin Diehurn. Do with us what you will."
"Thank you for permission, sorcerer. I think I would have been taking you with us regardless. On we go, men of the king's royal guard!" Vince was clothed and Fintan was denied a pair of clean linens or cloak. The two of them were thrown onto the Knight's horses and off they went. Fintan caught a glance of Gerith seeing them off with his daughter at his side outside the stables, and his sister, Ghetriel, standing behind them by the front door.
It was near five hours of riding to Castle Ranhold. Fintan had not said a word bar a request to relieve himself, to which he was kindly granted a piss inside his own breeches until the knight riding his same horse had not quite enjoyed that jest and forced a pit stop for Fintan's request.
They rode through dozens of small villages and towns. The closer they came to Castle Ranhold, the wealthier the homes and towns had become. Men and women stopped and stared shamelessly at the host of men riding through. One town had taken up a chant of The Son of the King, The Son of the King, Fallon, Fallon, The Son of the King. Another smaller town had many small shops of jewelry and sales of fancy furs and animal bones. The same reaction took place amongst most places they had travelled through—looks of awe and wonder at the son of the King—Fallon Diehurn. Fintan wondered if anyone would even have been able to have guessed of his own ability. He kept his head down for the most part. This is a disgrace, that a Magi Knight, a protector of the realm, should be paraded about like some dark sorcerer with nothing about his neck but a rope. At least Vince has his charms.
Fintan wondered if Vince planned on using his abilities at some point. He decided he cared not, his use of dark magic would only further reinforce Fallon's notion that they were Dark Knights and in need of a trial before the court. If he chose not to use his charms, well, they were still doomed, and they would need wits and guile to explain themselves to the royal court. Fintan had never properly met the King of Weptswur, nor had he served at their cause. They were indifferent during the war. Sitting back on their petty riches and vast weaponry and defenses. A typical family of snobby royalty, keeping their hands in their own baskets.
They rode though a rocky, twisting road that was surrounded on either side by jagged rock and steep cliff. Fintan thought he saw Night Wolves prowling inside a shallow indentation of one of the cliff walls to their left side, but they continued nonetheless, and nothing came to pass.
Through another hour of riding past jagged rock and cliff, they came upon a long stretch of hills and valleys with flowing thick grasses. The skies overhead shown a pleasant sun upon the crisp, winter air. The sun felt good on Fintan's back. It was a welcome feeling from hours prior when his clothes refused to dry off from the pale of water that had drenched them earlier.
The magnificent Castle Walls of Wetpswur loomed off quite a way ahead. Even from afar its walls stood tall and beautifully. They weren't for lack of height nor strength. Fintan counted at least four watch towers spanning along its front wall. Length-wise the front castle wall spanned wider than any castle he'd seen. The red banners of Weptswur flowed down from the castle tops, dawning the crimson-blood stained Valligian Mammoth with a spear through its head as their sigil. Fintan had never understood why the Diehurn family had chosen a Valligian Mammoth as their sigil—it was seen as dark magic belonging to the cursed gods of sorcerers, but it had been their sigil as far back as the records went.
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Fintan couldn't help but admire the beautifully laid stone upon the castle walls as they neared closer to its belittling castle gate and deep moat that protected its perimeter. The walls meant to protect the wealthy community inside its walls, and it had done so successfully for nearly four hundred years that it had been standing. Passing through the hills of flowing green grasses, broken arrowheads and broken blades lay neglected in the grasses. It was a pride of Weptswur, leaving the folly of those foolish enough to attempt breaching their castle walls was displayed out amongst the lay of the land for all who travelled through to see. Images of battles and iron ringing against plates and chain mail rang through Fintan's head. The Diehurn's have likely never felt the terrors of a true war, sitting back like scared imps inside their pretty castle walls that were fought for by their ancestors and the ones before them. They'll have to overcome that entitlement now, for the sake of the rest of the realm, thought Fintan.
They arrived at the castle walls before the moat and Fallon Diehurn needed not say a single word for the portcullis to be pulled down at their sight. The heavy wooden gate eased down slowly as the guards rushed to the lever to lower it for the son of the king. Shouts could be heard along the wall above where guards stood watch with quivers upon their backs and bows laid against the walls above.
The portcullis finally lowered, and the men were allowed through. As the horses cantered slowly into the castle walls, Fintan and Vince's eyes widened in awe of its beauty. Rows on either side of the royal pathway to the throne hall were lined with statues of the Kings who had come before King Erilin. Gray molten stone that stood thrice the height of a normal man told Fintan that the power of a King was not taken lightly here. It's no wonder his royal arse never leaves the castle walls. The people would not see him faced with any chance of danger. A fool's King, if you ask me.
A host of royal knights stood wait inside the walls for Fallon Diehurn and his men to arrive and greeted Fallon cordially.
"Welcome back, Ser lord Fallon. Your brother is waiting for you at the King's Hall, and your father as well as it may please you, your grace. Might you allow me to take those sorcerers off your hands, my lord?"
"Take them to the sewers. And make sure you keep a host of men upon the one with the necklace. He wields some dark magic charms upon his neck that makes me rather uneasy." Fallon Diehurn eyed Vince warily and then turned his horse and headed beyond for the King's Hall, his men following him as he went.
"Right then, you're with me now." The man who had exchanged pleasantries with Fallon bore chainmail and a crest emblazed upon his breast piece. Fintan scoffed to himself, finding it quite silly to don such armor inside his own castle walls. His attire appeared fresh and cleanly washed, leaving Fintan to wonder how often his work took him outside the confines of the castle walls. His snow-white hair went oddly with his young face.
Vince and Fintan were moved onto a new steed, both fitting onto its back. There were only six men escorting them now, including the white-haired knight who led the way to the sewers.
"I am Ser Charion Maywind, formerly of Scourden and now servant to Ser Fallon Diehurn. If the one true God be good, may this be the first and last time we meet. I'd sooner see you rot inside the dungeon walls for the rest of your days than see you walk away from this place a free man."
"You don't know who I am, yet you mutter senseless words like an angry eunuch, what prompts your harsh tongue, Ser Charion?"
"You are the dark sorcerer of the north, formerly a Dark Knight of Dundor. I have heard word from Edmund Nightclaw who has bound his cause to the defense of Weptswur. As for—"
"You gained your insight upon me from Edmund Nightclaw—a sorcerer himself? He is the scoundrel himself who had me departed from my Ertorin stone and is actively working with the Dark Knights of Dundor. Do not speak as if you—"
"I will not hear another word from that treasonous mouth of yours, sorcerer." Charion unleashed a harsh back hand across Fintan's face as they rode on, before reining his horse in front of him. Vince sat expressionless behind Fintan. Vince himself made no attempt to engage the knights that escorted them. His fingers reached within his tunic and grasped his Dragon Tusk, and his eyes went to a milky white.
"Here we are, enjoy your stay reserved for our most splendid guests." Ser Charion's wry smile left a bad taste in Fintan's mouth. He almost considered it worth it to spit upon his face, but experience told him that would land him in a much worse predicament than a sewage-infested dungeon. Fintan and Vince were shoved through a small chute that led from the castle lawn to a small ditch underneath the castle.
It was a cramped space and sewage flowed a foot high under them. The two stood with backs against the wall, hardly enough space for the two of them to share. Fintan glanced upward where a small ray of light shone inward from the barred 'gate' that kept them confined inside. He had no way to reach the gate of the hole from which they entered even if Vince were to lift him up.
Ser Charion stuck his face between the rusted iron bars and gave a crude smile upon them, a mix of rotted and missing teeth. "Enjoy your stay in Weptswur. Oh, and try not to get too smelly, you'll be meeting his royal highness and his Queen around this time on the 'morrow, and first impressions will be important." He gave a snort of laughter and then just like that, it was only Vince and Fintan together, breathing hot air upon each other's faces whilst they stood a foot in sewage water. The first hour was living hell from the smell alone, but the worst part came when their legs grew heavy and sitting was a tempting option except for the fact that there was hardly room for even one of them to sit, and secondly, sewage wasn't exactly an ideal bath water to dwell in.
Ser Fallon Diehurn swung open the oak doors of the King's Hall and strode down the bright red checkered tile where upon a raised dais sat his father and his mother. They were dressed in their finest, but their faces marked weary and tiresome minds.
It was Fallon's mother who addressed him first, dressed in her red silk dress that left her shoulders bare and flowed down into a sweetheart neckline. She rose from her seat, revealing the tight fit upon her thick shape as the dress clung to her figure.
"Fallon, it took you a day longer than expected. Your brother grew bored of waiting upon you and has taken his maiden for a walk along the sept's gardens for a talk with his God."
"Good for him. I was wondering how long it's been since you've done the same. I fear we've failed to consider the will of The Creator upon our most recent acquisition."
"What do you mean, Fallon? He was captured upon the oath-sworn words of Edmund Nightclaw—who is to be trusted after he swore fealty to our cause." His mother was perplexed. She strode down from her dais now to walk along the walls of the mosaic-littered throne hall. Guards stood along either end of the dais with spears in hand and gray helms covering their faces. Fallon's thoughts wandered briefly, wondering whether the guards actually any thoughts of had their own as they stood mindlessly at the loyalty of their king and queen.
His mother continued, "I spoke to your father already, Fallon. The sorcerer and his apprentice wield dark charms that will not be tolerated inside the borders of Weptswur. Nightclaw claims the sorcerer took out an entire tribe of innocent Ulthraki just north of our borders. His apprentice is no less innocent, slaughtering Valligian mammoths for their tusks—a tradition our people gave up during the rise of dark magic in the Old Age. So, tell me, what is the matter regarding their capture?" The queen had slowly stridden behind Fallon now, but he remained facing forward as he spoke, his eyes staring at the embroidered pattern upon the back of his mother's throne seat.
"The sorcerer has claimed he is a Magi Knight, and that we have fallen into poor company with this Edmund Nightclaw. He has no Ertorin stone, but he sounded genuine. I would say that we ought not to be so quick as to sentence him to death. A fair trial would suffice, is all."
Fallon's father spoke now, still seated lazily upon his throne seat, "Of course Fallon. But we will not have you attend the trial; we've got another assignment for you to prove you are still loyal to the cause of this royal family."
"Of course, father. I shall be at your service regardless of the circumstance within our castle walls."
"Good. I have need of a fine boar for tomorrow's feast before the trial. Close friends and family of the kingdom are coming from far to bear witness to the trial of your newly acquired sorcerer. I am sending the fool with you, Jugah. Your mother's sister has requested that we find use of him; as she needs a break from his constant whining and thrashing fits. I trust this task is okay with you?"
Fallon took a breath to steady his response, bidding all the self-control he could muster not to curse his parents. It had always been this way and his outbursts had cost him greatly in the past. He was only just now gaining their favor back.
"It would be an honor to ease the burden of my Aunt Ashiya. You can trust that a great boar of the finest taste will be available to the guests of Weptswur tomorrow at the feast."
His mother chimed back in now, "I am so proud of you, Fallon. You've come such a long way from your stubborn, old ways. You see, once you learn to obey your parents it all becomes much simpler." Fallon hated the way his mother's eyes had a false innocence and her lips curled into that controlling smile. His own face remained neutral and unaltered. He mustn't give them reason to believe he lacked enthusiasm for his latest task.
Fallon Diehurn turned to leave the hall where his small host of men waited for him outside, but he paused as he reached the oak doors at the end of the King's Hall.
"Oh, mother, I forgot there is one more thing I might ask."
"And what is that darling?"
"Have we found the Slayer yet?"
"No, but I'll send for someone to find you If he is found. Be gone from here darling, the sun is to go down soon and there is boar to be hunted."
"Are you sure you don't want to send out our finest hunters for the boar and I can go search for him myself? I have already brought back the two men earlier."
"No. I do not trust the hunters of Weptswur to bring back such a nice boar as yourself. Plus, my sister wants her son to spend time with you, as I'm sure you do with him."
Fallon slammed the oak doors behind a little harder than usual as he stormed out. He had always been mistreated by his parents, ever since that one little incident. It was hard being the youngest of four brothers—well, three since the incident—but it had hardly mattered. There was a boar to be killed and a fool to be tamed. He wondered what would make for the scariest company—the boar or his aunt's fool.