Have you heard a tale of a princess atop a tower of ice? A knight battling at its base, a dragon guarding its skies? A tale of escape, a tale of romance. Ashtik stood alone in her tower of ice, but she did not feel romantic. The creature, the princess, had not been saved. It dispersed as dust, though its wails lost their ghostly gravity. There was no slain monster; but a woman, a girl, tortured and slaughtered. Now it had been Ash who had killed her at last. Was it a mercy? Was it kinder to finish her, or was that just an excuse?
The creature was gone but its cries remained. It’s blood-soaked tears and skinless shudders echoed through whimpering air. The study looked to be empty, but for her, and yet it felt as though every book and every painting judged her as the tormenting Champion.
“She was my ancestor,” a grave voice whispered from the doorway. Ash dashed her head around to look at him. It was not the man who had led her up; it was some other, less regal, fellow. “Brought to harm by a Champion of Green. Nobody knows why, but there can be no justification for such an act against a young woman like she.”
“Who are you?” Ash asked in a daze.
“I have the pleasure of being the duke,” he smiled.
“I met the duke, it wasn’t you,” Ash accused.
“Indeed, we are a triarchy. Three heads, one crown. But you are not here to discuss systems of governance,” he said with hollow amber eyes.
This ‘duke’ took a delicate step into the ancient study. His boots were the first of his line to disturb the dust for centuries untold. He looked around, appreciating every crevasse and corner, as he slowly approached Ash. She could see the marks of office he bore as he drew closer. Rather than the coronet his fellow had worn, this duke equipped a set of royal rings. One, of ruby-encrusted silver, held the seal of the ghost in the tower. The next, a ring of platinum and emerald, bore the mark of a hammer and anvil. The ring on his middle finger held no sigil at all, while the ring at his index showed a shimmering portal of sapphire and gold.
He wore simple clothes. A black suit with a white rim, in the style of Xio Vien. Leather boots with steel caps, better suited for a field worker rather than a ruler.
Ash looked to the silver pendant at his collar and asked, “Why did she attack me, the ghost?”
“She always attacks Champions and only Champions. We had to seal the floor off many lifetimes ago, as to protect your kind from her wrath,” he answered.
“Then why did your fellow have me enter?”
“You make an incredible claim as the Champion of Black. It requires equally incredible evidence. She was that evidence.”
“So, her attacking me was a test?”
“One you passed, Champion.”
“Then you will help me?”
“I will be of any, and all, assistance you require. The full services of myself and my colleagues are at your disposal. My city is yours, should you wish it,” the duke said. He fell to one knee and held his gaze at her boots.
“You would give me your city?” Ash doubted.
“I would give you my everything, my life should it be of help.”
“Why?”
“You are the Champion of Black,” he whispered. “The fate of the world rests upon your shoulders. There is no worth to my titles and lands if the land is destroyed, and my realm forgotten. I refuse to bury myself in a casket of gold and honour.”
“I don’t need your city, ser,” Ash whispered. “But I do need to meet your king.”
“Then it shall be.” The one-third duke crossed the ancient mahogany desk and looked out over his fief. “A marvellous view, wouldn’t you say?”
Ash hadn’t really noticed it. She had been much too occupied in the ghosty vision to appreciate the vast and open planes of these Forgelands. It looked so different than her homeland. There were no thick forests, no vast mountains. Rivers split a thousand times to reach a thousand farms. Endless fields of red grass and gold crops. She could see the city beneath the clouds, and the million men that could have been ants.
She imagined this was what the gods could see. Every man, every story, nought more than an ant. It was no wonder they seemed so apathetic; how could they notice the suffering of a spec?
“It’s... big,” was all Ash could manage.
“Biggest city in the world, most populus too. Four million men, women and children. Too many for one ruler, so we split them between the three of us,” the duke said with an abundance of pride. It was the most emotion she had heard in his voice.
“I’ve never heard of a ruler splitting up so much power,” Ash said.
“It’s a rare thing, I suppose. But this is a unique city and requires unique oversight. I am the Duke of men; you have met the Duke of force and will no doubt meet the ducissa of finance soon enough. We each preside over what we can, but no man is great enough to manage millions alone.”
A heart-shaped cloud shattered against the spire of ice. She hadn’t expected it to part so amiably. She had always expected clouds to be somewhat sturdier, but it flowed like a fog where she had expected it to ripple like a wave.
“I will send for the king, Champion, but it will be some days before he can return from battle. In the meantime, your compatriots shall be placed in an apartment at the emerald palace. I insist you enjoy our city as fully as you are able. Allow me to be the first to say: welcome, to the Forgelands.”
----------------------------------------
The air was thicker than she was used to. It was as though lightning reared to strike but could not let loose its wrath. A warm and humid nation, one she was glad to experience. The duke had led her, and the others, towards a royal exit. It was gated from the masses and studded with guards. A viridian rug marked the path onwards where two pikemen hefted open a grand iron gate.
A woman stood waiting there. Shorter than even Evara, though two massive dark pools sat in place of eyes. Ash had never seen a woman of her kind before, but she had heard of them. A Dwargon lady. People confined to mines and caves for generations. Famed for their hardy workmanship and strength, as well as their capacity for soul magic. Though it was known that they tended to make for poor hunters and archers on account of their stocky, dense stature and short limbs.
This woman looked up to Ash with all the admiration and fear one could possibly hold in eyes so large. It was a look not of reverence, but dread. Brilliant, terrible dread. The dread of a weapon capable of destroying her whole world, but one that she knew would be entirely necessary to save her life. Her awe and fear did not detract from her confidence, however. She locked her massive gaze on Ash and seemed to feign apathy as the Champion drew near.
“Sparrow-Knight,” the dwargon woman curtsied. “My name is Jesseck. I am to be your guide. It is a pleasure to meet you!”
She did not speak with a Forgeland accent, or at least she did not speak like Sujin. Her voice held a stronger tone. Not a sound of flowers and luxury, but of hard work and agony. Each word was a syllable short and spoken in half the time it would take Sujin to say.
“Hello, Jesseck,” Evara answered in Ash’s place. “That is very kind of you.”
“Oh, of course,” Jesseck stammered. Her gaze darted between Ash and Ev, clearly unsure of to whom she ought to direct her admiration. “If you would then, my lady,” the short woman offered.
Houses as thin and tall as towering trees, roads and pathways as smooth as seastone, lanes of crimson grasses where mounts and steeds awaited their absent masters. The tower was clearly the centre of the city. A ring of gilded entertainment surrounded it, a cultural marvel on full display.
Through the vast crowds in the near areas, she could barely spot a single human. Hulking grey-skinned women with pointed tusks that reached nearly to their own hearts risked eclipsing even Amell as they marched by the dozen. Dwargon traders and tourists waddled in their respective packs, either hoping to shed some trinkets and wares or hoping to find some to show off back home. She passed a lanky young man with flowing blue hair and deep black eyes the size of her fists. A fur-clad yellow fellow made some attempt to flirt with a grey-skinned giantess, though he was quickly trampled and forgotten.
She heard a thousand tongues speak in ten thousand languages. Some sounded so familiar, they may as well have been her own; while some sounded so foreign, they may as well have come from another world.
The guide, Jesseck, brought them to a carriage station where a large cart stopped before them. It was not like the carts of the Veil. This was long and thin with a hollow interior and enough seats to fit fifty. The beast that carried it along was no horse, but a massive silver-skinned animal with a single horn jutting out from its nose and four shimmering eyes which seemed to catch on her. The beast was filled with some strange pride. Its master treated it as a son, and it treated its burden as a job. It was a concept she thought too complicated for a beast, but one she could see was true.
They mounted the carriage with thirty other beings of all stripes and kinds. It carried them along the straight and smooth paths as they left the entertainment quarter and found what must have been a middle-class residential area. The houses weren’t quite so thin, nor stacked so closely, but they were all just as tall. Red bricks, white planks and green mortar made the majority of the houses, while occasional others were made of many different resources.
This was not to be their stop, though the bulk of their fellow passengers dismounted here.
She could see why, a stadium of grand design. It towered above every other building but the spire itself. An octagon of spiralling, twisting glass, rimmed with a pearly white frame and colossal struts of the same design. Every creature under the sun, no matter how great or small, stood ready around this temple of man.
“We are further along yet,” Jesseck said. It was the first thing Ash had heard from the woman, despite the fact that she had been speaking nonstop. She had been telling tales of local lore and legends. Telling the names of individual bricks and buildings. Giving tips on activities to attempt during their visit. Doubtless, Evara had hung on every word and would be reciting it incessantly for the remainder of the trip,
----------------------------------------
The coach travelled quickly, but it still took near on two hours to cross the city. They finally arrived at the outskirts. Manors and garrisons studded the giant white jade walls. Purple veins sprouted from within the white stone, almost in the same way they had on Ash’s arm when she gained her mark.
Fields of grass and farmland surrounded the massive manor houses. Each house was a unique design and each structure held the history of a different culture. There were homes of stone and iron; of bark and mud; brick and straw. There was even a home in the style of the Veil. An artificial mound had been erected and a ten-meter-tall doorway had been dug out. She could only imagine what the home looked like beneath the dirt, but above seemed as natural and forested as her own childhood home had been; if a little larger.
They carried on past a stone bunker set into the ground where a small force of Dwargon warriors trained for battle. They crossed a tent garrison where Vamish archers trained to fire their magic arrows. Finally, a strange tower blocked the end of their path. A large slanted stone base lifted the building five or six meters higher than the ground. The tower itself was made of a porous beige block with a faded red skirt and roof. Vibrant orange lanterns hung from each corner of the square tower’s skirts, and a different skirt marked each floor within. Thin slits in the walls obscured the hundred eyes that peered out from within.
“Taob!” A man called, though Ash couldn’t see him from within the carriage.
Jesseck bowed out of her conversation with Evara saying, “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” before she dismounted the carriage and presented some sealed papers from beneath her olive robes.
“Xie tu-mem. Ak kuoloq?” She asked.
“Cahi tu-mem? Xinhu?” The man replied with a level of shock.
“Hu tu-mem xiandao,” seemed to be the end of the conversation. Jesseck returned the scroll to her robe and settled back within their cart.
“Everything okay?” Ev asked.
“Of course,” Jesseck smiled. “Those will be your guards for the duration of your stay. Some of the delegated men-at-arms from Xio Vien. I assure you that they are possibly the greatest guardsmen on the continent.”
The carriage moved onwards and the men came into view. Each man and woman stood at six feet tall with a great two-handed silver steel glaive. They wore armour so very unlike that of her own. Where her chest plate was smooth and polished black steel, they wore gold and crimson snake scales with a single metal disc over at the centre of their chest. Their helms did not cover their faces, but a single strut fell over their noses, and a spear tip rose from the top of the helm.
Three bands of larger scales layered over each other and surrounded their necks like a rigid scarf. The women wore a vambrace over their left arms while the men stored a small dagger in place of the leather pad. Each was ornately decorated with runes and engravings, and polished to the point that Ash could barely see past the glaring sun as it reflected into her eyes.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
They all seemed to admire her as much as she did them. She felt the eyes of the senior most guards burn every feature of her face into memory as they rode past.
The house matched the style of the tower, only this place was huge. Larger even than the baron’s own keep. It would take an hour just to circle the whole building, let alone the fields and grounds that surrounded it. A massive, multi-storey, palace of beige stone with vibrant red skirts and a hundred magic lanterns hanging from each. Glass windows looked over the grounds and suggested a small army of servantry rushed around within.
“We understand that this is not the style of accommodation you are used to, but I’m afraid that it is all that was available at such short notice. The nobleman who owns the manor was honoured to lend its comforts to such an esteemed guest,” Jesseck beamed.
“The whole building?” Ev gasped.
“Of course, my lady.”
“But... that’s so much for so few of us.”
“You would struggle to find any other accommodation this close to the tournament, especially a humbler sort.”
Any protestation was purely for show, Ash knew. Her sister had always dreamed of a palace, of being a princess in her own kingdom. This was every fantasy the child had ever dared dream of, come true. It must have taken every ounce of reserve and ‘propriety’ to stop the young girl from bouncing in place like a little rabbit. Ash took Ev’s hand in her own and felt her pulse racing.
“Everything you could possibly need is contained within these grounds. The garrison holds a training area which is open at all times, and a blacksmith which closes at sundown,” Jesseck said to Amell and Sujin. “There is a bathhouse for the men in the east wing, and one for women in the west. The library is currently undergoing renovation and, while it is still accessible, it isn’t terribly safe. I would advise avoiding the area for the time being,” she continued towards Ev.
A bathhouse sounded like heaven, and she had no doubt a little danger would deter Ev from exploring the undoubtedly vast library.
“If you would,” the dwargette ushered.
They climbed the ten-or-so stairs into their new temporary home. Two cherrywood doors swung open, their silver knockers rattling as they went. To each side of the doors lay eight-and-eight servants. They bowed so deeply that they lay on their knees with their faces buried against the smooth wooden floor tiles. The eight to the left were all women, long flowing black hair cascaded over white and red silken robes. To the right, bowed the men. Each kept their hair in a strangely short way. So thin at the sides that they may as well have been bald, yet so long on top that they had to slick it all the way back. The men wore less elegant garb when compared to the women. Deep red leather over a rough, yet pristine, white shirt. It was clear the men were meant for more physical work in this household.
Jesseck was kind enough to guide them to the ‘family wing’ of the house. This was where they would stay. A large open room sat at its centre, while corridors splintered off in all directions to every room they could possibly need. The centre room, this communal space, was filled with cushions and plush seats. A table lay at the far end, and twelve chairs surrounded it. A lowered section of floor was covered in a thick purple carpet and at least a hundred felt and velvet pillows were scattered within the space.
The left corridor led to the women’s rooms, while the right led to the men’s. Straight ahead would have you at the bathhouse, beside the men’s area lay the kitchen, and beside the women’s lay the library.
A servant lit a bundle of incense atop the rear table and the smell of fresh ginger filled the room.
“I’ll... erm, let you get settled,” Evara said, her eyes affixed to the library. She shifted closer, though she seemed almost guilty in her immediate abandonment of the group at the sight of a mere book depository.
“Have fun,” Ash smirked, and with the blessing, her sister vanished through the door.
“I too, would like to take my leave; If I may?” Sujin asked.
“Of course, you don’t need my permission,” Ash scoffed. “Are you off somewhere?”
“No, I would simply like to find some tomes on magic. To see if I can better understand what happened with your sister in the forest,” he bowed.
“Oh,” Ash gasped, “right. Thank you.” Her worries for Evara hadn’t faded entirely, but the incident at the forest had been somewhat drowned out in her mind given everything that had happened before and since. She was... warmed, that he would so quickly focus on Ev’s troubles, even after she had all but forgotten.
Jesseck turned to take her own leave, but looked to Ash one last time and said, “The manor is guarded at all times. You are safe here, as is your family. I will... pray for you, Champion.”
----------------------------------------
Then there were two. Ash sat atop a long, cushioned purple couch and buried her face beneath her hands. She heard, and felt, Amell sit at the other end of the couch, but he didn’t speak to her as she drew a single lifelong breath.
“Stressed?” He quietly asked.
“A touch,” she scoffed.
“I can’t say I blame you. Be proud of yourself, though. You’ve been incredible so far. There aren’t many folk who can take on a Veytor checkpoint and live to tell the tale.”
“They weren’t the first Veytors we killed.”
“Aye, I found the first while I was tracking you. Those were the first, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Were those the first men you’ve...”
“Killed?”
“Yes, were those the first?”
“No, the first was a few weeks ago. A bandit.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why?”
He looked at her for the first time and she even managed to look at him. His eyes seemed so much warmer than the cold blue ought to allow. It was remarkable how much he reminded her of how Tilak, her father, had once been. He drew a breath through his split lip and said, “It would tell me a lot about you. About who you are. I would like to know who I fight for.”
Ash tried to recall the battle, and its prelude. She remembered the warmth of the blood and how grateful she was for it under the icy rains. She remembered his crooked and broken smile as he drew his hidden blade.
“You won’t like what you hear,” she whispered.
“And yet, I’ll stand beside you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, in truth. Maybe you remind me of my son, or maybe your Goden is forcing me to protect you. It matters not, for the result is the same. I wish to know who you are, beyond sparrows and fancy gloves.”
“Okay,” Ash sighed, “he was... a scout, I suppose. He wanted to know what kind of defences the village had.”
“Did you realise?” Amell quietly asked.
“No,” she laughed. “He told me he was a trader, and I believed him; fool that I am. Anyone else would have seen through him right away, but I guess I’m just not that good with people. Who could’ve guessed?”
“What happened?”
“A... real trader, Vamet, called out. He told me the man was a bandit, I think his name was Avante,” Ash recalled.
“Avante?” Amell repeated.
“Yeah, I think.”
“Avante just means ‘hello’,” Amell chuckled softly.
“It does? I called out, ‘who goes there?’ And he said, ‘Avante, white-hair.’ then something to do with having wares to sell.”
“I think he was just greeting you,” Amell said in a way that suggested he was trying to be gentle. “But, please, continue.”
“He, er, drew a blade,” Ash sighed as though it were a casual conversation, “after realising his cover was blown. I remember... black teeth. He was snarling. No, he was grinning. Smiling from ear to ear as he slashed for my heart. I barely managed to dodge before he slashed again, and again. He was savage, hungry for the kill. But, as strong and fast as he was, he was unskilled. I managed to beat him, get atop of him. I- I stabbed him. Again, and again, and again.” Ashtik paused for breath as the memory became more vivid. She could feel it again; the rain, the blood, the steel. She felt her dirk expertly slip his ribs, and she felt his heart pop against its tip.
“You were scared, nobody can blame you for a kill of emotion,” Amell tried to comfort.
“But that’s just it,” Ash scoffed, “I wasn’t scared. It wasn’t a passionate action. It was cold and calculated. I slipped the dirk perfectly into his lungs, then I dragged it right until I felt his heart. I plunged it down to shatter his sternum and quickly slit his throat. Then I just... stopped. I could have finished him quickly, but there was no point, he was beaten. I just listened as he begged for a life I could no longer save, even if I wanted to,” she sniffed but felt no risk of tears, “I have never been scared in a fight. Never feared for my life. I’ve been calm, and reasoned... and efficient.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I... hate myself. A monster should revel in death, a hero should mourn it. But me? I don’t care, I haven’t cared once. That’s not even the worst of it; do you know what phoenix ash is?”
“War flame,” he answered sadly.
“I burnt men, and boys, alive. I have no idea how many died and to be completely honest, I don’t care. They were going to hurt Evara, so I burnt them all with apathy. What does that make me?”
“There is a word for that,” Amell whispered. “For doing what is necessary, for killing who you must to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
“A Champion?” Ash sardonically guessed.
“A Queen.”
----------------------------------------
She sat alone in the great marble bath. It was closer to a lake than the dinky little tub that had been in her childhood home. She could swim laps in it but chose instead to float in the steamy waters as, for the first time in weeks, her mind was empty. It was as close to meditation as she could get without the woods, but it served just as well. She felt the stress of Championship bundle into little beads of sweat as they ran over her belly and were swallowed and forgotten by the baths.
Ashtik drew a single, perfect breath as she opened her eyes and inspected her new condition. As a huntress, she had garnered a few scars, but as a Champion; she was already covered. The worst of them lay at her hip. A large and garish slash against the dark and otherwise smooth flesh. A small one lay over her heart, where the Champion of White had tried to end her with his skinny little blade, and countless other little scratches had decided to stick along for the rest of her journey.
She looked to her left arm, or what little of it remained. The gauntlet was halfway up her bicep by this point. It had already consumed the smith’s inferior armguard that had lay there previously. Soon enough it would be her shoulder, then Godens only knows.
She didn’t panic at the sight. It wasn’t like an all-consuming cancer, but a muscle that she had trained and improved with each and every passing moment. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if that really was what she believed, or if it was just the easiest way to cope with the existential threat that was slowly consuming her.
None of it mattered. Beneath the steam and above the water, she lay. Each breath, a reward for her perseverance. Each muscle, loose at last. Each blink, slower and slower. She could almost fade away, almost.
“Cut through the throat and split the balls.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Okay, separate the head from the body, and the head from the jewels.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You’re the one with its balls in your hand.”
“Why do I have to do it like this, anyway? You don’t have to...”
“...Castrate.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to ‘castrate’ a deer.”
“Does that look like a deer?”
“Well, no. It’s a... Yaruk?”
“Close, the same family. This is a northern urai, see the extra horn?”
“How do you always know? Do you just know every animal?”
“I don’t know every animal. Just the ones in these forests. You’ll get there one day, Snowy.”
“No, I won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just... Evara’s half my age but she’s twice as smart, and Damen! He’s only a couple of years older than me, but he’s almost as big as you. What’s the point in practising with my spear when Damen will always be stronger than me? Why learn every animal, when Evara knows everything?... I’ll never be as good a hunter as you, Dad. I’ll never be as capable as Damen, or as bright as Ev. What’s the point in me?”
“Snowy... I- Look, Evy has a brilliant mind, Damen will probably grow to be twice my size given enough time, but neither of them are you. Neither of them see the world in the same way you do.”
“Great, that sounds like a participation trophy. ‘Oh, you’re not as good as anyone else here, but at least you aren’t blind!’”
“Just... Look at this Urai. Tell me about it, Snowy.”
“Why?”
“Do as you’re told.”
“Fine. It’s old; a father. It’s got a scar on its hind. Probably got it fighting a predator... No, the marks are small, three claws in a rising attack. It struck from low, but not beneath. It wasn’t an adult, but some young buck... His son.”
“Why were they fighting?”
“I... think the son wanted to take over the family, he attacked the father to show dominance.”
“What happened?”
“The buck was too young, too weak, but the father didn’t want to discourage him. He allowed the buck to strike, that he would learn how far he had yet to rise. That he would learn why the father had to stay in charge.”
“You are brilliant, Snowy. You don’t have to be as strong as a man because you can be better than him. You don’t have to be as intelligent as a scholar because you are wiser and you are kinder than them. Now stop wasting time and snip his nob off. I’m hungry.”
“I’m not eating its nob.”
“So fussy. Alright then, just get rid of it.”
“What?”
“Come on, get a move on.”
“No... That’s not right. You wouldn’t get rid of it.”
“Cut it out, I'm too hungry for this.”
“My dad wouldn’t waste anything... This isn’t how it happened... What’s going on?”
“Stop playing Snowy. Just get to snipping.”
“Why can’t I see you? Where even are we?”
“What are you talking about? We’re in the woods, look, it’s the urai.”
“There’s nothing there. We’re talking about something that isn’t there. I’m talking to you, but you aren’t there. What colour is the urai?”
“It’s... green? Are you feeling okay?”
“I- this isn’t real. I’m not here. You aren’t my dad.”
“Calm down, Snowy. Just sit back down.”
“How do you know if I stood up? What are you?”
“I... Just wanted to talk... in a way that made sense.”
“Who are you?”
Nobody important.