Darius Chapter 6

While Peskimir spoke to Sandy, Heldrus stood before his mother, wilting under her oppressive glare. She paced back and forth in front of him, her shouts echoing around his bedchamber.

“You useless, fool of a boy! I have NOT placed you where you are just so you can throw away our reputation with such a stupid, harebrained, ridiculous plan! You even went to the Bark & Tooles in person? Halfwit! Your father would have beaten you within an inch of your life for such an imbecilic mistake.”

Heldrus could handle the harsh words – he had grown used to them – but the feeling of disappointing her yet again and needing her to clean up his messes stung. He ventured further, trying to get all the bad out so that he could start anew, the son he should be.

“What will happen to Peskimir? She said she would keep my identity quiet – and I paid her well, I trust her.”

That was not the correct thing to say. Layla turned on him, her scowl piercing his soul.

“You TRUST her? You TRUST an assassin? You are ridiculous! I’d disown you if it wouldn’t cause such trouble. You wouldn’t make it one week without me.”

Layla had reached boiling point, and to Heldrus’s fortune, she stormed out of the room, leaving him to feel miserable. He lay down on his desk, smothering the various papers and scrolls, dry wax from his reading candles mixing with his hair and clothes as he compounded it. For a good half-hour, his head was empty, and he watched a spider design its web in the crooks of his triangular ceiling. It had a half-formed shape already established, and at times it would dangle down, extending its silk as it approached the floor, then it would climb back up and take the excess, sticking it or tying it – Heldrus didn’t know – onto a section of the web.

He felt bad for Peskimir. Aside from the significant prepayment she had pulled from him – a half-now-half-later kind of affair – she didn’t seem as dishonest as one might expect from a mercenary-for-hire. She was a ‘bad guy’, but not a bad, guy.

He thumped his head on the bench, feeling stupid for thinking about her and assuming so much, having only met her for a matter of fifteen minutes. He sprang off the bench and strode circles around the room.

“What are you doing? Why should you care? Just forget about it and get on with it, no more whining, no more failing.”

He took his new energy and burst out the door, racing down the battlements. He crossed the courtyards separating the castle and his home in a bound, and turning right at the steps, he faced away from the castle. A groundsman gasped in shock as Heldrus blitzed past, catching him sleeping at his post. Heldrus didn’t even notice him. The guards at the gate separating the Royal Castle from the rest of Erinstone unbarred a small door, wide enough to fit one man at a time, and let him out of the Royal Grounds. From there, he followed a dense brick path around the western perimeter of the wall, eventually arriving at the Armory. Racing to the door, he knocked hard, waited a few seconds, then kept knocking. A heavy key entered the lock, and hesitated, unsure if it was wise to open the door in the middle of the night.

“It’s me, Captain Heldrus Avongold, open up!”

Heldrus’s joyful spirit was not infectious enough to convince the armorer. A tiny, circular window opened about halfway up the door, and an enlarged eye peered up at Heldrus’s face. He heard a faint grunt when the armorer recognized him, and the door swung open. The armorer spoke in a gruff voice, none too happy with being woken.

“Wot the blazes could you be needing at this time of night?”

“I’ll need a full set of light armor, a short-sword and dagger, two sets of travelling rations and a pack.”

The armorer grunted again, deciding the list was an acceptably small amount of work. He was glad he only lit a single candle when he got up. Hobbling into a second room just out of sight, he scrounged around in a box of recent deliveries from the new blacksmith, Darius, who had been working on some repairs for him. He pulled out a mass of leather armor, untangling one piece from another. For the weaponry and rations, he went to two more rooms, the weaponry requiring another heavy key from a loop in his pocket. As he walked, he kicked around a small box, skittering it along the floor from room to room, piling up the components of the young captain’s request.

The poor treatment of his gear couldn’t break Heldrus’s good mood. He watched the armorer work with satisfaction, keen to execute his plan and place himself once again in his mother’s good graces.

The armorer returned, lifting the box up onto a long bench. He signaled to Heldrus.

“She’s all here, captain. Anything else you need, or can I get back to bed?”

Heldrus looked down at his feet for a moment before replying.

“Yeah, actually, I’ll need the same again for a couple of soldiers.”

The armorer looked displeased, a twitch of anger showing as he grimaced back at Heldrus.

“How many is a couple?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Heldrus clicked his teeth in thought, trying to come up with a way to say what he had to say without crushing any goodwill between himself and the armorer. He decided not to sugarcoat it.

“Hmmm...how about...fifty?”

The armorer sighed and began lighting candles.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Marth found himself with far too much time on his hands. The wedding had been delayed, the bandits that attacked his army also causing issues for invited guests trying to get to Erinstone. He had been left to his own devices, stuck in limbo between being an exalted guest and a part of the royal family. This left him with the freedom to explore on his own, not constrained by the security that seemed to accompany Lady Silfor everywhere she went.

He hadn’t seen much of his future wife for this exact reason. It was hard to get to know her when ten feet away, a pair of soldiers watched their every move, having no choice but to listen to every word said between them.

He had instead been occupying himself with learning the geography of Erinstone. Entering the kingdom, he had been astounded by the apparent complexity of its streets, infrastructure, and general density, not helped by the lack of explanation from Marcough. Luckily, the day after they had arrived, Lord Grenfell had managed to procure a map for them both, which showed a far simpler presentation than he had expected.

Looking from a bird’s eye view, the layout was relatively simple. Erinstone was essentially composed of four semi-circles, backed onto the coastline of the Premarantic Ocean. The smallest semi-circle, where he currently resided and would stay after his marriage to Lady Silfor, was the Royal District, a well defended outpost surrounded by the highest walls, guarded by the most capable soldiers, and home to the most powerful men and women of Erinstone. The royal family occupied the Ascot Keep, living in decadent rooms, served by a platoon of staff ranging from shoe shiners to literary coaches to full-time insect exterminators – to the King’s pejorative.

Outside the Royal District lay the largest district in the city, the Trader’s District. It comprised of almost all the infrastructure of Erinstone, starting in the far east with Darius’s Royal Forge, the military barracks and training grounds being straight south of the Royal District, and the Armory in the far west. Further south within the Trader’s District was home to the mostly non-military occupants of the city – merchants, entertainers, wealthier captains and knights, all manner of other occupations that could afford a modest existence. The streets here constantly bustled with people during the day, visiting the various market grounds studded around the place. It was also home to well-kept shrines, dedicated to the gods of the many religions practiced by the people of Erinstone.

The third district, Mouse’s Melee, intrigued Marth the most. Far in the past it had a name just as drab as the other districts, the ‘Outer District.’ It was renamed after a young man, nicknamed ‘Mouse’, who had attempted a royal coup, gatherings throngs of civilians and storming the Trader’s District where he picked up further followers, promising a siege of the Royal District. After getting beaten back by the barrage of soldiers guarding the royals, Mouse was hunted down and killed somewhere in the Outer District. His martyrdom was the catalyst for a full-scale clash between the people of the Outer District and the royals, leading to a melee that claimed hundreds of soldiers' lives, and thousands of civilians. The name started as a colloquialism, but garnered so much affection that even the official maps listed the area as Mouse’s Melee.

The defense of Erinstone began to weaken after this point. Mouse’s Melee was the last point that was built to reasonably withstand an invasion or siege. Past the protection of its only slightly dilapidated walls was the Farming District, occupied in its entirety by peasants and, to Marth’s dismay, slaves. In Barringvale, all forms of slavery had been outlawed the day his father had become king – a decision that hurt his popularity for a good many years, but eventually became one of his greatest pillars of support. The fields of Erinstone grew a variety of crops, however the cold sea breeze and salty air proved troublesome for the growth of hearty crops like radishes and beans. Instead, the Erinian diet consisted of tomatoes, capsicums, broccoli and cauliflower, often all combined into a stew with some type of meat, often mutton.

Marth felt like a spy, analyzing the weaknesses of the kingdom that not long ago he thought he might be going to war with. The wedding, when it finally went ahead, would hopefully mend the relationship between the two largest kingdoms on the continent.

“And if it doesn’t go well, all it would take to win a siege here would be the capture of the Farming District and a prolonged siege. Erinstone would be on rations in a month.”

Marth chuckled at the thought but realized it would soon be his duty to point out weaknesses like this. He would wait until the time came.

The landmark that drew his attention today was in the Trader’s District. He packed a light lunch of cheese and bread, donned a dark green cap to hide his stark blonde hair, and slipped out the door of his quarters, taking precaution to not let Grenfell know of his escape. His advisor had been a pest since they had arrived, struggling for a sense of purpose now that his timeline of marriage-related events was in shambles. As far as Marth knew, he had taken up knitting.

The interior of the castle was still as spotless as the day he arrived. The only change was the removal of the rolled-out red carpet that had signified his arrival. He made his way out, nodding to the various servants who approached, expecting an order. He waved them off, assuring them yes, he knew where he was going and no, he did not need a retinue of soldiers to accompany him. He walked out of the castle into the warmth of the sunlight and the soft scent of the gardens, enjoying the slight saltiness in the air. He compared it to Barringvale, where the saltiness was replaced by the strong aroma of roses and lavender, an extremely rare scent in Erinstone. Continuing to the gates, he removed his cap when the guards gave him a questioning look. The shock of blonde hair was all the verification they needed, a clear contrast to most of the population. In the Trader’s District, he followed the perimeter of the wall as Heldrus had done the night before, but in the opposite direction. He spotted a group of soldiers sparring in the training grounds, impressed by the stoic way in which they honed their skills, all in unison. He almost took a detour and went down to them, perhaps inviting one to spar with him.

“They’d probably refuse to swing at me if they realized who I am.”

He hadn’t had that luxury in Barringvale. He’d been beaten around the bush by more soldiers than he could count, but as he aged and got stronger, more experienced, he turned the tide on them, to the point that he had to be handicapped to some extent, depending on the opponent. For the new recruits, he sparred with no weapon, and against the captains, he had to choose one leg to hop around on for the entire fight. This sometimes got the better of him when he was a tad too confident, but the wooden swords never did lasting damage.

He shook the melancholy from his head and continued towards his destination.