The wind gently whipped Isten Blodyn’s long brown hair as the carriage moved doggedly onwards. The wooden beams beneath creaked from the stress of the uneven terrain and arduous journey.
The wintry air tasted fresh, and it was cool on the skin. Goosebumps lined his arms, though it was hard to tell whether it was from coldness or from the excitement that bubbled within him.
The pastoral greens surrounded him for miles around, and the silhouettes of serfs populated them, tirelessly working in the fields. As the carriage passed by, the great oaks in the forest behind waved him goodbye as the wind danced through their branches.
‘Finally,’ Isten thought, ‘I’m allowed to return to Pentref!’
Having passed his coming of age ceremony, Isten Blodyn could now return to the capital city for the first time in years to complete his introduction into court.
It was tradition for the nobility of Cymorth to send their children away to the countryside to be raised by the servants of their manors. They were to stay far away from the grand political intrigue that was infamous for its Machiavellian nature.
At least, that is what he thought aristocrats used as justification to send their children far away from all the thrills and excitement of the cities.
After turning sixteen, Isten had had enough of the remote sleepy villages where nothing exciting happened. He could only read about the exhilaration in history books and the biographies of those great men in days of yore.
“Master Isten!” Isten was jolted out of his thoughts by a shout. “It would be best to enjoy today, I don’t think we will have such good weather for much longer.”
The voice belonged to Trulliad, a trusted Blodyn family steward. Isten turned towards him and gave him a smile in agreement.
Despite the wind chill, the day was near perfect for winter. The sun blazed a trail in the clear sky, and it provided a bit of warmth for those in its gaze. The only sounds Isten could hear other than the carriage was the wildlife that chirped nearby. It was the epitome of peace.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a black shadow that loomed outside the carriage. Its stature was unnatural, not that of a human, nor an animal. He had a strange feeling it was looking at him. Although Isten couldn’t see it, incorporeal black claws rested upon the carriage windows. They slowly pierced through the glass like a ghastly spectre.
He turned his head in its direction, but the shadow beast was gone. It had flickered away into the surrounding planes as if it never existed. Isten hastily slid over to the window and looked outside. The serfs still toiled in the fields, life was unchanged.
He shook his head, unsure if what he sensed was real.
“Did you see that?” Isten asked Trulliad hesitantly.
“See what, Master Isten?” Trulliad responded with confusion.
Before Isten could reply, he was interrupted as the carriage started to shake. The ground began to vibrate, rattling the carriage wheels. They let out a low groan in pain.
Initially it was gentle, but it turned thunderous in a matter of moments. Dust flew into the sky, creating a dry, earthy smell that pervaded the air. The peaceful serenity was interrupted in a grand fashion as a massive presence charged towards Isten and his carriage. It drew closer and closer.
From the distance emerged a horde. Men, animals, and beasts alike marched forwards with determination, and hints of other emotions.
For some men, grim looks of trauma haunted their rigid faces. Yet for others, they were a mixture of a lax boisterousness. They laughed and joked with each other, while some broke out into conflict. Though, it was quickly ended by an officer on horseback who shot them with a shock of bright blue electricity. They crumpled to the ground and lay unmoving.
“Woah!” Isten cried out in wonder. “Did that officer use Malevolency against those men?”
“Indeed,” said Trulliad. “If you watch carefully, you can see the Malevolent energy pass through his body.”
Cadmium red energy surged within the officer’s body and was channeled through his sword. It finally shot out as a second strike of blue electricity. It hit a different group of men. They collapsed to the floor paralysed as blue sparks flickered off their bodies. He angrily shouted at the men, probably for their disobedience.
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“From the crest on the carriages and their clothing, they are a levied army of House Honnen.”
“Ah, they are of my Mother’s House?” Isten replied.
"Yes.”
After Trulliad’s response, Isten watched a figure on horseback separate from the main force. He was followed by an entourage of figures who scurried after him. They moved towards Isten’s carriage and flashed a signal of greeting.
Isten and Trulliad exited the carriage and met the man on horseback. He descended from his horse and greeted Isten with a slight bow. The winter sun glinted off his stunning armour.
“You must be the young master of House Blodyn, correct?” He asked with a gentle smile. His eyes flickered to the insignia on their carriage, then back to Isten.
“Lord Rupert of House Honnen.” Trulliad introduced the general to him.
“My pleasure, Lord Rupert. If I may, why is the army of House Honnen passing through Blodyn land?” Isten asked.
“I would have expected you to have received the letter by now…” Rupert rubbed his chin before he responded. “Well, no matter. Praeteritum has annexed Reinheit, our tribute state. House Honnen is sending out our levied armies to the frontier to bolster the defence of our nation.”
Isten drew in a breath. “Is there war on the way?”
“No. But I would say prepare for the worst. Could be heading that way; Praeteritum has been aggressively expanding… Citadel might take its chance too - if its council ever manage to agree to anything…”
Isten sighed in relief, war would be delayed for now. Trulliad prompted him and Isten straightened his posture, attempting to distil the creeping anxiety. A gentle breeze passed over head, it briefly caressed Isten’s hair before it parted for the distant sky.
Historically, Citadel and Cymorth have shared a border, yet conflict on the frontier was rare due to Citadel being a small city-state founded on a volcano.
However, Praeteritum was, and are, more dangerous. They are an expansionist state with an insatiable desire to annex land.
It was likely that Cymorth would be heading to war against the behemoth of a country, Praeteritum, in the future.
"I wouldn’t worry too much for now. Only small skirmishes have taken place at the frontier so far. The King’s advisors say that it will stay that way until Praeteritum consolidates it power.” Rupert said consolingly.
“We are quite fortunate that we are on our way to Pentref, Master Isten,” Trulliad reassured Isten. “I believe your father must have foreseen this and took precautions for your safety.”
Isten gave a tight-lipped smile in response, grimly accepting their analysis on the potential for war.
A savoury fragrance drifted over to the group with the wind, coming from the nearby army camp. It distracted Isten due to its palatable aroma, which temporarily overwhelmed the earthy smell of disturbed dust.
“Ah yes. I came to let you know that on the road towards Pentref the nearby beasts have been cleared out by our army. You should have a smooth journey as long as you do not stray too far from the path we took.” Rupert gave Isten a wink.
Beasts were a form of mutated animals, often with the ability to use Malevolency.
“That will make our journey much easier,” Trulliad replied. “You have our gratitude for passing this information on.”
“What type of beasts did you encounter before reaching us?” Isten inquired.
“I thought you would be interested, Isten!” Rupert chuckled. “We mainly encountered half-transformed beasts, but we did find a lycanthrope leading a pack of overgrown wolves. Took him down myself actually!”
“Awesome!” Isten exclaimed. Rupert smiled in response.
“We have some remains left over of the half-transformed wolves. I should be able to persuade one of the craftsmen to make a Channeler’s weapon for you, if you would like?” Rupert offered.
“That would be most kind, Lord Rupert. Would you like to negotiate a price for the weapon?” Trulliad responded appreciatively.
“No need for payment,” Rupert waved him off. “Come with me steward, we have much to discuss about the state of Pentref. I’d wager that your information is a little outdated.”
Rupert and Trulliad set off in the direction of the temporary encampment, followed closely by Rupert’s retinue. The wind had petered out towards the end of the conversation and the atmosphere stilled. But the din of the camp more than made up for its absence.
Isten turned around and made his way back to his carriage. He sat down with a book and waited for the return of Rupert and Trulliad.
“Excuse me, is there anyone inside?” An aged voice probed from outside the carriage.
“Yes, just a moment.” Isten responded. He placed a bookmark onto his page and stepped outside. A haggard old woman looked up at him from the ground, though her appearance was distorted as she was shrouded in a black veil.
“Young Lord, why is there an army passing through our village?” She inquired, her voice fatigued; her arms twitched slightly, one after the other.
“There is word from the frontier that Reinheit has fallen to Praeteritum…” Isten trailed off. As mentioned Praeteritum, he watch the old woman’s body convulsed. He took a step forward, off the carriage, to help her. But, her arm cracked backwards at an unnatural angle.
Her neck snapped 90 degrees to the left. Both her arms, one straight, the other broken, attempted to right it into place. It failed.
A malformed smile grew upon her face. Feral eyes stared intensely at him. As she breathed through her rotten teeth, Isten could smell something malodorous within. He tried to recoil, but her broken arm snatched his hand, pulling him back.
A haunting voice whispered from her mouth, “Two survive as one dies; one dies from another’s lie.”
“Ack!” Isten shouted in surprise. He ripped his arm free from her grip, and the sound of cracking and grinding resonated from her. He staggered backwards distancing himself from the horror in front of him. She paid no heed to her body’s state.
“Two survive causing another’s demise, a single lie is all it takes for one more to die.” Rhythmic words croaked from her mouth. Her body collapsed into itself. Blood poured from her orifices and pooled beneath her. She continued, taking a step towards Isten.
“Draped down and hooked into death’s hearth; the child is forced to flee infested with a parasitic heart.” The final sentence branded itself into Isten’s mind. Prophetic in nature, its deliverance as a nursery rhyme.