Chapter One - End of Ropes

Sweat dripped from the edges of Carlon’s brow. Cascading into his irritated eyes as they peered the first glimpses of the sun in weeks. Carlon hated how hot it was outside. It was never this hot so far North. Not even at the height of the summer solstice was it this unbearable. It was peculiar that today of all days felt like it was a veritable forge outside. The sun’s rays shooting through the seams of the overlapping darkened clouds, almost shooting directly at him. His eyes squinted and cringed – neck twisting away from their scorn.

The air was stale with a putrid stench of the assembled masses as the wind seemed still as a corpse. Fortunately the day was still mid morning and the heat hadn’t reached its zenith.

‘At least that's one discomfort I won’t have to suffer on this day’, he thought, chuckling to himself. A small smile creeped on his bloodied face.

“Arghh!” Carlon cried out in pain. He tumbled to his side on the wooden platform. Awkwardly, he tried to reach around to soothe his wounded side with his shackled hands. He could only gasp and groan as the pain emanated to the rest of his mangled body.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

The deafening chant of the mob of mindless peons roared in satisfaction. The loose stones of the plaza shaking from the intensity. Permeating as an almost inhuman roar ripping across the plaza.

“Oiy? What's wrong milord? You’se not smiling no more? Ain’t this funny? Eh your royal ‘ihness?” The hunched, crooked tooth headsman sneered a twisted grin. He loomed over him carrying a massive sword typical of his gruesome craft. The headsman's skin flaked from sunburn. His fingers bony and yellow nails that looked sharper than his sword. What Carlon revolted most about the man was how he would scratch his skin. Dead flakes chipping in all directions. To him he was truly a disgusting creature not worth the bare consideration of being referred to as a man.

Had this been a week prior, he would have had the man executed with his own sword for being in his very presence. Only had his mood been merciful though. A sturdy rope and a tree was all he needed. A quick snap of the neck and it was done; No fanfare or spectacle from something that should be done quickly. Now he wanted nothing more than to douse him in scalding oil burn flaying every morsel of his skin like his deranged Aunt was so fond of. He looked on to the disgusting rabble. Had this been a week prior he would have every man, woman, and child here hung up by their thumbs, flayed alive then dunked in barrels of salt water! Everyone they ever knew would have watched it happen as he had them beaten for being of their ill gotten ilk!

Yet none of that would happen.

His last moments would be of their incessant barking! It made him sick! They were disgusting creatures! The whole lot of them! Like little leeches that only knew how to suck the blood from the lame and unwashed! Their presence was like a pestilence! Not even worthy of the life he helped ensure they had!

He loathed every last one of them! He would curse everyone of them in his death!

Five years wasted so that they could still call themselves proud denizens of Aparthat! Five years as a King that worked tirelessly that their enemies remained outside their borders and their allies from co-opting their land! A Kingdom that was so far in debt that even the nobility would be resorting to begging on the street! The entire peerage sorted into dregs with those they rule over!

Betrayers, the whole lot of them!

Traitors that should be hanged!

Being pushed forward he could see the platform up ahead. It was constructed on the central plaza. Its white stone was a shining beacon for civilization and prestige in this shithole. Normally only those of the peerage and their closest vassals were even allowed to ascend the two massive steps that descended down in the city. Only the most noble of Knights guarded the steps against the common rabble. The plaza was a place for nobility to inhabit and live. Shops and estates for his peers alone.

Now there were hundreds of their kind littering the plaza. Dirting its white stone with their bare unwashed feet!

It was utterly vile and disgusting!

Beyond the plaza was the single gate to the palace. The royal palace situated as a beacon for a hundred leagues in all directions for those to stare in awe. Standing proud for nearly eight hundred years as a monument to his forebears and triumphs of Aparthatan Kings. Such titans like himself were included in that pantheon. He would die with his back to it. His crown stripped from him by some nameless rebel as a trophy. Sullied from such undeserving hands.

“No! No, please have mercy!” A wailing cry shouted out as before the masses screamed in a frenzy – an older man by the sounds of it. One that was now carrying the countenance of a blithering child. Taking this execution without any shred of dignity and indignation. The loud ‘thunk’ of the blade striking flesh and wood pierced his ears, silencing the wailing in an instant. This was followed by an even louder cheer from the mob.

The head of the decapitated rolled off the platform steps towards him. Lord Sopper, he realised. It was hard to tell with the blood stains and the swollen face but the balding red hair was striking. The bodiless head’s mouth agape with shock. Eyes already turning to glass as even the man’s typical hazy stare was now permanently fixated until rot came. He had at least a minutus amount of sympathy towards the man. Sure Sopper had been a lowly Baron who cared more about coins than loyalty but his former vassal’s resources served him faithfully for years.

Sopper himself wouldn’t be missed though. Not by him, at least.

The crowds yelling raised even louder as he ascended the steps. Beyond it he could see past the stone railing separating the six hundred and fourteen steps on both sides. It was a dizzying twenty five pole drop from its center ledge. The face of the ledge was adorned with an intricate carved relief of past battles and momentous moments in Aparthat’s history. It was a priceless homage to their Kingdom's glory.

Now it was being used as a target for their vile defecation and rancid slop. Staining centuries worth of pride with unspeakable disrespect. It was just another insult that he would have given no quarter or remorse about enforcing the swiftest of punishments. He wanted to curse at them. Yell at the top of his lungs but found himself at a loss for words. What was the point? What good would drying the shame of animals that cared nothing but senseless violence?

So he would waste his breath on these undeserving creatures.

Instead he found this moment to be one of a surreal visage. It was breathtaking just to stand atop the plaza and gaze out to the royal capital; Kasepter. One of, if not, the first cities ever built on the continent. Nearly half a million residents made this city their home. Faded gold and blue painted roofs for all the buildings that reflected the sun's rays. The distinct arrow shaped battlements that formed the walls of the city. The rolling hills and rivers past their proper limits. The mountains dotting the horizon.

Carlon held his breath.

How long has it been since I just stared out at this view?

He pondered this, taking this brief interlude to dwell on that question. When he was younger he often stood at this spot to help spur his ambitions to become King. Given the circumstance he should be terrified but he felt more melancholy at how much time he wasted. So much he never got to see because of his goals. Time wasted helping these awful wretches that now spurned everything he had done to make their lives better.

Now all that was all for nothing!

“Carlon Vomal Curzon! You stand accused of more crimes than any other in our Kingdom's history! So many in fact it wouldn’t do justice to say them all as even speaking such depravity aloud has its limits.”

Letting go of his breath he rolled his eyes over to the two people he hated most in this world. Rather, the two people he hated that still lived despite many attempts to the contrary; Castewin and Ralfus. They stood off to the side. Both dressed gaudily in their intricately plated armor. Weapons adorned like glorified cod pieces. They were fools that knew more about swinging a sword than simple counting. The two of them together barely knew how to make change with a handful of coins, let alone know the intricacies of maintaining a national treasury.

They hadn’t changed since they were children.

Carlon snorted obnoxiously. They were still children after all. Playing heroes while real men did important work. It’s no wonder than connected well with the uneducated rabble.

“That’s my liege to you, Bastard,” he retorted.

“Really brother? I see you still haven’t changed, even at the end. Still too proud to admit even a smidgen of blood ties?”

He spat at the bastard’s feet. Such words levied to Carlon like a grave insult. Even more than having his crown taken from him. “You and I are not brothers! Whatever title you give your mother, a low born whore is all she really was!” He sneered, reigning in his anger to stab into the bastard’s smug form. “Really, I was so glad when I had my Knights track her down. I heard they had a good time with her. I heard she moaned with the things they made her – Arhhk!”

Carlon recoiled from his bastard brother’s strike. One that came too swiftly to see. In spite of the pain it was amusing to see how riled up Castewin was when he mentioned her. That look of utter hatred and contempt filled him with a sense of fulfilment he just couldn’t get enough of. It was better than wine. Much better than simply executing a man too.

“Don’t you dare speak her name! You killed them both! Mother and father were murdered by you!” Castewin shouted, raising his fist back for another strike. His gnarled teeth and eyes of fury only made Carlon smirk. How easy it was to make this bleeding heart fool enraged by those two worthless sacks of skin was amusing. He was glad they were both dead. One less whore and an undeserving father in the world made it all the better.

“Relax Cousin, this will soon be over with. Any more anger now only weakens you,” the Kingdom's biggest idiot, Ralfus said, placing a hand on his bastard brother’s shoulder. He amazed Carlon to no end how someone so clueless was now King. His Uncle’s eldest Son and the ‘rightful’ heir. Between the two, Ralfus made Castewin look like a genius and that's saying a lot from a great mind like Carlon. In terms of a successor he could name anyone else more capable than his thick witted Cousin.

Carlon cursed at his successor's face. “I see you're not upset that I killed your father, King Ralfus,” he spat in disgust at calling him that. Disgusted by the notion but wouldn’t let that stop him from twisting the knife. “Seems to me that you gained a lot out of my actions. You’re now the King and Aparthat’s future is assured thanks to my work. It appears dumb luck has favoured you once again”.

Any response that could have been formed by the fool King was interrupted by his half brother. That look of anger was replaced with a clear visage of irritation.

“Aparthat’s future is assured? Even after all this time you still cannot face the truth of what's really happening! You still think we waged this rebellion because it’s the realms of man we're afraid of? Some means to ensure the Kingdom has coins to spend?” Castewin violently shook his head. His arm cast out to the sky. “We are fighting for our very survival! All the evidence you’ve been shown! The deaths! The vile corruption of the lands! Now the time of the Fostor Sotnas is upon us! Can you not see for yourself? Can’t you see the sky right in front of you?”

It was truly laughable.

Being moments away from death made it all the more amusing. The chopping block was less than a foot away even more so. The sight of the headless corpse being thrown into the burning pyre with the rest. An overwhelming smell of shit and piss staining the wood from those who were terrified of their impending death. Masses of people shouting for his head with more incense on entertainment than actual retribution.

All for the summation of two fools' grand delusions.

“Evidence? You mean some vile looking beasts and bad weather? Claiming the world will end by the flimsy rhetoric of some religious doctrine”, Carlon viciously shook his head. Why was he even bothering? What words could reach those who could barely tell right from left? This was such a pointless conversation it irritated the former King more than the heat.

“It’s all real! There are signs of it even now! The time when the sky will–”

“–Will turn red and the sun will become black, the stars vanishing from the sky, never to cast light again. Yes, yes, you’ve shouted it many times already,” Carlon interrupted as he stared blankly at the two usurpers. “Just get on with this already. I am more than aware that my death will be at the cost of your madness. At least I’ll die with the satisfaction that this rotten Kingdom will be run into the ground because of you both! Do you hear me? Can you even comprehend it? You're all going to suffer without my guidance!”

“Kill him!”

“Cut off his fucking head!”

“Get on with it!”

The chanting from the masses only spurred those two rotten bastards to put him out of his misery. Motioning the guard to shove his head over the blood soaked block Carlon ground his teeth at the scraping of the splintered wood on his neck. His eyes cast down into the basket below him for a moment. A severed head already making the wicker its home. It was repugnant to think his own head would be next to in a few moments.

Like some sort of barbaric trophy.

In the corner of his eye he caught the black sandals of the headsman. The man’s large shadow casting over him. An audible grunt as the piece of filth lifted the massive axe. A good and bad sign. Typically when the headsman is fresh the blade would only take one swing. But the executions started at first light from the sounds of the cheering. On top of being the one everyone wanted to see suffer the most due to the lies fed to them by Ralfus and Castewin.

Carlon knew this would not be swift. He would suffer more than one stroke before his head left the rest of his body. The shadow of the headsman cast over him. The silhouette of arms carrying a large axe being raised high up above loomed. Over thirty years of mucking through this rotten life only to wind up here.

This was it. The final moment of his life.

His breathing slowed. Muscles relaxed. Casting his eyes up he could see the crowd below stand with a motionless fervour. They were quiet now. Not a sound from them or anyone on the execution platform. No blade against his neck. Just a calm that he never expected to find.

.

.

.

RuN FrOm ThIs PlAcE!

Back tightening, Carlon felt something speak. Not just an auditory action but a physical one. His limbs felt a compulsion to stand up. Such a thing would only end one way; Death. However, in each outcome the result would lead to the same result. So against his better judgement he pushed himself up. There was no effort or retaliation to force him back down – no one taking their blade to his flesh.

Gingerly the former King reached out and touched the headsman’s elbow with his bound hands. It didn’t budge even slightly. He looked to the two usurpers to see they were like everyone else. Ralfus’s arm outstretched, pointing towards one of the Knights. Castewin crooked his neck away with his eyes closed tightly. They all stood frozen. Like statues made real. Stiff and motionless. It was surreal. Like some twisted fantasy in the recesses of his mind brought forth into reality. Completely at his mercy in any other situation.

mOvE!

No rational explanation for this, Carlon didn’t wait to find out what sort of trickery was taking place. Such an extreme situation would have merited much pondering on its possibility and its potential. It would be so easy to make use of this indescribable event to kill Ralfus and Castewin. To take this moment and make them suffer for making all his efforts to save the Kingdom so much harder. But this wasn’t the time or place for such things. Survival came first. Yes, he needed to live in order to rally his few allies in neighboring lands to eventually come back and save this Kingdom from the folly of these two fools.

Even while wounded and fighting through the biting pain, he ran towards the palace. There was a hidden passage within that would lead him to safety. Preparations had been made well in advance for such an eventuality; it was just poor timing that kept him from reaching it before the traitors found him in his inner chambers. His own bodyguard had turned on him showing the usurpers where he had hidden himself away.

Just another person he would spare no measure of mercy on when he returned.

There were no great thresholds to cross nor were there any great obstacles that would bar his path. Once one reached the top landing of the great steps it was fairly open to reach the main palace portcullis. A hidden side door was able to be accessed from a small servant accessway on the west side of the interior walls. Yes, it would be a straight shot at freedom if he made it to that point.

He was sputtering and breathing deeply trying to run as fast as he could. Sharp aches from his joints were hindering his progress. His lungs were wheezing and desperate for more air as he pushed hard with every step. Such strenuous physical activity was well beyond anything he had to endure in the last twenty years. He was thin and lanky, yet always seemed to struggle with physical tasks even as a boy. It only made sense to him much later that men in his position always had some lowly attendant to do the running for him.

Now with the heat, battered flesh and physical strain he was floundering to make it to the palace walls fast enough – barely crossing halfway to the passageway. The few people that he could see were starting to show slight twitches in their movement. This strange phenomenon was wearing off leaving him only the small chance to duck into one of the smaller manors that made up Kaseptor’s more noble districts. Most were larger estates taking on a more foreign decor from the neighbouring nation, Gemingen. Which sadly left him with many small nooks, cellars, and alcoves to use. Not ideal places to hide but should allow him more time to rest.

Soon enough shouting and yelling began to echo through the air as the people around him began to move once again. The outrage and surprised cries of the mob echoing throughout the city.

“Sotaufor!” Letting slip a silent curse from his lips he quickly halted as he passed a narrow alley that cut between two lesser estates.They were three floored manors that thankfully blocked the sun to provide some shade from the blistering heat. Crouching low he managed to duck behind a rubbage bin just as the sound of clanking metal and stomping heels approached.

“Fan out! We have to find him before he escapes!” Strutting behind the line of Knights was a man with a noticeably smaller build and thinning grey hair that reached his shoulders. The man stood in the middle of upper plaza street stroking his thick moustache with a stoicism that showed how little such events had weighed on him. This man was one person Carlon would enact the most retribution on once he returned; Sir Rudgar, the self proclaimed religious Custos of all Knights within the realm.

The traitorous bastard swore an eternal oath to guard and protect him when he took the Aparthatan throne. An oath of that was prided on by anyone who took upon the crest of a Royal Aparthat Knight – a Custos even more so if he cared for such things. In the past many that held the auspicious title had stuck by their charges even when they held the most extreme of temperaments. Sir Rudgar took the oath to protect his life with what had to be the greatest restraint of disdain. Never in his six years as King did he give the man an order that wasn’t questioned, second guessed, or bent to undercut his plans.

Not once had either placed a small measure of trust in the other. Only the reputation of Sir Rudgar kept him from sending the man away to his small hovel in the southern region or to the fringes of the Northwest to circumvent the wild marauders that plagued the lands.

Within this frenzied chaos of Knights trying to search for him, one went up to his former protector to give a report. “Sir Rudgar, we’ve already sent word to all the main gates. They’ll be stopping anyone who tries to leave.”

Pulling at the end of his moustache, Sir Rudgar cast his gaze over his direction for a moment, forcing him to crouch lower. A part of him was certain that he was spotted by the traitor's sharp eyes. Even without his hands bound there wasn’t even the smallest of chances to somehow fight his way free from the Custos. Despite despising the man, his title as the greatest Knight in Aparthat was merited.

“Good, carry on with the search. Make sure every inch if the city is searched,” Sir Rudgar ordered. Thankfully it appeared his assumption was wrong. Sir Rudgar turned away, giving him the chance to flee once more.

Cutting through the alleyways he was finding them bare of occupants. He assumed there would be at least one or two of the rabble meandering through these mossy and cluttered alleyways. Only the odd rat scurrying by was all he had seen thus far. Even with the capital recovering from a state of rebellion there should have been more opportunist looters skulking around.

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“Perhaps my incarceration was longer than I assumed”, he muttered bitterly once more at how egregious his treatment had been these past few weeks. Taking solace in that he would escape through his own merit and the reckoning he would bring back with him. The capital was only one city taken by surprise. His allies were far more plentiful in the outlying territories.

Coming up to the palace walls he found a flag holder nailed to the side of a building. The Aparthatan flag was ripped and torn with the pole cracked half way down. A very unpleasant sight for him to witness. Just actions were as treasonable as slandering the King. But given the current state of affairs it posed an opportunity. The rusted metal holding the flag was bent and serrated.

Raising up his hands, Carlon began to cut at his bindings. The ropes chafed, having already rubbed the skin on his wrists raw at this point. The reddish-purple rings that now marked his wrists were still obvious to anyone what had been the cause of such injuries. Once adorned with gold bangles, now were stained with the markings of a prisoner. Still, cutting off the red stained bindings was a measure of relief for the multitude of pain his body felt.

Just beyond him now were the sprawling white washed stone of the palace walls which loomed overhead. There were no battlements or sentry posts built on the walls. The great steps acted as the greatest buffer for any invading force so any need for even more defensive capabilities was seen as redundant for a palace meant to present an image of power and prosperity.

Once more it seems luck was favouring him. The wider gap in the street was clear on both sides. Taking the chance he hobbled quickly to the servants door, noting with even more great fortune and irritation that the lock had been broken off. Likely the rebels had used this point as well to circumvent the inner gates and take the castle with little effort. A spy must have made this servant entrance known as it was only used by the most loyal and dedicated of vassals. Anyone else would have had to go through the front gate where they’d be searched and had their identities verified.

With Castewin’s men and the other traitors expecting him to try to escape through the masses down below he could use this chaos to take his initial intended route. Even Sir Rudgar was unaware of all the passages that led to the underground. Nor did he have the sprawling maze memorised. With three exits that stretched far beyond the outlining plains of the Aparthat capital it never failed to amaze him how the earliest Kings had made tunnels that sprawled hundreds of leagues.

It didn’t matter how many men the usurpers dedicated to their search, he would be in one of his many hidden strongholds he had built throughout the Kingdom. From there he could get a message out to his allies in Gemingen to rally some form of support with his allies to begin to take back his throne. No doubt the Chancellor would be keen to regain an ally that had his back during their ongoing war with Vauquelin. Carlon very much doubted that Ralfus would continue to support the Aparthat and Gemingen partnership as he likely sought aid from the orthodox nation.

Within the castle walls now it was only a small way towards his bedchamber. Feeling safer now as he stopped at a large, person size portrait, of the first Aparthat ruler, Datilan Verkil Kespelt. The portrait was no doubt an exaggeration of the man. No ruler in the past or present isn’t prone to inflating their own self images through such mediums. The striking and cutting figure of the silver haired, green eyed first King was evident of that. The unnatural hair colour for the man’s denoted age was a large indicator of that. So was how he was wielding a staff, calling down fire from the sky like some magical hero. Yet he would begrudge his predecessor for laying the foundations as the fifty ninth King since Aparthats’ founding. Although it wasn’t like he himself couldn’t simply muster better architecture and systems to rule. If he hadn’t taken over such a mess as King then likely he would be as revered as the First King. His intellect was far beyond anyone of those archaic times.

For now though Carlon obliged himself of what was likely the First King’s most brilliant idea of the time…

With a small click near the base of the portrait the length of it unlatched from the wall, swinging open just enough for him to slip through. As expected the passageway was narrow, musty and provided little in the way of light. Small cracks along some of the other entryways pointed towards his intended exit without the aid of a lantern. Not that he needed such a thing when he had the route held to memory. Carlon himself had relied on using this passage on such rare occasions where he needed to sneak out of the castle for his more discreet rendezvous with his more prominent allies.

Not that it still wasn’t an unpleasant experience.

Dust and other debris filled the space to a degree that it took great restraint to keep him from coughing or letting out an unintentional sneeze. Something he considered from the stomping of boots and hollering from the otherside of the wall to be a matter of life and death.

Holding back such a reflex Carlon slowly edged toward his own alterations to the passage which helped him immensely in the past.

Perhaps cliche and a bit simplistic he had many of the hidden passage portraits altered around the eyes to move with a small slip. In doing so he could glance through the eyes of the life size monarchs and lords they portrayed to stealthily watch and spy upon those who stayed in his castle. Many important guests were unaware that he was watching their hidden vices and secret trappings while they remained none the wiser to his presence. Hence why Carlon was able to peer across his antechamber to where the secret passage out of Kaseptor was kept sealed.

The antechamber was clear. Ransacked beyond recognition along with his bedchamber, no doubt, but clear of any who were currently after his head.

Gingerly sliding the portrait open he stepped out onto the cold stone before closing the entrance behind him. Carlon couldn’t help grin maliciously at the portrait, taking a moment of reprieve to admire the irony of it. The Fifty Eighth King, Walgen Trule Kespelt; His direct predecessor and the man whom he himself conspired and killed to take the throne. Granted his way was done so in a less bloody means and without sending the entire Kingdom to all but cut itself in half. But then again, it took even his immeasurable intelligence and cunning to make such a thing happen over the span of decades. It seemed almost lazy to simply rally the peasantry over two years and use a surprise attack to take what he worked hard to make his.

“You would find it funny that the son you spurned is now King,” Carlon spoke to the portrait, feeling uncharacteristically empathetic to the former rulers’ intentions. While not a bad King when compared to the dozens before him, Dalgem lacked drive to match the respected cunning that many afforded to him. Perhaps if things were truly different and fate had been kinder he might have actually felt kinship with the man.

Unfortunately fate held no power over the pettiness of man, King or not.

“True, Lord Ralfus was certainly not his own first choice for King but perhaps that's the reason why we need him now more than ever.”

Carlon flinched, nearly twisting around to impale his neck on the sword held to it. The familiar shine catching his eye at the same time the unique scent of the daggery flower oil that coated the blade hit his nostrils. He knew the sword all too well but had never had the displeasure of knowing the sharp end of it until the day he was usurped. The infuriating smirk adorned by its wielder only cut deeper into him as he was seemingly outplayed.

“Sir Rudgar,” Carlon seethed. His intentions and plans for the future shrivelling up inside him as this barrier now stood behind him like an insurmountable wall. “Of everyone who dwells within the borders of Aparthat, none have vexed me more than you.”

“Given the circumstances I consider that a compliment,” the well aged Knight replied, stroking the wild hairs at the end of his pepper white moustache. The man then gestured toward the portrait, knowingly answering his burning question. A tone of wistful humour laced his answer, much to Carlon’s continued chagrin. “You know when I was nothing but a squire who barely knew one end of the blade from the other I got overly zealous during my first night watch and wound up stabbing this very sword through the portrait of King Dafrem. You can imagine what was going through my head at the time. Truly thought my luxurious path towards becoming a Knight had ended there and then. There was certainly no hiding the puncture shaped hole in the King’s nether region. Of course King Dafrem woke up the next morning half asleep as I was on my knees awaiting punishment. He took one look at where the puncture in the portrait was and started laughing. Never seen a man so old roll around on the ground with such biting laughter. When I asked him why he said he struggled to stay still for three full days while the snobbish Master painter created the piece and called it his life's crowning achievement. The King simply thought it now looked ten times better with the hole in it.”

“And now I am being thwarted by his mistake to properly administer even a modicum of order and discipline,” Carlon stated. His own knowledge of his predecessors’ predecessor was staggered due to numerous conflicts and a severe lack of interest in writing things down. A large factor in why Aparthat became near destitute and was just on the cusp of recovering from – due to his efforts, naturally.

Needless to say, Dafrem was unmistakably the Grandfather of Ralfus.

“Very true. No doubt I’d have faced everything I feared that morning and worse if you were the King at that time. You have never been shy to speak your mind even when it went against your scheming.”

“Given the circumstances I consider that a compliment,” Carlon replied mockingly of Rudgar’s own comment. “If my failing is to be known for future Kings it should certainly be that leniency in the face of dissent was tolerance towards the blade that led to my own end.”

“You had many talents, Lord Curzon, but tolerance was certainly not one of your virtues. Your moniker as the King of Ropes was well earned and not lost on many who wished the same done to you. Whether I stood by your side or not this outcome was inevitable. You may have held dominion over the conflicts of man but no amount of cunning could stand in the doom that Fostor Sotnas presents.”

Hearing this made Carlon’s brow furrow, teeth gritting to the point they almost hurt. Of everything he had come to hate over the last two years it was ‘Sol Finalis this and Fostor Sotnas that!’ It was like madness had consumed the lands and robbed everyone of their senses! He had assumed this to be a plot devised by Burle but even Aparthat’s deepest enemy had fallen victim to its own plague of extremist religious revolts. With this fictional banner rallying the peasantry it became all the easier to manipulate them toward the causes of usurping him.

Unfortunately even after countless coins and more resources spent than he cared to admit his sources couldn’t find the person or group responsible for concocting this farce. Always coming back to him empty of anything tangible but always with hearsay and conjecture from tomes from the age where knowing when an eclipse would take place would make the slow witted believe that person possessed supernatural knowledge.

Utterly ridiculous!

“I think we’ve prattled on enough… Just return me to the execution platform and get this over with already.”

Rudgar silently nodded, grasping Carlon firmly on the shoulder, escorting him toward the main courtyard. Any further words between them were over now. Lord and servant never one they would have claimed to admit with pride nor would the latter likely speak of in pleasant company. Even Carlon knew the heroic actions of his traitorous royal guard would be marred with as much praise from the peasantry as scorn by the Peerage who took such pledges of loyalty like their own kin.

Carlon would have no sympathy for the man no matter what sort of end he met days, weeks, months, or even years from now. Whatever state of nothingness took him after losing his head there would be a satisfaction knowing he stripped the holy Custos of his pledge to protect him from all enemies within and without the realm of Aparthat. Something he knew would stay with Rudgar until his last breath.

It was unnaturally quiet in the castle now. The central courtyard being the home of neatly maintained foliage by the head gardener. It was a place he cared little for beyond its purposes to grow flowers that made the special dyes which marked the royal garments of the Aparthatian King in the traditional gold and opal hue. There were usually sharp beams of sunlight that caught the reflection of the perfectly washed marble pillars that surrounded the courtyard. Even on cloudy days it was a source of light where many castle residents would flock to socialise.

Strangely however, the courtyard seemed dark. What light was shining down had an almost reddish saturation. Even stranger was that the blistering heat had vanished. Chills ran up Carlon’s back. With a sharp exhale he caught a plume of his breath in the air like it was the middle of winter.

“Oh no,” he caught Rudgar whispering. “It’s already happening? I thought we had more time.”

Being pushed toward the centre of the courtyard Carlon found himself doubting his own eyes as he caught the visage of the midday sun now a striking blood red. More than that the clouds and even the sky were now darkening to a point seen at twilight, severely limiting his vision. It was enough that he struggled to make out the greater details of what looked like a flock of birds flying ahead in the distance.

Of course this strange weather phenomenon held every aspect of what was preached to him over the last few years. Something that made him more angry than changed his perception of everything he knew about the world. Science, logic, and rationality pushing past absurdity and the unprecedented sight before him.

“I don’t know what trickery this is but I assure you this won’t make me fall to my knees to pray to some fictitious idol,” Carlon declared to the stupefied Royal Knight. “Whatever you think this means is–”

As if defying his own defiance of the situation, the ground, no, the whole castle began to rumble. If he wasn’t being held up by the old Knight he would have lost his balance. Carlon had never experienced an earthquake before now. He had heard about them from writings made by scholars who visited Drudo. They described it as a brief tremor, causing cracks in architecture and roads. A major inconvenience to the more poorly constructed dwellings, sure, but nothing so violent.

The marble stones that were hand sculpted when building Castle Datilan had lasted for centuries. There was barely a scratch on any part of them beyond what was inflicted by accident or recently during the revolt. Yet now centuries of majestic stature was breaking apart like dry sand. Hallways were collapsing in on themselves, pillars shattering like glass, and strangely enough the green foliage and colourful flowers of the courtyard turned a sickly black.

“Ghreeeeck!”

As if everything falling apart around him was maddening enough, Carlon found himself collapsing to the ground, clasping his ears as a blood curdling scream rang out across the sky. Looking up he found what he initially took as a flock of birds quickly becoming larger and descending faster than any bird he had seen before. One in particular seemed to be diverging from the rest towards the courtyard. Like a ballista bolt threatening to tear apart anything in its path. Now easily within sight, the dark shape now formed what looked to be arms and legs with the deformed wings on its back. With a flick of its wings the dark figure sent a sharp gust as a means to stop just shy of the blackening grass underneath it, flapping above with unnatural ease.

In its full glory now the visage of some inhuman monstrosity burned itself into Carlon’s mind. Sharp nails like gate spikes extruded from its hands and feet. A thin yet muscular physique made up most of what seemed to be a genderless human-like body. Wings like a bat, but more defined yet still thin enough to show the veiny musculature when they flapped on the large of its back. What stood out even more though was how disgusting the creature's face was; Lacking eyelids and staring unblinking were three pupiless red eyes, no discernable nose except for two slits where it should have been and teeth that were fighting for space in just about every direction except straight.

Carlon forced himself to slam his hand over his nose. The scent of burning ash filling the air as the wings wafted black dust that stung his throat, nostrils and eyes. If only for the need to breath and lack of common sense compelling his teary eyes from looking away did he force both to keep them open. No, truthfully it felt like his own body was acting on its own. Forcing him to bear witness to this monstrosity rather than do the sensible thing and run as far away as possible. Throwing away any sort of plan of escape routes and safe houses for something beyond simply finding safety away from this… thing.

“Come on then! Don’t keep me waiting!”

Not Sir Rudgar, it seemed. Even more than twice his age, the old Knight managed to stay on his feet, blade held firmly in between him and the monster. The madman even seemed almost giddy as the embodiment of death had appeared before them. With what seemed just enough speed he was able to raise it just above his head as the needle-like nails of the monster bore down on him. With its greater size Carlon thought that the old Knight would have been split in two already. Clearly struggling, Sir Rudgar’s block held fast, holding the nails at bay for the moment. Sparks flew from the friction between the two, scraping and screeching – while igniting the black dust as a consequence.

Sparks caught the grass at their feet, spreading quickly throughout the garden courtyard. In mere seconds the pale red light of the sky was filtered through the flickering shadows of flames illuminating the shadows of the fool and monster. The latter of whom began to relentlessly swing its arms trying to kill the man in front of it with little success.

Unfortunately that went both ways. Sir Rudgar’s very fluid and light footed sword style that made him the most formidable Knight in Aparthat seemed to only go so far against something inhuman. Not that the blade wasn’t hitting its intended target. No, it was that the famous blade seemed to be doing little more than piss it off. Its balance was thrown off forcing it to land on the ground. That was all it did though. Pushing forward with its massive body, Sir Rudgar’s grip over his sword faltered, being sent flying into the flames around them.

Such a fatal setback didn’t stop Sir Rudgar's desperate struggle. From a pouch in his pocket he pulled out what looked like a glass bottle. With a flick of his wrist he threw it at the monster’s face, shattering out some form of liquid. Beyond reason the monster coiled back, clutching its face like it was writhing in pain. Seizing on this chance the old Knight then charged the wounded monster using his shoulder to push it in the flames – leaving it writhing for several moments before its body began to crumble away like dry dirt.

Huffing and out of breath, Sir Rudgar finally fell to his knees. What he could see from his former bodyguard's face was something akin to bitter satisfaction. A rare sight only reserved for those times the man had upended his plans. Right now it was only surprising to Carlon that the old man managed to kill the monster. He was certain any man who stood before it would have fallen like a babe to a starving wolf. Yet how Sir Rudgar fought showed familiarity. Like he was familiar with such a creature and that the only thing that had held him back was his age.

“Ghreeeeck!”

“Scrawww!”

Unfortunately such experience was only weighted so much when stacked against unwinnable odds.

Three more of those creatures descended down onto the courtyard. Likely the billowing smoke and the dying screams of its unnatural kin beckoned them here as the peasantry was likely in a mad frenzy trying to run away. From how many he saw racing across the sky Carlon could only compare these monsters to a locust plague unlike any the world had likely dealt with before. Even now his grip on reality and vast knowledge of the world was being upended by the pain his body felt and the burning desire to flee to the ends of the world to hide away until he was far older than Sir Rudgar.

Of whom, managed to get back up to his feet, squaring his fists up to continue fighting.

Carlon already knew what would happen. Any semblance of hope that either one of them would escape this alive didn’t exist. The three monsters looked down at their weakened opponent. Their disfigured mouths formed what seemed to exhibit some twisted form of amusement. Like they had self awareness of the situation and found the sight humorous to them.

“Come on you bastards! Quick gawking and fight already!”

The three stopped to look at one another, one tilting its head to the others who nodded in response – signs of silent communication happening between them. Such a subtle yet knowing gesture between them had to be the most intriguing thing Carlon had seen in his entire life. Greater than the fact such creatures even existed was that they demonstrated a semblance of intelligence. How far did it go? Could they be communicated with? Reasoned with? Bargained with? Coerced? Controlled?

Any number of possibilities came rushing into Carlon’s mind. Twisted possibilities mixing in with stranger feelings of fear.

Such fear wouldn’t amount to anything though. Nor did fate have the grace to end Sir Rudgar’s life to the claws of some dark monstrosity.

“Sir Rudgar!” A might shout cut through the sound of crumbling stone and roaring flames. A blinding light quickly followed, forcing Carlon to shield his eyes as it felt like his body was now being submerged in water. Not cold, frigid water that he had come to prefer for his baths but a warm – almost syrup – liquid that wrapped around him in a strangely soothing way.

“Raaaaw!”

Even without seeing, Carlon could hear the violent and painful screams of the abominations. Their inhuman figures convulsing and writhing like scalding water had doused them. It was enough to hurt them but only seemed to aggravate them further as the liquid began to slide away, snuffing out the surrounding flames. Likely that was the purpose though – to hurt them enough so that it gave the perpetrator enough time to strike them down. Annoyingly enough, Carlon already knew the source of this strange trickery as the incoherent rumours of such a strange golden liquid had been told to him by his spies.

With a single stroke of his gaudy sword was all Castewen needed to sever the heads of the Abominations. No more screams erupted as their lifeless bodies felt effortlessly onto the blackened grass. An effortless motion that made sir Rudgar skills seem childish in comparison.

Without sparing the creatures or him a second glance, his bastard half-brother then proceeded to help his former bodyguard to his feet. A look of familiarity and relief on the latter’s face being something he had never seen in the last three years as King. It made him question how long the two had conspired against him. He already had his suspicions but doubted they would ever be confirmed.

“I’m sorry, Lord Castewen, it seems like we were too late,” Sir Rudgar muttered.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Castewen stated while staring up at the dark sky. “We’ve prepared what we could and the city is already evacuating. We need to regroup with our forces west of the city and push our way south.”

“Do you think it will be enough?”

“...I don’t know.” His brother then turned to him with a sour expression on his face. Carlon met his stare with his own with all the fury owed to the bastard. “I do know that it always seems the worst of us seem to thrive even in the darkest of times.”

“...You! You…”

Castewen snorted, shaking his head. “It truly is the end times when the all knowing Carlon is lost for words. You should leave Brother. Run and hide yourself away and perhaps you’ll live to see the sun again if I can stop this crisis. God has given you a reprieve from your fate so be grateful for once in your life for something that was given to you out of pity rather than fear of your status. I’d do it quickly if I were you,” gesturing to the sky, it appeared that more of those creatures were swiftly descending onto their location, “because even with all my power, I can't guarantee your safety if you remain here.”

Biting his lip, Carlon felt compelled to shout back, argue with all the strength he had left, even go up and strike Castewen for his insults. To show him that he was more than the man–more of a King than he or Ralfus would ever be! On any other day… At any other time… In any other place… During any other moment… He would have done just that.

But here and now, Carlon couldn't muster up anything.

Just fear and a need to survive.

He stood up, running quickly back towards his chambers. Neither Castewen nor Rudgar made any attempt to stop him. Carlon slammed the door shut behind him, leaning against it for support to ensure it was tightly shut before latching it shut. His hands were shaking with a strange feeling of adrenaline. It was only a cruel twist of luck that they had remained undamaged as Rudgar’s betrayal left them wide open. Images of the abominations and the chaos outside gave him no sense of security even with the massive metal door between himself and everything else.

Carlon rushed over to the large hearth that heated the chamber. A source of warmth during cold Aparthatan nights and a means to discard written dealings that would never glance another person's eyes. There was still a small number of embers burning, allowing a bit of light for him to see. Not that he couldn’t navigate his own bedchambers in the dark. With a hard pull of a fixed torch fastened to a sconce just next to the hearth. A series of pulleys and weights shifted behind the wall allowing the back of the hearth to lift up, opening the way to a dark tunnel leading away from the Capital.

A means to freedom from this horror.

Perhaps though he should have discerned that his luck was all but non-existent.

The embers raged as a sharp gust of wind exhaled from the passage. Flames erupted violently to block his path. Hesitation filled him. He pondered running and jumping through the flames. Time was of the essence and everything he experienced these last few weeks made the prospect of some minor burns seem miniscule in comparison. He prepared himself to dive through as quickly as possible. The passage was certainly big enough for him to do so.

Yet he hesitated in the final moment. His body jerked with a desire to not potentially immolate himself, narrowly winning out.

He cursed, seeking something to smother them quickly instead. His silk sheets being his optimal choice given how difficult they were to burn. Everything else in his chamber would only fuel it further given his large collection of books and furnishings meant to hold said books. He required little else so low and behold his sheets were no longer there. Likely the only thing those vile usurpers thought valuable among a repository of knowledge.

“Damn them all!”

He had no other options now. No means to smother the fire nor anything around he could use to safely sift the wood away. Jumping through was his only option… or it was.

Carlon’s heart felt like it leapt out of his chest as he turned to see the silhouette of a man crouching next to the flames. The figure held its right arm out into the flames, wafting it back and force without making so much as a sound. In fact the figure seemed entranced by it, not looking at Carlon directly as far as he could tell.

“Did you really think you could escape?”

“I-I don’t…”

“I should thank you though. You made thighs easier for me. It appears though you should have chosen better if you wished to reap the spoils.”

No warning. No explanation. Just pain followed as an intense burning sensation wrapped around Carlon’s throat. Like a noose had tightened itself around as even his feet couldn’t feel the ground anymore. He couldn’t make a sound – couldn’t scream out in pain. His vision soon faded as the light of the fire dimmed. Its crackling sounds fading only moments after. Then eventually he couldn’t feel anything anymore. The last vestiges of air no longer came to him as his body went limp.

The end of Carlon Vomal Curzon, the Wicked King of Ropes.

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No! YoU TrAiTor! YoU WiLl SuFfEr FoR ThIs! I wIlL nOt EnD ThIs WaY!