Chapter Twenty-Five
Marcus stood silently at the edge of a broken cliff, looking down at the devastation. What was once a large, open pit that dug over a hundred feet into the earth was now a quagmire of sucking mud, broken buildings, and buried bodies. What slaves survived the initial mudslide and cave-in were digging through the mess, searching for any survivors. Marcus didn’t think there would be many.
Sir Caldwell was a distance behind him, directing his men with barking orders Marcus could barely hear over the constant din of iron shovels biting into the loose soil. Thomas Mayweather was nowhere to be seen, but his men moved about, eyeing Marcus’ back with unconcealed wrath. Not many of the soldiers were lost in the mudslide. The disaster had mainly affected the bunkhouses that housed the several hundred slaves, sending all but one of them sliding into the open pit. Still, enough of them had been caught up in the collapsing earth that they had to wait another three days for reinforcements from Kilnfire.
They had only just arrived and were now receiving their commands.
Marcus tilted his head to see the sun in a clear, cloudless sky. The torrential rainfall had ended just after the collapse of the mine as if its only goal was to see how much destruction could be wrought. Then, being happy with the results, it simply vanished. Each day after that had been sunny and pleasantly warm, but no amount of good weather could make up for the death before him.
He turned away from the desperate scene and returned to Alissa’s waiting carriage. When he first donned his heavy plate armor, it was awkward and constricted his movements, but now he hardly noticed the weight or the muted clinking as he moved. Still, even though he almost forgot that he walked in a full suit of armor, that didn’t stop the others around him from noticing it as he approached.
He ignored the baleful glares and hoisted his heavy body onto the driver’s bench, rocking the carriage violently. He hoped it didn’t bother Alissa too much, but he also knew that Thomas was inside as well and couldn't care less about him. “Are we ready?” He asked the surly driver, who was taking up the rest of the meager space beside him.
“Aye,” Came the raspy reply. The weathered driver’s attitude toward him hadn’t changed once word of what he had done to the three soldiers had spread. Marcus figured the old man was too old and cynical to care. “We only wait for the orders.”
Sir Caldwell’s booming voice echoed between the shoddy wooden buildings as if on cue, prompting the short train of carriages to move out.
They still had two weeks of travel before reaching the capital of Pol Trulant, Sardonia. And that was if they didn’t run into any more issues, something Marcus knew was unlikely if their current string of bad luck was anything to go by. Still, one could hope, and that was all he could do. Alissa wasn’t having any better of a time than he was as he sat there and worried about the future. Thomas was verbally assaulting her with his inane chatter as they trundled down the road and left the small mining outpost behind.
The days went by at a snail’s pace, but soon enough, another city was visible on the horizon. It was not much larger than Kilnfire but stood out memorably at the base of a small mountain, the only landmark amongst a rolling forest and swiftly winding river that was fed from its peak. It was an odd sight, for sure. Marcus had never thought he would see a solitary mountain just sitting there; everything from his limited knowledge told him it should at least be part of a small range. No matter how long he looked at it, he just couldn’t wrap his head around the spectacle.
“What’s with the mountain?” Marcus finally gave in to his curiosity and asked the old carriage driver next to him as the mountain and the city became more prominent.
“What about it?” He said just before hawking up a slimy glob of phlegm and spitting it off to the side.
Marcus’ visor hid his grimace of disgust. “Why is it by itself? Shouldn’t there be more of them?”
“Could be because it’s not truly a mountain,” the driver shrugged his thin shoulders and gave the horses another whack with the reigns.
“Go on,” Marcus urged as he saw the man wasn’t about to explain further.
The driver let out an annoyed huff before sucking on his teeth. “They say a dragon is buried there, underneath the mountain. That its greed kept it from leaving its horde, and it starved to death and was buried by time.”
“So, there’s an entire mountain of gold in front of us?”
“No one ever found nothing, no gold, no silver, so don’t go getting your hopes up.” The driver turned to him with a small smile before adding, “Not like you could do anything with it anyways.”
“Whatever,” Marcus ignored the cutting remark and looked up at the high, snow-covered peak. He wondered if he could sneak off one night and see if he could find something; he hadn’t had a chance to explore this new world after all.
The city rested at the base of the mountain, or burial mound, depending on if you believed the driver’s story, and had high walls of grey stone that clawed toward the sky. Guards adorned in polished bronze armor walked along the top of the wall, their decorative galeas disappearing behind wide parapets every few dozen feet. They kept a watchful eye on those waiting to be granted entry into the city, and the forest further away.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Their train passed by those waiting to enter and through a yawning, open gate. Marcus marveled at how thick the walls were. It was like they were going through a small tunnel to get to the other side. What greeted them was an open area set aside for processing any trade caravans needing the space. Right now, it was empty, save for the few dozen guardsmen waiting to receive them.
This city had been a previously planned stop and was forewarned of their arrival. Although they were nearly a week late due to everything that had happened, it didn’t seem as if they minded any. Marcus zoned out a little as Sir Caldwell dismounted his horse and started a conversation with who Marcus deduced was the guard captain, and soon enough, they were moving again.
“Hey,” Marcus said, grabbing the driver’s attention. “What’s this place’s name?”
Marcus could practically hear the old man’s eyes rolling in his head. “…Dragon’s Rest.”
“Well, that’s original.” Marcus quipped. “Should’ve guessed that.”
His comment on the name only garnered a snort from the driver, who promptly returned to focusing on driving the carriage. They were supposed to spend a few nights visiting with the city’s overseer and were heading to his manor higher up the slope of the mountain. So, Marcus spent the rest of the trip observing the inhabitants as they passed by.
They looked the same as in the other cities and towns they had visited. The commoners wore simple clothes of muted browns, grays, and a spattering of other colors and mainly kept their eyes down as they passed. The more well-off citizens looked to copy the nobles in their colorful dresses for the women and the vests and puffy shirts for the men, but even Marcus could see the difference in quality from where he sat. It was hard to compete with the resources of the ultra-wealthy.
One thing he noticed, now that he knew to look for it, were the few sermons spread throughout the streets led by nuns -he only assumed that was what they were called- in cloud-like billowy dresses. Alissa briefly explained the quasi-theocracy that was Pol Trulant and a little bit of what they believed in, and it wasn’t great. If he could avoid religious zealots who treated slaves like they were worth less than dirt, he would. Unsurprisingly, it looked like the high society in the country didn’t follow their tenants as closely as the rest of the populace, so avoiding it shouldn’t be too difficult.
The horses struggled to pull their heavy loads up the steep, cobbled roads leading higher into the mountain. They inched past crowded stone townhouses, arching aqueducts bringing chilled water from the melting snows higher up, and well-manicured parks that broke up the bleakness of the grey rock surrounding them. The entire city of Dragon’s Rest was quite beautiful once they left the lower section of the city that housed the common folk. That part wasn’t so appealing to the eye. Shit literally rolled downhill, and those poor people had no choice but to wallow in it.
He felt terrible for them, but he had his own problems to deal with.
Eventually, after what felt like hours of winding roads and steep hills, the overseer’s manor came into view as it was birthed from the side of the mountain. The complex, the only word Marcus could think of to describe the estate, was carved into the mountain, blending seamlessly with the grey stone that made up the rest of the slope. The main house spanned at least three hundred yards from end to end and reached one hundred feet high. He couldn’t see how deeply it reached into the mountain but wouldn’t be surprised if it reached through to the other side. The architecture resembled much of the rest of the city, an odd mixture of ancient Roman and more modern sensibilities that utilized lots of carved pillars and even more sharp angles. Smaller but no less impressive buildings surrounded the main house, as if the group was its own smaller city looking over the larger one below.
Between the buildings were wide, paved paths. Not as large as the roads they were traveling on, but big enough for at least one carriage to squeeze through. They curved through the complex, linking the many buildings together and providing access to the sundry gardens and groves of trees that gave the whole estate a natural beauty lacking in some parts of the city. Maybe he would have the time to find out how they kept the grass cut so short without any lawnmowers.
Marcus dismounted Alissa’s carriage with a metallic thunk that reverberated loudly underneath the eave shadowing the main entrance. He ignored the startled gasps of the maids and servants sent to greet them, focusing instead on the closed door in front of him. Like usual, when he opened it, Alissa nearly jumped out of the carriage as if it were on fire to escape her company as quickly as possible.
Marcus lacked the self-control to stop his laughter, earning him a blue-eyed glare in return.
“Lady Alissa,” Thomas’ whining tone chased after the slight woman in her flight as he crawled out after her. “I hear tell of a ball being held in your honor during our visit.”
Alissa was already halfway into the manor before she bothered herself with replying. “Yes. I also have ears; we both heard the runner Marquis Draconis dispatched.”
“Yes, yes. Of course, forgive me.” Thomas squealed. “I only wished to express my desire to escort you to the ball, as your fiancé, his Majesty, will not be in attendance.”
Alissa spun around, her elegant, emerald gown swirling like a verdant whirlpool. “He is not my fiancé… yet.” Her temper was squashed after a moment; she closed her eyes and took a sharp breath. “I should say he will not be until he officially proposes. But that is beside the point.” She said the following words like they were being forced upon her through torture. “You may escort me to the ball. Until then, I wish to rest and would like to remain undisturbed.”
“Certainly, Lady Alissa.” Thomas couldn’t hide his giddiness as he gave her a slight bow. “I will retrieve you in two days’ time. Please wear your finest, but I do not doubt that anything you adorn yourself with will be stunning.”
Alissa spun back around and ignored the creepily grinning young man behind her. Marcus could tell she was at the end of her rope and was in a particularly foul mood. “Come along, Marcus. I have another marquis to meet before I get out of this gods-forsaken dress.”