Keir stared blankly at the cringing Lirian.
“Adoption. Adoption? And what great family are you expecting to take in a seventeen-year-old vagrant.” Keir asked.
“Now, hear me out.” The prince urged. “I have in recent months, made the acquaintance of the rather reclusive, Baron Lambent. An eccentric old goat, that never strays far from his barony at the base of the Ramparts.”
The Ramparts, the name given to the mountain range on the south-eastern border of Fallmir. Making any land incursion to the kingdom near impossible, the Ramparts were all but deified by commoner and noble alike.
“The man has something of a grudge against my dear father, and will support me, if for no other reason than to aggravate him.” Lirian continued.
“Will it not be a bit obvious if, out of nowhere, a known hermit decides to adopt a grown son, then that son spends all his time lingering around you?” Hala re-entered the conversation, gesturing to the prince.
“Well, while I should think my magnetic charm might attract all kinds of admirers, this is politics we are discussing. You’re thinking too honestly.” Lirian preened. “While somewhat unpopular, I am a prince. A little bribery and the fastidious use of violent threats, and there will be legitimate records that Keir is, and has always been, the blood heir of Baron Lambent.” Lirian announced with a flourish, like a street mage performing a trick.
Keir sighed defeatedly and turned to Hala, then Vander.
“Sounds dicey. What do you think?” Keir asked.
“What do we think?” Vander scoffed. “I don’t think you heard right, pup. For only a few years work, he’s offering a knighthood and a barony! I know I mostly only taught you swordplay, but you do realise how much money land-owners can rake in, don’t you? You could bloody retire on your twenty-first birthday.”
Hala simply smiled wide in response to Keir’s question. Her excitement clear as day. Unable to stifle his amusement at the father, daughter pairs’ obvious enthusiasm, Keir extended a hand shake to Lirian.
“I hope you know, neither of us has the slightest clue about etiquette, or any of that nonsense?”
“Forget such trifles, dear Sir Keir.” Lirian beamed, ignoring the handshake and pulling both Keir and Hala in close. Standing between the two, he threw an arm over each’s shoulder.
“Between the three of us, we will make the very foundations of the Royal Academy tremble. Ah, I can see it now. Such wonderous trouble awaits!”
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Keir knew one truth.
He stood upon the precipice of a yawning chasm. In its unthinkable depths, swirled galaxies; constellations, that the young man had never before seen. He thought to look around, to find some recognisable landmark. Something to anchor himself to the world with which he was familiar.
But Keir could not turn his head. He could not lift his eyes from the misplaced stars. More, he would not. He felt the shiver of eyes on the nape of his neck, and dared not meet them.
Something pulled at the frayed hem of Keir’s shirt, at the fabric of his trousers and at his tangled hair. Drawing him into the pit of starlight. On first consideration, one might think it was simply the wind. But the air was still. All the same, something grasped for the man at the edge.
Keir's instincts warred. He should escape, he thought. But he felt the thing behind him, simply waiting to be seen. Yearning to be acknowledged, as though it could not act until Keir laid eyes upon it.
This was Keir’s one known truth. He must not look.
However, the being at his back grew impatient. Without seeing, Keir felt, as it pressed itself closer, huffing ragged breaths down his spine. In the closeness, he felt more of it’s form. It’s scale.
Keir stood at the edge of space, and a planet perched upon his shoulders.
He recognised it now, the thing at his back, desperate for his attention. It was his Passenger; it was Whisper.
After what felt like, and may have been years, simply standing at the cliff edge, Whisper acted. Gnarled fingers that outsized mountains, drifted into Keir’s periphery. A thousand miles distant, and yet impossibly near.
A titan’s hand took Keir gently by the chin, and allowing for no resistance, raised his head. Then turned it.
Keir saw. He saw and he trembled as he gazed into an eye that was the sky. His mind simply could not comprehend the scope of what stared unblinkingly back at him.
Keir felt Whisper pushing at his psyche, forcing upon him a message. All at once, a million images crashed into Keir’s quailing mind. He saw worlds put to flame. Civilizations slaving at the monuments of twisted gods. A cosmic worm, that consumed reality. And above it all, a sigil stood proud, as though branded into the flesh of existence itself. A many-pointed star with a quill at its centre, conspicuous in its simplicity.
“Do not avert you gaze.” The Passenger breathed into Keir’s thoughts. “They come. Time is short.”
The words came quiet as a breeze, yet loud as thunder.
“Find the doors. See them shut.”
A push from behind. Slight but inexorable, and Keir fell into the chasm. Into the sea of stars.
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“Another nightmare? They aren’t normally so regular.”
As Keir’s eyes flickered open, he heard Hala’s voice over the creaking of the carriage. A sliver of light slipped through the shutters, caressing his face. Again, the dream flitted away from Keir’s waking mind, but what remained, was the symbol. The star and the quill. As Keir sat, half dazed, trying to clutch at fleeting memories, Hala continued.
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“We’ve almost reached the capital. Need to get our story straight, should someone ask.”
The past two months had been spent in what both young mercenaries considered to be nightmarish training. Etiquette classes, taught by the prince himself. Every day was spent in torturous discussions about the proper placement of spoons and other such pretention. Lirian, seeing the pair’s profound lack of interest, informed them that few people were actually expected to uphold these standards of etiquette. The whole practice existed to catch out and embarrass those that came from lower standing. As such Hala and Keir need only prove the knowledge and then likely drop the whole act.
Every now and again, during the instruction, Keir would catch Lirian staring his way. Not exactly at him, more around him. Each time, however, Lirian would wave it off, saying that he was simply daydreaming. But Keir grew suspicious, the look in the prince’s eyes looked decidedly intense in those moments. Hardly the visage of a man with his head in the clouds.
“Right, OK.” Keir finally responded, slapping both hands to his cheeks to chase away his drowsiness. “So, I am Sir Keir Lambent. Heir to Marten Lambent of Schaede.”
“And I am Lady Hala Nehr. Daughter to Knight Vander Nehr of the Grasping Hand. We are headed to the capital to study at the Royal Academy. I still think that openly admitting my father is an ‘ex’ mercenary might invite some suspicion.” Hala added.
“According to Lirian, the noble brats’ll just mock you for being lowborn and not think any more about it. He knows them better than we do. It does line up with what I know of the gaudy arseholes, though.” Keir countered, eliciting a mild sigh from Hala.
“I suppose he’s probably right. Anyway, to continue with our backstory.” She forged on. “My father did some work for yours in his mercenary days, hunting down bandits or something, if anyone asks, and they struck up a friendship. When we, being the same age, were to be admitted to the Academy at the same time. It was decided we would travel together.”
Keir tried his best to suppress the smirk that tugged at his lips. Hala seemed oddly sensitive about having to pretend to be seventeen. For whatever reason, she found the prospect deeply embarrassing.
“Upon entering the capital, we will find lodgings at The Furtive Fox Inn, that despite the name is not a brothel. We will there just happen to meet the wayward Prince Lirian, and as though guided by Rialta’s own hand, become fast friends.” Keir failed to keep the sarcasm from his tone.
“Yup, that’s about it. Simple and clean.” Hala agreed.
A moment later, a knock came from the slot that acted as a window to the driver’s seat.
“A thousand apologies M’lord, M’lady, but we will reach the gate in just a few minutes. It’s quite a sight to behold.” The carriage driver called through.
Tapping the carriage wall, Keir called his thanks, then moved to open the shutters. Poking his head out of the window, his eyes rounded. Noticing Keir’s sudden stillness, Hala pressed in behind him to get a look outside.
“What is I-” She began. “Oh...”
Dominating the skyline, stood a massive, arcing edifice. The first of the three great, ringed walls of Falltess. Standing solitary in the vast open plains, one might misjudge the true enormity of the city and its defences, for there were no structures with which to compare. Behind the colossal stone-work, peaked a cloud-piercing citadel, the home of the King Gant of Fallmir.
As the carriage rattled along the wide, paved road known as Migrant’s March, the first-time visitors to Falltess, experienced a sense of vertigo. The city, loomed overhead, the scale of it seemed to defy reason.
“Going to be hard to pretend I’m not a bumpkin. I don’t think I'll grow accustomed to this sight for some time. If ever.” Keir admitted, in disbelief.
The carriage driver, overhearing, laughed merrily. After Keir’s words, she seemed to lose some of the nerves, ferrying around nobles engendered.
“Fret not, M’lord. I’ve lived here my entire life and I still marvel at the sight of these walls.” She puffed up with pride for her home. “Wait until you see the grand gardens behind the final wall. Only seen them twice myself, but they brought tears to my eyes both times.”
Keir and Hala both smiled affably at the woman.
“We’re headed to The Furtive Fox Inn, how long until we arrive?” Hala asked.
“Fancy place!” The driver whistled. “Though not for fine nobles such as yourselves, I suppose. Well, The Fox is just inside the innermost wall, so around two hour's travel. Assuming no obstructions. I wouldn’t normally be permitted in that section of the city, but thanks to my esteemed customers, perhaps I’ll get to see the gardens again today.”
“Go ahead and take a winding route. I suddenly have the urge to go sightseeing.” Keir winked at the woman, and retreated back inside the cabin with Hala. Who promptly clipped Keir upside the head.
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Standing on the cobbled street outside The Furtive Fox, Keir glanced at the driver’s departing profile as the carriage rolled away.
“You really are feeling lonely these days, huh?” Hala chuckled.
“What?” Keir raised his hands, palms out. “She was nice. I’m only human.”
“Uh-huh. Just be sure to keep your mucky paws off the noble girls at the Academy. Last thing we need is another highborn baby to look after, besides Lirian.” Hala warned.
Electing to halt that particular conversation there, Keir pushed his way through the door of the Inn. Inside, the pair were greeted by sweet-scented air, warmed by a crackling fire set in the far wall. A long bar filled the entire left wall of the bottom floor, from behind which, drifted enticing fragrances. A loot player was set up on a small stage in the corner to the right of the entrance. They plucked a lazy but pleasant tune and murmured a pretty folk song. As with all such songs, it seemed to tell the tale of young lovers, dead before their time. Raucous laughter drowned out the gentle melody, and the circular tables dotted around the main room were filled with merry people, drinking away their day's earnings. In short, this was an inn. While this was a more upper-class establishment, that catered to the wealthy, an inn was an inn. Clientele may change, but all inns shared a certain flavour.
As the mercenaries approached the bar, they were greeting by a grinning beastkin woman with fox ears. The foxkin’s slight smirk, looked as though it had a permanent home on the woman’s face.
“What can I get you, young friends?” She asked, gesturing to the array of bottles at her back.
“Two of anything strong.” Hala responded for the pair. “And two rooms, if you’ve got them.”
Hala and Keir had no intention of staying at The Furtive Fox. Lirian was supposed to ‘graciously’ offer them accommodations at his home, after they pretended to meet for the first time. But they had to at least act as though they planned to remain.
“Afraid my inn’s all full up.” The innkeeper apologised, while pouring brown liquid from a fancy bottle into two glasses. She did not seem upset about her booming business at all. “What, with the Royal Academy starting a term tomorrow, there's a whole bunch of new nobles in the city needing a place to stay till the dorms open up.” She smiled knowingly at the young pair.
“Yes, as you’ve guessed, that includes us.” Keir snorted.
“Worry not.” The foxkin started. “I, the beautiful and kind Leena of the Furtive Fox, would never leave a young couple out on the street. I’ll talk to my friend over at the Wayward Stag, he’s got a room open.”
Keir didn’t bother correcting the assumption that he and Hala were a couple, but instead wondered how he would stop Leena from being so unhelpfully helpful, in the search for a room they didn’t actually want. But the woman could talk up a storm and wouldn’t give him the chance to interject. She lowered her voice, conspiratorially.
“It’s probably for the best, to be honest. While I would never normally turn customers away, a few of my recent patrons are a rowdy bunch of young lords. I believe it to be their first time away from parental supervision and they are...testing the limits of their newfound freedom, if you catch my meaning. To put perhaps too fine on it, they get a bit drunk, then a bit fighty, then trouble my other guests.”
As if to prove the innkeeper's words, the door of The Fox swung wide and an irritated looking Lirian stalked into the main room, followed close behind by a group of swaggering young men, shouting and jeering as they walked. As Keir watched, he reconsidered that perhaps he had mistaken a swagger for a stagger. The rosy-cheeks and slightly slurred words of the shouting children, suggesting they were a few cups past tipsy.
“Will the Prince of Spares, not even share a single drink with us?” One of Lirian’s pursuers called.
The prince, for his part, ignored the group, surveying the room. Without stopping his turning head, Lirian caught Keir’s eye for a moment, and squinted. Then prince gestured to the innkeeper for a drink, and sat at the far side of the bar from his friends. Allowing himself to be surrounded by the gaggle of nobles.
Taking the hint, Keir looked to Hala. It was clear that saving Lirian from this difficult situation would be the perfect opportunity to ‘introduce themselves’. But the pair couldn’t jump in too early, or it might seem strange. Continuing to make small talk with the proprietress, Hala and Keir waited for the perfect chance to intervene. As it happened, they had only to wait about thirty seconds.
“Come on, Spare. You really should take this chance to socialise with us. We, who actually have some chance at gaining prestige in the Academy.” A tall, blonde boy, perhaps the leader, taunted while looming over the sitting Lirian. His threatening demeanour undone somewhat by the fact that he was using the prince’s shoulder as a crutch to remain upright.
“Indeed!” Another boy joined in. “If you behave, we may even allow you to carry our bags during the Trials.” He sneered at Lirian.
“Let us not promise the stars, Gessop. Charity must have its limits.” The first man bantered. “If we were to be seen associating with the son of a whore on that esteemed stage, our honour would be sullied. No, this stinking, beast den of an inn is a much more fitti-”
The sickly, and once heard, unforgettable sound of a cracking jaw-bone stopped the blonde drunkard from finishing his insult. Keir’s gloved fist crashed into the noble’s face with astonishing force.
“You have disrupted the peace of this place, insulted our host, and acted in a manner unbefitting of nobility” Keir stood over the body of the obviously unconscious blonde, trying his best to sound ‘posh’. “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”
“Keir...” Hala sighed. “You’re supposed to remove the glove first.”
“Ah.”