‘Wait here lads.’ Bryce called out in front of them. Their horses stopped abruptly. With some slight groaning Bryce dismounted and started rummaging in his travel bag. Niall didn’t like staying still with all the eyes on them, he felt like prey in the centre of a hungry and deprived pride. Two teenage boys stepped from a shadowed porch and made their way briskly towards Bryce whilst his back was turned.

  ‘Hey Bryce!’ Niall shouted in warning. The boys paid him no attention. Bryce apparently had not heard as he continued his rummaging, unaware of the boys getting closer.

  ‘Bryce!’ Niall shouted louder, flinging himself from his mount. Niall flew in between the boys and the older man and glared at them threateningly. Their eyes surveyed him carefully, their cheeks black with dirt. Niall pitied them their clothes, which were filthy unwashed rags. They seemed unarmed and unthreatened by him. Bryce chuckled from behind him.

  ‘Get away boy, you gone soft?’ He pushed Niall back towards his horse. Niall watched open mouthed as Bryce handed the two boys five large purses full of coin. The lads smiled excitedly and continued a whispered conversation with the leader of the Fiends who shortly after climbed back onto his horse without a word. Niall followed his lead and took his place in the saddle. The further they pressed into the city, the crowds seemed to disperse.

  ‘Hey Bryce – what was that about?’ Niall asked, able to move his horse quicker and catching up with the old Fiend.

  ‘Where have you been all this time?’ Bryce asked gruffly, ‘it’s what we do.’

  ‘But the crowds?’

  ‘Yeah the crowds have gone now they’ve been paid.’

  ‘They – they hated us!’ Niall shouted, gobsmacked. He had thought they would be loved for what they bring to the poor, but they were hated just as much as the rich.

  ‘Don’t be a fool. Those poor people live like this day in and day out, they need the support that we give them, but you can’t expect them to be happy about it. They need us, not love us.’ Bryce said quietly. Niall’s mind was reeling as he made sense of Bryce’s words. He had always been at the forefront of the sneaking around and the earning, but he had never really seen the people they were helping. In Oakwood most people were doing fine, as a farming community they worked together to ensure everyone got a share and survived, but in the city it was clear there wasn’t enough to go around.

  ‘Did you expect to be some kind of God around here?’ Martha asked him, as he pulled back. Niall didn’t know what to think. He had expected a better reception that that, for sure, but he was also beginning to understand.

  ‘These people have never known anything else. They’ve always needed the Fiends, how would you feel if you were completely dependent on someone and they have so much more than you?’ Martha continued, trying her best to make him see. Niall nodded, finally understanding. Even though the Fiends provided for these people the best they could, it was not enough to improve the circumstances and they were jealous. Niall wondered if he would feel the same in their position, he guessed that he would.

  They continued their progress through the City, the further in they grew, the cleaner and nicer the streets became. The disease-ridden dirt paths had long gone and made way for greying cobblestones and more comfortable homes, most of the people here clearly had access to water and food and looked much healthier than the ones passed. This is where they would place me, Niall thought, and he realised how much they had to be jealous of. He was very lucky. He had never missed many meals and could usually find a roof to stay under. He had a range of clothes and access to money to be able to travel. There wasn’t much more you could wish for, he accepted. Slowly the stone cobbled paths and comfortable homes transformed into extravagance. Smooth city streets lined with flowers and trees draped in silks were victorious here. Fewer but larger more luxurious homes were dotted around, each with their own walled gardens. The luxury here was something even he could not imagine. He remembered the children who were running around in filthy linens and tried to picture them here. They would not be welcomed, beggar children here would certainly dirty the area, the populace would rather hide them in the outskirts than help tackle the problem. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Finally, after a few hours of meandering through cobbled streets they reached it. The Castle was simple. Its high stone walls were impenetrable, and its iron portcullis impassable. Soldiers were stationed along every wall and every window. Niall was glad that on this occasion that he had an invite, secured by Bryce, he didn’t fancy the odds of any unwelcome visitor. The Castle was not welcoming, or warm or highly decorated. It was simple, practical and effective. In its thousand-year life, the Castle had never been overrun, Kings and Queens were untouchable behind its walls. It was rumoured to have been built as a result of the War but there were no records and no-one alive to tell the truth of the story. Nevertheless, Niall knew that this Castle would be torn apart stone by stone by the magic he had witnessed. Magic that had long been extinct in Myrliar and erased from all memory in Calumnia. Slowly, the three of them rode towards the guard tower, everyone was on high alert, the Castle grounds teeming with heavily armoured guards and the King’s Militia soldiers. The Militia were clad from head to toe in heavy steel, with great swords, bows and axes, the finest human warriors who were trained from a young age to defend human lands from the Elves. Everything in Myrliar was extravagant, Niall remembered the Golden Army with their decorated swords and glistening armour. It had been centuries since the last full-scale war between the human and elven armies. Many border skirmishes had happened over time but between the two royal houses, war have been avoided. Bryce gave the signal to dismount as a handful of men approached with the hands firmly grasping their weapons. Their helmets concealed their faces fully, their black cloaks billowed behind them in the wind and their hands never rested from their position. They were ready for an attack. Bryce held up his hands in defence.

  ‘No weapons, no weapons.’ He said quickly, ushering Niall and Martha to do the same.

  ‘What business do you have here?’ A clear, threatening voice growled.

  ‘I am here on invitation from the King.’ Bryce replied calmly, eyeing the guards suspiciously. He seemed uneasy with the situation considering how frequently he met with the King. Niall examined each of the guards in turn, there were twenty or so in their near vicinity, overkill for the two men and single woman before them.

  ‘You, we are aware of, but these two cannot pass.’ The guard growled pointing at Martha and Niall roughly.

  ‘Rubbish,’ Bryce said, ‘the invitation was for all three. If you will allow me…’ Bryce removed a roll of parchment from his satchel and handed it carefully to the leader of the guards. The man took a moment as he read the handwritten message on the parchment, rolling it back up he clenched it firmly in his fist.

  ‘This is an old invite.’ The guard snarled. Bryce faltered slightly before recovering.

  ‘The invitation extends to all three of us, I acquired it from his Majesty just days ago.’ He explained confidently, his eyes not leaving the helmeted face before him. Niall could not tell if he was lying but wondered how the invitation was received so quickly. Was it possible for a request to be sent, received and accepted in such a short time? Niall presumed not, there was no invite.

  ‘They are not to pass.’ The guard repeated stubbornly.

  ‘Look, I know you have a very important duty to protect the King, I admire that and thank you personally, but we also have very important duties to attend to on behalf of his Majesty, and I’m not sure he will take kindly to this delay.’ Bryce reasoned.

  ‘This is an old invite.’ The guard repeated.

  ‘Maybe you should check that first before sending away the King’s business.’ Bryce finished, crossing his arms and smiling at the guard. The steel-clad men around them went silent and still, considering the old Fiend’s words. Time slipped by as the two leaders weighed up their options. Finally, the guard barked orders to a smaller soldier behind him, who at once left the scene towards the Castle.

  ‘Wait here.’ The guard leader instructed before returning to the guard tower. The others watched them intently, unmoving. Niall took the opportunity to sidle up to Bryce.

  ‘You didn’t get us an invite?’ Niall hissed at him angrily.

  ‘Not now boy.’ Bryce whispered back, threateningly.

  ‘We could be killed on sight! The King is at war!’ Niall snarled back.

  ‘Did you want to wait for the paperwork to be done before we saved lives?’ Bryce glared at him, his words almost inaudible. Niall knew he was right, there wasn’t time for a delay, but the fact that Bryce had lied to him and risked his life in doing so, did not sit right with him. If worst came to worst, Bryce could have spoken with the King alone. The minutes ticked by as Niall waited for his fate. Either, magically, the King would accept their presence, or he would likely be skewered by the spear hovering not far from his southern regions by the overenthusiastic guard baying for blood on his left. Martha was as still as a statue, either frozen with fear, or controlling herself from smacking the guards growing closer to her. Niall guessed it would be latter. Being a beautiful, curvy woman, Martha was victim to men’s attentions wherever she went, and he had seen first-hand what happened to men who got too close. She couldn’t afford to lose control now, Niall thought. His chances of leaving alive seemed to be dwindling thanks to his comrades. After what felt like an hour the small guard trotted back to them with word from the King. After a moment of hushed whispering, the leader turned to face them.

  ‘You two, go in. The woman leaves.’ He said, clearly frustrated with the result. Bryce immediately soothed Martha as she opened her mouth to protest. Slyly, Bryce hugged her, leaving something in her hand before they pulled apart. Martha nodded secretively and turned to leave without another word. Niall’s brow creased as he wondered at their exchange. What had Bryce given her.

  ‘In, now. The King is waiting.’ The leader commanded. Bryce watched and waited for Martha to leave in safety and did not move until she was clear. Nodding at the Guards, they continued towards the now open portcullis. Guards nearer the gate stepped forwards as they approached and checked them thoroughly for weapons. They found none. Finally, they were inside the Castle walls. The Castle was quiet. Eerily quiet. Bryce frowned as he surveyed the area. The grounds were empty of people. Guards were stationed at every archway, door, window and dotted all along the outer wall. Not a word was spoken, not a chink of armour to be heard. Niall could tell from Bryce’s expression that the lack of presence was unusual. Bryce visited the Castle on numerous occasions on ready invitation from the King who he conducted business for. The two men had a certain level of trust and Bryce knew his way around the castle grounds easily.

  ‘Bryce, ah, Bryce, so glad you are here old friend.’ A timid, frail voice sounded from the shadows. A pale, old man walked out from the entrance hall, wearing plain black robes. His eyes were hidden behind round spectacles and the few wisps of hair he had were floating in the gentle breeze. With surprising speed and grace for his age, he approached Bryce with his hand outstretched.

  ‘Ah, Augustus, how are you?’ Bryce nodded, taking his hand and shaking it gently.

  ‘Been better, been better. Castle not what it was. Come. Come.’ Augustus whispered, gesturing Niall and Bryce to follow him into the entrance hall. The Castle was empty and cold. There were no portraits, no rugs, no lit fires, and no maids or servers. If Niall hadn’t known the King resided there, he would have thought it abandoned. Even Bryce seemed taken aback.

  ‘Much has changed old friend…’ Augustus murmured, Niall was too far behind to hear their words and hurried to keep up as they wandered through the stone-cold corridors. Their hurried footsteps clattered around them as their sounds echoed through the castle.

  ‘…dear King, not been the same since…’ Augustus continued his hushed whispering, but amongst the echoes of their furious steps, Niall could not make out the story. The absence of life within the castle unsettled them. Empty fireplaces, empty rooms, no decoration and no staff made the Castle eerily nervous. The air was pregnant with worry. Something had happened here. The young King was known for his overspending on lavish parties, garments and jewels. Had he emptied his coffers with his irresponsible leadership?

  ‘…sold it all, and for what? To bring bloody war to our land!’ Augustus finished. So, the old man seemed to think the King had spent every coin he had and more on the wars to come. Niall felt his stomach sink, would a ruler that had invested so much into war ever see the need to pull out of it? Large, grand oak doors were opened before them and the three of them stepped nervously into the cold audience chamber. Niall’s mouth opened with shock as he took in the room before him. The only furniture in the room was a gold and black throne and a candelabra, with only a few candles flickering light into the room. Twenty guards were stationed against the walls and either side of the throne, their steel armour seemed fluid like in the candles’ glow. What shocked Niall the most, was not the lack of decoration, lack of extravagance or the throne, but the man sat upon it. Their King. King Devan of Calumnia.

  Niall knew the man to be in his early thirties, but the man before him was older, much older. His pale, sickly face was lined with worry. His famous smile was replaced by a sneer, with his dark, once beautiful eyes, calculated and weary. The King’s hair was dark and neat, but speckled with early grey hairs, and his crown of iron was glistening and straight on his proud head. Where was the playful joyous King he had heard such stories about? Who was this imposter? Bryce appeared to be thinking along the same lines as his sad face bowed politely in ceremony. Niall and Augustus also bowed before their King.

  ‘Bryce,’ The King said coldly. Bryce visibly winced, not used to the ice in his voice. Augustus stepped aside, giving them the room, ‘this open invitation agreement we have is at an end. I cannot afford to allow you such free reign going forward.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I would not have come if it weren’t important.’ Bryce said quietly, hardly baring to look at his King. The man on the throne glared down at them, unmoving and unwavering.

  ‘You have come to advise me of my folly in pursuing this war.’ Devan said, clearly bored of the subject. He drummed his fingers against his throne.

  ‘Your Majesty must do as he pleases, but there is something you should –’

  ‘Do you think that I would listen to the word of a thief over my own Lords and Advisors?’ The King interrupted sternly. Bryce shuffled nervously before him. Butterflies erupted in Niall’s stomach as his leader’s weakness caught him by surprise. Bryce had always loved and respected the King and was always the most powerful in the room. This was not the relationship Niall had envisaged, something had happened here.

  ‘Look around you, thief, I have heard it all before, and have sent them far from here. I will not hear it from you.’ The King rose from his throne slowly. Power radiated from him, gifted to him by the crown upon his head, but the sickness glistening from his skin and his very demeanour gave him away. The affect rendered Bryce speechless and visibly afraid.

  ‘You have provided good service to me during my reign. For that, I will permit one night’s rest. You shall leave tomorrow.’ King Devan walked slowly towards Bryce, his walk was stiff and rigid, not as carefree as one would predict. For the first time, Niall’s eyes connected with the King. A sorrow lay deep in the darkness of Devan’s eyes as he recognised him, somehow.

  ‘Lead them to the guest chamber.’ Devan ordered, before fleeing the room without a backwards glance. Augustus leapt forward at the command of his King and summoned them to his side. Sighing, they followed in silence as he led them from the audience chamber. Niall’s head was a muddle of confusion. Bryce had not got a word in. They couldn’t leave yet!

  ‘What just happened?’ He demanded. Bryce did not reply, his face was worried, and he appeared not to hear him. Augustus looked over his shoulder at him.

  ‘Give him time, lad. He, like myself, knows not who this new King is. Much changed. Much changed.’ Augustus said quietly, as though afraid of being overheard.

  ‘What has caused this change? I thought King Devan had a reputation of joy and marvel.’ Niall asked, determined to get some kind of answer.

  ‘No one knows for sure. One night, as per norm, our beloved King went to the effigy to pray to his Spirit God, and the next day he is all about war. Ridding the threat from his people, is what he says. He has a good heart. He’s a good boy.’ Augustus murmured the last part, as though enjoying some distant memory. Niall had heard of this Spirit God before but did not know much about it.

  ‘I heard that the Spirit God is one of his Majesty’s advisors?’ Niall asked, curious.

  ‘Yes, yes. It is a spirit. The King’s father, and his father, and his father, and his father…’

  ‘I get it, but what does it do?’

  ‘It shares stories, from the past, allegedly. I have never met it, but King Devan used to tell me some of the stories…’ Augustus was leading them up a spiral staircase, passing soldiers on route. It seemed they were heading for a tower, where the guest chambers were.

  ‘What sort of stories?’

  ‘Experiences, from the past. Histories.’

  ‘How does this help the King?’ Niall asked, confused by the purpose of this Spirit God.

  ‘A lot can be learned from the experiences of others, lad. A King must be careful not to fall into the same traps or make the same mistakes as his predecessors.’ Augustus was a kindly, patient man. Niall guessed by his fondness of the King, he had been instrumental in his upbringing as a Prince.

 

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