The herald's voice cut through the frost-bitten air like an executioner's broadaxe, heavy with the iron-willed sovereignty of the Crown. His destrier stamped its hooves against the mire and uneven stones of the high square.
"Is every soul here assembled?" the knight bellowed from the depths of his iron helm, his voice echoing hollowly off the stone manses. "Is there any within these walls who stands absent? If any be missing, let this decree be spat into their ears by those who hear it now. Attend closely to the words of the Sovereign!"
In the teeming, rancid press of the commons, Commander Seraphina stood hidden. She had donned a coarse, tattered wool cloak to mask her highborn lineage. Not far from her, General Valerius was likewise concealed among the smallfolk, his features buried deep beneath a hooded cowl. As the herd of commoners shifted violently, the two accidentally collided. Seraphina caught the General's gaze, immediately pulled her hood lower, and sought to dissolve into the shadows. But General Valerius pursued her, his gauntlet gripping her arm with stern authority as he whispered, "No matter how heavily I lay my command upon you, you never yield. I forbade you yesternight from venturing here."
"If you forbade my presence, why are you present?" Seraphina retorted, her eyes flashing coldly beneath the wool. "Your boots should scarce be treading this mire either."
"To bandy words with you is vanity," the General sighed, a heavy weight in his chest. "I foretold that the import of this decree would reach our ears regardless."
"I give no credence to words passed from mouth to mouth like a sickness," Seraphina said icily. "Until the words strike my own ears, my mind remains unquiet. And if your faith in these peasants is so grand, why did you show your face?"
"My lady," the General whispered, his lips grazing the edge of her hood, "I knew your stubborn blood would brave my warning. I could not leave you unguarded in this den of wolves, so I was bound to come."
"Now that you are here, hold your peace and attend," she snapped, averting her gaze. "The grand edict begins."
Suddenly, the commons fell so utterly mute it was as though the vast square were a desolate ruin. The only sound remaining in that stifled stillness was the rhythmic, metallic thud of the warhorse's hooves as a lone knight stepped to the precipice of the dais. He unfurled a massive, heavy parchment with both hands and roared:
"The grand tournament shall commence when the next cycle of the sun arrives! This year's tourney shall be unlike any slaughter witnessed since the days of our first ancestors. Henceforth, the realm shall know but a single contest each turning of the seasons. Our Sovereign Lord has decreed that the ancient tradition of multiple annual tourneys is dead and blotted out!"
Suddenly, the General's sharp eyes discerned a few figures among the smallfolk staring intently at their position. "Seraphina, I must take my leave," he whispered urgently.
"Why?"
"I fear my countenance has been recognized. Should that truth come to light, the price shall be paid in blood by us both. My proper place is at the high hearth with King Argus. If I bide close to his shadow, his suspicions shall sleep."
"Go, then," she said quietly, her eyes fixed ahead upon the crown's men.
As the General prepared to vanish into the gray fog, he looked back at her one last time. "Relate the entirety of it to me when the shadows stretch longest, Seraphina. Every single detail." In the turning of an eye, he was swallowed by the dense sea of the smallfolk.
The knight's roaring voice pulled Seraphina's attention back to the wooden stage. "My King has declared that the victor of this tourney shall be granted a hoard of gold sufficient to keep five generations fat and unburdened! Furthermore, the champion shall be elevated to a high and noble station within the very walls of Evergard Castle!"
A desperate, gaunt wretch from the starving crowd raised his voice, shouting in the broken, chewed tongue of the fields:
"But m'lord... if there be such gold nigh... tell us... what manner of bloody sport be this? 'Gainst who must we pit our steel?"
The knight's face flushed crimson with sudden patrician rage. "Silence, dog of the ditch! Interrupt my tongue again, and you shall rue the day your mother birthed you."
Seraphina clenched her fist tightly beneath her cloak. Like the King, his hounds have changed their coats as well, she thought with bitter venom.
"To answer the cry of this simpleton," the knight continued, smoothing his gauntlet over the parchment, "the contest shall span ten trials of blood. In each round, you shall face a chained captive of the deep dungeons. If you survive but eight of the ten trials, the King shall honor his grand covenant."
A cold wave of dread washed over the submissive citizens, while the cutthroats, thieves, and outlaws in the dark corners of the square exchanged cruel, avaricious grins.
"Now, the iron laws!" the knight yelled. "First Edict: Once your mark is inked upon this parchment, there is no retreat. Whosoever attempts to turn back shall be pinned to the earth on the instant by a ballista bolt. Ponder your mortality before you sign. Second Edict: If any soul attempts to aid a brother, a sire, a son, or a husband within the iron boundaries of the Arena, the tourney shall be dissolved on the spot. The savior shall rot within the deepest pit for the remainder of his days, and the fighter shall be cast out into the horrors of 'No Man's Land' until his flesh turns to ash!"
Hearing the name 'No Man's Land' echo through the square, Commander Seraphina began to tremble. Her heart sank into a dark abyss.
"No Man's Land?" Daker asked from his place of concealment, peering through the narrow cracks of the timber shutter. "What manner of place is that?"
"You do not know of No Man's Land?" Daki asked, turning to him with wide, astonished eyes. "That is the desolate expanse where the most loathsome outcasts are sent to be consumed by the wild."
"And where does this wasteland lie?"
"It is the void that stretches beyond the 'Wells of Justice'," Daki explained.
"And what is the 'Well of Justice'?"
Daki looked upon him as though he were an idiot foreign to the earth. "You are ignorant of the Wells of Justice, yet you call yourself a Prince? Have your boots never crossed the threshold of that high fortress?"
"They have," Daker muttered, his voice dropping into a dark, solemn register, "but never have I wandered this far from the high seat."
"Hold your tongue for this span," Daki whispered, gesturing toward the chaos below. "I shall relate the whole of it when the sun has gone. Listen."
The knight's voice rang out one final time across the square. "It is a contest of absolute mortality—either you shall slay the beast before you, or your blood shall paint its claws. You have until the sun dips to ponder your fate. When the next dawn breaks, we shall take names upon this very earth. If you are minded to gamble your breath for a golden future, present your flesh hither."
As the knights wheeled their steeds and departed, utter madness and frantic weeping broke out across the square.
High within the stone keep, King Argus's madness was reaching a fever pitch. He paced the grand corridors, hunting for Daker, barking at his guards, "Go! Unearth him! Tell him his sire is well-pleased with his conduct and awaits his presence within the solar. Begone!"
Far from the palace, within Daki's low-roofed refuge, Daker spoke again, "Daki, you promised to speak of the Wells of Justice."
"I possess not the full lore myself," she said, letting out a weary breath, "but my sire would weave tales of it when the winter fires burned. Observe." She brought forth a coarse, yellowish parchment and traced a map with three large charcoal circles. "Look upon this, Daker. The world is a vast terror. These three boundaries are the three enclosures known as the 'Wells of Justice'. They are no mere pits; they are monumental, primordial ramparts of stone, rising seventy meters toward the sky. Within the womb of each well lies an entire realm—complete with its own keeps, cities, great rivers, and untamed forests."
"But can the peoples not pass from one enclosure to another?" Daker asked, leaning his weight over the charcoal marks.
"My sire maintained that the merchant-caravans traversed the boundaries many winters ago. But now, the 'Giant Gates'—the Gates of Justice—are eternally bound with iron chains. Horrors and dark entities from the outer wastes were wont to don the guise of human traders to slip inside our sanctuary. Since those dark days, the barriers remain closed."
"Oh," Daker whispered, a cold dread settling into his chest. "And the desolation between these wells... is that Isangard?"
"The territory within and immediately surrounding our own well is Isangard," Daki corrected him. "But the barren, accursed void between the two wells is called 'No Man's Land'. No mortal sets foot upon that earth now, for it is the dominion of fiends. It is an absolute snare of death."
"But Daki," Daker asked, staring fixedly at the charcoal lines, "can the fiends not scale those ramparts and breach our walls?"
"Has the tale of the Blind Crows Knights never reached your ears?" Daki asked in a hushed, trembling whisper.
At that name, Daker's eyes snapped shut. He clenched his fists so fiercely that the veins in his forearms swelled like thick ropes. A cold chill ran through his entire frame. An ancient, suppressed fury flared within him, yet he bound his tongue to silence. "Who are they? No lord or master ever spoke of them within the castle walls."
"The Blind Crows are monsters of a different breeding," Daki said softly, casting her eyes toward the heavy door. "They share not our blood. It is they who keep vigil upon the towering ramparts of the Wells of Justice. The common folk deem them mere phantoms of ancient song, but my sire swore they still bide up there in the high dark, watching."
"What power makes them so distinct?"
"They have no eyes; their sockets are hollow darkness. Yet their senses of hearing and scent are a thousand times sharper than those of any knight who breathes. They are invisible executioners—they can pin a crawling insect to a leaf in the absolute blackness of a forest with a ballista bolt from leagues away. They are silent death."
Meanwhile, within the grand stone vaulted chambers of the fortress, King Argus was informed of the boy's disappearance. "My Sovereign, we have scoured every dark corner of the keep. He is flown."
A twisted, vacant smile spread across Argus's visage; he perceived that the boy had slipped his leash. "Bring the General before me. Tell him I command his presence on the instant."
When the messengers finally unearthed Valerius, he had already shed his peasant disguise and returned to his station. He found the Sovereign within the private garden, where Argus was tossing heavy gold pieces to a cabal of personal knights, who mounted their chargers and galloped past the iron gates.
"My Lord, you summoned my steel?" Valerius bowed, his posture rigid with martial perfection.
"Daker is absent, Valerius," the King said without raising his eyes, spinning a gold coin between his fingers. "He is not wont to pass beyond the castle gates. Has your gaze fallen upon him?"
"No, My Sovereign," Valerius lied smoothly, keeping his eyes lowered to hide the deep, burning hatred reflecting in his pupils. "Should my scouts unearth him, I shall drag him to your feet."
"There is no need," Argus said in a cold, detached voice. "I have unleashed my own hounds to search every hovel in the city. They shall bring him to me in chains."
"Forgive my insolence, My Lord," Valerius said, gathering his courage to break the courtly silence, "but I must speak. Your countenance has altered entirely. You are no longer the just ruler who once sat the high seat. You have even undone the sacred edicts of the tourney. What darkness occupies your mind?"
Without a word, the Sovereign tossed an ancient artifact at the General's boots. It was a venerable scroll wrapped in silver rods, adorned with intricate, ominous engravings. Valerius retrieved it with trembling fingers. It was a royal decree penned generations ago by Argus's own ancestors.
It read:
The 'Dire Dirge' tournament shall be suspended for a span of seasons as a covenant of peace. For generations gone by, there shall be peaceful tourneys where no warrior shall lose his breath. But once those seasons have run their course, the reigning Sovereign may choose to extend the peace or awaken the ancient game of slaughter—The Dire Dirge.
As he finished reading, Valerius began to shake from head to foot. Sweat poured down his weathered brow, and his blood grew hot as if consumed by a sudden ague. He looked up to see King Argus wearing a horrific, unhinged smile.
"My Lord," Valerius stammered, "you are the shield of these people. Why bring back this senseless butchery? The peaceful tourney kept your vassals safe and your knights honored."
"You speak with a silver tongue, old friend," Argus said, his eyes wild with the fires of his impending madness. "I weighed the matter through many long nights. But if this peace endures, every drunkard in the gutter shall deem himself a king. The commons must know who holds the true iron. And what mockery is this? The weak shall perish, and the strong shall claim the prize. Look upon the realm, Valerius—men are slaying their brothers for a crust of moldy bread, thieving, casting away all honor. This slaughter shall thin the herd, preserve our granaries, and put an end to these petty defilements."
Valerius ground his teeth in sheer revulsion. Breaking all protocol of the high court, he shouted, "Argus, you have lost your wits! I am no mere commander of your legions; I am the companion of your youth. What demon truly occupies your thoughts?"
"The Fiend..." Argus whispered, his voice dropping into a ragged hiss.
"The Fiend? What madness is this?"
"The Fiend's curse is withering our sovereignty from within," Argus growled.
"That curse shall claim us in the winters to come—but your twisted mind shall destroy us before the next frost!" Valerius shouted, casting away all caution. "If the curse possessed substance, it would have broken upon us many seasons ago! The creature spoke of a 'Great Presence' descending—where does it bide? No entity came! This drought is but the ill-favor of the sky, and Queen Isabella is fading from the sickness of the blood. The people are terrified of losing their Queen. They require a sovereign, Argus, not a butcher!"
"Nay," Argus said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register.
"General, remember your station!" the King suddenly roared like a wounded manticore. "This ruin began because we carved that dying peasant wretch open! Had we suffered her corpse to rot in the depths of that well, the womb would have swallowed the babe, and the tale would have ended in the dust. We ought to have left that commoner's carcass to the crows, yet we ripped the child from her cold flesh. We slaughtered the Fiend, and with his final breath, he unleashed a blight that has withered our crops. Never in all the turnings of the seasons has this realm witnessed such a desolate drought."
Valerius gasped, the breath fleeing his lungs. His eyes went wide with sudden horror. "Daker? You are overturning the sacred edicts of an ancient peace... all for a commoner's bastard? For Daker? I demand to hear it from your lips, Argus!"
With a devilish, unhinged grin, King Argus turned to walk away into the shadows of the vaulted corridor. He vanished into the dark, pausing only for a fraction of a heartbeat to throw his voice back over his shoulder.
"He was marked for the grave when that beggar-woman drew her last breath. I gifted him these winters of borrowed breath. Now, the hour has struck to take that breath back."
[End of Chapter 11]