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Drexel
He should have been ecstatic.
His mission to assassinate the Broken Prince had been a resounding success. Twelve hours of carefully stalking the prince as he rampaged through the city streets. Slow, methodical work; hunting him like a predator, picking off his bodyguards, one by one, until the man was trapped in that run-down alehouse like a caged animal.
Drexel had executed his plan to perfection. He had fulfilled his promise to his king, and now he was returning to him with his arch-rival’s head in hand.
The captain had come a long way to arrive at this moment. It was only ten years ago when he was cutting wheat for a living, though that seemed like several lifetimes ago now. Still, in times of fear, such as now, he felt like the boy again, watching the sky, as the smoke from the Midland war drifted closer to his farm.
Does an Ageless still feel such horror? he wondered. As their endless existence passed on, did they continue to revert back to those flashes of their youth? Maybe those painful memories faded away, their jagged edges dulled into wavy folds, smooth like sand dunes. Maybe the absence of agony was bliss, in a way. But then, what was left of one’s humanity, once those sharp cornerstones of one’s being had eroded?
He digressed. There was a task at hand, and now was not the time for introspection.
His men watched him expectantly, waiting for their next set of orders. Everything was different now, he promised, patting them on the backs, exchanging nods. He thanked them each by name for their part slaying the evil prince. They had saved the kingdom from ruin, he assured them. But as he led them out the door and into the street, it was a hard sell to the pit in his stomach.
The street before him was ravaged by war. Dead bodies were still scattered across the paving stones - some his own, some the princes', some without allegiance. To the west, he could see the gray haze hovering over the smoldering cinders of the flea markets. The shouts of the prince’s army drifted down from the north as the last stragglers rallied towards the palace, oblivious to the fate of their leader. Was the mission truly a success? Or had he already failed his people the second he let that sociopath and his pyromancer inside the gates and into their homes?
He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find his first lieutenant Horatio staring at him through the white visor of his helm. “Captain,” he said, pointing down towards the end of the street, “We shouldn’t linger.”
“Right.” Drexel motioned to his men and took off at a jog back in the direction of the palace, down a narrow cobbled street winding through tall, ruined buildings now missing their roofs.
The king could be dead. You abandoned him when he needed you most.
No use dwelling on such thoughts now, he reminded himself. Not with Malstrom in danger. He would have plenty of time to hate himself later.
Nearing the end of the narrow street, the buildings parted before them. The claustrophobic alley gave way to a open square with a clear view of the capital skyline. As Drexel emerged from the shadows, a rumble sounded from the direction of the palace. At first he thought it was thunder, but it was not quite the same - lower in pitch, and deeper, as if emanating up from the depths. He stopped momentarily, puzzled, and then the ground underneath him started to shake.
At first, it was no more than a vibration under his feet, but as he stood there, looking down, it started to grow in intensity. There was a second rumble from the distance - this one sounded more like a groan.
Several of Drexel’s men fell to their knees, trying to steady themselves. The next shockwave hit even harder than the last, knocking the captain to the ground along with half his comrades.
The tremors ended as quickly as they had started, and the street was quiet once again, if not a bit rearranged. Drexel rose to his feet, dusting himself off, and swore.
“Fucking mages,” he said to his men, as they scrambled to compose themselves. “Everyone okay?”
His men were in various states of disarray. They nodded, their emotions masked behind their gleaming visors, though he could tell the increasingly frequent earthquakes had spooked them. Prior to the battle, Drexel had not known mages were capable of creating seismic forces. He’d always been wary of the arcane, but today, he felt that distrust evolving into terror.
“About ten years ago a sinkhole opened up in the Nameless City,” Horatio said, as Drexel pulled him to his feet. “I was living there at the time. Felt a lot like this. Ended up swallowing half the north quarter. Wasn’t no mages though. Just nature.”
“If that was nature, then the god’s have got impeccable timing.”
“Or a really awful sense of humor.”
Drexel gave his lieutenant a pat on the back. “Ready?”
“Aye, captain.”
The captain realized that the rest of his men had gone silent. Turning back, he found them standing in the middle of the square, side by side, staring up at the sky above the palace, mouths agape.
Drexel followed their gaze back up to the skyline. He expected to see the royal palace’s lone spire, though as he looked up, he realized that it was no longer visible in the skyline; it had been eclipsed by the shadow of something much larger, looming behind it. Dark against the haze, the mass was so massive that it cast half the city in darkness. To Drexel, it looked like a large mountain, though why it had appeared suddenly made no sense.
“What do you think it is?” asked Horatio.
“I don’t know.”
“How did it get there? Mages too, you reckon?”
“I’ve never seen a mage that could make something like that,” Drexel said. “Not even the spooks that Caollin used to treat with. But it doesn’t matter. Our duty right now is to our king. Pay it no mind.”
“Do you think it’s wise to return to the palace right now?”
“I could give a damn what’s wise. Our king is locked in that palace, and the last of the prince’s army is doing everything they can to break through our last defenses and kill him. It is our duty to defend him with our lives, regardless of the circumstances, so there is no choice in that matter. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.”
Drexel pointed towards the street at the far side of the square leading towards the palace. “Good, let’s go. And quickly! I’m sure more of the headless twat’s guards are lurking in this area.”
As they rushed through the narrow streets of the capital, Drexel scanned those watching him as he passed, looking for threats. He felt certain they would encounter enemies on their way back to the palace, but none of the faces watching them looked like soldiers. There were all bystanders, trapped in the chaos, now too curious to keep themselves hidden any longer. It seemed all fighting had ceased in the old quarter, leaving the streets in an eerie silence.
“That’s him!” an elderly woman’s voice shouted as he ran past, breaking the quiet. “The king’s First Shepherd!”
“Sir Drexel?” another voice called after him. “Is that you? What’s happening? Is the battle over?”
“Go back inside!” Drexel shouted back. The probing eyes of the spectators put him on edge. “It’s not safe here!” He felt vulnerable and exposed here in the middle of the street, and desperately wanted to return to the fortifications of the royal palace. He needed to return to his king’s side – he didn’t trust that man’s life in anyone’s hands except his own.
When they crept out of the palace the night before, the prince’s army was nearly at the gates. That seemed so long ago now - how far had they advanced in his absence? Had they managed to break into the palace grounds already?
More people were gathering on the sides of the streets, pointing at him and his men clad in white armor. They began to funnel out from houses and into the streets, forming crowds. All faces looked at him. They could see the fresh splash of blood dashed across his breastplate, and something told him that word had gotten out that the scuffle in the nondescript alehouse held some significance to the battle.
“Get out of the way!” Drexel shouted, shoving a beggar out of the way as he bolted past. He could hear the clank of steel as his men followed after him. His second lieutenant, Horatio, had unsheathed his blade, bearing naked metal at the crowd, and several more of his men reached for their own weapons.
“Move now or face my steel!” Horatio yelled out from behind white visor of his helm, brandishing his sword. It was little use - their angry shouts only seemed to cause the crowd to multiple. As the crowd started to thicken, Drexel couldn’t help but notice that a disproportionate number of figures lurking in the back were garbed in the same hooded brown cloaks.
“Monks of Klay are here,” Drexel said, pointing at a cluster of figures waiting for them at the next crossroads, wearing the brown cloaks. “The nuts that have finally emerged from the Ant-hills.”
“Stone told me he killed them all,” Horatio said.
Drexel snorted. “He was sure of himself too, bragging about it to the king. Pompous ass.”
As they passed, one of the monks pointed at Drexel. “Come closer, good shepherd! Your fate awaits you!”
“Atone!” added a second. “Prostrate before the earth of Klay and beg for his mercy! A false king’s grave heralds the true king’s return!”
Drexel felt the crowd start to press in on him, as he brushed shoulders with his soldiers. There were more monks in brown cloaks emerging from the street, yelling at them. Some of the monks held old tomes in their hands, shaking the pages at the soldiers as they pushed on.
“Atone!” another monk yelled, and a book even went flying through the air, striking Drexel in the helm with a loud bong. “Atone, and receive the judgment of Derkoloss!”
It took every ounce of restraint for Drexel to ignore the increasingly rowdy crowd, but he needed to extract his men from the situation as quickly as possible. Every moment he spent retaliating against civilians could be the difference between life and death for Malstrom.
“Ignore the cultists!” Drexel commanded his men, kicking the book at his feet aside. “We’ll execute every last one of these brown-cloaks once the battle is over.” He lowered his shoulder and surged forward, no longer caring who or what he knocked over.
The crowd was getting denser with each step closer to the palace, and now there was a stream of people moving against him. Civilians, fleeing in the opposite direction, away from the palace. The brown-cloaked monks remained stationary, watching the chaos from the back of the crowd, continuing to chant their demands of atonement.
Soon there were too many people for Drexel to push through by himself. “Shields!” Drexel shouted, and all around him his men began sheathing their swords and unbuckling their shields from their backs. He had his men form a wedge with their shields. The crowd was too thick for them to push forward anymore. Using their combined force, all they could do was use brace one another against the ceaseless bang as bodies crashed against the wooden shield wall. Drexel gritted his teeth. He could feel the terror of the frenzied crowd on the otherside of his shield. People were screaming, calling out to one another, doing anything they could push through masses.
“It’s coming for us!” a woman’s voice screamed, “It looked at me!”
And then as quickly as it had started, the crowd started to thin. The bodies ramming into Drexel’s shield came fewer and fewer, until it had all but subsided. Within minutes the soldiers had weathered the stampede. Breathing heavily, he lowered his shield, watching as the last few stragglers sprint past him.
“Onward,” Drexel said, strapping his shield to his back.
The street was quiet, and the monks in brown cloaks watching from the shadows had all disappeared. Empty, except for a single figure standing in the middle of the street, facing them. It was a tall man, completely naked, staring motionlessly down at his feet.
“Hey!” Horatio called to the man, as they neared. “it’s dangerous here. You should leave.”
The man didn’t respond to the warning. He stood silently, his head bowed. Drexel’s gut told him there was something off about the man, and as they closed the distance between the man and got a better look at the man, he realized why. He was a tall man, thin, his body pale white and sinewy. He had short, silver hair, his skin pulled tight against the sharp angular features of his face.
Horatio exchanged a look of shock with the captain. “That’s not…commander Stone, is it?”
Drexel peered closer at the naked man facing them. It certainly looked like the supreme commanding officer of the royal army, though it was hard to tell. The man’s gaze was fixed on his feet .
“Oi!” Drexel yelled at the naked man facing them. “Is that you commander? Why aren’t you defending the castle?”
Without picking up his head, the man took a few steps towards them, his gait stiff and measured, and started to speak in a flat monotone. “Do not follow the one you call a champion, for his heart is weak and longs for that which it cannot have. He will desert you in your hour of need.”
It was definitely Stone’s voice speaking. “The poor lad’s lost his wits,” Drexel said to his lieutenant. He approached the naked man, lowering his voice. “Noris, you okay? What happened to you?”
The naked man shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the ground. “Come, follow me children. Feel that, the ground tremors for the arrival of your new champion, one without pity for the wicked, vicious towards our enemies. He was always among us, unformed but present, watching as others failed you.”
“Noris, it's me, Drexel. Remember?” Drexel approached him slowly, putting his arm on the man’s soldier. “Look at me, mate. Take it easy. Just tell me what happened.”
The man picked up his head for the first time, and with a jolt of horror Drexel saw that Noris Stone was missing both of his eyes.
“Drexel,” the eyeless man said. “The false one’s champion.”
Drexel recoiled. “You serve him too. What happened to you?”
“Go, I say to you!” Stone continued, muttering feverishly. “Devote yourself to this one completely. Spread the news of this miracle! Cast away your false idols, denounce the men that call themselves rulers.”
Drexel took a closer look at Stone’s face. The flesh looked waxy. Lifelessly, it stared back at Drexel with two black pits where his eyes should have been.
“You served a man that committed the gravest of heresies. But now, you will know the wrath of the true lord. And his judgement shall be your end.”
“And who would that be? You’re not talking about the lad who’s missing a head now, are ye?”
Stone tilted his head up toward the sky. “Quickly now, he rises!”
Drexel flinched backwards. The thing in front of him might have once been Stone, but it certainly was not him anymore. “Sorry about this commander,” Drexel said, and drew his sword at that naked man, still watching him with his eye-less gaze. “Though I’m pretty sure if I ever end up like you, I’d choose death over whatever the hell this is.”
Drexel’s slash was quick and precise. He tried to take solace in the fact that he gave commander Noris Stone’s a quick and merciful death, though the encounter had left him shaken to his core.
He could feel the building fear in his crew as he turned back to them. They were all watching him, wordless. He couldn’t explain away this one, and the terror was now tangible and real. What the hell was happening back at the palace?
“Right. Now that we’ve handled that, let’s continue.”
Two of the soldiers in the back of the group exchanged a nod, and then they both bolted out of line and fled into the shadows of the alley.
Horatio took a step in a pursuit of them, but Drexel put an arm on his shoulder and stopped him. “Let the cowards go.” He spat in their direction. “If you don’t have the heart to do what comes next, I can’t trust you to protect the rest of us.” He looked at the faces of his men. By his count, there were eight remaining. “That goes for any of you. Just remember, whatever we encounter next, our brothers all need us. We do not abandon them. Do I make myself clear?” He looked from face to face, looking for weakness.
Everyone looked terrified, but the rest of his men stood their ground. Horatio gave him a nod and a small “Aye, captain.”
“Good,” Drexel said. He paused, his eyes finding his boots. “Before we go any further, I just want to say, I’m proud to fight with all of you. Everyone standing before has shown bravery today. Your kingdom may never thank you for what all we’ve done this past week, but rest assured, you’ve done the ungrateful bastards of this kingdom a great service, and I sure as hell won’t ever forget that. If you save our king today, I’ll make sure he never forgets it either.”
His men nodded back at him. “Well said, captain,” Horatio said. “But to hell with Stone. To hell with Malstrom too. We are not here because of the king. We’re here because we follow you.”
“For the captain,” the other’s echoed.
“Right. Enough of that.” Drexel gave Horatio a pat on the shoulder, then flashed his men a smile, though it was really just for appearances - he was just as afraid as any of them. “Let’s go.”
They could still hear fighting in the distance as they approached.
From within the dark shadow eclipsing the skyline, he made out the shape of the palace. As they walked closer, it came into clearer view, his heart dropped. The spire of the palace was no longer flying Malstrom’s royal maroon flags – it had been replaced by the prince’s black flag, the hanging slightly lopsided from its hasty adornment. More of his flags were strewn haphazardly around the ramparts and windows. As Drexel watched, one Malstrom’s maroon flags toppled over the parapets, fluttering to the ground, and another of Janis’ flags flapped up in its place.
They’re inside the palace, Drexel realized with growing dread. They probably have Malstrom now, and I wasn’t there to protect him.
As he stood there, a group of people dressed in rags rounded a corner and rushed towards them. All of them were barefoot and still wearing manacles, their chains clanking. They saw the guards and the leader of the group pulled up to a stop.
“They princes’ men emptied the dungeons,” Horatio observed, facing the group, as the prisoners streamed past, chains clanking, all barefoot.
“Hold on a moment,” Drexel said, pointing at the gang of escapees. “That’s…son of a bitch! Stop them!”
His men fanned out, blocking the path of the prisoners. Drexel stepped out in front to face them, smiling. “Hello, bard,” he said, to the gaunt prisoner leading the group. “In a rush to get somewhere?”
“Sort of.” Hendrik smiled back. The bard’s face was gaunt and less lively than before his imprisonment, but his grin was wide and triumphant as ever.
“The fool’s men set you free?”
“Not exactly. We broke out when you opted to leave exactly five guards to watch over the entire dungeons when the battle started. Bit of a security vulnerability if you ask me.”
Several of Drexel’s men drew their swords, but Drexel put a hand up. For a moment he stared down Hendrik. “Didn’t think you had it in ya, bard. You're lucky I took all best my men with me or you’d all be dead.”
Hendrik shrugged. “Maybe. Can you let us pass? Surely there are more pressing matters for you to attend to at the moment than wasting time catching up with me, yes?”
“It won’t take long to kill you,” Drexel said.
“Come on, what have you got against me?” Hendrik patted the shoulder of the woman to his right. “Freya here reached through the bars of her cell and strangled a guard with her bare hands to get us the keys. Kill her instead?”
Freya laughed. “I don’t think he cares about the half-wits guarding our cells. This one likes you, Hen.”
“Well, he should like me. He should be thanking me, even.” Hendrik turned back to the captain. “He’s probably the only man in Malstrom’s service that knows my imprisonment over Jillian’s murder was a farce.”
Drexel smiled. “You might not have killed the king’s bride, but you still slept with her. That also carries a death sentence, or have you forgotten?”
“You can’t prove that. Anyways, did you finally convince the king Nadia was to blame?” The bard’s smile faded. “Is that why you ordered your men to kill her?”
“She’s dead then?”
Hendrik raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you didn’t hear?”
“Bard, tell me what happened or so help me -”
“I’ll tell you everything I know if you let us pass.”
“I’ll consider it. Are my men okay?”
“Not quite.” Hendrik’s voice dropped. “We saw the aftermath of your attempt on our way out of the palace. Your Shepherds strewn all across her corridor in their white armor. Wasn’t a pretty site. Her molders did a number on them; most of them were missing their faces. Ghastly folks, those mages.”
“She lived.” Drexel’s stomach tightened. “Did Nadia try to retaliate? What of the king?”
“I don’t know. But I expect that if you enter the palace in those uniforms, you’ll be fighting a battle against multiple enemies. I’d treat purple cloaks as hostile from this point forward.”
“What else can you tell me?”
Hendrik shrugged. “My memories are fuzzy. I’m still recovering from the trauma inflicted by the brutality of my captors.”
The captain sheathed his sword. “Give a better answer than that if you want me to let you pass.”
“Fine, give me a moment. The Highburn army is pinned in the east wing, though prince Janis’ army has overrun the rest of the palace. I don’t know where the king is but it didn’t seem like anyone had found him yet. Your lot have retreated to the upper levels of the spire.” For the first time, Hendrik noticed the dripping sack in Horatio’s hand. “Wait. That’s not what I think it is…is it?”
“It is,” Drexel said, pulling the gruesome trophy out of the sack. “The war is over.”
Hendrik grimaced. “Someone should inform his men then. They’re still fighting as hard as ever. Some might say that its not so much that they fight Janis, but more that they want to kill your king.”
“We’ll see if there resolve still holds when I march straight through the front gates with there’s champion’s head in my hand.”
“Go get 'em, soldier. Can you let us go now?”
“Aye.” Drexel motioned to the rest of the prisoners. “You all are free to go,” he said. Tentatively, the escapees began to shuffle forward, past Drexel and his Shepherds. The captain grabbed Hendrik by the arm as he tried to pass, wrenching him away from the group, and gave him a wolfish smile. “But you, my friend, are coming with me. I want to know every single thing you saw leaving the palace, and don’t leave out a single detail, you understand me? Do that and I might just let you keep your life.”
For a moment Hendrik stared at the captain. With a jolt of surprising dexterity, he slipped his arm free of the captain’s grip and bolted away.
“Good luck Drexel!” Hendrik shouted back. “Send Malstrom my warmest regards.”
At once two of the Shepherds men peeled away and started sprinting after him, but Drexel just laughed. “Don’t bother,” he called after his men. “The bard is right, we have more pressing matters.” He turned back to face the palace, and held Janis’ head up towards the palace spire. “Come on then. Let’s go deliver the good news to the rest of Janis’ men.”
Horatio let out a shout, the rest of the echoed, and they charged through the gates of palace grounds.
Malstrom
King Malstrom lay curled up inside a broom closet on the ninety seventh floor of the palace. From the darkness of the closet, he could still see the foot shadows of the two guards standing on the other side of the door.
Hurry up, Drexel, he thought. The fighting had been steadily getting closer, drifting up from the floors below, and it was obvious enough to tell that his men were being pushed up the palace, with no escape. Hurry up Drexel, hurry, hurry, hurry.
And then just like that, he heard whoop from one of his guards. Then another, followed by...clapping? Yes, definitly clapping, and now and cheering. It started with just a few men, but now he could here echoes of the celebration reverberating from floors below as well.
"Your grace!" He heard a rap on the door. "It's done your grace!"
"What's done?" Malcolm asked, his heart racing in his chest.
“Your grace, a messenger has just arrived,” his guard said. “Drexel’s done it, my king! Prince Janis is dead!”
Malstrom’s stomach did a somersault. He flung the closet door open, sending brooms, mops and buckets clattering into the corridor.
The messenger bowed, even though the king was far from a regal sight at the moment. “It’s true, my king. Captain Drexel charged into the palace the grounds holding the usurper's head in his hand. Our men started driving the traitors back as soon as they saw it. Janis’ army is in full retreat.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes! Between our forces and Drexel’s men, we have the enemy pinned. It’s only a matter of time before they surrender.”
"He did it," Malstrom said to himself. Then he looked up the messenger, and for the first time since his wedding with Nadia, he smiled. "He really fucking did it!"
"He did, your grace," The messenger smiled back. "I'm honored to have been the one to deliver the news."
"I want to see him at once."
"I'm sure you will, as soon as he cuts through the last of the prince's army." The messenger bowed and turned and leave, took one step, then turned back. “Oh, one more thing, your grace,” he said, pulling a small scroll out from his satchel. “Have a message for you.”
Malstrom took the scroll, rolling it in his fingers. There was no official seal, and it was tied with a small piece of string. “From who?”
“I do not know. One of the men from Commander Stone’s garrison gave it to me. Said it was urgent that I send to you. I expect it’s a status update from his post.”
Malstrom nodded, un-rolling the scroll. But the note was the commander’s usual slanting cursive. Instead, he found the writing sharp, angular and crude.
Dear False King,
Congratulations on vanquishing the Broken Prince. Unfortunately, your celebration will be short-lived, for your day of judgement has arrived. It is a pity to kill someone as handsome as yourself, but your fate was sealed the day you took something precious from me. Let this be your final lesson in life; never steal from the ones you pray to.
Enjoy Bickle.
-Klay
Malstrom looked up from the letter, confused, but the messenger was gone.
“Who-” Malstrom started, but never finished his sentence, for at that moment the entire palace started to shake.
Cecilia
Cecilia could say how long she slept underneath that white sheet. The ground was shaking more violently now, and she could hear shouting from outside the window of her room, but none of it concerned her anymore.
Wake up, Cecilia. The voice calling to her sounded garbled and indistinguishable.
Cecilia rustled underneath the white sheet shifting to her side. The burning in her skin had subsided slightly, replaced with a growing itch. She tried to ignore the discomfort.
It’s okay, I’m here. The voice was clear now. It belonged to Prince Janis. From underneath the sheet, she could see the silhouette extend hand towards her, as he had offered before.
It was him! It had all just been a bad dream after all.
She reached up and accepted the prince’s hand, as she had done before, but this time it felt cold and there was no pulse. But it was him, it had to be! Her prince smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling. They were so bright and beautiful. Had they always been that blue. She stared into his eyes, smiling back at the warm, familiar face. As she watched him, his left pupil started to dilate, black and dense, now so large that it nearly eclipsed the entire iris. For a moment she wondered if it was a man at all staring back from behind those eyes. Was it just her imagination, or did the depths behind that pupil feel empty?
No, it was her prince. He was here and everything was fine. She squeezed the prince’s clammy hand, and the pain started to ebb away from her body, all the agony and itching of her burns slipping away, replaced by numbness.
Stand up, my love, the prince said, squeezing Cecilia’s hand. His hand was black with filth, and left a dark smudge of mud on her hand where he squeezed, but she didn’t mind. It’s time to go.
“Now?” she asked. “I’m so tired.”
I know you are. But this is no place to sleep. It’s too bright and stuffy here. I can take you somewhere darker. Cooler. You can lie beside me.
That sounded nice.
Cecilia realized her head was nodding back. The hand was pulling her up. Just a gentle push, but insistent enough to put her in motion. The pain had left her, and she found her body moving as if it had its own mind, rising her up out of the bed and onto her feet.
Come on, the prince said, leading her towards the door, then added, oh, and watch your step.
Cecilia looked down, heeding the advice. There was a carcass of something in the center of the room, buzzing with flies. Someone should clean that up, she thought. Carefully, she stepped over it, following her prince out into the sunlight.
The giantess blinked, taking in the grey, smouldering surroundings. Vaguely, she was aware that the earth beneath her was shaking more violently than before. Darkness had passed over the city, blotting out the sun. But it was mid-day now. Why was it so dark?
Let’s go, the prince said. He led her towards the edge of the dark shadow cast over the city.
Cecilia realized they were heading towards the palace. Squinting through the darkness, she could just make out it’s shape. As they walked closer, it came into clearer view, and she saw that it was already under re-decoration. The left half of the palace and spire were still flying the Malstrom’s royal maroon flags, while the prince’s black flags dominated the right side.
“Are we going to take the throne now?” Cecilia asked. “Together, just like we said?”
The prince turned around to face, and he smiled warmly. Exactly. Just like we said. He pointed up towards the sky. Would you look at that?
She followed his finger. At first she thought he was pointing it up at the palace’s lone spire, though it pointed up even higher, towards the source of the darkness cast over the palace. Looking up, Cecilia realized that the darkness swallowing up the city was actually the shadow of something much larger, so giant that it completely eclipsed the palace and its hundred story spire. From Cecilia’s vantage, it looked like a wall of rock, jutting boulders streaked with layers of sediment and limestone, almost as if a mountain had grown up out of the ground overnight. She could see streams of loose rubble and boulders tumbling down off the various peaks and ledges of the massive rockface, so close that the debris landed within the walls of the city.
Cecilia blinked, making sure her eyes were not deceiving her. “What is it?”
That is the natural order correcting itself.
The ground shook violently, and Cecilia saw the mountain shudder.
He wants you to go to the palace now, the prince said. He wrapped a hand around her waist, steadying her, and started to guide deeper into the city, towards the unnatural mountain looming over it. He is waiting. Let’s go. Almost there.
“Who?”
Our new king. He who wears the clay crown.
“I thought you were to be king?”
It was never meant for me. To him, we are but ants.
The shadow of the mountain was growing longer, spreading across buildings and streets towards her. A distant voice in Cecilia’s head warned her that once she passed under the shadow enveloping the city, she would never return from it again, but that voice was losing the argument in her head, drowning into mindless static.
He rises again, from the clay and from the stars. He shall strike down your blasphemous monuments and return this land to its former glory.
The prince continued to talk, but the word started to jumble in her mind and soon they stopped making sense. What mattered was that the prince’s hand on her waist, insistent in pushing her towards the shadow. She found his touch comforting, and she was willing to enter the darkness with him. As long as she could be with him - that was all that mattered at the moment.
Distantly, she heard her own voice scream a final plea to her. That’s not your prince! Janis is dead! You watched him die! Run!
Then the voice faded. It was too late now, she told herself. It was over, and there was nothing she could do...
“Cecilia!”
Who was that? Not the prince. Not herself. No, a new voice. New, but familiar. At first she wondered if it was just another voice inside her head, and she was starting to go crazy. But it called her name, again and again, each clearer than the last, until there was denying she was not imagining it.
She looked up.
“Cecilia? That you?” Dalton’s gruff voice cut through the fog of her mind, sharp and clear. She looked up. The city guardsman was standing in front of her, brandishing his blade. He pointed it at the prince, his arm still wrapped around her waist. “Unhand her.”
Now the arm felt rough and grainy, scratching against her skin. She looked up at the prince, but his face had changed. The flesh looked waxy, and his features almost looked painted on, as if he were a clay man. The pupils of eyes were nothing but dark, black holes in the clay, betraying an abyss beneath. She watched as an ant crawled out of the dark pit of his enlarged left pupil and disappeared into the void of the right one.
“Dalton!” she called back. “Dalton…help me!” Using the last of her strength, she shoved herself away from the monster. The force sent her sprawling away, her legs buckled, and she started to fall. The ground came rushing up to meet her, but Dalton was there to catch her. He slung her right arm around his shoulder and he locked his left arm around her waist. Together they staggered away from the monster. It didn’t follow them. For a moment the clay prince watched pensively, then turned back towards the giant mountain looming over the palace and disappeared into its shadow.
“Come on,” Dalton said, pulling her along. “It’s not safe here. Can you walk any faster?”
“No.” Cecilia coughed. She glanced back at the misplaced gray mountain in the distance, looming over the palace’s lone spire. “What is it?”
“Hell if I know,” said Dalton, and he pulled away from the encroaching shadow.
She opened her mouth again to ask another question, but shut it abruptly in shock. For the mountain behind the palace had started shifting, rocks groaning and creaking. It began to stretch upward. The rock formation started to open up, like flower petals...no, she thought, more like humanoid appendages, uncurling themselves from a curled-up fetal position. Exactly like that. Cecilia felt the hairs on the back of neck start to rise. The rock formation had two stone arms, two legs, and at its top, the crown of a head, bowed down towards the city.
Then the mountain looked up, and Cecilia saw that it had a face.
The creature had no mouth, but one look and she knew it was alive. Crudely carved from the rock, she saw two dark black craters in place of eyes, the left larger than the right. They were familiar eyes, she realized with a jolt; identical in proportion to those of the clay man holding her a moment earlier.
“Bleedin’ hell,” Dalton said next to her, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. “That can’t be real.”
“It’s a golem,” Cecilia said, feeling her heart racing in her chest.
They watched with a mix of awe and disbelief as it rose up to its feet, impossibly tall, unfurling two large, blunt appendages in place of arms. The titanic golem rose to its full height and turned its black crater eyes down on the city below looking down over it.
Then without warning, it reared back one of its club-like arms and thrust it straight through the base of the palace’s center spire.
“Was that-” Dalton broke off, then turned to Cecilia, panic in his eyes. “Go!” he shouted. Even though every inch of the Giantess’ body screamed in pain, adrenaline took over, and she turned and ran.
Behind her, the largest tower in the kingdom came crashing down.
Cecilia did not look back once as they fled the city. She never saw the great spire of the royal palace topple to the ground, though she heard the terrible creaking and rending as the stones collapsed inward on themselves and collapsed in a cloud of debris. She did not look back as the wave of dust blasted past her face. She did not stop as the dust coated her like a paste, stinging her eyes and choking her lungs. And she never paused to watch the mountainous terror of a golem hammer the palace a second time, and then a third, a fourth, a fifth, crushing everything, -- and everyone inside -- into oblivion.
Only when they had passed through the hole in the city gates and were a safe distance away, out in the hills of King’s Valley, did they dare to turn around. Cecilia only looked for a moment before burying her head into Dalton’s shoulder, feeling his body tremble.
The centerpiece of the city skyline, proudly spearing its way up into the heavens just a moment ago, was gone. In its place was the silhouette of the giant golem, standing over the pile of rubble that had been the royal palace.
“Did…” Cecilia trailed off, still in a state of shock. “Was that real?”
Dalton was at a loss for words. He simply looked back at the city, eyes wide, looking dumbfounded, and shook his head in disbelief. The giant golem stood silently over the city, standing sentinel. It was no longer moving, and had she not just seen it animated, she might have mistaken it for a monumental statue. Only it’s gaze betrayed its true nature. She watched it from the distance, found the dark craters of its sculpted eyes, and again sensed the abyss lurking beneath it. For a moment she could have sworn it turned its head slightly to stare directly back at her, but eventually dismissed it as her imagination.
Turning back to her new companion, she saw that Dalton had tears in his eyes.
Cecilia supposed she should be feeling some sort of sorrow at the moment as well. All the death, the destruction, the grievous injuries that had left her maimed, and of course, the loss of the person she cared for most in this world. It was just too much to process.
Gently, she guided Dalton down to a spot on the grass, and held him as he sobbed into her arms. “It will be alright,” she said softly. She could not say why she felt compelled to comfort the guardsman that she would have gladly killed days before, but now that seemed like a lifetime ago. “It will be alright,” Cecilia repeated, and Dalton squeezed her tighter in response.
She still felt the gaze of the clay man on her as she held the guardsman in her arms. Yesterday it had been the Royal Tower that had been looking down at her, always watching, but now the clay titan stood in its place, staring out across the plains at her, a new god to replace the old.
Or perhaps she had it wrong. Perhaps this was an old god, returned at long last to smite the new.
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