Chapter Nine: A Scourge From the North
Artorias has been speaking the tongue of a madman for the past few hours. There are brier glimpses of coherent language scattered in his sentences, but as time has worn on, these instances have become fewer and fewer. I don't want to think about what it means, because we're so close now. The desert has thinned out and the city of Balder lies ahead of us, thousands of tiny lights illuminating the grand shape.
Another hour passes, and then the tall oak drawbridge lies before us. Guards carrying crossbows shout at us for a couple of minutes before loosening the winch, and opening the doors.
Balder is a truly impressive city. Built on the outskirts of the Eternal Desert, the city was founded upon a large body of water- the only water I've seen all day in the desert - dense enough to nourish all of their citizens without having to worry about over-stretching the supply. As such, a the buildings in the town (a curious rendition of wood and stone) encompass an enormous lake. The city has a natural beauty to it, and I find myself wondering if our misunderstanding of humanity went deeper than I had imagined. Certainly, they were crafty, quirky creatures, I had no particular quarrel with them.
We were able to get Artorias to a alchemists on our way in with little fuss, and promising co-operation. Then, we were escorted by rapier-wielding guards as we crossed a bridge and entered the royal pavilions. Several aristocratic types gave us funny looks, like we were dirt off of a shoe that had somehow gained life. I ignored them. I've been getting this treatment all my life.
The guards stopped by a set of golden-hinged doors and beckoned us inside. Wiping our shoes on the rug, we did so.
The Knight King Rendal was in the middle of some kind of discussion with his jester when we walked in. He was a funny-looking, short man with a plump face, a skinny body and a clump of hair on his chin trying to pass for a goatee. And I'm not talking about the jester.
"You are excused," Rendal called to him in a voice unfitting for a child, no less a king. Then, he turned to us, with his arms spread wide, and wished us a warm welcome and a happy day. 'This couldn't be him,' I thought to myself. 'The Knight King Rendal of Balder, who had killed a drake with his bare hands. This couldn't be him.'
He seemed to anticipate my skepticism, for he quickly told us: "I am often mistaken for my father," he giggled, "But we are two different men. When he handed his kingdom to me, he did so willingly, believing in the strength of my contribution to his legacy!"
"Oh, brother," I heard Ornstein mutter.
"Where is your father?" Ciaran asks, her inquisitive nature uprooting any glimpse of politeness or courtesy.
"I'm afraid he has gone quite mad. We keep him in the dungeons for the kingdom's safety. Such a strong man he was, too. A ruler with an iron fist. I imagine I am somewhat of a disappointment to him."
His attitude had been completely polarised in a matter of minutes, which I found to be quite strange. But I was further troubled by the revelations about his father. Rendal was a strong ally to gain, and with his loss, any chance for an alliance between our lands could be evaporated.
"A pity," Ciaran says, and I wonder how deeply she means it. "Quite mad, you say?"
"Oh yes! Thoroughly! Like jam on toast. It all started the day he died."
My breath caught in my throat. Had I misheard him. "Excuse me?"
"Yes?"
"I apologise if I misheard you. You said that your father had died."
"You hear me loud and clear."
"And yet, he resides in the dungeon."
"For our sake, not his."
Chills began to run down my spine, and I felt the impulse to turn and run away as fast as I possibly could. But alas, I am a trusted knight of Gwyn, and we leave the running to the bad guys.
"Tell me about the day he died."
A sadness blooms in Rendal Jr's eyes. "Not even a full cycle ago. He was riding back through the castle grounds after a hunt in the forest. He'd been very lucky too; three wild boars and a pheasant. A feast was in order. A feast of the damned, perhaps. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen..."
"That might not be saying much," Ornstein interjected.
The King ignored him (or perhaps did not even hear him; so lost was he in the flurry of his own, tragic memories.) "His horse, Pride, was one of the best. Reliable; sturdy, dependable. He earned his name in a trial by fire against bandits in the woods. The King loved him like his own child. But that day, something spooked him..."
His irises clouded over, and a darkness spread across his face. "Pride never got spooked."
"This story doesn't have a bright ending, does it?" Ciaran's psychic powers of foretelling were clearly unmatched.
"She bucked, and the king... my, my father... his neck was broken. He died instantly. He's never been the same since."
"I can imagine," Ornstein grunts, and I gesture his silence. "So, what happened next?" I asked.
Rendal shrugs. "There was a ceremony, and all the members of our family showed up to give their condolences. My Uncle, Karamir of Zena, took the throne of Balder. Seven days later, he was found dead with his throat slit. My father's sword, still dripping with blood, lay at his feet. We buried the sword with my father."
"Grave robbers?" I offered, but Rendal shook his head with fury.
"The wounds were not self-inflicted. He had been stabbed multiple times in the chest. Even if not for this damning evidence, we found my father cowering under a table in the royal bedrooms. But he was not... the same. I couldn't believe my father could've killed his uncle in cold blood, but I could take no chances. He has been locked in the dungeon ever since."
"This is troubling news," Ciaran said. "But we came here with one purpose, and we intend to fulfil it." Rendal looks at us inquisitively. "Where is Ariamis?"
"Hmmm," he says quietly. "I have not seen him in some while. Let's see... He was here last month for materials, and I told him, I told him: 'Ariamis, I want you to make a sculpture of my father, and bring it to me.' For aesthetics, you see... Make the people more comfortable amongst all this seat-swapping hysteria."
Ornstein grunts and shakes his head sleepily. "I believe our trip has been wasted. I must check on Artorias, but I will meet you back at the gates in three hours."
"I'm coming too," Ciaran cries, leaving me standing with the King.
"I should also check on my father," he says. No offence was intended, I'm certain, but yet, leaving me alone like this does a lot to make one feel isolated. I decide to follow Rendal, and he leads me down a winding passageway lined with flickering flames and dusty cobwebs. We reach a door, and Rendal turns to me.
"You should probably brace yourself. Whatever this... creature is, it is not my father."
I nod, and with one push from my gigantic fingers, I open the door, anxiety eating me from the inside.
- Anor Londo -
Havel was always alarmed whenever someone would walk into the kitchen above. Whether they were servants, or Lords intending to whip the servants, there was always a stark terror in his gut that he would be discovered. One accidental trip, or collision, and the secret passage would open before their eyes. The spell that maintained the illusion was not strong, and Havel resented having to use it, hypocrisy burning like acid through all of his ambitions and fragile hopes.
Right at that moment, two Silver Knights were on patrol, and he could hear the heavy clunking of their armour as they strode about above. He also caught a little of their chatter.
"Did you hear about the fishing village to the south?"
"No. What happened?"
"Burned to ashes. Everyone killed. The official cause is arson, but you and I both know that this fire was something else."
"You mean... it could be dragon-fire?"
"I don't want to believe it, but yes, I suspect so."
"I thought all the dragons were extinct! Except, you know, Seath."
"There have been whispers all across the land that recently there have been several dragon sightings. Hundreds more than usual, and hundreds over the point at which I wouldn't believe it."
"Well, I hope it doesn't come here. I've been enjoying the peace time, you know? Raising my son, caring for my wife. We even got ourselves a patch of land down south. We're going to grow cabbages."
"Ah, that sounds lovely. I just-"
The screams of the knight as he plummeted through the wall echoed through the blackness in which Havel stood. Not much caused the Rock to shake, but this sudden turn of events sent shivers all down his bones.
"What the?" the other Silver Knight yelled, charging down the stairs at blinding speed and surprising accuracy. He helped his comrade to his feet, and then swivelled his head around, surveying the strange pit that he had fallen into.
"I think we should report this," he said, calmly.
"Are you nuts!?" his friend blurted. "We haven't seen action in years! This place is a prize catch, and I don't want some nobody's coming in and taking our jobs! Come on!"
"I don't know about this, there's something really fishy about this."
"Exactly! Finding and bringing Gwyn the treasonable, conniving weasel who built this would get us promoted to Lords, I'll bet you. You can have whole fields of cabbages!"
"Look, I don't want any trouble."
Havel slowly crept around the pillars, certain that one noise could give him away. He aimed not to make any, and was succeeding, against all odds.
"That's your problem. You're a thinker, I'm a doer. We're a perfect team; a lightning combination. They would carve out names in history!"
"Alright, look. I'll stay for ten minutes, but I need to get off quick tonight. Me and the wife are having pie."
"You won't miss a slice, I promise. In fact, you'll have all the pies you could ever dream of!"
"You really know how to tempt me, don't you?" his comrade laughed.
"Years of experience have taught me much. Now, I want you-"
The silver-horned helmet was durable, but nothing could prepare it for the crunching of Greatshield-against-wall. The metal wrenched and groaned, and both the helmet and the knight's skull caved in at approximately the same time. The knight crumpled to the ground, his lips curled in a final, yet deprived, scream of agony.
His friend whipped around, disoriented by the low visibility, and drew his sword. Havel was ready. He hefted his enormous shield into the air again, and the straight sword, despite its extreme slender dexterity, could not handle the pressure. The hilt shattered, and the metal fell in pieces to the floor. A kick to the knight's shin sent him sprawling, and almost instantaneously, he felt another leg poised over his throat, followed by a barely-audible, maddened whisper.
"You know what I'm going to make of you?" Havel the Rock asked, knowing that no answer would sway his judgement.
"Cabbage soup."
Then the hammer came down, and the darkness became permanent.
- Balder City Barracks -
The eyes were cold, and yellow. Like a vicious lizard. They followed me from the doorway to where I stand now, a few inches back from the black-stone bars. There was no life, or warmth, or humanity in them. They seeped death from every vein, and just knowing that just one of them might be upon me at any moment was enough to warrant my uncharacteristic silence. Rendal's face was like a stone slab as he tossed a chunk of bloodied meat through the bars, whereupon it was devoured hungrily by sharpened claws.
"My father," he confirmed solemnly, turning from the ghastly sight and trying to look me in the eyes. "He is not so well behaved around guests any more. You will want to stay back."
I nod, for I certainly have no objections to this. The sounds of munching and crunching that escape from the cell are unlike anything I have ever associated with the word 'alive.'
"My lord?" Rendal tries once more to grab the attention of the hollowed shell of his father. The creature just stares wildly at him, beyond recognition of a man, and yet more reminiscent of one than a true monster.
Suddenly, the wraith charges the bars, and its clammy palms clasp the fiercely-wrought stone. Upon realisation that its escape was not assured, its mouth twitched into a snarl, and bloodied globs of saliva flooded from its open mouth. An indescribable look passes Rendal's face, and I see his hand reach for his belt. With one quick movement, he has released his halberd from its rest, and replaced it in the front of his father's chest. The 'hollow' crumples, moaning quietly.
Rendal looks at me, and his eyes betray that he is not relieved for the death of the abomination. "He'll be back," he says dismissively. "Give it a few hours."
I find my black curiosity getting the better of me again. "Is it safe to approach him?"
Rendal nods, but he looks confused. "Why?"
"I must see," I say, and approach the bars where the former king has fallen. Gently, I reach for his skeletal face, and prise open one of his eyelids. For several good seconds, I just stare. Stare into the abyssal void of desperation and futility, the vortex of soul-consuming misery.
And darkness stares back.
NEXT CHAPTER: The Siege of Anor Londo - October
