Hello.
Allow me to say just a few words.
I know it's been a long time since the last update. The reason is that I didn't feel like I could continue this story. Even if I planned the entire plot long ago, when it came to write it down, I felt "blocked", and even when I managed to write something, I didn't like it. I couldn't give it the right "flow". So I just stopped, and concentrate on something else. I wrote about other characters and universes, and this helped a lot actually, because I could clear my mind and, above all, practice.
I hope you're still willing to follow this tale.
On a side note, I changed my name from Kiara_g to Shell-K to make it similar to my tumblr account ( myseashellblog)
Thanks
Chapter Nine: Darkness
The research went on the whole night. The ones who had been wounded were treated, the corpses were gathered to be brought back to the city and buried.
The king had disappeared. No one had seen him. His horse was nowhere to be found. His sword vanished. Daryun couldn't stay still. He kept moving around, looking everywhere, trying to find something, anything that could lead him to the sovereign. But all his eyes met, were wounded soldiers, abandoned swords and spears, armors covered in blood.
Someone cried in the distance. The Knight in Black raised his gaze. A young soldier was running towards him, holding something in his hands. Daryun felt the blood freezing in his veins. The soldier reached him and stopped, heavily breathing, his eyes were red. His hands were trembling, as he slowly lifted them to show Daryun the object he was carrying. The Knight took it in his own hands.
It was a golden helmet. A leonine scalp was carved on the top of it, and a strand of red feathers was still barely attached to it. Daryun dropped on his knees. It was undoubtedly Arslan's helmet. An arrow had pierced through the golden frontal plate, causing a large hole, still covered in fresh blood. Daryun closed his eyes. It couldn't be. There was a mistake. There had to be.
«That's all I found», the young soldier said, his voice was a mere whisper. «A trail of blood led to the precipice».
«He probably fell», a man behind Daryun said. He took a step forward. «That arrow must have wounded His Majesty. Badly, I fear. I wish I didn't have to say this but, the chances to find him alive…».
«Shut up!», Daryun shouted turning his gaze to the man. He had met him before. Arslan had put him in charge of a small group of soldiers that served as messengers.
«Lord Daryun, I understand your sorrow. Believe me, right now my heart is just as broken. But please, consider the circumstances», the messengers' Commander told him. «We need to go back to the Capital. The wounded need rest, and the city needs protection. If hostile people were to know we are currently lacking our sovereign, they could attack Ecbatana». Daryun gritted his teeth. That man was right, still, he couldn't bring himself to believe the king was really gone.
«At least, I need to send a message to Lord Elam. He and the Court need to know», the messengers' Commander urged. Daryun raised his eyes and let his gaze wander in the sky. He stood up and sighed.
«Alright…» he whispered. «Send one of your men to the Palace. We'll move as soon as the troops are ready and we will secure Ecbatana», he agreed, nodding at the man. His yellow eyes sparkled with determination. «Once everything's settled, I'll come back and I swear on my sword I'll find him!»
Étoile took the bag resting against the wooden pole to which her horse was tied.
«I still think we should wait for the king to come back before we leave…», Thibaut said saddling his horse.
«We talked about it already!», Étoile told him. She turned around and her sharp gaze scanned her men to make sure they were working fast enough.
The stable where their horses had been recovered wasn't really large, and with all their bags and weapons gathered in the middle of the room, it seemed even smaller.
«We didn't even have the chance to thank him properly», Yanis pointed out patting his horse's head.
«We are taking advantage of his hospitality. Once he'll came back he'll have other problems to think about. He won't need a bunch of knights wandering around in his palace», the commander spat out.
Malakai looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She had been inexplicably harsh for the past two days, and even he couldn't get the reason why. Actually, judging from the quickness with which she ordered her men to prepare to leave Ecbatana, a mere hour after the king's departure, it was clear to him her behavior had something to do with the sovereign. Not to mention the fact she had been avoiding him. She didn't even great him properly before his departure. Malakai knew her too well to be fooled. The same couldn't be said for the others.
Kostàs sighed. He lifted his heavy bag and hung it on his horse's side.
«You're making a fuss over nothing», he said turning towards his comrades. «We stayed here more than enough. The commander's right. Time to leave already!». Yanis and Thibaut rolled their eyes. The young Lusitanian man was the only one, aside from Étoile, who looked forward to leaving the Capital and Pars.
For the entire time they spent in the Royal Palace, he couldn't help but feel terribly uncomfortable. Arslan was the kind of man he had always feared. He was mighty and fascinating, and Kostàs had sensed his shadow hoovering above him since they had arrived. No wonder not even Étoile could resist him.
It was sudden. A sharp yell echoed outside the stable. Everyone stopped. A few seconds passed in silence.
«What was that?», Yanis asked perplexed. Étoile left her horse and headed towards the door.
«Commander!», Kostàs called her. She stopped and turned around to look at him.
«I'm going to check what's happened. You stay here», she ordered, leaving the room.
She reached the main square in a couple of minutes. No one was around, but from there she could clearly hear the sound of rambling voices and other undefined noises coming from the upper colonnade hall of the palace. A shiver ran down her spine as a gust of wind blew over the city. The way those voices sounded unsettled her, yet, she followed them and entered the hall.
The messenger Daryun had sent had just reached the palace. As soon as he dismounted his trembling horse and put his feet on the ground, he lost his balance and almost fell on the ground. A lot of people gathered around him: soldiers, knights, maids. From her point of view, Étoile could clearly see Elam running down the great staircase that led inside the palace, followed by Alfreed. The look painted on their faces was beyond words. Étoile felt the blood freezing in her veins. She knew something was wrong. And she read in his friends' eyes it was about Arslan. The young woman gathered all her strength and took a few, heavy steps toward the small crowd, getting closer enough to hear the messenger talk.
Her heart skipped a beat. Never could she have foreseen such turn of events. When, the previous night, her eyes had accompanied the king beyond the city gate, she couldn't even imagine he would soon fall prey to an ambush.
«What did you say?!», Elam sharp voice resounded above the others, abruptly bringing Étoile back to reality. The messenger eyes were filled with tears, his lips were quivering.
«His Majesty is… »
«Talk!», Elam yelled starting to lose his composure.
«The king disappeared! His helmet… his helmet was found only a few hours ago. An arrow still jabbed in the middle of the golden plate. We fear he… perished in the fight», the man told him, trembling in pain and weariness.
Everything went blurry. The devastated look on Elam's face, the pained cry that escaped Alfreed's lips. Everything looked as if it wasn't really happening, as if everyone had been suddenly enveloped in a giant bubble.
Étoile felt dizzy. There was a mistake. There had to be a mistake. That couldn't be the end of it. He couldn't be gone. Her mind started spinning madly, her heart was tearing apart. Her legs became weak and she slowly moved backwards until her back hit one of the tall columns of the hall. A tear rolled down her cheek as she slowly put a hand on her mouth to muffle the pained cry that was raising in her throat. All strength abandoned her, and she let herself slowly collapse on the ground.
The atmosphere was surreal. Not a single voice, a single noise, a single rustle could be heard in the entire Capital. It was as if she had suddenly lost her energy, her vigor, her colors. The fading orange light of the setting sun filtered through the purplish clouds brought by the wind.
The shops were closed, the houses' doors and windows were barred. The Royal Palace stood mighty above the tangle of streets, wrapped in darkness and silence. Just a few torches illuminated the top of the walls.
Daryun had arrived in the afternoon. He brought with him the survived soldiers, and the king's wretched helmet. He didn't say a word and refused to have his wounds treated. He had closed himself in his room and no one had seen him for the past few hours.
When the last ray of light of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the moon started shining in the sky, the doors of the houses opened. Men, women, children, everyone flowed into the streets, in silence, carrying a small torch in their hands. Thousands of feeble lights illuminated Ecbatana, as her people started moving slowly and composedly towards the Great Temple of Mithra, standing next to the Palace.
Farangis looked at the approaching crowd. Dressed in her ceremonial clothes, the priestess waited patiently for the citizens to reach the sacred place and offer their prayers.
She had been the one to suggest the torchlight procession. The news of the disappearance of the king had severely shook people's minds. They had suddenly lost their guide, their reference point and it was extremely important to give them the chance to meet and be together, to strengthen their bonds as a community. It was necessary, whatever trouble they would have to face, that they stood united and solid. With the king missing, the risk of a collapse of the city, and the entire kingdom, was real.
Some of the women shyly approached the great staircase leading to the temple's main hall. They placed bunches of colorful flowers on the first steps, while the men held firmly their torches. Then, the procession moved slowly inside the hall. One by one, the citizens of Ecbatana started kneeling in front of the giant statue of gold and white marble portraying Mithra, murmuring a silent prayer for King Arslan's soul. The moon was already moving towards the west when the last man left the temple.
Étoile opened the small wooden door and the splendor of the prestigious marbles decorating the hall almost blinded her. She looked around to make sure no one was there, then she took a few steps into the temple. She had discovered that back door earlier that afternoon, spying on the temple's attendants. She waited for them to leave, and for the procession to end, then entered the sacred hall. The young Lusitanian reached the huge statue of Mithra. She stared at the high and mighty figure and a shiver ran down her spine. The whiteness of the marble and the golden of its attributes were fascinating and unsettling at the same time. So that was what those false gods and idols looked like, Étoile thought.
Among all that light, Arslan's smiling face took shape in her mind. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Keeping her gaze on the still and cold face of the god, Étoile slowly fell on her knees.
«I know I have no right to be here», she whispered, her voice trembled. «And I have no right to ask anything of you but…». She stopped for a few seconds. Her eyes lowered at the feet of the statue, where Ecbatana's people had left their gifts to the god to invoke his protection over the king. There were all kinds of objects: toys, cups, vases, small statues, weapons, everything the men, women and children thought it could help to benefit the sovereign. Étoile moved her gaze on the statue's face again.
«Please, save him. Either his earthly self or his soul… don't let him alone in the darkness», she begged as a tear rolled down her cheek. «He doesn't deserve it», she concluded sobbing. Étoile lowered her head, letting her blond locks cover her pained expression. A few minutes later, she raised her eyes on the myriad of gifts resting in front of her. She raised her fingers to touch the wooden cross she always wore around her neck. The young woman let out a breath, then she took off her necklace. The girl looked at it for a few seconds, before kissing the pendant and placing it among the other objects. She stood up, cast a quick look at the god's figure, then turned around to leave, when her blood froze in her veins. Farangis was staring at her, still wearing her ceremonial clothes.
«I'm sorry», Étoile stuttered. «I'll leave immediately», she said walking hastily towards the main exit. The older woman stopped her placing a hand on her shoulder.
«Feel free to come whenever you want», the priestess told her. Étoile felt her eyes becoming wet again. She resumed walking and left the temple without turning back. Farangis waited until the thuds of her steps disappeared in the night, then moved closer to the statue. She looked at the gifts resting on its feet and immediately recognized the wooden Yaldabaoth cross. A bitter smile bent her red lips.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the Royal Palace, happy and cheerful laughter echoed in the corridors. Cyrus and his comrades couldn't have hoped for a better outcome. Their plan had worked perfectly. Neither of them cared for the dozens of destroyed, innocent lives and the hundreds of broken hearts it had left behind.
The dawn brightened the vast lands of Pars. A light breeze was blowing, carrying the warm perfumes of the summer. The mountains towered motionless above the plain and valleys, casting their impressive shadows on them. Even the narrow passage in which part of the royal army had perished two days earlier hadn't been touched by the sunrays yet. The blood covering the ground and the rocks had dried out, and the small river flowing at the feet of the cliff had carried away part of what had remained of that tragic night.
In the middle of that disastrous scene, a horse, that had miraculously survived the ambush, moved quietly along the river. His fair fur was stained with blood and his once majestic mane was now a tangled mess. The horse shook his head and nuzzled the nearest bush. Suddenly, something below the bush started moving. The horse withdrew immediately and ran away neighing. From the branches of the bush emerged a human hand, then a whole arm, followed by a tangle of silver hair.
Arslan gathered all his forces to raise his head from the ground. He was feeling dizzy and terribly weary, but somehow he managed to move enough to get away from the bush. The king collapsed again on the ground, heavily panting. He waited for a few seconds, barely enough to regain the necessary strength to open his eyes. All he saw was the vegetation, the river and the vertical rocky wall of the precipice. Arslan closed his eyes again. The smallest of smiles graced his lips.
He was alive.
The sovereign waited for a few more minutes, than raised his torso again. He tried to move his legs, but something was blocking them. He turned around and realized there was half of a tree's trunk covering the lower half of his body. The king didn't panic. He put his hands on the ground and pushed to lift his upper body, then he rotated his hips and managed to free his right leg. Arslan stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath, then he managed to move his right leg too. The king lay down on his back. Those movements had required quite an effort. When he was ready to move again, Arslan sat up and began removing his armor. Once he managed to, he took a look at his wounds. His legs were covered in bruises and his left knee had a long but not deep cut. On his stomach was a large, purple bruise, and on his chest opened a large, wound. His right arm was also injured , but the left one wasn't that damaged, thankfully. He wasted no time and started tearing the tunic he was wearing to use its fabric to bandage his wounds. When he was finished, he stood up slowly and in a few steps he reached the river. The king collapsed on its bank and used his hands to drink its fresh water and wash his face. Only then he realized his forehead was injured too. He washed the wound, gritting his teeth in pain, and dried it with a spare shred of fabric.
The sovereign's gaze raised on the cliff. He was starting to remember what had happened, and he was sure he had fallen from that precipice. Maybe he had landed on the bushes, or in the river. That was what had saved him.
A sudden rustle behind his back made him turn around abruptly. Arslan was still feeling a bit dizzy, but he was sure there was a horse getting closer to him.
«Hey», he murmured. His voice was extremely hoarse. The horse stopped. Arslan got up and started walking towards the animal on his trembling legs. Luckily, it didn't seem afraid of him. The king finally reached the horse and gently patted his head. The animal was so calm the king was sure it was part of the army. It had probably lost its knight in the ambush.
Arslan couldn't afford to waste that opportunity. He knew he had to go back to the Ecbatana. He was sure his troops were already there. The king gathered all his strength and mounted the horse. He didn't have a saddle nor bridles, but his priority was to reach the Capital as soon as possible. Arslan leaned over the horse's neck.
«We have to be quick, alright? Let's go home», the king whispered, before departing at full gallop.
Thanks for reading and following this story so far!