The two mages Killian had insisted on sending with Orrin never shut up. He put his hand over his face as he leaned out of the open window of the carriage, annoyed at their constant bickering. If they weren't bickering about magic, they were bickering about science. If they weren't bickering about science, they were bickering about history. If they weren't bickering about history, they fought over religion. The Twins, as they were called, were the most annoying travel companions Orrin had ever endured. Besides them, within the carriage two Dusk Riders sat with Orrin, long hair sprouting from partially shaved heads. They had black skin, slanted eyes, and possessed strong and square jaws. Their cloaks were pinned to the shoulder, and underneath the cloth they wore fish-netted tunics, revealing hard bodies trained from youth onwards.
"No, it is because the words dwarib and dwarf are similar!" The older-faced twin exclaimed. The younger one spoke next, his voice sounding amused and patient.
"My friend, you are mistaken. It is because many of the dwarib had a genetic predisposition to literal dwarfism. As such, many of these literal dwarf outcasts were sent to trade overland, resulting in their people, of whom are average height, to be called dwarves." The old one guffawed, tears falling from his eyes. Orrin frowned and turned his attention away from the boring yellow-colored grass of the fields.
"What is it?" He asked, barely interested.
"Ah, nothing truly King Orrin. It seems that my friend and I have been speaking of semantics this entire time."
"A stupid argument." Orrin said quickly, and the younger mage grinned.
"A very stupid argument, Your Grace." He said, bowing his head. The older one agreed.
"We are jesters, it seems. Would you like to see a funny trick, Orrin?" He said. Orinn shrugged.
"Sure," He said, exhaling loudly as the crown he wore sat heavily on his head.
"Let's do the one with the manticore." The older Twin said to his friend.
"No, no. That one is scary, not funny."
"Of course, you're right, my faithful companion."
"The one with the flying pig then?"
"We've done that one for ages. Something new."
"As leader, I decree we shall do the trick with the string and water."
"What do you mean leader?"
Orrin closed his eyes, tuning out the Twins as he reflected on the message they had received.
I am to marry a dwarf.
He was assured that she was very beautiful, and of normal human height. Orrin supposed aside from six fingers and one-color eyes with no pupils, she could be. He knew dwarven women were all full-figured, and he mused that his wedding night would be interesting, to say the least. Still, fathering a half-dwarf son disgusted him somewhat, but he guessed it couldn't be helped. Besides, if he understood the contents of the letter from Nasuada correctly, should the current King and Prince die, he would be king of the dwarven lands. The map that Killian had resurfaced in his mind.
Father.
His plan was ambitious, but was it wise? Should they be discovered, the wroth of the Dwarib would be something very hard to contend with. He hoped Killian knew what he was doing. The masked appearance of his father floated around in his mind. He had only seen Killian without his mask once, and his father had beaten him brutally for it. The man was intelligent, but slightly deranged and prone to violence.
What could have happened to him, to cause the man such madness?
No doubt every waking moment filled Killian with pain. Orrin remembered hearing his father screaming in the night, and he remembered seeing blood drip from the sides of Killian's mask. His wounds still bled, despite how many years had passed since they were gifted to him. There were other things in the letter that annoyed Orrin as well. The damnable Murtagh had saved the King. If the bastard had just kept still, there was a possibility that the treaty would still have been signed, and Orrin would have been that closer to becoming King to two nations. But of course, the short-sighted baboon had made himself a hero.
I'm the KING. I should be hero.
"We're approaching the gates, My Grace."
Orrin opened his eyes to that, and leaned outside the carriage window.
Olan was a strange city. Thick wood walls reinforced with rune-ridden stone surrounded the large metropolis, cathedral like buildings rising over the dully colored settlements, transepts darkened by the shadow of the massive mountains that loomed above them. Spires rose like raised spears, jutting and sharp as they seemed to pierce the shadowy beasts that rose as high as the ceiling of the earth. Horns signaled their arrival, accompanied by strange yelping from some shrill voice, up high in one of the large watchtowers.
"Ah, the famous yellers of Atmon." The older mage said wistfully.
"Atmon?" Orrin asked.
"Atmon. Long ago, these lands were held by overland dwarves, a sub-sect of dwarib that separated from the main branch underground, seeking religious freedom. They worshipped a being called Tol'mak, god of the harvest. When they were absorbed by the First Walkers and became a precursor to the people you will see today, they mixed the Tol'mak with the human shaman Alma. Thousands of years later, the personality of Atman is created, a primordial Yobar who defended the land from darkness. The religious cult worships him with great fervor, and their missionaries attempt to convert as many beings as they can." The older Twin finished with a smirk.
"They will expect you to give Atman an offering."
"As long as it guarantees their loyalty."
"It will, my King. It will."
They passed through the gates without incident, their carriage the lead, as hundreds of carts and carriages filed behind them. Orrin had taken a large portion of his force with him from Surda, and thankfully, most survived the trip. The city of Olan buzzed around them. People crowded the streets, while guards wearing silver helms fashioned in the heads of goats kept thousands of people at bay, all of them cheering in strange tongues.
"They herald your arrival, Your Grace." The young Twin said. Orrin waved his hand out of the carriage, to the result of an even higher fervor as the masses pressed against the goat-guards. The carriage stopped, and the doors opened. Trumpets played as Orrin was guided out by his Dusk Riders, and was greeted by a castle, of which was the largest Orrin had ever seen. Six large towers curved upwards into the dark sky like horns on a devil, while the main gate was painted red, contrasting with the black metal and stone around it. Dozens of stairs, each one about a foot in length across, led upwards to the gate, and each step was joined with a stone sentinel. At the bottom of the fleet of steps, Lord Yobar stood, waiting for Orrin. His hair was light blue in color, with tanned skin and eyes covered by a purple veil. Strands of cloth were tied to each of his fingers, and when he moved them, the strands waved in the wind softly as bells hummed, dangling off of his flared cuffs. Around them, the people massed, cheering Orrin as he was escorted to the Lord of Olan. Once he approached, Lord Yorbar bowed, and then spoke.
"Orrin, My King. It is a fine thing to finally meet you." He said softly. His voice was tinged with an accent, a way of speaking that he possessed that curled his l's and drew out the last vowel of every word he uttered.
"And you as well, Lord Yorbar."
The Lord smiled, his lips painted white, standing out from his lightly browned skin.
"Everything is falling into place. The treaty has been signed, and the Rider arrived shortly before you have. If you would follow me, I will introduce you to him. Your men and belongings will be put with the various other camps within my lands."
Yorbar's smile grew larger.
"King Orrin, we nearly have a strength of 200,000. Many Elves have come to join us, in addition to lesser human houses, sellswords, and armies of fortune. My stores will hold, but we must march quickly, or I fear that our armies will starve before their conquest."
The Lord giggled into his sleeve, and as he turned and slowly walked up the stairs, Orrin followed, tasting victory on his tongue, mixing in with the sweet smells drifting from Lord Yorbar, pungent and beautiful.
(A/N): So I was editing previous chapters and realized that I had asked if you guys wanted to see my Original Work and I had forgotten to post it in a chapter . . . SO HERE IT IS! As you know it's called Primary Bloodline, and it's on amazon, the link is located on my profile. Also I realized I didn't allow all regions access, so I have done that so everyone can read it (or at least preview it). Anyway, here it is.
CHAPTER ONE: THE YOUTH
He was the middle child, with two brothers ahead of him, and three behind. As such he inherited nothing, the vast wealth that his father accumulated went to his eldest siblings, and the love that his mother doled out found themselves at the feet of his sisters and younger brothers. He was of seventeen years of age, with dark brown hair that traveled to the point of his chin. He was almost attractive, a sagging left eye and a crooked mouth marring his features, combined with a knotted scar that ran from the corner of his smile to the base of his ear, the result of a surgeon attempting to remove an unsightly birthmark. His siblings called him Black Sina, due to the fact he inherited his Italian mother's coloring as opposed to the pale complexioned, blue eyed, and blonde haired look of his father. He bore the name well, however, and soon began to answer to the name as if it was his by birth.
"Isidor, bow your head," Black Sina's mother ordered in a hushed tone as Black's father was carried into the room, covered by a large white cloth. The blood from the wounds that murdered him had been cleaned from his body, but Isidor could still picture his father's punctured flesh underneath the sheet. His mother whimpered at the sight, and he heard a gasp from his sisters. It could have been Annalis or Nuna- They were both twins, two years his junior, and acted exactly the same, sharing their personality just as well as they shared their blonde hair, white skin, and wide green eyes. They were in an old wooden home, large and grim, with dimly lit candles that flickered every time someone moved. Isidor stood with his back turned to the seated crowd, his family standing with him. His father's body was carried to a large stone altar, where a russet casket waited patiently. An old man stood over the altar, his hooked nose cruel looking and his saggy chin lazily drooping from his face. A cross swung from a golden chain that hugged his fleshly neck, and a white head bowed in thanks as Black's father was gently lowered into the casket. One of the men carrying the body hastily re-covered the sheet when one corner partially revealed the dead man's ruined face.
"We are gathered here today to remember a great man, taken from us to join our Lord in Heaven." The priest began, touching his cross as he spoke.
"Andolf Sina; born of Jorg Sina and Mariann. He lived well, grew to be large and strong. He was wise, and that wisdom was reflected in the success of his merchant trade. Fleets of ships belonged to him, each one scouring the earth for treasures and necessities that we all enjoy." The priest coughed, and Black winced at the sound of phlegm rising in the old man's throat.
"He is survived by his wife, Elosia", the priest paused to allow Black's mother to step forward. She was beautiful, in her dark mourning gown that matched her hair and eyes. Light olive skin hugged her features, fine lips and almond eyes, old age having no effect on her appearance. As Isidor watched her, he saw that her shoulders sagged. He had never seen his mother so defeated.
"His eldest son: Johann." A large man in his middle thirties joined Isidor's mother. He was exceptionally handsome, brilliant yellow hair curved around his head like a crown and his face was strong and hard, like pale stone. Blue eyes beamed from their sockets as he stood proud and tall before his dead father. Elosia took his hand firmly.
"Andolf's second son: Viveka." A younger man took his place to the right of Elosia. He bore dusky blonde hair with streaks of black running through it that tickled his taught cheeks. Hauntingly green eyes stared ahead, and he crossed his hands behind his back as he stood, taller than his mother and as tall as his eldest brother. Isidor barely knew Johann, and he knew Viveka even less. He was a mysterious man, and in the few occasions he was around, Isidor felt uncomfortable in his presence.
"Andolf's middle son: Isidor." The priest said. Isidor didn't move, until he was nudged by one of his sisters. He had been expecting the priest to say Black Sina. Isidor walked to where half his family stood, hesitating a moment before choosing to stand next to Johann. The man was much taller than him and stronger too. Isidor knew he looked weak by comparison. Johann made no move to greet him, ignoring Black Sina completely. Isidor wasn't surprised, among his brothers and sisters; he didn't look related to him at all, with hair so dark and eyes so solemn. His scar itched.
There was a cough behind them as Isidor's younger siblings were called. His three brothers; Sigmund: who was fifteen, and while lighter than Isidor, looked the most like him. He took his place by Viveka. The next two, Lucas and Romy, fourteen and twelve, respectively; each of them looking like a budding Johann. Isidor's sisters came next, Nuna and Annalis, wearing matching black dresses. The audience behind them gasped as they moved, beautiful and elegant. The priest named them, and then they took their place by Sigmund. Men were summoned, six of them, and took hold of the casket and lead it into the outside elements. Black and his family followed, and behind them, the seated attendees. They were lead through a gray graveyard, tomb stones of varying sizes and minerals neatly organized into rows went on for what seemed forever across hilly fields.
As they walked rain began to fall, quietly and delicately. Black heard Annalis begin to cry, and Elosia huddled against her, her own eyes wet as well.
"The land cries with us," She said as they walked, Annalis softly weeping. The rain marred the white sheet covering Black's father, wet drops causing watery depressions on the surface of the fabric. They made their way slowly, however, following their father in the casket as the priest led them all. The sun was obscured by rolling ashen clouds that seemed to hang closer to the earth than before. Black tripped on a small tombstone and nearly fell, Causing Lucas to erupt in a very inappropriate fit of laughter. His other siblings ignored him, their green and blue eyes focused on some interesting unseen thing in the distance. The priest finally stopped near a large rectangular hole that looked to be about ten feet deep. Isidor and his family stood around the edge of their father's future home, each of them looking down into the murky pit. Rain water splashed as it fell heavier. The casket carriers placed a wooden ramp at the mouth of the pit, and then by means of rope, gingerly slid Black's father down into the burrow. The ramp was then slowly retrieved, and the men retreated back into the wake house. It was strange seeing his father like this. A once proud man now trapped in dirt. They had left the casket open, a compromise of sorts.
Elosia said that Andolf wanted to be cremated, but she found the process ghastly, and decided that Andolf would appreciate being buried into the ground, without covering. There had been no refusing her, a newly widowed woman, so here they were, watching as the white sheet that covered Andolf's horribly mutilated body was turned into a sodden blanket.
"Life for Andolf is over, but only here, on this earth. Soon, he will join our Lord Savior, who has taken him." The Priest nodded again, and out of nowhere the casket men reappeared, each of them pushing a wheel barrow filled with dirt. It took them nearly forty five minutes to finally cover the grave completely. After which the Priest looked at Flosia apologetically.
"I-I'm sorry, but we've had trouble with the stone…" He began, but she cut him off viciously.
"Just get us out of this horrid weather." She barked in a hushed tone. The Priest raised his hands in apology and then led the procession to the home again, passing over the same hills, the same tombs, but with a torrent of rain coming down on them. At the home carriages waited for the guests, and they gave their condolences before leaving. Johann was amongst them all, crying with some, laughing with another, and looking solemn with the last. Elosia was there too, crying and hugging and thanking, stunning throughout it all. Black noticed men fawn over her and laughed to himself as their wives watched with tight-set jaws.
Viveka found himself within the crowd, but he did not have the drawing power that Elosia and Johann did. He was handsome, but he bore a cruel face, and his strange hair made him look otherworldly. He simply nodded when people approached him, never smiled like Johann or cried like Elosia. Black found himself on the outskirts of the leaving throng, and people politely gave him condolences after commenting on Nuna's (Or was it Annalis?) beauty, or commending Lucas and Romy for growing so strong and handsome. Sigmund was complimented as well, sharing Black's soft but handsome features, save for the saggy eye and the scar and the raven dark hair. When people approached Black he felt them looking at his flaws, but he smiled with the best of them. His mouth twitched when they stopped at their condolences, and then moved on to the better siblings, giving them praise for their looks and clothing. They all wore black, but Isidor was wearing plain garments, as befit a mourner. But his siblings had chosen their best clothes, or had bought new dressings for the occasion. They were all Black Sinas today, but somehow, Isidor remained as the darkest of them all. The people left, finally, leaving only Black and his family in the main hall. The priest rubbed his hands together and smiled at them.
"Come," He said warmly. Johann followed first, and with him Viveka, and their mother. As the youngest siblings, Isidor and the others were told to say in the main hall, their mother and eldest brothers disappearing into the hallways of the building.
"They're dividing the inheritance." Romy announced dumbly. Annalis, who rather quickly recovered from her shuddering sobs, made a face.
"Of course they are you dolt. I'm glad the future of our family isn't in your hands." She mocked, backed by Nuna's laughter. Romy darkened.
"I bet I'll have more of an inheritance than you! Mother said that she would divide it amongst us-"Lucas hmph'd and sat down in one of the vacant chairs as the others stood around the altar. "There won't be much left. You saw him, our brother Johann. He inherited the company and most of the shares. Viveka inherits a portion of that, a small portion. Mother gets whatever is left. As it says in The Will."
'The Will' had become a sacred term ever since their father was murdered, a term they didn't truly understand but heard numerous times daily. Either it was Johann, who had returned from India, grinning about the Will to his mother or Viveka, who had been heading ships in the Far East complaining about the Will. Not a day passed where it was not argued. Viveka refused to talk about it with his brother, though he spoke badly of him liberally to his mother. Elosia seemed to favor Johann more, as most did, and Black remembered when Romy had told them that he heard Elosia tell Viveka to play his role as the "Subservient Brother". Black stepped from the altar and found a chair for himself, and Sigmund settled next to him. Annalis and Nuna teased Romy while Lucas brooded.
"Quite the family we have here." Sigmund smiled as Black grinned in response.
"Such a loving and dutiful group; Father would be proud." Sigmund was quiet for a moment, and then leaned into his brother's ear.
"Does it still bother you? The…Murder?" Black's eyes went wide even though he expected the question. He nodded and his face suddenly went hard.
"Everyone is too caught up with the laws of succession to ponder on the fact our Father was killed." He said, whispering. Laughter rose as Annalis was able to get Romy to cry after a cruel jest, Even Lucas looked on with a grin on his face. Black turned his face back to Sigmund.
"Andolf was murdered. For no reason it seems. Father had enemies in the merchant trade but…"
"You wouldn't put it past the merchants to hire an assassin? You give them too much credit." Sigmund spat.
"An assassin wouldn't leave such a bloody scene. Our father fought for his life. I was the one who found him in his study. Stab wounds riddled his body, Sigmund. An assassin would have done the job cleaner. Whoever killed Father simply…ruined him, Sigmund, and then left. They stole nothing, took no maps or any other valuables. They killed him and left."
Sigmund was quiet for a moment, reflecting on what Isidor had just said.
"Then who killed him? What was the motive?"
Isidor felt himself closing his hand into a fist. "I don't know brother."
he opened his hand and looked into his red palm. "I don't know." Sigmund was about to say something in response, but before he did a large crash was heard in the hallway where his mother and two eldest brothers had retreated into. Viveka stormed from the hall, Elosia running after him.
"Viveka, please!" she begged, and Viveka spun on his heels and backhanded her with a blow that echoed throughout the room. He curled his mouth in contempt as Elosia curled on the floor and sobbed deeply. Lucas rose from his seat and began to approach mother, but as he did so, Viveka's glare stopped him in his tracks.
"What's the meaning of this?" He rasped; Romy and Annalis and Nuna ending their game, watching Viveka now. Viveka said nothing to Lucas, and turned, His eyes falling on Johann just as the elder brother entered the room, the priest hiding in his shadow as he strode.
"You dare do this to the woman that birthed you?" He demanded, voice booming as he spoke.
"She is not my mother. No longer; just as you are not my brother." Viveka hissed. Johann grinned in angry humor.
"What is this nonsense?" He asked, helping Elosia to her feet as she silently whimpered. She had a bruise at the corner of her pretty mouth, blue against her tan skin. Viveka watched him as he did so, his cold eyes narrowing.
"I am not one of your kind. You and mother come from the same brood, a den of vipers as opposed to honest men."
Johann laughed cruelly as he steadied mother and released her from his soft grip.
"And you believe yourself to be an honest man?"
"I am, as Father was. As you never were." Viveka looked down at Johann's feet, and then leveled his gaze on his brother's blue eyes.
"You know that Father named me heir to the company." Johann shook his head in mock empathy.
"Perhaps you are mad, Viveka. The will clearly names me heir. As firstborn, it is my right."
Viveka's mouth opened in a snarl as he threw his arm in accusation. "YOU! That will was written before you were even born. Father groomed me for the task of running the trade, and he planned on changing the will, before he was killed." Silence took the room then, and Johann's face went hard.
"What are you saying?" He tested. Viveka looked at Johann with a deep hatred.
"It would be an easy thing for you to hire a man to kill father. You did it because you knew he would write you out of the inheritance. Father never approved of your philandering ways, and you wanted to eliminate him, and secure his wealth for your own. You truly think a will written before you were even fat within our mother's belly?"
"You accuse me of murder. Do you hold no love for me, brother?" Johann questioned.
"I have never loved you. Ever since I was old enough, I was able to decipher your false smiles and your empty gifts. You are a selfish brigand, Johann, and that is why if Father was given the opportunity, which you robbed him of, by taking his life by way of a hired hand." Viveka fell silent as he waited for Johann to respond. Black Sina still sat with Sigmund, both of them watching the exchange from their seats in the isle.
It was Annalis who spoke next, her delicate voice surprisingly strong enough to carry across the wide room.
"Brothers, if I may," She began, a smile drawing on her face. She stepped closer to them, beautiful in the way girls budding with womanhood are, her black dress brilliant against her white skin.
"There is no way to confirm Viveka's statements. However, it is also unjust for Johann to claim the inheritance in light of Viveka's claims. And Johann is anything but unfair, my fair family." She nodded towards Johann, and then to Viveka.
"There is another way to solve this." As the words left her mouth, Black Sina thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Johann was oblivious, but Viveka frowned.
"What do you speak of?" He said with unease. Annalis' face lowered and her brilliant bright eyes went wide.
"The only way to solve this is for you two, my dear brothers, to have a duel." There was a collective gasp and Elosia broke her sullen silence.
"I will not have my two sons fighting each other to the death!" She protested. Annalis smirked patiently.
"It need not be to the death. Victor by first blood should be sufficient. This is the only way."
"She's playing them." Sigmund whispered, and Black nodded in agreement. But why? What did she have to gain? Black knew the answer before the question left his mind. She had nothing to gain; but she lived for this- to cause divisions, sow distrust and hint at conflict, and then walk away innocently and watched as feuds arose from her whispers. She had always been like this, her and Nuna, often turning Romy and Lucas against each other. She had left Black alone, mostly, but he hated the way she looked at him- Her eyes seemed to display sympathy, but then at the last minute, they would turn into a gaze of bemusement, as if Black's existence itself was a joke.
"A duel. She is right. I will be satisfied with the outcome." Viveka announced. Johann tensed. "Even if you lose?"
"A duel is the only way to avert dealing with your dishonesty and lies. There is nothing dishonest about a blade, Johann. You mind find such a weapon hard to manipulate."
Annalis bowed her head and slinked out of view, Nuna not far behind, whispering to her. As they sat, Annalis smiled warmly at something Nuna said, but Black could not decipher what the statement was.
"When would you have it, then?" Johann demanded.
"Three days. It will be in our father's courtyard." Viveka answered, and then left the building, striding away with long legs. Johann was silent, watching as his brother left. His eyes fell to Annalis.
"A duel. Tell me, where did you find such a foolish notion?" He hissed. Annalis frowned and looked up at her brother. "Why- I read it in a book. Isn't this how nobility solve conflicts? And what are we, if not the highest of the nobles?" Her smile returned.
"I thought it was only appropriate." Nuna grinned then as well, and the both of them looked exactly the same in their devious beauty. Johann scowled and then looked at his mother.
"I will be at your home in three days' time. I must retrieve a sword, it seems." Johann shot one more look at Annalis, and then left the building.
"A-A duel would be most appropriate." The priest said. "And it is only to first blood. No need to fret." He offered, but Elosia waved him away. "You know nothing. Leave me to my family." She said. The man's face went red with anger, but he said nothing, bowing and returning to the bowels of the wake building.
Lucas was the first to take Johann's place by mother's side. "Viveka struck you. He should lose a hand for what he did." Elosia smirked grimly.
"Let us hope he does." She said, touching her wounded mouth softly. Sigmund looked at Black, who inclined his head and rose to meet his mother. Annalis and Nuna and Romy were at their feet as well, and as Sigmund and Black approached the circle, Elosia was surrounded by her children.
"The outcome of this match could very well be our undoing. Johann would be generous… Viveka holds no love for any of us."
"But mother, I barely know him" Romy whined. "He scares me." He added.
"I will try to keep all of you safe. But to do so, the first step is to make sure that Johann inherits the majority of your father's estate and earnings."
Sigmund spoke up. "But how are we to do this? And…is this…"
"it isn't fair." Black finished. "Whoever wins, wins." Elosia looked as if she could slap Black when he said that. For a moment, he believed that she would, but she chose to smile instead. "Your opinion is somewhat less important than the security of our lives. Your younger siblings need the protection that your father's money gives us, and you need a small amount as well, for schooling."
Black had almost forgotten that his mother was determined to send him to Switzerland. He said nothing in response, and the silence made Elosia uneasy. She coughed and looked away from Black. Isidor smiled despite himself- I even make my own mother uneasy. Am I truly such a horrid son?
"If Johann wins, we need not do a thing. But if he loses… We have to have something prepared to indict Viveka. Some illegal product, some clever lie… anything to prevent him from inheriting the wealth of your father." Elosia frowned, and then smiled at her children.
"You are all precious to me. My beautiful offspring. Your mother will protect you, you need not worry. But now it is time to leave this wretched place. We're going home." She said, and had Black go outside to alert their carriage. As he left, he wondered if his father would be proud of how quickly they deteriorated without him. Two sons fighting each other, and a family fighting a son. It was almost poetic. Black really smiled then.
He liked poetry. Perhaps he would write that down.