It was a comforting warmth, her rough hand. Vyke smiled at his dragon, knowing she was real. Keeping a physical hold of her made it much easier for him to know what was truth and what was vision. He nodded to another of his knights that saluted as they passed. The knights of the order of the ancient dragon had suffered great losses in the shattering wars, with only a handful of drake knights remaining, but still they stood unshaken. Owain had integrated them into the palace defense at Lansseax' insistence.
Kristoff could handle things for now, Vyke needed true respite. Vyke was nowhere near ready to resume command of the order, but the presence of many of his cherished soldiers within the city was steadying. He scanned the large hallway, the many arches. All was pristine, cleaned of filth and mended of cracks. The palace was again its state of eld. He was sure King Morgott was proud.
He did not know why Owain had summoned he and Lanss, but as their attending page halted before the chambers Vyke knew to traditionally be used by the Carian monarch, he could guess. Lanss' hold tightened on his and he gave her a small smile. They had no need to fear Caria so long as Owain breathed.
They entered to a tense silence. House Turonus, the Full Moon Queen and her daughter, even King Morgott, Princess Melina, and Fortissax were present. The moon, the tree, and the house that bound them passed Lord Radagon's return to Leyndell, it was surreal. All were arrayed in a makeshift circle of procured chairs. As their guiding page announced he and his wife, King Morgott waved away all the watching attendants.
"Pray, Queen Rennala. Speak at last, the truths thou hast secured." Morgott folded his hands in his lap as he settled into his seat.
The queen's posture was impeccable, her piercing eyes scanned each of the waiting faces. She frowned, "We must burn the tree."
Owain rushed to his feet, "Burn the-"
"Wain." Princess Ranni called, flowing to his side. Not unexpectedly at the notion, Owain looked ill. Princess Ranni looked to her mother, "Mother, is that what Queen Marika requested?"
Queen Rennala stared down her son in law until he growled a sigh and at last retook his seat, "Mine husband and Marika art trapped by binding gold beast and spear-ed death of destiny. The fingers must be slain to weaken the beast. The tree must be burned to free its fated eternity. Death must be freed to layeth it low. A god must be felled to free mine husband and the golden queen. Give not wants or recommendations doth I, but needs."
"A god…" Lannseax' voice was an astonished whisper at his side.
"It is the spirit of the ring, methinks." Rennala said.
Owain was scowling at the polished stone of the floor, Vyke did not think the hands of his lover at his back would be enough to sooth the tumult he saw, "I am oathbound to safeguard the tree. My order is to serve as its greatest protectors. A-All my life has been served in its defense. I…."
The queen's voice took on a gentleness that Vyke had never before heard, "Dost thy oath of guarding supercede thy oath to thy queen? Doth it bludgeon aside thy oaths to thy bride? Thine goddess begs this of thee. Thou knowest I've…feelin's about thy allegiances, but in this matter at least, look to gold. Caria too, is not safe 'till the beast is slain."
Watching the muscles of Owain's neck work as he clenched his jaw had faint worry rising in Vyke's gut. He already had the many watching wraiths to contend with, he did not wish to be involved in a new drama. Vyke had already been prepared to burn the tree himself before…he willed away his darkening thoughts as Owain finally spoke, "Queen Marika commanded this?" his friend's words were a pained whisper.
"Aye." Queen Rennala nodded.
Vyke watched a cacophony of emotions flash across the commander's face before he bowed his head, eyes shadowed, "If Marika…I shall heed her command and your words, mother." At this he took up princess Ranni's hand, "How would such a thing even be possible? The giants' flame?"
"Our path leads to the giants' forge; the flame, in half, we hath already." Queen Rennala's eyes landed upon princess Melina.
The princess blew out a steadying sigh, hands forming to tight fists in the cloth of her robes. "I must burn."
"Nay, think not, doth I." Queen Rennala waved a hand, "But thou art needed. Prince Messmer as well. His fire and thine must dance in step."
King Morgott cleared his throat, "Then we must find a way to the shadowed realm. Lady Fia, know thee a path? Thou'rt versed in much of my mother's spells."
The dragon pursed her lips, fingers drumming upon her thigh, "Not one the living can tread. Years passed, I sent my husband's honor guard through death rite to guard the growths of his sacred flesh." Vyke's eyes widened, that was potent magic. Owain matched his expression.
Dame Siluria at last broke her silence, "Tree and shadow hath been split, sap and shade sealed tight. Mine order hast sought the knotted truth for decades to no avail."
"Both parts of godly flame need we." Queen Rennala said.
"Know ye where The Black Blade lingers?" the dame questioned her nephew.
Owain shook his head, "I have sent knights abroad nigh the lands entire since my return. Only the far edge of Caelid and beyond the northern ramparts remains unsearched."
It seemed to Vyke that Siluria knew something the rest of them knew not, "Then within the sanctum of the beastmen, ye hath not tread?"
Owain must have shared Vyke's sentiment, as he frowned at the crucible knight, "Nay. Aunt, why do you seek Lord Malekith?"
"He is keeper of destined death and knower of deathly magic, mayhaps he can yet force a path." The dame shared a look with the Lord Hywel, who merely shrugged. Vyke was sure now that the crucible knights held secret knowledge, but they must be withholding it for good reason. Lanss' raised brow denoted her thoughts mirrored his. In Vyke's conversations with King Morgott since the shattering, the Lord Malekith's whereabouts had not been known. He had simply vanished the same night that the ring had been shattered.
The Carian queen's eyes flickered betwixt the siblings, unfooled, "I shall seek a way as well, we must prepare. All is not yet done in these lands between. The mother watchest ever the closer since the death of her child." Vyke tensed as the queen turned in her seat to level her icy gaze at him, "Lord Vyke, when I tended to thee, I felt the magic of fingers."
"Must I…speak of it?" he whispered. The queen's gaze frosted further and he swallowed nervously. Lansseax's warm hand tightening around his own was balm enough that he felt capable discussing his great tormentor. This knowledge was needed, his duty was his duty, hale or not. Vyke sighed, "There are fingers beneath the capitol, in the ancient catacombs. They are…malformed, crooked three in place of known two, the source of frenzy in these lands between."
Owain loosed an incredulous laugh, "I am surprised I could even find my way about the palace, so blind was I. Will my own dimness ever cease to surprise me?"
"Mind thy tongue, boy. Ye speak o' my joy. Hark well, thy tightlipped sire." Lady Lila shot a glare at the crucible knight.
It was novel for Vyke to see the former highlord, a man lauded for his strength of will and arm, be so cowed by his wife. Lansseax hid a chuckle into Vyke's shoulder despite the heavy nature of the conversation. He had already told her of his dark deeds below, so this knowledge was no horrible revelation to her as it was to Owain.
Hywel spoke to his son, but watched Vyke, "They were entombed afore thy time. The secret better left dead." Vyke had left a letter to his king before descending to the three fingers. Shabriri's words had likely been just as much of a surprise to the king as they had been to Vyke. He was sure guarding magic had been placed ere his flight to the evergaol.
"I-" Owain cut himself off, pinching his brow, "No, we've not the time for my mewling. The frenzied fingers shall be slain, I shall see to it."
"No!" Vyke cried out. The plea had torn itself from him but he did not recant it, he knew what he must do, "No, let me be he who fells them. Their treachery has wounded me, left me…changed, but a knight I remain. My duty to the realm remains, let me see it through in this."
Owain frowned at him, "You are sure?"
The eyes of the others of this council were heavy upon him, but he would not waver in his resolve, "Yes." Vyke nodded, squeezing his dragon's hand.
"Then the task is yours, my friend." the highlord sighed. Vyke met his wife's eye. She did not smile, but she did not frown. A jagged feeling settled in his chest. This coming fight of his, he was sure it would take all the strength he had left. He would need to prepare.
The following morning, he woke with the sun. Lanss was spending the day with her sister, and it was the first day since his return to cognition that she would not be beside him. He was anxious, worried his mind might make him a fool, fearful that idlement might make the whispers louder. He set himself upon the task of preparation.
The palace held twelve separate training grounds, most of which were in use by the palace sentinels. Vyke went to Owain's personal training yard, hoping to find the man himself. The space was rather small, a courtyard hardly a stone's throw beneath the southernmost of the queen's balconies.
It had been Lord Godfrey's before it was Owain's. When the Lord Radagon had become king-consort, Vyke had thought the renowned champion would take up the space for his own martial practice, but he had quartered himself at the far end of the sprawling palace from Queen Marika and left the yard to Owain.
Vyke had held many a meeting with the Highlord in this very space, the sentinel preferred discussion during exercise. That the queen could call for them from her near balcony had been a happy circumstance as well. Those had been much better days. He shook his head. Vyke mustn't dwell in sorrow, he would try to stay optimistic.
Vyke's hopes bore fruit, as he saw his friend sparring with a few sentinel captains as he entered the training yard. "Hail, Wain! Might I have the next bout?" Vyke called, rolling his sleeves to his elbows and taking up a practice spear from a near rack.
The Highlord scowled in his direction as he fended off attacks from three of his men with distracted hands. "Of course, my friend." Owain responded. Vyke did not take the other knight's thunderous expression personally, he knew the meeting they'd held the day prior was weighing upon the man.
They did not speak for their first three bouts. Vyke's skill had greatly withered in his gaol. Owain had always beaten him in strength and endurance, but Vyke had ever been faster and more agile. Now, the highlord slowed his blows to match Vyke's flagging pace and it rankled him greatly. Vyke was not an especially prideful man, but his skill in combat and spellcraft had been hard won, his position as commander of the ancient dragon knights had been fervently secured. Alas, his absence had left him so woefully diminished!
Vyke slipped Owain's guard, bringing wooden spear head to bobbing throat. Owain at last cracked a smile, breathing a low laugh. "There he is. There is the dragon spear." The sentinel stabbed his weapon into the dirt, nodding to the low bench that lined the palace wall. "Do not lament, Vyke. No skill has been lost, your body need only be honed to what it once was. Whilst I yet remain in the capitol, come and seek me out for combat, that your hands might remember their deadliness of eld all the quicker."
Vyke sat heavily beside the larger man, gratefully accepting an offered water skin, "Was my frustration so easy to see?"
Owain smiled, patting at his ribs, "I may not be the sharpest of blades, but when one is stabbed so forcefully in friendly spar, one can infer such things."
"Forgive me then, Wain. I…it will take time, as you said." Vyke sighed, tracing the stitching of the waterskin he held with restless fingers.
"I have always admired you, Vyke." Owain admitted, the scald of his eyes bright in the low light of early morn.
Vyke laughed in surprise. Such words had hardly been expected, "What? You?" Owain was…Vyke had ever regarded the man as something mythical, even after they had formed a friendship.
Owain nodded, rubbing absently at his knuckles, "Aye. You are possessed of an honorable, lordly temperament. A heart that is courageous and pure. A mouth that flows with elegancies and feet that can just as easily dance a courtly trot as march a war beat. You are skilled beyond most others, yet remain humble. A champion sits beside me, my friend." The sentinel clapped a palm to Vyke's knee.
"That is…you honor me with such compliments, Owain." Such open praise was rare from Owain, but Vyke had noticed a marked shift from the man in his memories. The sentinel made efforts to be more vocal with his affection, it was endearing, "I…I have always admired you greatly as well." At this, the highlord barked true laughter.
"I am a blunderer. A brute who pretends himself bent to noble purpose. Would that I held your countenance, do not look upon this beast in admiration." Owain leant back, his head against the wall. Vyke knew his words were not so much of a jest as he would've wished.
Vyke matched the pose. He did not understand why his friend viewed himself so poorly, but such things were as the most difficult of weeds to pry. He would settle on compromise. "I am not so regal as you think, you are not such a bluntstone as you proclaim. Let us leave it at that, Burnished."
"As you say, Dragon Spear." The two met slim grins. Vykee ignored the whispers and visions, allowing some semblance of his old self to sit with this gentler version of his old friend.
She'd been about to fade. Slipping mind and rotting heart could scarcely hold to flagging spirit. Finlay had been about to finally let the scorpion take her. Then Lady Lorretta's astrology had at last portended something aside from doom. Finlay had tightened her slackened grip, bound more of herself in precious unalloyed gold. She could hardly give into the rot if there were yet some way to rouse her lady. She'd sent forth unrotted scouts from outer Ordina to the nearest of the Kaiden encampments for news, and news they'd returned with.
The south lands had been reunited, peace restored. The kaidens had been furious, her scouts had said the horsemen had spoken the name of the man that had driven them north as the darkest of curses.
Owain the Burnished.
Finlay wished she could truly weep, but her eyes were long lost to her. The Highlord returned from death! This joyous knowledge had sent what remained of the Haligtree into frantic preparations. The waking albinarics, the demihumans and 'misbegotten', those humans that retained their mobility; all began to clear the way south and work to welcome expected guests. All that remained was to break the seal upon Ordina, but she would wait until Lord Owain arrived. The black knives were beyond her now.
Every cleanrot knight, especially the original veterans, knew how dear princess Malenia was to the Lord of the Golden Rampart. That he would come to save her from her fractured mind was a fact, that he would come and save them all from their mired destiny…it was immutable. The Tree Sentinels would come, their shining lord at their head, the tree.…
Finlay snapped her head up with a gasp, listening to the small whispers of the wind as she continued her descent through cool stone tunnels. She must be cautious not to let her mind stagnate, not to allow the rot any more purchase than it already held. She would hum a distraction, but the scorpion had robbed her of most anything beyond the faintest of whispers. She softly clicked her teeth instead.
Her hand traced the intricate carvings of the undercroft, their familiar lines leading her way. The forces of the Haligtree had been too long removed from the goings on of the lands between. Too many wounds to tend and not enough hands left to tend them. Lorretta was entirely focused on collecting tidings now, each new revelation buoying Finlay just a little longer.
Lord Owain would have surely heard tell of what had transpired in Caelid. He would demand answers. Answers he would seek directly from the princess herself. It was a slim hope that the Carians would forgive Aonia, but if the Lunar Princess could be compelled to aid Finlay in somehow restoring her beloved, then Finlay could at last die without regret. The key lay with the Highlord. Finlay had been privy to more detail than most, she knew of the long held romance betwixt commander and witch. If the burnished one beseeched the Carians for aid then…perhaps Malenia might be herself again, might fully wake from this half-slumber.
Finlay's hand slipped to open air and she smiled. She was within the chamber of her princess' repose at last. If she still had a nose, she was sure the sickly-sweet scent would be overwhelming. Her stumbling steps were familiar to her lover, even in Malenia's current state. It was a ponderous journey through calf deep water, but Finlay eventually arrived at her lady's side. Her hands crept up from the soft grass, ghosting across wooden chair and golden limbs to settle in the cloth of her lady's lap.
One of Finlay's palms glided high to rest upon her lover's cheek. Her thumb felt dry, cracked lips dip into a small frown, "I…I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella." the demi-god intoned quietly. Malenia's breath was far too hot. It blew as a feverish breeze. Finlay would need to return with more cooling, soothing ointment.
That her lady spoke at all today was gift enough, Finlay smiled tentatively, "It is your Finlay, Nia. I bring grand news." she rasped quietly.
She felt a hand of rotted flesh, woven with gold, find her own putrid cheek. "Fin…my Finlay?" Malenia's voice colored in distant yearning but Finlay knew it was a fleeting hope. Her lady was not…here, Finlay's arms did not hold the whole of her princess. She failed to hold back a sob as her lady continued, "I have never known…defeat."
Malenia had been speaking the same mantra, the same muddied resolution, since her fateful battle with Lord Radahn. The same damn words had rung repeated in what remained of Finlay's ears through all the months of her frantic journey home to the Haligtree, and all the painful years spent tending to her since.
"And never shall you, my love." Finally whispered fiercely. She knew she did not have much time, she would need to inform Malenia of their good fortune swiftly, while still she could, "Highlord Owain has returned."
Finlay felt her princess' mouth form a small shape of surprise before settling into a grimace, "B-but it hurts so very badly, Wain. " Malenia whimpered, a heart-rending whine. She must be trapped in another memory. Oh goddess, this misery cut so deep. Finlay felt viscous tears drip down her fingers.
Finlay pressed on, "He journeys north,I think he shall arrive soon, Loretta's knights watch the lift." There was a long silence before Malenia took Finlay's free hand in tender, careful grip. She brought it to her cheeks and Finlay desperately wished she could see her lover's face.
Would she truly speak to her today? Would she tell her she loved her? Would she- "Heed, my words." a choked cry ripped from Finlay's chest as Malenia spoke, voice a low fog, "I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella."
Finlay laid her brow to her lady's lap, defeated. This is what had made these years since the shattering little more than torture for her. She spoke the words with her lover, this cursed refrain, "And I have never known defeat."
What a victory this was, this fate of theirs.
Owain scowled dourly down at the raving madman moaning in glee that repeatedly smashed his head against his cell wall. Why had the dung eater been returned by grace? What purpose could his queen possibly see in this miserable shitstain? "When was he found?" he growled.
"A week passed, my lord." Aldo's voice was just as disgusted as Owain's.
Owain turned from the thing, "Let not even a whisper of his return escape."
Aldo saluted with a grimace, "Yes, Lord Commander."
Owain tore the barred door of the cell off its hinges, smiling rapaciously, "Remember me, do you?"
The dunged thing whirled, pointing an accusing finger at Owain, trying to work his wretched bone blade from its place at his back, "You! It was you who stopped me from completing my art!"
Owain slammed his spear through armor and bone and spine all, impaling the wretch through the middle to lurch against the crumbling wall. "And so shall the past repeat, foul thing."
The beast reached towards feebly, gurgling displeased hisses. Owain swore, slamming his fist through the villain's head. As the wall behind crumbled in dust both gray and gold, Owain picked up his spear from the watery ground. No, his queen would not have revived this thing. It must be some meddling of the fingers. She had done…great violence. She had ruined nations and ordered the culling of thousands, but in all his knowing her, she had never acted without purpose. What purpose save wanton death and dimwitted cruelty could such a scourge serve?
He and Aldo were turned from the cell, about to cross the threshold of the jail, when he heard the rasping cackle of the man he'd just slain. Owain spun, spear readied. The dung eater stood, condensing dust of dark gold. The beast…grace had restored the hated thing? He'd been mulling over the meeting with mother Rennala, and the knowledge it had brought, for days now, this revelation was the last thing he needed. Owain's mind was reeling. "Aldo, fetch my wife. Now."
Owain impaled the dung eater through the middle as Aldo sprinted away. The wretch reformed from grace. He killed his foe. His foe revived. He killed his foe. His foe revived. Twentyfold times did he lay the creature low, twentyfold times did it return.
Ranni appeared in swirl of silver mist, spells of defense readied in upraised hands. "Wain?"
"Kill the thing when it returns." Ranni watched him worriedly, but when next the dung eater revived, she smote him with icy brilliance. They awaited his restoration with bated breath, but the thing stayed vanished. He matched his wife's wide eyes with rising worry. What devilry was this?