Alantris, Chapter 3
#3 of Alantris
Third chapter of the saga of Howl Fallinclash.
452 ~S End of Rain's Fest; Start of The Fade between Chalith and Bastruf, Kingdom of Clarity, 14th Provenance of the Martyr
On the eastern edge of Serenitir, on the outskirts of the wall, where the villages lay interspersed beside Bastruf, a mother, a beautiful red fox, and her cub were enjoying the mild weather and its accompanying breeze. The mother had in her hand a red ribbon, which flapped gracefully in the wind, and she stooped low over her child, telling him of an old wives tale which was passed down to her from many generations.
"If you hold the ribbon up on the last day of the rains before summer, and then let it go, it is said that whichever way the ribbon blows will find a couple who will fall betrothed.
She gave the ribbon to the cub, who it up with determination in his grasp. With a dramatic enthusiasm, he threw t into the wind, allowing it to carry away. It flew over the hills on which they stood, over the surrounding rooftops of the village, and headed toward the southern forest.
"The ribbon is blowing south. What lies beyond the forest?"
Just as the ribbon reached over the forest did she see the band of soldiers making their way over the far hills. They were making their way into Chalith.
The cub spoke up. "What's that over there? Why's there so many people over on those hills?"
The mother lost her fond look, which spread to horror as she realized what was happening. "Oh no...
"What's happening mama?"
Howl dodged a swipe to his left flank, focusing hard to strategize a maneuver that would lever his opponent. His sword swished to his lower right as he parried another blow.
Branthur, his opponent, flicked his sword to and fro, brandishing it in the Qumerit style, which focused on frantic offense, while Howl focused solely on defending himself against the onslaught. After another blow below his midriff, Howl was ready to give up. He slackened his posture, not even bothering to feign submission.
"Enough. I want to be able to walk back to the castle."
Branthur nodded, "Yes sir."
After Trillith had left some days ago, not bothering to tell Howl where, and Grim's being too busy to talk to him, being confined to her books, Howl had not learned much about his new skill. Trillith had said that he could master illusions and other magics, and Howl had tried to learn on his own with the little witness he saw of the pair performing magic. He knew some word had to be said, or thought, but he did not know the language.
Grim had told him once, on the brief occasions she allowed herself company, "know the language, for it's the ways of the world." She had given him several scrolls on the subject, and he tried to pick it up, but after hours of looking them over, he could not pick out a word he recognized, and figured Grim must have made a mistake, as it was not translatable. How could he hope to translate a language when he couldn't recognize the words?
Since Grim was no help, and Trillith didn't appear to be around, Howl had taken up his swordsmanship with a renewed fervor. He insisted on practicing every day until he hurt, either with one of his squires or Branthur, one of the castle wards, who happened to be quite knowledgeable of many sword styles in swordplay. They fought in front of the cathedral beside the river, with wooden swords that Branthur, a coyote and one of Howl's newly appointed squires, had taken from the armory.
"What was that move you finished off with, right at the end?" Howl asked.
Branthur raised his left foot up to his calf, drawing the sword back in a fluid motion, then swung it sharply out, tilting the blade down, twirling his wrist, and arcing it back across Howl's neck, stopping at the tip of his fur. His concentration intrigued Howl, and he wanted to learn more about this Qumerit style.
"Could you one day teach me how to do that?"
Branthur shrugged. "It's a relatively simple move, I could teach you right now-"
"No," Howl interrupted. "I mean your eyes, your body. They remained fierce, as a hot flame sustaining in a gale. Could you teach me how to compose myself in such a way?"
Branthur nodded, then he narrowed his eyes, and inhaled a large breath of air. "Your breathing is the key to locking your emotions in place. You want to your body, thoughts, and feelings to move as one, not lag behind. Keeping your jaw and arm muscles clenched will help with this." He tightened his muscles and clenched his fist. "Then you must grasp at your inner conscience and pin it to your body."
Branthur showed him the grasping motion with his hand. "The Qumerit style is an old style, very spiritual in nature, it can be the bridge between life and death. The heavy offence takes into account the belief that our mind works faster than our body, and one must grasp these thoughts physically when studying the inner body's motions. Then it's just a matter of practicing to keep up with these tendencies whilst utilizing outward focus. Mastering a weapon in such a way that the conscience already knows well makes it easier for you to hold the breath within your body and focus on your movements. Once you have mastered the weapon, you must master yourself, and once you have mastered that, then you can learn the Qumerit techniques."
Howl tightened his stance, mimicking the coyote as he tucked his chin closer to his breast, keeping it locked slightly down and to the left and bunching his neck muscles, just like Branthur.
"There. Do you notice now that your right eye is fixed in place? It's more difficult to move your eyes in this position. This is a great advantage for focus and defense. It decreases distractions by steadying your vision and perception against the foreground. It also helps focus the point of your blade on the enemy when your hand is outstretched. In the Qumerit style, the motions of the blade are timed so that the blade is almost always in front of the wielder. Only on the final blow is the sword permitted to swing back or rest at your side."
Branthur lifted his sword and flashed his blade in a series of strokes similar to the ones that he had just used on Howl moments before. The blade never fell down to his side, and all the while Branthur had his gaze fixed just above the blade. When he finally finished, the coyote drew the sword behind him, pointing straight back, and made a graceful turn, swinging the sword in his wake, then brought the sword back the other way around, stepping back, and almost as if time was in reverse Branthur had switched the position of the blade in his hand and swung back around so that the blade caught at his invisible opponent. Howl had no doubt such a move, if done on him, would have left a bruise to leave him sore for a long time.
When they were finished, Branthur collected the swords and took them back to the armory, and left Howl standing in the shade of the cathedral. The bell tower began to ring the hour. Howl made out eleven chimes before it stopped while the last note echoed against the wall of the fortress he stood beside. It wasn't even twelve o'clock, and yet, the High Church was already beginning to receive a number of visitors, Howl noticed.
People were beginning to pour into the large oak and stone cathedral. Howl found this odd, since it was Lev's Day, the day before Mera's day, and it was usually on Mera that the people generally gathered in prayer.
Howl made his way toward the large wooden cathedral. Several of the people heading toward the door gave him a nervous look and muttered "Your grace" which Howl ignored.
Inside the church the rows of seats were already packed with all kinds of folk of different sorts, race and class alike. Howl saw a group muttering nearby under hushed voices, and tried to get closer to hear, but the group, upon seeing Howl approach, went quiet. He instead took a seat in one of aisles in the middle.
"Howl" He jumped. Sileara, the High Priestess, had spotted him. The room fell quiet. Howl stood up awkwardly.
"Howl," she repeated, ushering quickly down to meet him. "But do you know? Word has just gotten around. I was told by Calum that he needed to see you right away. The business is urgent."
Howl stared about, flustered. He did not understand what was going on. Why were all these people entering the church. What was the summons for?
"Where am I supposed to meet Expert Calum?"
"I imagine he would be back at the castle. Howl, you must go up there, it is very important."
"Why? What's happening." Howl looked around at all the people, feeling more and more embarrassed."
"There have been reports of goings on around the southern border between Chalith and Bastruf. There are soldiers camped just on the edge. From what I've heard Bastruf has started assembling an army."
Howl's ears pricked up and his fur bristled. He felt a surge of anger inside him. Now, of all times, his Kingdom would start a feud. A month after his father's death and his claim of the throne, and his two countries decide they want to go to war. This couldn't be happening. There must have been a mistake.
Howl pushed his way back out of the aisle and out the door, townsfolk moving out of the way as he raced back toward the castle. He used the western entrance, climbing the narrow stone steps, until he reached the lower noble's residency wing and headed for Calum's chambers.
When he got there, he knocked. The door swung open and Howl was surprised to see Root, the palace physician, at the door to greet him.
Expert Calum stood just over the small rodent's shoulders, pouring over a note on the table and marking down several characters on a sheaf or parchment.
Root placated him with a soft reassurance. "Calum will be with you in just a moment, King Howl, sir. Do not be so tense, the matter with which he seeks you isn't as forceful as the rumors that have gotten around, you'll see. Just a moment..."
Despite his attempts to calm Howl down, Root was rather anxious himself, and Howl suspected the mouse was more trying to soothe himself.
"Please, just another moment, and Lord Calum will be right with you."
"We need you to ride over to Bastruf and try to dissuade King Ginfur from his religious march toward Chalith. We need you to convince him that the repercussions could be dire. We should only resort to blocking off trade as a last resort."
"This is where you come in, Howl. As newly crowned High King, you have the power of youth on your side. If you were to suggest to the king of Fellarus a possible new branch of religion to arise, one that could combine with the main worship of Merros in Serenitir and most of the southern kingdoms, it may alleviate the tension Bastruf feels toward Threamony. That would keep us balanced again beside the other provenances. It would also be the first major policy to set your reign on the right foot.
"Of course, building a second religion, if a substituent, would take a lot of influence indeed, and as you are now, you countenance is not exactly... suited, pardon me from saying so my king, for one such as your status..."
Howl knew exactly what he meant. Since his succession, he had refused to wear the garment of the high king. Also, he still hadn't taken the crown of his father, but insisted it remain on his father's tomb, despite the protests of the regale's council. He must make for a poor High King indeed.
"I feel- we all feel- you must wear it, and assert your rule over Bastruf and Chalith. They feel that your image has gotten soft, and need to be aware that the king of Clarity has fully taken up the throne. They want assurance of strength in these troubled, faithless times, Howl. Wearing your father's crown and assuming his countenance while making an effort to visit and negotiate between them might dissuade the tensions between the rift and bring about a lighter peace."
Howl agreed that it must be done. What Calum said made sense. If he was to visit Fellarus, he should not go as Duke, but assume his new title, and look the part. "The crown lies in my father's tomb. I will need to get that and someone will need to dress me in the proper garments."
"Of course. I will have someone fetch you the crown and the proper clothes immediately. You should go first thing in the morning. We will have a horse ready for you."
Howl could tell Calum was really busy, and wanted to get back to his work figuring out the details. Imposing a new religion must be a very tedious chore, one that would no doubt take up the next few months. He was about to dismiss himself out, "I'll get the crown. You can have a servant bring me my father's clothes," he said as he was heading out the door. Calum agreed and Howl turned back around and out of the room. The court physician, Root, followed him out, much to Howl's chagrin. He didn't really know the physician very well, but the small dormouse looked like he wanted to have a private word.
"King Howl, just before word got out about the soldiers on the border and news of the coming Fade, my apprentice and I had just gotten other, more grave news around a certain caliber of importance."
There was a pause. The mouse looked like he was struggling with whether he should speak his mind.
"Well, you can say your word, Root, I'm not going to bite you."
"Yes sir. Someone in the region of the palace identified to me the duchess of Diastrus. She had been visiting here and has only stayed about one fortnight. Last night someone reported to me that her throat was slit. She lay dead behind a bush in the gardens."
Howl's body clenched. What was happening? First the religious fallout and now this? Howl wondered if the religious tension and the assassination were somehow connected.
"There were also reports of another... gone missing."
"Who?" Howl blurted out before he could caution his voice. A few of the guards down the hall turned their heads, and Howl motioned to them that all was fine.
This time Howl spoke in a whisper. "Were there any witnesses? What about reports of a witness?" Howl tried to keep his voice steady. "Surely someone had to have noticed something?" Beside him, Root was fidgeting nervously and his voice was constricted. It seemed like he knew something, but was holding back.
"We got nothing. That's the strangest thing."
Was he lying? Root looked like he could go into hysteria at any moment, the mouse was practically ready to burst by the state of his composure. Finally the physician opened up.
"Be-below the castle. In the tomb. Someone said they wanted to meet you there. That is all I can say." Root hurried away, leaving Howl alone in the hallway. As he needed his father's crown, he had to go down into the dark burial chamber anyway. He wondered if he should bring a guard, but decided it was best if he went alone. He had a feeling he knew who he might be meeting, and wanted to keep it private. Although he was afraid what he would find when he got there.
As Howl descended the narrow stone steps that lead down into the depths of the royal burial site, he sensed something wrong. The aura behind his eyes did not grow like he was expecting from when he approached Grim or Trillith. He was hoping he might even find the strange wolf.
Instead he smelled blood.
Fier's motionless body sat upright against the sarcophagus, the golden and jewel crusted crown on the top of his head. Blood was smeared in tracks beside his body where the killer must have dragged him into the specific position.
At first Howl cried out, but then the noise stuck in his throat. Just beyond Fier's body was his father's tomb, and on it was written a note in bloody letters.
Howl brother, your pack is dead.