The Ring Bearer

Chapter 2

The morning arrived with a frost that covered everything with a fine white crispness. I breathed into my cupped hands and watched the steam of my breath rise up into the air. I stood at the stables dressed in warm, but evidently old and tattered garments, much the same as what a lawbreaker would be clothed in.

Earlier I had sat and had my blond locks shaved from my head so I truly appeared to be someone who was being carted off to Diabolus Island, where all prisoners of Terra Somnia were kept. Diabolus Island was roughly south-west of Principalis Portum and was under the jurisdiction and watchful eyes of the primes, of the Ilse of Equilibrium. Passing through the Neutral region would be the easier part of the journey, once we were past The Wall, Murus, then we would need to have our wits about us; as we would then be passing through the volatile and unruly region of Medius.

I stood, breathing in the scent of hay and horses, and rubbing my bald head, feeling somewhat hesitant, until I saw John 'The Butcher' Mosshelm come striding across the yard carrying his saddle in one hand and his mighty sword, Gladius, in the other. John had been my personal guard since I was a young lad and even though he was aging he did not seem to be losing any of his youthful vigor and strength. Although he never boasted, there were plenty of stories about him and his bravery as a warrior and soldier.

It was said that before he started serving my father as a general, he was a hunter of monstrous beasts. One of those stories was about how he and a small company of men, had tracked a terribly powerful and dangerous creature, which had the head of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and had a giant pair of wings, known as a manticore. It had been terrorizing the people of Fallax, in the far east of Terra Somnia and John and his men chased it down all the way into the subtropical land of Nemus, which was the land of gorgons and other dark magical creatures. When they were face to face with the creature, apparently the other men fell back, but John stepped forward, and with a mighty swing of his blade the manticore's head was severed from its body. He skinned the carcass and from that day on, he adorned himself with a coat made from the pelt.

"Good morning, Felix," John, one of few who did not refer to me as 'my prince', said and handed his sheathed blade to one of the stable boys whilst he saddled his horse, Duskbow. The boy looked at the instrument with complete admiration and held it as though being allowed to touch it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

"Good day, Sir Mosshelm." I did a mock bow and presented my wrists, "Will the prisoner be required to wear shackles?"

"An impudent soul such as yourself ought to be given more than mere shackles; if it were up to me, it would be a week in the stockades," he laughed heartily and once his guffawing subsided, he suddenly became earnest. "This is a very brave thing you're doing, my young prince."

"I'm not that young," I scoffed back.

"Compared to the likes of myself and your father, who have both lived past the majority of our lives, you are still but a fledgling," he smiled. "We may not encounter any trouble along the road to finding Whitbane, but promise me that if we do, you'll allow myself and Jacob's guards to fulfill our roles and protect you."

I sneered ever so slightly, but then realized that this was not a mere passing remark or suggestion, but a serious request. I knew it best not to even try arguing the point. However, now that he had brought it up, my interest was peaked, I began to wonder about all the potential races and creatures we would possibly encounter along the way. The thought of a group of bandits trying to ambush us began to feel far less frightening and I even found myself hoping for it to happen, just so that I could truly see the magnificent Sir John Mosshelm in action.

"I promise, but what do you mean when you say Jacob's guards?" I asked quizzically. Surely it was the job of my guards to protect me.

"During our meeting and preparations last night, Jacob brought up the valid point that your guards could potentially be recognized as being the prince's by anyone who has ever visited the capital and seen them with you," he stated and double-checked the contents of his saddlebag. He took Gladius back from the boy and fastened the scabbard, with the sword, to his waist.

"But what about you?"

"What about me?" he responded and stroked Duskbow gingerly and seemed to be whispering reassuring words to the older stallion.

"Well you hardly blend in; with your Manticore cloak and your being the head of my guards, makes you one of the most recognizable people in the kingdom," I argued and took the reigns of my horse, Bronzesong, from the stable boy who had prepared him.

The Butcher scrunched up his face at me and tugged at his greying beard, "So you do not wish for me to accompany you? Do you hear this, Duskbow… We are not wanted on this journey."

"That's hardly what I mean, and you know it," I said and both he and I walked our horses out into the main yard, towards the huge, front gate where a company of roughly ten to fifteen men, some already having mounted their horses, waited. Among them was my cousin, wearing unmarked armor, just like all the other riders.

"I have done many prisoner deliveries over the years, as well as other errands, but most importantly your father does not wish for you to embark on this trip unless I am by your side, and my sentiments are the same," he explained. We reached the others and there was a moment of slight tension in the air, which was quickly penetrated by The Butcher exclaiming to Jacob and the others how I did not wish for him to come along.

"I also tried to persuade Sir Mosshelm," Jacob uttered matter of factly. "He and your father's advisors argued against it. In the end, it was agreed upon that if anyone attempts to bother us along the way… Well, let's just say that nothing and no-one has been able to stop The Butcher yet."

The horses were restless from the cold and the odd one neighed and another snorted; they were ready to be off, now that they had left the comfort of their stables. And so we were finally away, we started off slowly, across the drawbridge and the road leading out of Principalis Portum, giving the horses time to get used to moving. Once they warmed, we sped up into a canter and headed along the road which bent around the outskirts of the seaport. 

From where we rode, we could see for miles in any direction. To the east, which sat on our left shoulders, were the fishing boats, sitting like specks on a large pane of glass. Ahead of us, past the arid landscape of Portum was the forested terrain of the Neutral region. Far off to our right was the trade route leading to the Melior region, which would soon have far less traffic on it, as the high council had decided that until proven otherwise, the king's ill health, was owed to the necklace gifted by the rulers of Captiosus. 

The border of Portum would become heavily patrolled and only those returning home would be allowed passage. Already messengers had been sent north, to Fawkes Maior and Minima to garner their aid in protecting the land border between Principalis Portum and the Neutral region, as we did not have the numbers.

Much of the first-day riding, I spent wondering about what would happen if our two regions ended up going to war. Which of the other regions would stand with them? It had been two generations of near-total peace amongst the regions, so what now had caused a potentially treasonous act against the crown?

By nightfall, we had come to the edge of the forest, near the foot of Mount Mors Gelida. The members of the guard unloaded the tents and set up camp at the entrance to the forest. The forest was reportedly unlike many other forests, in that it did not gleam with the presence of many, if any, magical creatures. It was a simple wood of mainly acacia, desert willow, and mesquite trees; all with eerie-looking spindly branches that were creepy, slender fingers reaching up to the abyss.

We camped in a crest surrounding a fire which was made in the center and we spit-roasted a pig over it. It was not the fine dining to which I was accustomed; usually, there would have been a table laden with all different types of dishes, pig included but it would have been carved, unlike the simplistic nature of merely going over and slicing off a piece with a communal blade and eating with our bare hands. Although it was remarkably different, to say the least, I quite enjoyed the almost jovial and relaxed atmosphere that settled over our camp that evening. 

The men laughed and joked about trivial things, the odd man commented on how the cold truly seemed to be setting in. One of the men, a young guard, with curly black hair, the faint beginnings of beard stubble, and a glimmer in his eyes, called Yeoman Reidfrid, retrieved a lute from his saddlebag and took up a position on a small rock formation. He clasped the instrument with great care and played with an immense passion. He strummed out tunes familiar to the others, but which I had never heard before. The songs mainly told epic stories of battles, magical beasts, and great feats by legendary men.

The moonlight glistened so that we stayed up drinking, eating and laughing well into the night, until Sir Hugo Dyryke, the head of Jacob's guard, a balding man with grey stubble and a grim face, and The Butcher, suggested sternly that we ought to make our way into the tents. Mosshelm, despite his brevity, was unlike Sir Hugo, in that his tone was not bitter and cold like a bath in winter; Sir Hugo was in my opinion disdainful in his communication.

"Right, to bed with the lot of you, save for you three," he said and gestured crudely to three of the men, who were still engaged in comical banter. "You have the first watch; keep the fire ablaze to help ward off any unwanted beasts visiting our camp and maintain your wits about you. This is neutral territory and although Mount Mors Gelida and The Wall hold the vermin of Medius at bay, there may be men from the region of Melior about."

Once under the covers, I lay starring up at the tent ceiling wishing I could be out under the star-filled night's sky. I had asked to be allowed, but The Butcher quickly explained that the outdoors were far colder than the warm interiors of a prince's castle chamber.

The tent was small but it was a reminder that this was the beginning of what would probably amount to not only a mission to save my father but a great adventure too. Adventurers did not sleep in the comforts to which princes were accustomed, no they roughed it out; the ground their mattress and a scratchy sack filled with straw, their pillow - I was getting the full prisoner experience.

When daylight came, I had already been woken and stumbled out of the tent in the faint, dusky light of the early morning. "Ah the prisoner has awoken from his slumber," Sir John had said and handed me a cup of warmed milk."

With the tents packed and the horses nearly readied, we sat much as we had the previous night and hungrily ate our breakfast of bread and leftover pig. A second glass of warm milk helped to wash it down and then we doused the fire and were on our way once more.

The journey through the forest was quite disappointingly an uneventful one for the most part. The Butcher rode at the front of our small caravan with Sir Hugo Dyryke riding next to him. After them, were six of the guard, including Yeoman Reinfrid who unfortunately was not permitted to play for us while we rode. Just over my right shoulder was Jacob, followed by another six men. The road was well worn and the trees' slim branches stretched overhead in many parts, creating glorious canopies that the winter's sun struggled to filter through. It was hard to tell what time of day it was when we finally came to the other side of the wood and were finally able to catch sight of The Wall.

The Wall rose up ahead of us, a giant mass of ancient architecture. The Wall was reportedly over five hundred years old; Woodenbrooke Whitbane had taught me that among many other trivial facts, which remarkably managed to stay in my head, even after the many years which had passed. I had only seen The Wall in drawings and paintings, but they did no justice in explaining its sheer size and magnitude; It stood fifty feet tall and spanned as far as the eye could see, in either direction. One end finally met with Mount Mors Gelida and the other ran to the sea to the South.

"She is something, isn't she?" Yeoman sighed as he took it in; evidently, this was his first time laying eyes on it as well.

"It's just a mass of stone keeping the scum of Medius from coming into our part of the world," one of the other soldiers, a robust young man with full cheeks and orange hair, retorted. "It's nothing special."

"Well I must agree with Yeoman," I spoke up. "It is a sight to behold. Just think of the craftsmanship and the incredible perseverance one must have had to design and build it. I was told that it took so long to build that some men went their entire lives without seeing its completion and here you are brushing it off as if it were simply another wall made of clay and mortar."

"Apologies, my prince, I meant no offense," the guard responded.

"Why do you seem to hold it in disdain?" I asked, curiously. "And don't call me that, there could well be ears amidst the men on The Wall, that wish me ill - not all on The Wall are there by choice."

"There is no such feeling, my lord."

Yeoman piped up again, now that he had my support in this discussion. "Crystoll Zhoirik, I know too well that you loath The Wall. Why not tell our prince?"

Ignoring the question, the man kicked out at Yeoman, but narrowly missed. Fuming at him, with cheeks reddening by the second, he shouted, "He said not to call him that you idiot."

Suddenly we came to a swift halt and Sir Hugo Dyryke cantered back toward the commotion.

"What is going on?" he barked at his men and even gave me a grim glance. "We are about to pass through The Wall... from here on you keep your mouths shut until I tell you otherwise and that is the last 'my prince' or 'my lord' I wish to hear? Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," we answered in unison. I'm not quite sure why I bit my tongue, perhaps it was the shackles that restrained me, or maybe the cold wind passing over my shaved head had numbed me to his clear insolence.

"Very well, then let us get a move on," he grunted and maneuvered his horse to the front once more.

I stared up at The Wall, it was daunting in some strange way, in that it made one feel so incredibly small. It was made of a dark, almost black, granite rock, which had been masterfully constructed under the watchful eyes of the elves of The Isle of Equilibrium to the South West; some of whom would have lived well past its completion. I felt like an ant crawling towards a giant curtain. I could barely make out the men atop the icy rock formation, but there they were patrolling back and forth along the top, keeping a watchful eye on the land beyond; the land of the sub-sentients.

Two watchmen greeted us at the gate and immediately they recognized The Butcher and Sir Hugo.

"Well well, this must be an important transportation, if we have Sir John 'The Butcher' Mosshelm and Sir Hugo Dyryke gracing us with their presence," one of the watchmen with shaggy hair, skew, yellow teeth, and an almost bonnet looking hat on which covered his ears as well and tied under his chin. "This one off to Diabolus Island?"

"No, we're making our way to Unitatis where he will be tried for his crimes, which were committed against humans, mixed breeds, and primes alike," Sir John explained with finality.

"He looks harmless enough to me," the watchman said, eyeing me up.

"Well, looks can be deceiving. Now, we were unable to send word ahead of us, but your captain knows me well, could we speak with her?" The Butcher pressed, trying to draw the attention of the men from me.

"Very well, you may wait in the main yard whilst we go look for her."

The yard was nothing more than an empty space of mud and cobblestone with a balcony surrounding it. The armory and stables were in view, as well as what looked to be the mess hall to our left. The watchman who let us in ran up a flight of stairs to the right of us and went to knock on a large chamber door above the armory. The captain, a woman with pale white skin and long white hair came out and glided down the stairs toward us. She was dressed in her armor, obviously having recently engaged in training I surmised; the armor was made of silver and gold plating and behind her, a red cape flapped in the everpresent breeze. Her fiery yellow eyes burned fiercely and when she spoke to Sir John, my suspicions of her being a vampire were proved when I noticed her pearly white fangs.

"Butcher, what is it that you want?" she said and for some reason, held onto the hilt of her sword.

"Captain Aubrey, how lovely it is to see you too. I see your welcomes are still as warm as ice," he said and dismounted his horse, the rest of us followed his lead.

"Well you killed my brother... what other type of welcome would you expect?" She spat back and locked eyes with the man.

"I thought this had been resolved. Your brother went rogue and was attacking and murdering those of Fallax; he had tasted the blood of man and lost his mind, what else would you have had me do?"

"He was your friend and fellow soldier, you should have tried to help him, but no instead you merely severed his head from his body, like some sort of criminal," she uttered this and looked my way. "And who is this?"

"He's no one," Sir John said and regained her attention. "There was nothing I could have done for your brother. And you're right, he was my friend, that's why what I did was a mercy; what the people of Fallax wanted was to have him burnt alive for his crimes. It broke me to see him at the other end of my blade, but it was too late to bring him back."

Sir John sighed and his breath was visible in the winter air. A few members of The Wall's watchmen had sidled over and others poked their heads out from where they were to see what the commotion was about. An uneasiness filled the air as the two of them simply stared one another down.

"I'll ask you again," Captain Aubrey hissed. "What do you want?"

Sir Hugo Dyryke made his voice heard, "We want passage through The Wall and a guide to help us traverse the land of Medius would help too; one of my men, Crystoll Zhoirik, has a father that works on The Wall."

"Yes, Dwyght Zhoirik, he works as one of the masonries who help to maintain and fix the damaged parts of The Wall. He knows the Medius region well. Take him with you."

                                                                                       * * *   

  Dwyght, like his son, had striking orange hair, but unlike the young man, he also boasted a wholesome beard of the same hue. He wore tattered leather clothing and although he was probably only in his early fifties, the time on The Wall had evidently taken a toll on him, making him appear that much older.

Dwyght road at the front of the company along with the two knights and they spoke seldomly amongst themselves, the rest of us remained rather quiet as well as we left The Wall at our backs and entered into the Medius region. It was not long after we left that we reached the Magna River and then made our way along the coastline toward Onus River. Both of the rivers were running low and the horses crossed without any problem. Once we reached the forest edge after crossing Onus, we came to a stop, and then, following Dwyght's instruction we veered off of the main road and entered into the woods. The trees swayed in the ever-growing wind and far above, rain clouds began to threaten. 

"Best to take the less-traveled route, especially if we're to expect bad weather - we may need the shelter," Dwyght yelled from the front. 

My gut told me that it was a bad idea to go trekking into one of the forests of Medius, especially in this weather as one never knew what other creatures or races might be lurking in the woods.

We came over a small hillock and moved down into a gorge with trees covering either side of us and then it happened. It felt that my eyes were deceiving me, but as the rain swept down upon us, Sir Hugo Dyryke reached across and unsheathed Sir John's sword. The unsuspecting man turned to grab for it but was only met with a sword in the back from Dwyght Zhoirik. The Butcher cried out in pain as a rolling thunder rumbled in the sky. 

"Now! Get Felix," I heard Sir Hugo yelling the command to his men. I looked to my cousin for aid, but he simply tightened the reigns on his horse and allowed his guard to surround me. I had never felt more fear in my entire life. I watched as Sir John was stabbed in the torso with his own blade and then he fell slowly like a dead leaf, to the muddy earth. A fist connected with my face and I too was thrown from my horse, Bronzesong, who made a frightful neighing sound and bolted into the dense surrounding foliage, going toward Mount Medius. I landed with a hard thud and all the air in my lungs was instantly expelled. I coughed and gasped for breath as I tried to get to my feet, only to be knocked down once more by a follow-up blow. The men had all dismounted and formed a tight circle around me. They pushed, punched, and kicked me back and forth, until I fell, bloodied and bruised to the ground once more. I tried to get up, but the pain was too excruciating. I glanced over through the downpour and saw The Butcher lying on his back, lifeless, with his sword still in his chest. 

"That's enough," Jacob finally spoke up and the men stopped pounding on me. "He's as good as dead out here by himself. Leave him where he lies, but put Sir John  Mosshelm's sword, Gladius, in his hands.