Earth Vein Saga: Volume I, Chapter II

Lord Ivan Clark bowed in the presence of his King and the High Lord’s council in the throne room of Hirest. He allowed his thinning grey hairs to barely cloak his eyes to hide the shame they showed from a failed mission. Clark wore a shiny cape as black as wet pupils that framed his black steel armor, and rested his knee on the thick, deep purple carpet which was said to resemble a dragon’s tongue, though none in the kingdom of Hiretusk could vouch for that claim. The carpet sprawled across the entrance to the two immense roots that sprouted up through the castle and made the King and Queen’s throne. The King was seated upon his throne, allowing his palms to rest on the bark of his throne. His Elector, Sid Crierlown, sat to his right. Joseph Shirestone stood behind them.

The King was a striking image of the Hiretusks of ancient times. Electors, Healers and Songsmiths had written poems and tales depicting the courageous and dignified acts of the Hiretusks. They wrote of the Hiretusks’ gold hair which shone like yellow satin, and their blinding features, and pale grey eyes. The King had pale white skin, unlike some of his ancestors, who were said to have been born with shimmering gold skin. On the King’s arms and necks were the thick blue veins that were inherent in all who had the Royal Blood.

Lining the throne room were Evergreen leaves and golden acorns. The leaves and acorns had a soothing effect on the King Leonid, and it was to these items that he gave his full attention. Even so, the King’s long, slender face was wrought with unease.

After a long silence, the King finally spoke.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” he asked.

Lord Ivan touched the black bear that was engraved into his chest plate, as to swear upon the sigil of his House and family. “My Lord, my scouts have informed me that they had found our Princess’ tracks just south of the blood fields. There are five parties of my best scouts in the Southlands as we speak. They tell me that she’s moving away from the wars occurring past the River of Black Tears. With the god’s grace she should be safe.”

“There are worse things in those woods than wars,” the King gravely said.

“At your word, I can devote twenty thousand men to your cause. We’ll comb the countryside if we have to,” the knight assured. He allowed his eyes to rise to meet his King’s.

Leonid shook His head. “Twenty thousand men will draw attention. I’ll have word sent to the other Houses for them to devote their most skilled scouts to our cause. In the mean time, I don’t want a single soul outside of the men looking for my daughter to know of this situation. Make sure of that.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lord Ivan said.

With a wave of His hand, King Leonid said, “Leave us now.” Lord Ivan touched his hand to his forehead as he bowed and made a brisk exit.

The whole while, Sid Crierlown had been in a personal state, as was becoming more common in his old age. Sid was an ancient man whose face had strong, hard features that looked as if they had been cut from stone. His wrinkled brow gave the slightest indication of strained thoughts, but as the King called his name to no response, Leonid knew His best friend, who had once served as His father’s Elector, was not in the present moment.

A second call brought awareness to Sid’s eyes.

“Yes, Leon?” the old Elector asked. He was one of the few people who could call the King by his first name to no offense.

“I’m worried,” said the King.

“Anyone would feel the same if they were in your situation,” Sid replied.

The King let out a long sigh and looked again to the leaves and acorns for consolation. “Is that all you can say?” asked Leonid. “I need your help, Sid.”

“I’m too old to be searching in the woods, Leon,” Sid replied. His voice was dry and tired.

“Not old yet to help a friend, Sid. Not old yet to aide your King,” said Leon. The King was close to pleading. In his youth, there hadn’t been a blade in the world sharper than Sid’s mind. Till this day, the King still believed Sid’s wit came to him. It just came to him slowly.

“You and I know the walls of this castle better than anyone else, do you agree?” asked the King.

“I do,” Sid said.

“And if there’s one thing these walls can’t do,” the King began.

“It can’t keep secrets,” Sid finished.

A smile of relief came on the King’s face, and for the moment his faith in Sid was restored.

“I’m so torn I can hardly think. What I want to know more than where she is, is why she left. If she wanted to explore the Southlands, she could have done so with a party of guards. Does she know something that we don‘t?” said Leon.

Sid gazed off absently, and then brought his finger to the bottom of his nose and rubbed out an itch. “She is a free spirit,” he said.

“If I may,” Joseph interrupted. “I don’t think the Princess left on her own motives.” Joseph was a young Elector of twenty nine years. What he lacked in experience, he made up for with confidence. He had a squared jaw that was lined with honey brown hair, and short brown hair on top. He had eyes that looked like sliced limes and a tall forehead that had permanent creases.

“Yes, she wouldn’t have left like this. Not with her mother the way she is. Not with what’s happening across the river,” the King said. His thoughts raced and in his mind’s eye he could only see the wars happening across the River of Black Tears. The King did not like wars.

Some nights, the flashbacks still came back to him, in the dead of night when he was too tight in the skin to close his eyes. When they came, he was seventeen years old again, dawning the white and gold scaled armor of his grandfather in Murrow’s Pass. He wore his hood up for the aesthetics and, more secretly and shamefully, so the cloth would hide the gold plated crown that lined the top of his white helm.

Blitzius Thrall, the cocksure prince, squared off with Leonid every night, and every night Leonid felt the fears of one who knew his was up for forfeit. The young Prince Leonid’s stomach turned to water, and his legs gave out. He would never forget the cramp that came to his stomach on that day. It was the same cramp that would revisit him at the mention of the now dead Latetral Prince’s name. The only thing that kept Leonid standing was the sturdiness of his leg armor.

The Latetral Prince’s reputation had preceded him. His sky blue armor was speckled with the blood of his kills, and his white mace, which he held stiffly at his side, was stained red down the handle.

The events that occurred in the visions always played out the same way, just as they had happened in Murrow’s Pass. Every night, Leonid would see his eldest brother Gabriel fall in battle to Blitzius. He could still taste the wet blood in his mouth.

“My Lord?” Sid asked, breaking the King from his trance. If there was one thing Sid could still spot as quick as when he had a twenty year old’s mind, it was when his King was fighting in Murrow’s Pass.

The King rubbed his eyes, as if to snub away his memories. He had to focus on the present. But what had they been talking about? The King’s thoughts always fled him after an episode.

“My… my daughter,” the King said with great fatigue. “I want you to lead the investigation to find out why Dansil left. Outside of Lord Ivan Clarke and his search party, only Mistra Pagota knows that my daughter has left.”

“My findings will be only between us,” Sid said, to which the King smiled and nodded in consent.

“I’ll speak first with her friend… that girl she’s always with…” Sid paused to find a name, but none came.

“Layla,” Shirestone said. The name ignited Sid’s sleepy eyes.

“Yes, Layla! Mistra Pagota’s daughter,” Sid said.

“As she has been for the last fourteen years,” said Leonid. “Shirestone, can you please assist Sid?”

Sid stiffened his bottom lip and stubbornly shook his head. “I’ll do it alone. I have balanced the kingdom’s expenses for the past fifty four years, I think I’m capable of questioning a girl.”

“Shirestone balanced the expenses last year, Sid,” Leonid said.

“Or have you forgotten?” Shirestone asked.

“Let me talk with the girl,” Sid said, his voice now beginning to harden.

The King let out a sigh. “Joseph, Sid, please help me find my daughter. This isn’t some game of numbers or peasant squabbles we’re dealing with. This is my daughter’s life.”

“Her life is in the best hands, my Lord,” Sid said.

Sid and Joseph bowed to their King and left the throne room.

Joseph paid a castle guard a copper to retrieve young Layla, promising another copper if he could return her to the Electors before the High Elector Sid could count the patterned stripes in his robe. The castle guard, a man just shy of eighteen and still clumsy in his irons eagerly agreed and ran off into the castle. The wide halls of Hirest whispered echoes of the young guard running to Joseph and Sid. These walls did not hold many secrets, especially to the ones who lived in the castle long enough to make sense of the creeks and pops that came from them.

The echoes of clashing irons and a young girl’s cries came closer, until the Electors could see the castle guard running up the hall with his hand tight around Layla’s wrist. Layla had smooth, dark skin and fine black hair, which made her piercing bright white eyes glow on her face. Joseph took note of Layla’s hand, which had gone pale from the guard’s grasp.

“Did I make it?” the guard huffed breathlessly.

Sid’s robe had one hundred and seventy five stripes on it, one for each Elector who came before him. By Joseph’s count, the guard found Layla in fifty seconds, and brought her back in less time.

Joseph tossed the young guard a copper. “Thank you, Elector Shirestone,” the guard said.

“Try not to drop it all on ale and girls,” Sid said with a smile.

“What’s going on?” the girl screamed. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Halls of the second floor, Layla,” Sid said.

The girl recognized the old man’s voice. Layla rubbed the feeling back into her wrists. The run had shook her up. Tears clung to her eyes. The etiquette lessons her mother had taught her and Princess Dansil had stayed with her even in pain, and Layla lowered her head and bowed.

“High Elector Sid,” she said.

“Hello, girl. Come with me. We must talk.” Sid nodded a farewell to the guard and walked up the hall with Layla. His old skeletal hands felt like branches against her back.

“Do you know why I’ve called for you?” Sid asked politely.

The dark murnah shook her head and grabbed her wrist, remembering the pain that had overwhelmed it moments before. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s important, High Elector,” she muttered.

“It is. Very much so, in fact. Can you tell me when the last time you saw Princess Dansil was,” Sid said.

Layla cocked her head to a side. “This morning after breakfast. We were supposed to meet in two hours in front of the castle. Has something happened?”

“Your mother hasn’t said anything?” Sid asked.

A concerned look came on Layla’s face. “What happened to Princess Dansil?”

Shirestone pushed Sid’s old hand off of Layla’s back and pressed his hand firmly on the girl’s shoulder, making her wince. He said, “I need you to tell me where the last place you saw the Princess was and to give me a list of close friends who she has recently spoke with. No one is to know about the events that we are talking about right now. If words comes back to me that people know the Princess is missing, it’ll mean your tongue on a plate. Do you understand me?”

“Dansil’s missing?” Layla said with a weak voice.

“She said nothing about leaving to you?” Joseph asked.

“No, nothing!”

“You said that you two were going to meet up shortly, is that right?”

“Yes. Well, it wasn’t just us two, though. We were supposed to meet with Lokan. He was going to bring us horses from the stable to ride.”

Sid strained to pinpoint the name, but couldn’t. He could have sworn he had heard it before, but nothing came to him.

“Who is this Lokan?” the High Elector asked.

“He works in the stables, High Elector. His father is a smith for the Royal Guard and his mother is a cook. Dansil and I have been friends with him for close to seven years.”

The stable boy’s face came slowly to Sid. He was a red faced boy with filthy brown hair and cheeks that were encrusted with dirt. He would wish Sid a good morrow every time the two passed.

“Your mother tells me that you can write the Common Language. Is this true?” Sid asked.

The young girl nodded.

“Write me a list of all of the Princess’ friends and anyone else who may know where she had gone,” Sid said. He produced paper and a pen from a hidden pocket that lined the inside of his robes and handed them to Layla.

“Do hurry. Dansil has gone into the Southlands,” Joseph said, at which Layla gasped. “If I can find out who convinced her to go down there, we can find out why she has left and where she plans on going.”

The murnah started her list as Joseph beckoned the nearby guards on the floor to come to him. Layla had written three names on the list. One by one, Joseph sent the guards to retrieve the people whose names have been written.