< Return to Cry of the Glasya Part 3

A small note about these D&D shorts. They are, by their definition, short which means I don’t put nearly the amount of work or effort into them as I would for either a full length novel or even something I planned to submit to a competition. These stories are basically the filler and practice I do between other ‘jobs.’ They are essentially my doodles if I were in art and not writing.

As such, there are some portions of it that I would rework. I would be a little more exacting in the smaller details and I would certainly spend more than one or two quick ‘once overs’ to get the structure exactly right if I had any intention of these seeing some sort of official publication. Since I do not, they exist in the state that they do. They’re like a caged specimen stolen from the Cambrian – untried little organisms locked in stasis and saved from the exacting extinctions and pressures that would force them into the common organisms we see today.

Which is to say I’m not particularly fond of my next section.

Characters:

Licia (Lychee) Songsinger – beautiful singer and terrible summoner responsible for the death of Duke Arren Hasselbach

Jeremiah Pits – valiant paladin and moral bulwark for his friends

Derrek Gungric – insightful bard with a curious intuition and questionable music skills

Keirn Faden – self proclaimed leader of the adventuring band and stylized sorcerer

Kait Faden – sister and hoarder with a love of nature and archery so probably a ranger if she’d ever get around to ranging

Keirn sat on an upturned barrel, warming his chilled fingers over a cooking fire. A scratchy wool blanket was draped over his shoulders while the minstrel stood, pouring two dented cups with the boiled tea. She held one out for the sorcerer before pulling a chair and sitting opposite him.

“So, I apparently conjured some great demon creature from only the gods know where in order to eviscerate the Duke at the height of my performance?”

“And his entire court. And his guards. And presumably my kin and kind.”

“And why would I do this?”

Keirn opened his mouth but immediately shut it. He thought back to his conversation with Derrek. The bard seemed rather insistent that she was the one who did it but now her motives did seem suspect.

“I… guess you were hired to.”

“Me? A hired assassin?”

“Considering the Duke’s personal retinue, having a renown minstrel bring about his death would certainly slip past his security.”

“And, being this renowned minstrel you claim me to be, why would I throw away my reputation on some rather brutish ploy?”

“You’re paid well?”

Licia crossed her legs, giving Keirn the most condescending look he’d ever seen.

“I would think, given your professed time spent with that rather dubious troubadour you claim kinship with, you’d know just how valuable reputation is amongst the performing scholars. It is something worth far more than the gold and silver these upstart royals throw our way. We do not devote ourselves to this path over a misguided dream of riches and leisure.”

She paused and thought to herself.

“Well most of us don’t.”

“Then why would you perform?”

“For immortality.”

Licia leaned back in her chair, sipping slowly from her drink. She looked down at the cup, analyzing the contents briefly before holding it aloft for Keirn.

“See this? It is a special blend of herbs I’ve concocted in order to preserve my voice. I’ve devoted far more than a few hours of rehearsal to perfecting my craft. My food, my sleep and even where I’ll perform are all dictated by what will nurture and maintain my song. This isn’t a devotion you throw away for something as meaningless as coin. This is something more sacred. Something… divine.”

“Then why summon the demon?”

“I’ve done no such thing.”

She set her cup down, leaning in to appraise Keirn’s features more closely.

“I can see your conviction, however. What you’ve seen, you truly believe whether it be real or not. So let me ask you, why does a wizard study the arcane?”

“For… knowledge?”

“But not riches?”

“I’m sure they’re paid well for their services.”

“Truly? How many rule kingdoms or vast trading fleets? How many live in palaces and feast on the finest foods?”

“Look, this isn’t about wizards.”

“And yet they devote their entire lives to studying their tomes. Those with even greater thirst search abroad to further their knowledge, risking life and limb in an attempt to understand something far greater than you or I or even this Duke. Minstrelsy is much the same, though we search not through ancient lore but through ourselves and others.”

“Bards are wizards now?”

“Of a sort. Or wizards and bards are priests of another kind. The classification is meaningless.”

Keirn shook his head.

“This nonsense sounds like something Derrek would lecture me on.”

“Indeed.”

Keirn lowered his tea and carefully placed it away from him.

“So you and Derrek…”

“Are old… friends.”

“Odd, he never mentioned you to me.”

“Nor you to I. Yet here we are.”

It seemed impossible. Keirn had known the other man for most of his life. They had grown up in neighbouring villages of all places. It seemed unlikely, no unthinkable, that he would never have heard of this woman before.

And yet, they did grow up in different villages. And how well did the sorcerer know the bard before their time at the Academy. There was quite a few years unaccounted for in their past. And it dawned on the sorcerer that he knew little of what the bard did during that time. He’d assumed he’d just lived a quiet life at home.

But after travelling with him for so long, a quiet life was perhaps anathema to the other man.
“Fine, let’s pretend that you didn’t summon a demon and kill the Duke and everyone I care about…”
“Easy enough,” Licia smiled.

“… then by the hells where are they?”

“Well, I can’t account for your friends or the bard,” Licia said, “but unless I have been purposefully misled, the Duke is out on one of his extravagant hunts. It was meant to give me ample time to prepare for my performance. Time, I might add, I’ve decided to spend entertaining you instead.”

“But if you haven’t performed yet…”

“Then how could I have summoned a demon? Hm? Now do you understand my position?”

Keirn shook his head.

“This is impossible. You’re telling me that somehow I’ve travelled back before the ritual? No one is capable of such sorceries.”

“I know. So, really, the mystery seems to be surrounding you and not I. And given all that you’ve told me, it seems clear the course of action we must take.”

Once more there was a rustle of cloth before her dagger appeared again.

Keirn raised his hands.

“Look, I know this sounds unbelievable but give me some time to figure this out.”

“How do I know you’re not the alleged assassin and this is part of your plan?”

“Do I look like an assassin?”

Licia regarded the blanket wrapped man. She lowered her dagger with a smile.

“Very well, you have until after the feast but first some precautions.”

Licia stood, walking over to her bags. She searched through them until she produced a thin wand, some powder and three dried daffodils. She held the flowers out for Keirn.

“They’re really not my colour.”

“Eat.”

He knew he couldn’t argue and he slowly raised each dry plant to his mouth will the minstrel sprinkled powder about his stool then poking them into small piles with the wand.

“I’m certain this isn’t necessary. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t afford to keep an eye on you forever,” Licia said, smacking the vestiges of the dust from her hands. “So we’ll just make sure you can’t leave the keep.”

“You’re a wizard then?”

“More of a learner. All bards are keen students of life and that happens to include magic. It’s remarkable how much of the craft can be picked up by non-practitioners.”

She clapped her hands, closing her eyes as she began her chant. That crystal voice echoed about the stone walls, enchanting Keirn even with the dry words of wizardry. He couldn’t help but sit in mute appreciation as she lowered her hands to his head. He felt the soft tingle of arcane energies swirl about her fingers and course through his hair.

Odd that Derrek never seemed able to do any of this.

A few chortled syllables later, she removed her hands and looked at Keirn appraising.

“Weird.”

“Finished?”

She crinkled her forehead for a moment then shrugged.

“I suppose. It seems… nevermind. Go about your business, stranger. I’d recommend you be quick about it.”

She then claimed her blanket and kicked him from her room with little more than a pat on the bum.
Keirn stood shivering in the empty hall, rubbing his bare extremities. He never could understand why keeps had to always be so cold.

His first inclination was to find some clothes. He made his way back towards the guard room but, if his suspicions were correct, then his belongings wouldn’t be there. Sure enough, the quarters were in pristine order with nary a sign that Keirn and his company had been through.

Was it really possible that he had somehow reversed time? There were rumours of powerful archmages that could halt the passage of time but to completely reverse its course was as likely as forcing a river to run upstream.

Keirn picked about the room, searching through what trunks he could open, until he had enough clothing to drape himself in some makeshift armour. It wasn’t the most comfortable suit – these clothes always were best when fitted for the wearer – but it was better than running about in a loincloth. He plopped a half helm on his head to complete the assemble before clanking out into the hallway. He had no idea how people put these ludicrous suits on everyday. The chain mail was heavy and his arms felt like he’d been lifting Kait’s sacks all day.

He paused, considering his options. He didn’t know where to begin unravelling this mystery and decided the scene of the horror was the best start as any.

The audience chamber gave off an even grander presence when emptied of people. Keirn didn’t have much time to appreciate the majesty of the keep when they had been hired. The job opportunity had been a very last minute deal and they had been shoved into the rank and file of the guards in uncharacteristic haste.
Now that he had time to appreciate the Duke’s keep he couldn’t help but feel that this place was far more lavish than what belied the man’s position. Not that Keirn had much opportunity to judge the wealth of nobles but the few throne rooms he’d entered were just as lavish. How the Duke could afford such rich tapestries, exotic ornaments and a throne that would make any King jealous was beyond the sorcerer’s keen.

Keirn approached the centre of the chamber. Kneeling to the ground, he ran his hand over the floor. He couldn’t feel any markings or sediments to outline the seal Derrek mentioned. He removed his helm, leaning close to the floor to try and see if there had been any indication of mischief. It seemed clean, which led Keirn to believe the best approach to capturing his culprit would be to camp the audience chamber until the villain arrived to arrange his mischief.

He turned, finding a chair and easing his heavy armour into it.

Straps and loose rings of metal were starting to poke into his skin. He scratched absently at them, still trying to comprehend why people wore these cumbersome suits.

Keirn then wondered why anyone would want to kill the Duke. Certainly his brief interaction with the man hadn’t been pleasant but from Keirn’s experience most nobles were rather irritating to deal with. However, the man clearly knew of the plot against his life. Keirn was informed of that when the guards approached them in the market. Plus, they were promised quite a bit of coin for protecting him.

And as Keirn examined the polished arms hanging upon the wall, he began to question the Duke’s unfathomable wealth.

Was there a relative that was hoping to come into their inheritance early? A rather common plot and one Keirn was well acquainted with. The Duke appeared unwed so a child was out of the question. Disgruntled sibling, perhaps? Keirn wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister willing to kill you for your gold. He certainly couldn’t imagine Kait being that bloodthirsty. Though she had threatened to end his life on numerous occasions it was never over money they never had.

And as he peered at those arching pillars, Keirn couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness. He had his friends and sibling to rely upon. He knew he could trust them with his life. But here was a man that threw money at even the slightest armoured stranger to seek that comfort from a shadowy threat. He looked towards the elegant throne, noting it sat alone on its raised dais.

“Soldier, what are you doing there!”

Keirn jumped at the voice. He turned to see an armoured knight stroll boldly into the chamber. It took Keirn a second to realize he was being addressed, looking down at his mismatched disguise.
The knight regarded his ill fitting suit for a second before pointing roughly towards the exit.

“You should be on the ramparts! You’re not being paid for idling around while the Duke’s life is being threatened!”

Horse-dung, what was Keirn to do?

“It’s alright, I’m… securing this room.”

“Are you questioning a direct command?!”

The knight placed his gauntlet dramatically on his sword hilt. Keirn slowly slid onto his metal boots. There was no way he could keep watch on the chamber if he was walking the walls.

“And where is your weapon? Gods, what a disgrace if you were seen in this state!”

Keirn tried to conjure some explanation but merely dropped his head in deference.

“My apologies, sir.”

“Report to the armoury immediately! I want to see you on those walls before the Duke returns!”

Under the knights watchful gaze, Keirn cast one last desperate look over the hall before stepping out into the corridors.

Continue to Cry of the Glasya Part 5 >

Return to the Short Story hub

< Return to Cry of the Glasya Part 2

Well, I should be making my way back to sweet, wonderful Ontario now. My stomach should be filled with lobster. My camera should be near its memory limit. And I’m most certainly going to be out of money. So, here’s part 3 of The Cry of Glasya, a new fantasy short story!

Characters:

Licia (Lychee) Songsinger – beautiful singer and terrible summoner responsible for the death of Duke Arren Hasselbach

Jeremiah Pits – valiant paladin and moral bulwark for his friends

Derrek Gungric – insightful bard with a curious intuition and questionable music skills

Keirn Faden – self proclaimed leader of the adventuring band and stylized sorcerer

Kait Faden – sister and hoarder with a love of nature and archery so probably a ranger if she’d ever get around to ranging

< Return to Cry of the Glasya Part 2

“I feel ridiculous.”

Keirn crouched beside Derrek in the galley above the audience chamber. He had finally acquiesced to Derrek’s defensive measures and now knelt in little more than a thin loincloth while searching blindly along the rail with his hands. A thick piece of cloth was bound tightly about his head to cover his eyes and dampen sounds to his ears. He held his sword uselessly in his hand. Should a moment to strike arise, Keirn doubted his adversary would allow him the time to first feel out his target before swinging the weapon.

But it was a gentle comfort to have something pointy in his hands even if he was more likely to poke Derrek with it than a murderous courtesan.

The pair had waited out their pursuers in the guard quarters. Evidently, after tiring themselves on the door, the frenzied men and women had wandered off down the halls presumably in search of some less entrenched targets. Discarding most of their belongings, Derrek and Keirn slowly made their way into the hall.

They moved tentatively through the corridors. Derrek led, swearing he knew the layout of the keep well enough to manoeuvre them into position without requiring such petty tools like sight. He carried Kait’s bone chime in his hands, a remarkable little construction project she’d undertaken unbeknownst to Keirn. He had no idea she was collecting the skeletal remains of who knew what or why she fashioned them into this morbid instrument for a purpose only she could possibly reveal.

The fact that Derrek knew about it would have been surprising if it had been anyone but Derrek. The hollow clatter of its femurs and tibias led Keirn on, accompanied with the few awkward moments when the two almost naked men collided into each other.

Keirn wasn’t sure how long they snaked through the twisting corridors. It felt like he was being led in a random direction but even he felt the few brief flashes of a distant heat during their skulking. Each time, Derrek proceeded immediately in the opposite direction. Thusly, they managed to avoid most obstacles save for the twisted clumps that they stumbled over on the ground. Keirn didn’t remove his blindfold to confirm what those objects were.

At last they reached a set of stairs and began to ascend. Slowly, Keirn could feel that distant heat grow, like a gentle hearthfire that beckoned them onward. But this time Derrek didn’t led them away.

Even through his protections, Keirn could still hear the chaotic din of a great commotion beneath them. It was hard to imagine that not long ago the whole hall had been filled with such beautiful music. And now there was nothing but the heavy smell of death and the sound of despair.

Derrek grabbed Keirn’s arm, tapping on his skin with cold fingers. It took a minute for Keirn to realize he was attempting to communicate with him through those beats. By Helja’s frozen domain, Keirn couldn’t tell what he was on about and lifted his hand to the cloth around his ears.

But before he could remove the obstruction to speak with the bard, Derrek swatted the cloth from his fingers. He returned to his futile tapping.

This was hopeless, Keirn realized. Without the ability to see or hear there was no possible way they could co-ordinate with one another.

Frustated, Keirn snatched back his arm.

“Sure, whatever!”

He didn’t know what the plan was but at this point it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway. Hopefully, Derrek knew what he was doing.

That thought ran fleeting from him the moment Derrek shoved the bone contraption into Keirn’s hands then hurried along the galley.

“Wait!” Keirn called, reaching out uselessly. But his fingers only brushed empty air and he crouched there completely alone.

He slumped against the rail, feeling the wood against his back and the pulsing heat from below. He had no idea what he was suppose to do nor what the bard had wandered off to accomplish. All he had was the fading memory of the young man’s furtive tapping, an inscrutable puzzle which only the minstrel himself could likely decipher. But then fear began to encroach into his thoughts as he felt the heat from below grow warmer and warmer.

Had Derrek decided to just up and leave? Did he know some secret passage he was going to use to run from this infernal keep and it’s unimaginable bloodbath below?

Gods, a demon. These things were meant to be only rumour and legend. How Derrek recognized it was beyond Keirn. How the minstrel was able to summon it seemed equally baffling. It all seemed like a terrible nightmare or horrible illusion. Perhaps this was all just a mad visioning. Perhaps he’d consumed too much mushroom stew at the feast. That meal certainly felt off. And Kait had warned him that eating too much may give him terrible nightmares.

Yes, this was most certainly a dream. A stew inspired dream that he simply needed to awake from…

Suddenly, the bones in his hands jangled together before raising out of his hands. Keirn cried out, waving his arms wildly in front of him for the magical chime that had evacuated his grasp. All he found were a collection of fingers that wrapped about his headwear and quickly pulled the cloth from his eyes and ears.

“What are you doing?”

Keirn blinked up at the hooked nose and questioning eyes of the gorgeous Licia Songsinger.

“Ah…” Keirn muttered.

The lady minstrel looked even more resplendent upclose than she did when performing. Her dress was majestically cut despite its simplicity. A gentle weave of silk and linen that gave an abstract sense of a gentle rosy waterfall cinched tastefully about her waist. Her hair had a glossy sheen and a small dusting of complimentary powder was dashed about her eyes.

She turned the rather grime object in her hands before looking back at Keirn.

“What is this?”

“A chime.”

“It’s… it’s…”

“I can explain,” Keirn muttered though he knew he couldn’t.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Really?!”

Licia held it out by the tiny finger bone, letting the thin ropes unwound as he bones clattered against each other. Fully extended, the chime actually looked rather remarkable given it’s materials. Each piece dangled, clattering against its neighbour but releasing a rather pleasant echo. Course, it wasn’t really something Keirn would want to hang on his front door but it wasn’t nearly as macabre as he first thought.

“The construction is quite expert. The bones haven’t been damaged when attached and still produce clear notes. It’s very remarkable.”

“Can I have it back?”

“What did you make this for?”

Keirn frowned.

“I don’t think this is really the best time for this.”

“Oh? How come?”

Keirn gaped at the young woman. He turned looked up and down the gallery to make his point.

Yet, now with his blindfold removed, he didn’t see the bodies he’d expected. There were no archers clawing at each other or howling at whatever pain had driven them mad. No disgraced courtesans huddled in corners searching furtively for some relief from unimaginable fear and terror. In fact, the gallery was completely empty. The rows of high back wooden chairs lined in uninterrupted rows. Keirn scrambled to his feet and peered over the rail.

Where he’d expected to see visceral and blood was a rather tidy and kept audience chamber. The large tapestries hung unchanged upon the walls and the great rugs lay pristine across the stone. In fact, the room was too in order. There appeared to be no guards at the doors and the throne lay pristine and untouched despite the grisly scene that had unfolded on it not long ago.

Keirn turned to the minstrel.

“What trickery is this?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“The audience chamber… the guards… the Duke! Where is everyone?”

The minstrel merely blinked at him.

“I’m… afraid I don’t understand your question.”

“Duke Hasselbach!” Keirn cried, grabbing the woman’s petite shoulders. “Where is he? Where is his body?!”

Songsinger pulled away from him.

“I think a more prudent question would be where are your clothes?”

Keirn looked down, suddenly frightfully aware of his nakedness. He crossed his arms uselessly over his chest in a noble attempt to casually cover as much skin as possible. He narrowed his eyes as he appraised the minstrel.

“You’re the demon, aren’t you?”

The bard returned an equally puzzled look.

“Perhaps this came at a bad time,” she replied, holding the chime back out to Keirn. “I should really go prepare.”

“Prepare? Prepare for what? For some sort of grisly sacrifice with all the bodies?”

“Look, I just came up here to inspect the acoustic quality of this hall. I don’t need some half-naked barbarian stammering some mad nonsense at me. I should go prepare.”

She seemed too sincere. But then again, Keirn was all to familiar with the performance skills of bards.

“I can’t have you leave here,” Keirn replied, reaching to his hip. His fingers clutched air and he turned, searching for his sword.

Inexplicably, the weapon had seemingly vanished along with all the other evidence of the bloodbath.

The minstrel raised a brow and began to slowly retreat from the man.

“I really think it’s time that I went and got ready.”

Keirn looked back at her. What sort of duplicity was this? No blood, no death and all his belongings gone save for the cadaverous keepsake from his sister. Something clearly wasn’t right.

“What have you got me into, Derrek?” Keirn growled.

For a moment, confusion coloured the other minstrel’s suspicious features.

“Say that again?”

“I said, what is going on here?!”

“No, that name. Who did you speak to?”

“Well… no one. Myself I guess.”

“The name, you fool! Who’s name did you say!”

“What, Derrek?”

“Derrek Gungric?”

Keirn looked at the other minstrel warily.

“How do you know Derrek?”

“I could ask you the same.”

And then, in a great sweep of her dress, the minstrel produced a wicked curved dagger from her clothes though Keirn knew not where it could have been hidden before. She pointed it menacingly towards Keirn. The sorcerer merely looked back, hand clutching his chest and the chime.

It looked weird.

“Well, he’s my best friend. I’ve been travelling with him for quite some time now. The four of us, my sister and my other best friend, were hired on by the Duke to protect his life. A life which you rather viciously stole away.”

She stepped forward, the blade pressing dangerously against Keirn’s throat. Keirn instinctively retreated from the cold touch, his lower back pressing against the polished wood rail.

“What reason do I have not to slit you right where you stand?”

Keirn thought for a second.

“Well none, you bloodletting witch. Go ahead, might as well finish what you started!”

Keirn held his arms aloft, leaving himself completely exposed to her assault. But instead of plunging the weapon into his soft flesh, Licia merely retracted the blade though she did not return it to its sheath.

“Perhaps you best start from the beginning. And I do hope it contains some reasonable explanation for why you’re not dressed.”

Continue to Cry of the Glasya Part 4 >

Return to the Short Story hub

Continuing on from the demonology of the plemora universe, here’s a new fantasy short story, continuing my brand of D&D inspired adventures. As it’s a highly fictionalized idealization of some of the people I know existing in Fantasyland, changes in their personal lives necessitate changes to their adventuring counterparts. Thus, I present to you Part 1 of The Cry of the Glasya.

The court thundered. The stone walls shook. Beneath a tempest of violins and drums, the commanding keys of the piano wove masterfully through the piece. But even the clarion of the trumpets and the gentle weep of the harp sounded little more than background chatter. For there was but one sound that broke through the minstrel band like the stampede of an unstoppable cavalry charge.

And it was produced by the smallest, least intimidating creature Keirn had ever seen.

She stood between the thick stone pillars of the throne hall. Dwarfed on all sides by the yawning arches of the audience chamber for the ancient keep. Even the thick tapestries and heralds hanging from the walls couldn’t dampen the pelting voice pouring from those thin vocal chords. A single, unassuming woman stood statuesque upon a tiny wooden block.

But while her feet appeared rooted, her arms twisted with each haunting symbol that erupted forth with a greater force than a storm whipped tide. It seemed inhuman the sounds that she twisted from deep within her breast. Had Keirn not been standing there to experience it himself, he would never have believed it to be true.

And neither could the assembled court.

Every onlooker watched in stunned muteness as the foreign words of this incredible singer drowned out all other sounds and thoughts from their minds. There was no doubt in Keirn’s mind. This was the most beautiful and elegant aria he had ever heard. Granted, he’d never heard one before, but even the Duke Hasselbach sat riveted upon the edge of his stolen throne in rapt entrancement.

And just when Keirn thought it couldn’t grow more impressive, a sudden string of notes he’d never imagined singable came bursting from her, directed right down the hall at the raised lord and his gathered attendants by two thin waving arms.

There was but one soul in the entire chamber that seemed unmoved by the piece.

Derrek Gungric, Keirn’s closest companion and minstrel-in-training had his back turned upon the performance and busied himself with a nearby candle stand. Through sheer apparent boredom, he passed the soft flame from one wick to the next, letting the wax drip in thick rivers down the sides until it pooled in the small holders.

“How can you not like this?” Keirn whispered. “I hate your music the most and even think this is damn good.”

“Heard it before.”

“Not like this,” Keirn said. There was no way in this life or the next anyone had heard something like this.

There was a collective gasp as the young singer stepped from her perch. She turned, addressing the courtiers to the sides and the guards standing before the massive barred doors. It was impossible to know what she sang but the delivery gave the briefest impression that it was directed at you alone before she broke the spell and turned to the next face.

It was impossible to turn away. Until Keirn heard a strange rustling and quickly scanned around for the source.

Having exhausted his attention with the candles, it seemed that Derrek was now busying himself with darkening a pair of thick glasses using a large piece of charcoal.

“What are you doing now?!” Keirn hissed, slipping as unobtrusively to his side.

“I can’t watch this any longer,” Derrek said.

“So you’re going to blind yourself!”

“That’s the plan.”

Keirn stood momentarily mute.

“We’re suppose to be guarding the Duke!”

“So?”

“How are you going to do that if you can’t see?”

“Shhhh!”

Keirn turned to the intruding voice only to be greeted with Jeremiah’s stern face. The larger man motioned towards the singer with a look of impatience. Keirn cast a glance back at the Duke who appeared to be completely oblivious to the disruption. He motioned to Derrek as explanation for his actions but Jeremiah merely waved his hand dismissively.

Keirn turned back to the stubborn minstrel. He’d already completely blackened one eye. Keirn sighed, turning from his friend back to the performance. Keirn would just have to settle with being extra attentive to make up for the lack of eyes from the bard.

Not that there wasn’t an already impressive show of force in the court today. Trained archers lined the galleys and four guards stood watch over every entrance. But even this show of force seemed entranced by the entertainer. Weapons dropped limply at their sides as uneducated men were lost within the elegance and grace of the woman. She didn’t even appear that magnificent. Her dress was simple though colourful. But it was her slender features and enrapturing voice that made her stand apart from her troupe like the burning sun brightly shining out all other stars in the sky.

Keirn then felt a tugging at his sleeve.

“What?!”

“Do you know where Kait left her bags?”

Keirn leaned in close to his friend as the singer hit another stretch of impossible notes.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“She looks like she’s having fun.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’ve already missed the overture. Besides, I’m doing you a favour by missing this atrocious performance.”

Keirn sighed.

“What do you need now?”

“The leg bones from dinner.”

“Of course you- what?”

“From the swine. You know, you said yourself it was the finest you’d eaten in weeks.”

“I’m well aware of what I ate!”

“SHHHHHHHH!”

Keirn grabbed his friend’s dainty wrist and pulled him from the throne dais. Once he was sure he was out of earshot from the duke, he turned upon the impossibly delicate features of his friend.

“First, why in the blazes would you need those. Second, why are they in my sister’s bag?!”

“Probably to finish her chime.”

Keirn merely blinked at his incomprehensible friend.

“You’re impossible sometimes.”

“So do you know where she left them?”

“I believe she was requested to leave them in the guard quarters just outside the hall.”

Suddenly, there was a pause in the vocals as the instruments swelled in the break.

Derrek frowned.

“I’ll have to get them later.”

He then began removing his shirt.

Keirn grabbed his hands, wrestling to keep the stained wool in place.

“Would you stop!”

“The wax should be ready by now,” Derrek said, slipping his hands free and tossing his jerkin nimbly aside.

“Look, you may be jealous of another bard getting the lead performance for the Duke but that doesn’t give you the right to ruin this. Especially when we haven’t even received compensation yet!”

Derrek paused with his belt in his hand. The woman’s voice burst forth and he dropped his pants.

“Probably best to do it now,” he said, shaking his boots free. Keirn growled, snatching for the discarded trousers as the bard quickly hopped to the candle stand in nothing but his linen braies. There, the blonde man dipped his fingers into the cooling pools of wax and plugged them deep into his ears. As Keirn rounded on him with trousers held menacingly in one hand and belt in the other, the bard danced effortlessly about his wailing arms before slipping behind him. There he plunged his dripping fingers into Keirn’s ears and the young man could immediately feel the hardening wax plug his ear canals and mute out all but the faintest echoes of the lingering song.

Keirn rounded on his friend, feeling a familiar frenzy drawing in his chest. But just as he was about to wield his friend’s belt as a whip, he caught a sudden shift of motion on his periphery.

He turned, watching as the Duke’s rapt attention turned to that of confusion. Then, the crinkles of his eyes wearing deep into his skin drew apart. His eyes widened and his pupils contracted in sheer horror. The honour guard standing by his side merely gaped in fear, their gleaming halberds dropping from frozen fingers and pattering against the stone floor in the barest audible din. Keirn felt their motion instead in that dampening silence. All about him, a perceptible change had overtaken the crowd. The courtesans and guests seemed to draw back from the room, pressing against the walls before turning and fleeing towards barred doors.

But all entrances to the throne room had been sealed by request of the Duke. The mob merely pounded useless against the wood.

Keirn wasn’t entirely sure what it was that drew his attention back to the centre of the room. But as he turned he could feel a sudden burning wave of heat blast against his face. And what he saw caused his heart to stop.

There, standing upon the raised wooden step was a towering horror. Keirn wasn’t even sure what it was. The creature wore the body of a human, bare chested but with thick irons wrapped about its arms and dangling from large wrists. The chains pulled taut as great iron collars shackled monstrous canine creatures that snapped about the monster’s thighs. But both man and beasts were much larger than anything… human.

The creature raised its head, a burnt stag skull with faint brands scorched into the bone resting upon its sinewy shoulders. From the darkest pits of its sockets burned an undying red light like stoked embers. A dented and torn scale mail skirt hung limply about the creature’s waist, coated in dried blood and flecked with rotted pieces of fur and flesh that gave a nauseating scent of death.

Finally, a pair of great eagle wings sprouted from the creature’s back. But these weren’t majestic appendages of beautiful array plumes but a bloody and broken mass of torn skin and protruding bone. Great splotches of featherless skin stretched over the scarred heavenly remnants. Burnt pink sinew flexed beneath skin that cracked and bled with each shift of the cracked stumps.

Through the thick wax, Keirn could hear the hollowest echoes of screams.

The creature raised its arms and the four front hounds bound forward. The chains about its forearms unraveled as the beasts bore across the flagged floor faster than any worldly predator. Before anyone could react, they had descended upon the petrified Duke, curved claws longer than daggers tearing through cloth and flesh in mere seconds.

All the Duke’s guards merely watched in unmoving fear as their liege was torn to misting ribbons before them.

Keirn felt something strike the back of his head and he turned to see Derrek practically naked and staring uselessly at a pillar through his darkened glasses. The minstrel made a gnawing gesture then shrugged his shoulders.

“Now’s not the time!” Keirn shouted.

Then he realized Derrek couldn’t hear him. The blonde man merely smacked him again and repeated the gesture.

But the distraction had shaken Keirn from his inaction and he could feel the pressing need to do something and quickly. He grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him away from the throne towards the guard room. He didn’t know what the bard was planning but the quest seemed to unshackle his mind and give him clear purpose.

Course, Keirn had no idea how he was going to get through the frightened mob.

Yet, as Keirn hurried towards the side entrances, he noticed the gathered audience turning almost as if they were directed. They all peered back to the centre of the room where Keirn could hear only the faintest of whispers mingling with the ravaged slobbers of those great hounds as they persisted upon the feast laid before them across the throne.

Whatever distraction beheld the others, it made pushing past them with his blind, naked friend in tow easier. Keirn descended on the door, trying the handle and feeling it catch against it’s latch.

“It’s locked!” he cried. Uselessly.

This deafness thing was going to take some getting used to. Keirn turned to Derrek for more guidance but the bard merely repeated the bone-gnawing gesture.

The temperature in the room rose even more and Keirn could feel sweat beginning to bead upon his neck. He raised his hand to wipe it away and noticed a further change overtaking his entranced neighbours.

The attendants clutched at their ears, pressing back against the walls or collapsing against the floor with mouths agape as if their voices could drown out whatever sound plagued them. Some began to writhe in agony while others drew whatever item or weapon they had at hand. Thus, armed they struck out madly about them, hitting and stabbing whatever their weapons found purchase in.

And in this monstrous crowd, while dancing from wild swings and pulling his blind, naked friend to safety, Keirn remembered his sister. With stilling heart, Keirn realized she was probably still at the Duke’s side where those beastly hounds ate. The young man turned, ducking beneath the slice of a blood speckled halberd while pushing Derrek towards the back of a pillar recently made vacant by the cowering courtesan who was pulled to the ground by those that had been cut down but still clutching madly for reprieve.

But the bodies of the deranged proved too effective a barrier. He heard not their footfalls as they collided unaware into him. He raised arms against lashing nails and blades, each bit stinging and drinking the slightest droplets of blood from his flesh. He’d barely moved a few feet through the writhing mass before he felt his wrist grabbed. He turned to see Derrek still standing with one arm raised to gnaw and pulling anxiously towards the barred door.

At that moment, one of the standing guards blades caught against the thick wood bar, splintering the mass with more strength than seemed possible. With his steel hands, the guard pulled the pieces apart, ripping the door wide and fleeing into the hall as his frenzied compatriots shuffled, bit and clawed afterwards. It was as if a floodgate had been opened and Keirn felt himself being pulled along. The only anchor in the crush of bodies was the soft touch of his minstrel friend still miming the meal they’d enjoyed the night prior.

As they passed beneath the frame, one sound seemed to worm its way through the wax stoppering his hearing. But it wasn’t a piercing shriek or scream. It was a soft sob or remorse.

Continue to Cry of the Glasya Part 2 >

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