The Old Realms

Grimdux

I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck

 Touch O' Luck

 

 

II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.

It will be a superior reading experience

to start this story from the beginning

 

III) The Virgins Wedding (part II)

 

Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)

Chapter specific maps of the realms 

Maps of the Realms

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lord Storm Nattas

& three funerals

 

 

The noise coming from the gathered crowd increased with every passing second. Mostly excited murmurs, with some noted exceptions.

“CURSE THE MURDERER!” An Issirian yelled, shaven head awash with sweat.

“DOWN WIT THE FIVE!” Bellowed another, a Lorian.

“JUSTICE FOR MIDLANOR!” Yelled a third, also part of their strong group of around fifty that had gathered near the border between the Spring Gardens and the Guardtower, with more spilling through the East Gate. The crowds around the three pavilions were growing fast and from all sides, with the city guards doing their best to keep them away from the square. Almost sixty regular men-at-arms had lined up before this more ‘unruly’ group, probably drawn from the Guardtower that loomed over them and the central square, the lethal Scorpios manned at its parapets aimed at the crowd.

The city of Alden had been flooded with curious visitors, merchants, nobles and other dignitaries coming from the three Kingdoms, the relatively quiet city almost overwhelmed, despite the efforts put into keeping the security as high as possible, for the event.

“What’s their problem?” Nattas asked the palace guard, one of the many tasked with keeping open the way from the palace to the main wooden pavilion, where the royals would be seated. The morning had found him wake and increasingly frustrated, after his unsuccessful attempts during the remainder of the evening to reach King Alistair.

The guard, resplendent in his well-polished rubicund steel segmented cuirass, the gnarling Alden tiger engraved on his plated chest, eyed the troublemakers under the brim of his helm.

“Old gods’ sympathizers,” The man said. “There’s unrest since yesterday, due to the Grand Inquisitor’s presence.”

Storm stroke his goatee with a hand troubled.

“I didn’t know… there was such a support,” He commented finally. “What did Kelholt do?”

“Rooted out a coven of witches in Midlanor, is the word,” The palace guard replied, sweat on his forehead, the morning chill countered by the strong sun over their heads.

“You don’t say,” Storm said alarmed and even more bewildered at the brazen protest. You’d think, people would lay low and not stir up the waters even more. “In what manner?”

“Why, he burned them alive of course, milord. Rightly so,” The man replied, with a frown. “Why not take your seat in the pavilion?”

Storm blinked, taken aback. He forced himself to nod in agreement and moved ahead to answer the guard’s query, before giving himself away like an idiot.

“I need to speak to the King before we are seated.”

Separately was his meaning.

“The King will move straight for his place at the table, milord.”

“Aye, I’ll take my chances, just the same,” Storm replied. “I couldn’t yesterday and it’s a matter of some import.” He added to make his point.

“He stayed in the Queen’s quarters,” The guard said, with a meaningful stare. Nattas pressed his lips to the thinnest of smiles.

“A known fact evidently,” He said, seeing Parkor approaching behind the much taller Titus out of the corner of his eye.

 

 

Every inch of space surrounding Alden’s Central Square with a view of the royal pavilions and much of the Spring Gardens facing them was filled with curious spectators, with people even climbing up the cinnamon trees, or standing upon barrels and stands to have a better vantage point. The buzz coming from the crowd and the still protesting sympathizers, whatever the fuck that meant, incredible in volume and Storm could feel it to his bones.

“There’s the king,” Titus said, looking at the palace’s stairs. “The other king.”

Lord Nattas watched as King Antoon’s procession walked before them, highlighted by Queen Nienke, the dark-skinned beauty wearing a yellow and orange colored gown, decorated with many small eagles made of diamonds, several thin straps hugging her naked shoulders, keeping everything together somehow.

Her royal bosom nigh impressive it had to be said.

Titus stared at him knowingly and Nattas almost rolled his eyes at his idiocy.

The Issir Herald announced the High King with the pompous manner of a religious fanatic slobbering at Uher’s feet and with enough vigor to cut through the noise.

“Hear, hear. His Royal highness, Antoon Eikenaar. Second of his name. Lord Protector of the Issirs, the Lorians and the Northmen. Foremost King of the three Kingdoms and shield of the Realm,” He paused emphatically before adding, “Her Royal grace, High Queen Nienke. The gracious Royal Heir, Prince Kasper. Lord of Issir’s Eagle.”

And on and on he went, mentioning the lesser nobles present, the venerable Albert Van Durren, Lord of Riverdor and the High King’s Shield being the most notable amongst them. Storm followed with his eyes the large group of Issirs trying to settle, on one of the three long rectangle oaken tables reserved for them in the main pavilion. Regia would sit directly across from them, a measured ten long strides, with the two main participants and their chaperones staying in the inner and much smaller table.

The amount of preparation that had gone on perfecting the seating arrangement absurd. Lord Nattas had gotten a spot at Regia’s side, the last seat at the large table facing the Guardtower, with King Alistair being at the head at the other side, near his daughter and the Queen, who were to be seated at the smaller table, like their counterparts.

“Parkor thought he saw our Maja earlier,” Titus said out of the blue, stooping into his personal space. He smelled of stale wine and sweat.

“Where?” Storm asked absentmindedly, not giving much credence to his nephew’s fantasies.

“An alley, behind the tower,” Titus replied, grooming his mustache with two fingers.

“He hadn’t seen her since the first attempt,” Storm shook his head disappointed. “That’s more than half a year back, for crying out loud!”

“I’ll never forget her face,” Parkor said stubbornly, looking half-dead despite having a good night’s sleep. “She almost killed me once.”

Well, she hadn’t truth be told, not you. Then again, Abrakas is as despicable a deity as they come, Storm decided. If you were the real target of the first attack, then we’ve no idea what’s going on.

“It will be almost absurdly insane, for her to hide here,” Titus noted the obvious.

“Aye,” Storm agreed and that was that.

 

 

Storm saw King Alistair approach with his entourage and asked the palace guard to let him pass, intending to intercept him before he reached his seat. The man moved out of the way and Storm walked fast as he could, his leg swollen from the lack of rest hurting him on each stride. Were it not for his cane, he’d never have made it. One of the King’s Royal bodyguards blocked his approach, stepping in front of him. A mountain of steel, smelling of oil and sweat.

“I’m Lord Nattas,” Storm yelled, the ruckus of the crowds surrounding them driving him insane, after Antoon waved at them. A number of boos and curses mixed in as well, coming from the group of troublemakers. “I need to speak to the King. Let me pass.”

“After the ceremony,” The huge man said, face hidden behind his helm’s cover. “You know the drill, milord. The King of Regia, will arrive right after the High King. It was on every message board in the city.”

“Is that you, Sir Drusus?” Storm asked recognizing his voice. “It’s nigh important to talk with him, right now.”

“Apologies, milord—”

“Let him pass, Sir Drusus,” King Alistair snarled, a night with his wife barely mellowed him up it appears, Storm thought nervously, the place too public to afford the luxury of a blunder. “The man can barely stand upright.” The king added and Sir Drusus moved his considerable bulk out of the way. Storm made the last meters towards the Aldens, Lord Doris and his wife were present, along with the Queen of course and little Silvie.

Lord Nattas kept his eyes on the gaunt face of King Alistair.

“For Uher’s sake speak, before the Herald starts blabbering again,” Alistair spat impatiently.

“My lord, have you had news from Lucius?” Storm asked, cutting to the chase. Lord Doris narrowed his eyes, hearing him and Queen Miranda frowned sensing something was amiss.

King Alistair’s scowl remained unchanged.

“Canutia sent word, about a week back,” The King replied, his eyes piercing. “He left her at Kas,” He paused to listen to the ruckus coming from the protesters annoyed. “Not much else was mentioned. I expect word from him soon. Having to inform you of this, reflects poorly on your person, Lord Nattas.”

Storm cleared his throat nervously.

“There was a battle near Wolvesbane Castle,” He said hastily. “Lord Bach said Lucius got mixed up in it. On the side of the O’ Dargans.”

“What’s this drivel?” King Alistair snarled and the Queen flinched, her face turning pale. “When did he say this?”

“Last night. I couldn’t—”

“What happened?” The king cut him angry. “Speak up, Nattas!”

Storm blinked and stepped back. Queen Miranda placed her hand on King’s Alistair arm to soothe him, but he moved it away incensed. “Has anything happened to Lucius?”

“I don’t know, my Lord,” Storm managed to say. “Lord Bart Crull accused him of killing his son in battle, according to what Lord Bach told me. This could be a lie, but they know about the girl.”

“Baah! Curse her!” Alistair growled, clenching his jaw, trying to contain his rage. Little Silvie hugged her mother’s leg, everyone around them shifting uncomfortable, realizing something was afoot. “And that Crull is a snake, always has been. If he harmed Lucius, I’ll raze Eaglesnest to the bloody ground!”

“My King,” The Queen said, worry in her voice palpable. “There’s people watching—”

“We can ask Duke Redmond. Send a missive to him, for a report on Sir Lucius whereabouts,” Lord Doris interrupted her. His sister threw him a glare, but retained her composure.

“Antoon doesn’t wish to press the matter, my Lord,” Storm said in his turn. “Either he doesn’t believe Lord Bart, or his need of this alliance is greater.”

King Alistair focused his attention on him.

“We need to learn, whether Lucius is well, first and foremost,” He said, crooking his mouth. “What do you propose, Lord Nattas? You had the most time to think on this,” The latter, an accusation.

Storm glanced at the crowd surrounding them, then at the pavilion where the Issirs had already settled and lastly at Prince Kasper sitting nervously next to his mother at the center table, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Lord Nattas wished he was in another place then, but it was too late for that now.

“Assuming Lucius is fine,” He started, his eyes returning to the nobles waiting for his answer, half of them probably expecting him to make a catastrophic blunder and rid them of his distasteful presence. “Antoon will take the potential of an alliance over a lord’s hurt feelings, even if they are justified. He can’t go another way at this time, with half the army in Raoz,” He swallowed, pressure building in his ears, before adding. “But you can, my King. However I caution against it.”

King Alistair grunted, just as the Herald begun announcing him to the delight of the crowd. Most of the crowd that is. He pressed his lips into a thin line, stared at his brother, who nodded for the less expensive choice and set his shoulders straight, when he made his decision. Almost a head taller than Storm, clad in his crimson Alden plate armour, the polished silver pommel of his famed blade strapped on his waist, the King of Regia cut an arresting figure, even in a crowd.

“Let’s get it over with,” He spat, just as the Herald finished his introduction.

A marriage then, instead of war.

Lord Nattas exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d kept and caught the appreciation in the Queen’s eyes as she walked past him, holding Lady Silvie’s hand. He stayed behind, as the royals moved towards their own table, a fist massaging his throbbing leg, the sounds of the growing crowd muted and a weird sinking feeling taking its place, instead of satisfaction for a job well done. He felt himself plummeting towards some unknown depths, the waters black all over him. It lasted a long moment.

The next Titus and Parkor’s approach interrupted the dream and brought him to the present. Storm rubbed his tired and red eyes with the back of his hand, the lack of sleep weighing on him and then slowly walked towards the pavilion, with the help of his cane.

 

 

“Ah, that’s bloody great!” Sir Rupert Holt enthused, his zest palpable.

There was shade inside the pavilion at least, but Sir Rupert Holt sitting on his left side, splendidly recovered from his summer injury and wider at the waist, than Storm remembered him, even without his armour; had his spread elbows set on the table, leaving little room for Storm’s platter and kept claiming every desert that came near their spot, using the aforementioned exclamation.

He had to move his chair further out towards the corner and try as he did to at least savor the roasted lamb served, his appetite wasn’t there and Storm had to settle for a bottle of half-decent wine, he guarded from the young knight with religious fervor.

At least he could see both Queens from his angle, seated a good twenty meters away and despite the unbearable brouhaha from the thousands watching them eat from afar, heed to the exchanges between the two youngsters. They were next to each other, the initially guarded Prince Kasper, now greatly interested in the young and more temperamental Silvie. The highlight was when he offered her an elaborate bouquet of pink roses, five of them a deep red, representing the blessings of the Five and Silvie squealing happy gave the Prince in her turn, the doll carved like a knight, she was carrying around since yesterday.

“There’s the spirit!” Lord Van Durren, face flushed and veins popping, announced greatly impressed, for whatever the fucking reason and Queen Nienke, raised her hands high, much to the delight of the men present, but for the High King himself and clapped theatrically with her ring covered hands a couple of times, before taking the doll away from her son.

Queen Miranda cut a rose and placed it on her daughter’s head, under her small tiara, while the lords around the table, expressed their delight at the good omen loudly, hands tapping the table, for a favorable union. Even the two Kings nodded, by then kept mostly silent during the earlier proceedings, but for a brief speech each of them gave at the start, reciting the terms of the agreement in excruciating detail, down to the time and manner of the first coupling and the number of witnesses present, since no one could trust the kids to do it right, as Kelholt callously noted.

Queen Miranda would have probably slit his throat on the spot, after he finished talking, if she could hide a knife on her even more revealing royal gown, she’d chosen for the occasion and wasn’t as devout, a follower of the Five. King Alistair found nothing wrong with it, which wasn’t a big surprise. The King had his mind elsewhere that much was obvious and plain for Storm to see, the constant abuse coming from the insistent group, mainly towards the Grand Inquisitor, grating to the King’s nerves as well.

On everyone’s nerves.

Storm pushed back on his chair, goblet in hand, when everyone started laughing with the royal children’s antics. His eyes wandered the chaos surrounding them, kept away by the many armed guards. Titus and Parkor sitting on the smaller pavilion behind him, almost five meters away, seemed engrossed in their talk and he watched them for a bit, sipping at his third cup of wine.

This must end soon, else I’ll fall asleep right here, he thought.

So many open matters still to attend though. Firstly he should locate Lucius, not an easy task to do in the Northern winter, and get his side of the story. Find out more about the mysterious bride from Dan next, another headache this, even more difficult to heal and finally, discover who was trying to kill him, an equally pressing matter in his mind.

You can’t do shit, if you’re dead.

He sighed, downed the rest of his wine and placed the goblet on the table, avoiding Sir Rupert’s arm, with a grimace of disdain. Storm remembered Parkor’s words from earlier and turned his head towards their table again, his attention drawn to the black mass of the Guardtower. The majority of the soldiers stationed there had been drafted to keep the protesters at bay and they had done just that with no problems. A single man-at-arms was still standing guard at the entrance door, right at the base of the tower. The man probably asleep on his halberd, the sun boiling him slowly in all that armor.

Something was still nagging him.

These were real assassins sent after him.

Maja was one of them.

Everything about her a lie.

Everything.

It’ll be absurdly insane to hide here, Titus had rightly said, but for the fact that she wasn’t really hiding, if Parkor had seen her behind the tower.

A shiver went down his spine, despite this being the hottest time of the day. Storm’s eyes went to the sole guard at the base of the tower, the man still standing in the exact same position he’d been before.

Frozen.

Storm raised his eyes that feeling of doom returning tenfold, up the blackened old stone, the small sealed openings at its sides, searching them one by one, eyes rising higher towards the flat top and the parapets equipped with the Scorpions. All of them pointed towards the crowds surrounding the royal pavilions, but for one. All of them had no one manning them, every single guard on that top missing, but for one.

This Scorpion was aimed directly at them.

Abrakas, ye vile despicable monster!

The fuck have you done?

Lord Nattas wished he could be elsewhere then, but it was too late for that.

Storm opened his mouth to cry a warning, but before he could manage a single word, the protesters chose that moment to charge the men-at-arms lined up before them, as if they had been given a signal from above.

 

Half the world changed, in the span of five minutes.

 

 

Sir Rupert jumped on his feet, the moment he saw several protesters break through the line of soldiers, shoving Lord Nattas on the hard ground, the warning still lodged in his throat. Sir Drusus, at the other edge of the table, moved surprisingly fast as well; he’d a leg over it, before even half that first minute run out. He rushed towards the table Queen Miranda stood watching Lady Silvie talking all serious, with a smiling Prince Kasper and stopped protectively in front them.

The soldiers forming the line recovered and closed their ranks, keeping the bulk of the protesters from reaching the pavilion in the next. During that time most of the lords and nobles at the tables reached for their swords, some pushing their wives to the side, with few hiding behind them for lack of weapon and courage.

TWANG

Storm rolled on the ground, his own cane smacking him on the chest, tables screeching, chairs toppling over, plates breaking and people gasping and cursing in alarm. Someone yelled for an end to the madness, but Storm, his hand bleeding and head spinning knew, there was no end in sight.

WHOOSH

Something went over him at the start of that third minute, the piercing sound so hideous, it scared him to his core. A loud thud, just as he turned his head back to see for himself and Sir Drusus was hurled over the Queens table like a ragdoll, skewered through the torso with a two meter bolt. The large man went feet over head, flew over the young royal couple and both their mothers, blood spraying everyone and his armour wrapped, completely unrecognizable. He landed three meters behind the table in a broken bleeding heap.

Fuck me, Storm cursed.

“PROTECT THE QUEEN!” Alistair barked to his bodyguards, the armoured men slow to react to the new threat, himself kicking the table and sending it forward to bar the approach of the first armed protesters. Almost killing Storm in the process at the end of that third minute.

Lord Nattas stumbled back to avoid the corner of the table decapitating him, saw the King of Regia charging his way, silver sword in hand, the blade gleaming in the sun something fierce and panicked. He made to jump away, but tripped on his own cane instead and dropped on a smarting knee with a groan of undulated misery. Storm heard heavy boots running towards him from the other side and twisted desperately, grabbing his cane as a sword to defend himself. The Issir, sturdy chainmail armor underneath his long cape, reached him in two strides and downed his sword, cutting his cane in two and opening a wound on his cheek, from nose to ear.

Storm yelped, gulping his own blood and jumped away his knee buckling, when he landed, this time defenseless. The ruffian, clenched his teeth in the pretense of a smile and went in for the kill. That is, his legs did and a small part of his torso above his hips. The rest toppled backwards, blood, guts and organs spilling out, his heart visible and still beating wild, on the upper part that was the first that hit the ground.

TWANG

“THE TOWER!” Storm warned loud as he could, vomit mixed with blood in his throat bubbling up. King Alistair paused, famed Endariel painted red in hand and stared upwards dismayed, where Lord Nattas had pointed. Whether he saw the bolt that killed his daughter, Storm never found out.

WHOOSH

Went the Scorpion, as that final minute started.

Storm turned his head horrified as the shadow flew over him again, time slowing down.

He wish he hadn’t, but it was too late for that as well.

 

He saw it all.

 

Queen Miranda was gasping voicelessly in shock and covered in blood from head to toe. Queen Nienke much in the same state, had kneeled under the table both hands covering her belly, but brave Prince Kasper slipped away, rushed the small distance and hugged protectively a crying blood-spattered little Silvie that was left standing there, to shield her from the worst.

Condemning them both.

No, Gods no!

Curse you vile fiend, Lord Nattas thought, wishing he'd turned blind, before the sickening thud that scarred his soul forever.

 

 

A frantic Miranda started screaming, just as that fifth minute ended.