1216 A.B.
Footsore and weary, the caravan the three young men traveled with finally broke through the trees of the dark forest the trade route wove through. A squinting glance at the sky told them that dusk quickly approached, and none of them wanted to be caught outside a city’s walls at night. When the darkness of the evergreen forest ended at the fields supporting Fellton, it brought the sight of another, more sparse forest, this one made up of thick stone columns to which were chained hundreds of laborers. They wearily worked the land overseen by whip wielding thugs. It was a strange sight to Kromwell, Raynold and Bermin, who had all grown up in Stonekeep far to the east of Fellton. Slave labor was not something tolerated by the King of Mithram.
Now that they had gotten close enough to see the city clearly, they were anything but impressed, despite the way it had been described to them by Kromwell’s late father. Fellton was a dismal place made of dark stone that matched the gravel of the road they trod on. The rooves looked to be made of dark slate, which gave the appearance of a city made up of shadows even in the light of day. The miasma of cookfires hung low over the city, giving the entire place a smell of ashes. None of the young men cared very much about any of this, so desperate were they to get to shelter. Twelve members of their caravan had been taken by renders, one of which had been walking not ten paces from Kromwell. He had never even seen death coming.
“Finally,” Bermin muttered. “I’ve never been so tired of books before in my life, now that I’ve carried these for so many weeks. Thanks again, Raynold, for allowing me to be your mule.” Bermin hefted the backpack with three large volumes in it a little higher on his shoulder.
“You’re welcome,” Raynold said between breaths. The sarcasm was completely lost on him, it seemed. “Is your father’s manor on this side of the city?”
“It’s closer to the center of Fellton as I recall,” Kromwell said with labored breathing, “though I’ve only been there once.”
“They’ll take us in, though, right?” Bermin asked.
“It’s mine now, you dim-witted fool,” Kromwell said through grinding teeth.
Bermin averted his gaze quickly. He had forgotten to avoid the subject of topic of Lord Surekeel’s untimely demise at the hands of the Smith family those weeks ago. They’d had good times before those louts had wrecked everything. Well, good for those who were on Lord Surekeel’s side, that is. The others were not so fortunate. Kind of like that guy over there, Bermin was probably thinking. The laborer groaned as he felt the lash of the overseer’s whip on his bare back. It reminded Bermin to stay in Kromwell’s good graces if he didn’t want to end up like these poor wretches.
“Say, what are they farming, anyway?” Bermin asked, trying to change the subject.
“That field is full of dreamweed, as is that one, and that one, and that one,” Raynold said as he pointed at each in turn.
Knowing the street value of the narcotics growing freely and in the open here, Bermin whistled a low note. The crop in that one field was worth a fortune to the right buyers. A hard looking group of warriors kept a close watch on anyone straying too close to their field. Bermin kept his eyes averted and kept to the center of the road just in case they felt like making an example of him. Before long the caravan passed through the gates, but only after the caravan master paid their toll. Once inside the gates, Kromwell nodded his thanks to the man.
“My thanks, Master Teamster,” Kromwell called to him.
“Your money was thanks enough. Watch your back in here, young lord,” the caravan master said. He turned his attention back to his caravan, which rolled into a large, empty caravansary to the right of the gate.
Kromwell split off from the caravan and walked straight down the wide street towards the center of town with Raynold and Bermin trailing behind. The townsfolk looked them over shrewdly, each seeming to be thinking of ways to part them from their money. The three young men were dressed shabbily, because these clothes and passage out of Stonekeep were all the three could afford after Kromwell sold his armor. As a result, only the most desperate of prostitutes bothered to proposition them. Trash and excrement lined the streets, adding their aromas to the smell of oven fires. There were a shockingly large number of beggars and vagrants in Fellton, too. Now that Kromwell looked closer, he could see that some of the vagrants were no longer among the living. The local townsfolk ignored the corpses except to cover their noses with a handkerchief when they passed by, if they had one. All three of the knaves kept their hands on their knives.
Fellton was a much larger city than Stonekeep, and a lot less organized, but eventually they ventured into a part of town with cleaner, nicer homes. This place had a large presence of armed men, too. Different groups of soldiers wore different colors, making Kromwell realize that noble houses must keep personal armies as a matter of course. Kromwell recognized a certain shop, and he made a right-hand turn. They passed a fortified estate with its own set of twenty-foot-tall walls and liveried soldiers staring grimly down on them. As they walked, they passed two more estates like this, then Kromwell saw the city block his father’s house was a part of. All the houses here were built together, side by side on the first and second floors with no alleys going around to the rear of the homes. There were no windows on the first floor, either. Kromwell found the house with a serpent made of iron bolted to the thick wooden door in the shape of an “S” and strode boldly to it. He banged loudly on the door, then waited. A small porthole in the center of the door opened to reveal the helmed face of a soldier. His eyes rested for a moment on Kromwell, then widened slightly in recognition. Heavy bars were removed, and the door swung open. There were two guards inside wearing chainmail armor who bowed deeply to Kromwell.
“Welcome, Master Surekeel,” the first guard said.
Kromwell strode into the richly appointed, wood paneled foyer. “It’s Lord Surekeel, now. My father is dead.”
“I am saddened to hear that,” the guard said. His uncaring tone said otherwise.
“We will need baths, fresh clothes, and food in that order,” Kromwell said imperiously as he began taking the steps up to the second level of the home. This place was much larger inside than people outside would realize. His father liked it that way. Being insidious and secretive were part of his nature, and this dwelling was very similar to its former owner. Kromwell reflected on the number of soldiers in private armies in Fellton and saw the wisdom in keeping out of sight, if a grim smile was anything to judge by.
“I’ll inform Mr. Drossman of your needs at once, Lord Surekeel,” the guard promised.
As the sound of footsteps receded around the corner of the staircase, the guards shared a look between them and muttered curses. Their bowed heads spoke of resignation to whatever cruel fate surely awaited them, then they hurried to their duties. This young man had an intensity to him that they must not have wanted to be aimed at themselves.
-----
“Will there be anything else you require, sir?” Mr. Drossman asked.
Kromwell leaned back in his cushioned chair and rubbed his full belly. The journey had worked off a lot of his baby fat, but not enough of it, Drossman’s eyes noted. Any of the locals would know him to be an easy target, weak and incapable of defending himself. At least his previously greasy, black hair was now properly cared for. The boy could barely grow a goatee, but he seemed to be letting his goatee grow much like his father’s had. Drossman hoped Kromwell wouldn’t be too much like his father. Drossman briefly lamented his fate, then remembered how much he deserved this.
Kromwell considered his servant closely as the other servants cleared the table. He got the feeling that the manservant was evaluating him just as he was doing the same. Drossman was a thin man with significant frown lines etched into his face who kept his hands behind his back at all times. Kromwell would bet anything he had a knife close at hand even at this moment.
“What do we have on hand?” Kromwell asked.
“A fully stocked wine cellar, all the dreamweed you could desire, a chest of Kingsdust, and enough brandy and whiskey to sink a galley. Any of the women from The Caress can be summoned in half an hour. Oh. And my wife baked an apple pie earlier today.”
“I have died and gone to heaven,” Bermin said with a huge smile. “I’ll have some of everything!”
“Very well, sir,” Mr. Drossman said to him. “For you, sir?” he asked Raynold.
Raynold squirmed a bit. “Nothing for me, thanks. I’m for bed.”
“You’re such a wet blanket,” Bermin said derisively.
Mr. Drossman directed his gaze at Kromwell. “Maybe tomorrow,” Kromwell said.
The man bowed and left. Kromwell got up from the table slowly. He was very footsore from the long walk from Stonekeep.
“I’ll see you two in the morning. I have things I need to check on,” Kromwell said.
“Yeah, whatever. See ya tomorrow,” Bermin said, rubbing his hands.
Kromwell left Raynold and Bermin at the table and went back upstairs to his new suites. He had to know the state of his affairs and he didn’t trust a single person to do it for him. His father never trusted anyone with the important things, either. Though Sivash had never given his secrets up to his son, Kromwell had loved to sneak around and watch his father conduct business when no one knew he was there. Kromwell thought back to a time when he was hiding behind a curtain listening to everything said in his father’s study. When the lackeys were dismissed, his father had gone into a secret room and come out with a bag of money. He would bet anything that his inheritance was in that room. All he had to do was find it.
The master suite was part of a sprawling set of rooms on the fourth floor of the mansion that took up the entire city block. Though other families lived in buildings that adjoined the mansion, his father would never let anyone live above him. It was a matter of pride. Kromwell went through the sumptuously furnished, lamp-lit rooms until he was standing in his father’s study. He reminded himself that it was his study now. He crossed the large room to sit at the large, ornately carved desk, then searched each of the drawers until he found what he was looking for. When he did, he held the gold key up before his eyes to admire it properly. It was heavier than it looked, made of solid gold, and fashioned to look like a letter opener with a dull blade. The pommel of the letter opener was made to look like a dragon’s wings with one side slightly more stretched out than the other.
With the key in hand, Kromwell turned his attention to the three bookcases behind the desk. He remembered that his father used the key first, and he suspected that there was a good reason. He spied an unusually wide gap in the book casing about halfway to the ceiling, and slid the bladed part of the letter opener into the small gap. When he moved the blade up a bit, he felt it catch on something inside, and he pressed the blade upward. The thick frame of the bookcase had a hidden compartment beside that hidden catch that now flipped open. Inside was a blank panel with an oddly shaped keyhole. Kromwell put the hilt of the letter opener into the now exposed lock and turned it clockwise until he heard a click inside the wall. He left the key in place, then grasped the book in the leftmost bookcase that looked like the red, leather bound tome his father gave him to teach him the language and rituals of the ancient ones, and then pushed the book back into the shelf. It stopped after two inches, but another click was heard inside the wall, and the central bookcase withdrew into the wall and then slid aside.
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Kromwell took the lamp from the desk and walked into the dark room. Set into the wall behind the keyhole was a wide groove with large glass vials suspended that were sealed with wax and had some sort of dark liquid within. It looked to Kromwell like the key disarmed a trap that would drop the vials to the floor to release some sort of poisonous gas. Once inside, the first thing that caught his attention was an armor stand with a suit of dark red plate armor that had spikes at the joints and horns on the helm that was just like the suit Sivash had worn when the cursed Smiths had broken in on their ritual.
“One day, father, I will be worthy of donning this armor and I’ll bring a bloody vengeance to our enemies,” Kromwell said softly.
After a short time of staring at the armor with foul thoughts running through his mind, he looked over the rest of the items in the small room. There were many strange and vaguely malignant looking items on the shelves lining the walls, but the four chests in the center of the floor were what he was looking for. He opened each of them and gaped for a moment at the huge amount of wealth that lay before him. It was everything he had hoped for. It would certainly be enough to enact a fitting revenge on that cursed family of Smiths as well as the entire city of Stonekeep. All he needed was an army.
-----
A week passed, during which Kromwell weighed his options, plotted, and then made his preparations. He needed proper clothing and a fitting weapon, and it took a little time to find what he wanted. Today he wore dark clothing in shades of grays and black. The arming sword at his side had a gold hilt and black lacquered scabbard.
“Are you sure you want to go there, Lord Surekeel?” Drossman asked. He had a very worried expression on his face, and he touched his thumbs to each of his fingertips rapidly in succession where he held them behind his back.
“Of course. I need a patron lord, and who would be better than King Karnas?” Kromwell asked. “He has the biggest army on this half of Aldon. Maybe all of Aldon. The warriors of the Fell Legion are rightly feared.”
“Yes, but no one goes to Fell Keep except by his summons, Lord Surekeel,” Drossman said.
“I think he has a point,” Raynold said. “King Karnas is not someone to be trifled with. Have you seen that place?”
White faced, Kromwell turned a baleful look at Raynold, who visibly cringed back into his armchair. “I will risk anything to have my revenge on my father’s murderers. Fortune favors the bold.”
“But disaster takes the brash,” Bermin said cautiously. Kromwell didn’t immediately club him, so he persisted. “It’s like my dad used to say: ‘The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.’” The room was silent, so he tried again, this time using hand gestures. “You know, the cheese is on the mouse trap, the first mouse springs the trap, and whack!” The men in the room looked at Bermin like he was a roach. “You know, that one usually gets a chuckle, at least. Say, Kromwell, old pal, my very best friend in the whole world, have you named an heir, by chance? Someone like me, maybe?” Bermin’s face was twisted into a foolish looking parody of a worried, hopeful, and fearful smile, if such a thing can be imagined.
Kromwell simply turned his back on Bermin and walked to the door, where six armored guards stood waiting. “Four of you are with me,” Kromwell said as he swept past, leaving his cronies behind.
The guards knew who was going, it seemed. Two of them secured the door while the other four took up a formation around their new lord. The walk to Fell Keep was markedly different than Kromwell’s last walk through the city. No one even looked in his direction, much less asked him for anything. The poor people of Fellton knew what happened to those who displeased someone rich enough to have four bodyguards. Kromwell smiled as though he belonged in this city of dark stone buildings, like he was home at last. The few other rich people he saw wore flamboyant and colorful clothing, but the dark clothing Kromwell wore suited him much better.
The center of Fellton was dominated by Fell Keep, which sat in the center of a huge courtyard that was easily the distance of a bow shot from the keep’s walls to the nearest buildings on every side. Fell Keep itself was faced with black stone that was polished enough that Kromwell could see the skyline reflected in it. The gates of the castle were made of bronze covered hardwood and were decorated only with spikes jutting out. Outside the gates were stationed twenty of the biggest, meanest looking soldiers Kromwell had ever seen, each wearing thick, black plate armor and wielding a variety of terrible looking weapons. He began to have second thoughts.
Kromwell tried to keep the fear out of his manner as he strode towards them. He had years of experience in masking his fear, so he was able to make a good show of calm even if he wasn’t feeling it. Now that Kromwell was getting close, he could finally see the arrow slits higher on the walls. There were men in those arrow slits looking down on them from the darkness, which made it look like there were severed heads entombed within the castle walls. The guards all looked towards the young lord striding up to them and glanced at each other in disbelief. The sergeant on duty stepped forward and hefted a large battleaxe menacingly when Kromwell and his guards finally got within twenty paces of the gates. He held up a hand to halt the five men approaching.
“What business do you have here?” the sergeant asked in a deep voice.
“I am Lord Surekeel, and I come to speak with the king,” Kromwell answered.
None of the soldiers jested or even cracked a smile. They kept their eyes on Kromwell and his party with deadly seriousness.
“Speak with the king?” the sergeant asked. There was a significant pause. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Kromwell asked. “Anyone may petition the king, and I would like to do so.”
“Very well. You may enter.”
The sergeant waved at a guard in the rear, who banged on the gates twice with the butt of his axe. A smaller door cut into the right-hand double door began to open, and the guards made a path between them so the five could pass. The guards did not ask them to surrender their weapons, which said something about the security of the fortress. Kromwell tried to keep his head high as he entered the castle. The interior of the place was dark even though several lamps were lit in sconces on the walls. Kromwell looked around and saw another group of soldiers, one of which pointed down the hallway. Now that Kromwell was closer to the interior stone walls, he could see them sparkle like stars. There appeared to be little flecks of copper suspended in the stone, which gave him the feeling that he was striding into the darkness of the cosmos.
The five men marched down the wide hallway until they reached another set of spiked double doors with a troop of ten guards stationed in front of it. One of the guards pointed at a door to the right. Kromwell walked through to find it a reasonably comfortable waiting room. Comfortable for them, at least. On the far wall, high above the wooden benches, a man hung nailed to a crossbeam that was suspended from the ceiling by thick chains. He was in a sorry state. He had been beaten black and blue from his face to his shins, and one rib was clearly broken, as a portion of it was sticking out of his side. He moaned pitifully with each slow, painful breath. Kromwell saw him and laughed.
“Clearly, you should have paid your taxes,” Kromwell joked.
The man whimpered once, then resumed his wheezy, labored breathing, punctuated by a sob now and then. The five men settled down on the wooden benches to wait. It took about a half an hour for the door to open again to reveal a middle-aged man in a surcoat with Fellton’s coat of arms. He walked over to Kromwell, who stood to meet him.
“Greetings,” the man said. “Who are you and what business do you have with the majestic King Karnas of Fellton, who will surely live forever?”
“My name is Lord Kromwell Surekeel, and I wish to discuss military matters with his majesty.”
“Military matters, you say? What exactly are you lord of?” the bureaucrat asked.
“Um, the Surekeel Estates here, in Mithram and in Stonekeep,” Kromwell said.
“I see. I will return if King Karnas wishes to give you an audience.” With that, the man spun on his heel and walked out of the room.
Kromwell settled back in to wait. They waited there for an hour or two. It was hard to say. The only thing in the room was the tortured misery of the man hanging from the crossbeam. The suffering that was so funny to Kromwell at first then became annoyance. Eventually the annoyance faded into a serious contemplation of the potential consequences of his visit here. Kromwell was thinking seriously about giving up when the door opened, and the bureaucrat walked in again. Kromwell stood.
“His majesty King Karnas will see you now,” he said.
“Thank you. Do you need us to surrender our weapons?” Kromwell asked.
The man looked amused. “Seriously? You are going to see King Karnas alone. If you are so foolish as to try to do harm to him, he would make you lament the day you were born.”
He said that with such confidence that Kromwell was taken aback. Most kings would not allow weapons in the hands of potential enemies in their presence. The fact that he was deemed so insignificant infuriated him, but after a moment’s consideration, it gave Kromwell another moment of pause. The man beckoned him to follow as he left. Kromwell tried to look confident as he followed the bureaucrat out of the waiting room and through the now open double doors to a huge, dark hall. The room was big enough that the walls were lost to the darkness. Here and there in the cavernous chamber were lighted areas that illuminated between one and five people that were in some form of gruesome torment. Cries of pain and despair came from all directions. As Kromwell focused on one scene of torture, the light would go out and another light would flare into being. The poor souls suddenly lit up would cry out for mercy, forgiveness, or even death before subsiding again when the light went out.
Sitting in the center of the room was a large man in dark plate armor that seemed to swirl with shadow even though the light shone directly on him. He sat in a massive gold throne that seemed to throw light everywhere except on its occupant. There was a sense of menace about the king that Kromwell could feel in his bones, and he gulped nervously. King Karnas had a black beard and hair held back by a crown of dark metal with the ivory claws of some great beast like a render spaced evenly around the perimeter. There was a dim, reddish light in the king’s eyes that was frighteningly similar to the one Kromwell’s father possessed after he performed a ritual.
When they finally got to about ten paces away from the throne, the bureaucrat suddenly pitched forward and abased himself on his belly and face before the king. Kromwell spared a look at the man and made a hasty bow to the king. King Karnas’ eyes burned brighter briefly and suddenly Kromwell was hit in the chest by a blast of force that felt like a battering ram. Kromwell was hurled back at least twenty feet and landed flat on his back. The air had been blasted out of his lungs and he fought hard to breathe, gasping spasmodically. Then all he felt was fear. It was as if an invisible hand made of fear grabbed him and constricted his whole body. Kromwell trembled as he tried to take a breath, and then tried to run, but he couldn’t make his limbs work. He was literally paralyzed by fear. Despite a lifetime of living in dread of his father, Kromwell only now understood what true fear could do.
“You will show the proper respect for me when you come into my presence, boy!” King Karnas roared.
All around, the tortured people fell silent, no matter how bad their torment. The only sound was that of Kromwell trying to get a breath back in his lungs. He had the presence of mind to roll over on his stomach and rotate himself to face the king with his face to the floor. He gasped a few more times before he was able to fully inflate his lungs again.
“My servant tells me that you claim to be Lord Kromwell Surekeel. Is this true?”
“Y-yes, your majesty.”
“You are the son of Sivash Surekeel, then?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“And who was it that named you a lord?”
“My father died, so I claimed the t…”
King Karnas shouted an interruption. “No one has made you a lord, weakling! It is I who give out titles and honors here. I alone!”
There was a long pause as King Karnas let that sink in. The force of his words could only have been more palpable had the king grabbed them out of the air and beaten cowering wretch with them.
“Why are you here, boy?”
Now, this was something he could speak about. Kromwell looked up from the floor with hate in his eyes. “Revenge, my lord. I will give anything to have revenge on those who murdered my father.” The vindictiveness he felt was short-lived, however, and he lowered his forehead back to the floor.
“Well, now. Revenge I can work with,” King Karnas said calmly. “I suppose you wish to hire out the Fell Legion with the money you inherited from your father?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“A foolish notion!” Kromwell flinched when Karnas shouted this, and he hid his face. “The Fell Legion is not hired out like caravan guards! It exists solely to serve me,” King Karnas said. Kromwell’s hopes sank and he looked like he was contemplating the life choices that brought him here to his certain death. Karnas gave him time to reflect on it, seemingly savoring the fear he had instilled in the little blackheart.
“Still, you show initiative in coming here, and I can sense something in you that can be made greater. You know something of the worship of the Ancient Ones, don’t you?” Kromwell said nothing, knowing this to be a rhetorical question. The king considered him for a short while in a very uncomfortable silence. “My interests are somewhat in alignment with yours, it seems. I have something in mind for you, boy, but if you want your revenge, you will have to earn it. Leave your childish ways behind and train yourself for war. If you wish to earn my patronage, you will have to earn my respect. Come back when you think I will be impressed, and I may reconsider.”
“Yes, your, majesty.” Kromwell got to his hands and knees, eyes downcast. Despite this humiliation, he was determined to get his revenge. Kromwell would do anything.
“Boy,” King Karnas growled. It was as if the fires of hell had been given voice. Kromwell slowly looked up from where he knelt.
“I had better be impressed.”
