S
Sou7h
Guest
Fragments of the Old Kingdom
Legend has it that, when the world was young, Albion was a peaceful land full of tranquility and beauty. Then three came from the Void: the Knight, the Queen, and the Jack of Blades. They coveted Albion and demanded that all men bow down before them.
– Tales of Albion, Reign of the Court
How humans squandered their gifts.
Even from birth, they relied excessively on sight only, so much that their other senses were dulled. Had they ever listened – truly listened – to the quiet murmur of a stream or the rustle of oak leaves, they would know how much their kind wasted. The difference was that of water and wine.
But Jack of Blades was not human. With his eyes closed, he could feel every flake of snow that fell upon his shoulders through his red cloak. He could hear the whistle of a songbird far below and the rustle of its wings in flight. He could smell the delicate fragrance of a mountain flower where it swayed at the foot of a cliff.
“What are you doing over there?” A rough voice grumbled. The Knight of Blades, impatient as always.
Jack opened his eyes. Even here, atop a mountain, the sights weren’t nearly as interesting.
He turned to face his companion. Before he could answer, the Queen of Blades gave a girlish giggle. The trill was higher than the songbird’s, but less pleasant.
“Patience my knight. Little Jack has a point. This world is the prettiest we’ve been to so far.”
Little Jack. He repressed a flicker of annoyance. Proud he may be, but he was not a proud fool; the Queen’s abilities surpassed his own. For now.
She was right in any case. This world was leagues beyond those they had conquered in diversity and vivacity. It was a crown jewel with vivid colours reflected in its endless depths.
He coveted it. And he looked forward to the day it would be his.
Once more he opened his ears and his mind to its beauty. He listened across oceans and deserts, through forests and valleys and still did not find what he sought. He listened the turning of wheels and grinding of gears and the ticking of hearts and minds. He listened to the currents of life as it ebbed and flowed, touching everything in existence. The noise was a chorus of voices weaving together in perfect harmony. Listening to the entire symphony, Jack found its conductor.
“Albion,” he said aloud. “This world’s name is Albion.”
The Queen of Blades leapt off the boulder ten feet in the air and landed just as gracefully. The dust beneath her feet had not stirred. “Lovely.”
The Knight hefted his sword. “I don’t care for its name. All that matters is that it will be ours soon, just like all the others.”
Mine. “Yes,” Jack agreed. “Soon.”
***
Leonel Black straightened up from his work. Today had treated him well. He ploughed the field, fed his livestock and planted a few rows of corn. He bartered for a good deal on bread. On top of it all, the clouds promised rain in the evening. It didn’t take anything more to please a simple farmer who lived on the edge of town.
He returned to his house, whistling as he went. It was a small box of wood and thatch, but it was cozy enough.
“Welcome home.”
Ciana, his wife. Everything about her was soft. Her lips as they pressed against his cheek. The warm glow of her dark eyes. The curve of her neck and the few strands of hair that floated there.
He could ask for a better house. He could ask for better crops. He could not ask for a better wife.
Dinner was ready and he was hungry after a good day’s work. Leonel was halfway to the basin when a breeze burst through the windows. The panes snapped back as far as their hinges would allow as it swept through the house. The trees outside bent their boughs.
In all his life he had never felt anything like it. The cold was palpable. It reached out and gripped his throat. It stroked his spine with an icy finger. It was outside of him, chilling his skin, and inside of him, squeezing his heart. And then it was gone.
“Leonel.” He looked across to find Ciana wordlessly asking for reassurance. Her husband couldn’t bring himself to make her worry. Not with their son on the way.
“It must be the storm,” he reasoned. “Wind always precedes a storm.”
But he had a gut feeling something worse than a storm was coming.
This was proved when he checked on his livestock. The chicken coop was a flurry of feathers and agitated squawks. The pigs strained to escape from their pen. Worst of all were the horses. Their eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and foam frothed at the corners of their mouths. It took the better part of an hour to calm them all down.
What was going on?
His neighbour brought gossip and news of a meeting at the main square. Apparently, everyone had felt it but no one knew what it was. And now all the citizens wanted to discuss it.
At sunset, Leonel said goodbye to his wife and made his way into town.
He had never seen a town meeting so crowded. Every inch of space was taken and he found himself surrounded, standing shoulder to shoulder with total strangers. Every breath stank of nervousness and sweat.
Throngs of people all spoke at once and the noise was a constant buzz. The theories Leonel heard ranged from marginally possible to ridiculously absurd.
“Citizens of Albion,” a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once announced. “Your masters have arrived.”
The sight of tens of people swivelling their heads this way and that might have been amusing, except for the fact that Leonel was equally confused.
Moments later, he was almost blinded by three columns of brilliant light. Squinting, he could just make out three silhouettes. Then the light faded and he could see the three persons for who they were.
One was a great, hulking man covered from shoulders to toe in metal plates. Leering at him from beneath a hood of chainmail was a grotesque mask. It was a simple design: a smiling face bleeding from its eyes.
The second was slighter: the shape of an athlete or an acrobat. Apart from his armour, he wore a blood red cloak that shrouded his head and shoulders. He too had a mask; it was fashioned in the likeness of a skull.
The last was clearly feminine from the way her robes clung to her body. She had no armour. The men carried swords but she only had a fan. Despite all this, Leonel doubted she was any less dangerous than the other two. Her mask was a face divided into two parts, with alternating black and white features.
The farmer was bewildered. Swords? Armour? Exactly what do they want?
“Greetings, loyal subjects,” the female said.
“And who are you?” Someone cried out from the crowd.
“Why I am the Queen of Blades,” she replied. “And with me are the Knight of Blades” – she motioned to the colossal man to her left – “and the Jack of Blades” – she gestured towards her other companion on the right. “We are the Court. And we expect, like any royalty would from their subjects, fitting tributes.”
“And what if we do not bow down like tame animals? What if we refuse to do your bidding?” It was Leonel who shouted this. It surprised even himself; he didn’t know where this sudden anger against these three came from. He only knew that he felt it. And it made him brave.
“You will,” the Knight said. His voice was bass to the Queen’s soprano. “Or you will suffer the consequences of challenging us.”
“What if we’d rather challenge you?” Again, the reckless bravery. “What if we are proud and will not bow down just because you demand it?” This time, the crowd roared its agreement.
The Knight unsheathed his sword but the Queen stayed his hand. “There will be no bloodshed today,” she stated. “I do not wish to be the ruler of rubble and ash. But if you refuse to meet our demands, I promise you that you will regret this.”
“We’ll take our chances!” Someone yelled. It didn’t matter who anymore; the crowd was united. One voice could speak for all.
The Jack of Blades stared at Leonel and the farmer could just make out malignant yellow eyes blazing in the mask. “Then when you look back on this day, remember that it was you who brought suffering upon yourselves.”
And in a blaze of blue light, the Court was gone.
***
Jack closed his eyes, listening to Albion and all its inhabitants. It was done. Already, so much had changed – was still changing. The gears were set in motion and soon there would be destruction. It might have been called a war, but wars were not so one-sided.
Of course, the Court could have killed as many of them as they fancied at that particular moment in the town. The Knight of Blades would have liked nothing more. But where was the fun in killing something so defenceless? It would give no more satisfaction than squashing insects underfoot. No, the real challenge, and satisfaction lay in achieving victory through other means.
But one man perplexed him. Jack found his name. This Leonel Black seemed completely human at first glance: he was a simple farmer with brown hair, clear blue eyes and pregnant wife. But after searching deeper in his soul, Jack of Blades found that he had a single-minded determination and – most surprisingly – a tiny connection to the Will. But the man had no idea how to channel this gift, or even that it existed.
One thing was for sure: Jack looked forward to breaking him.
