Doryn [2]
The Stained Glass Citadel
The Iron Eye
When the prince woke that morning, he woke to the sound of servants bustling about the place. And, to a nosy, loud-mouthed beast of a guardian kicking open his chamber doors and throwing off his sheet, leaving Doryn to roll and fall onto the stone floor.
“Aghh…” Doryn moaned, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.
“Get up, you’ve got a big ol’ day ahead of you milord,” Gareth said, nudging him with his boot before throwing open the silk curtains, letting sunlight shine through and burn out Doryn’s eyeballs.
“Quit it, Garry.”
“Don’t call me that, or next time I will tell your father that you decided to run away from the palace grounds,” Gareth said, his eyebrows furrowed. Hearing the news, Doryn closed his eyes to the sun and smiled.
“Ha. Knew you wouldn’t tell.”
Gareth only sighed, and threw him a pair of breeches.
“Get dressed, wash the black out of your hair, and get over your hangover. Your father’s called a meeting. Loryn, Aboryn and Oro will be there too.”
“Oh, how kind of him to remember me as an afterthought,” Doryn remarked, pulling on a pair of trousers that had been buried underneath his bed for Haine knows how long.
At the doorway, Gareth looked to Doryn and said simply, “Well, your father actually asked for you first. Seems your finally star of the show, milord.”
As the obsidian door scrabbled close, Doryn tsked at the thought, clicking his tongue absent mindedly for but a moment.
“Right. Sober up. Wash the black out. Get dressed.” Doryn muttered to himself, opening a bottle of his favorite strawberry wine that sat on a table by a velveteen lounge and two chairs. Neglecting to pour himself a drink, the prince drank a few hearty gulps from the bottle before setting it down.
Check one, sobered up, Doryn thought, making his way to the white marble and blue-veined bathroom. By the sink, he looked to himself in the mirror, only wearing a pair of loosely fitting trousers and his warped, metal necklace. It took only a moment to wash the black from his hair and return it to it’s usual navy blue, the same blue that Tyrant Storms were made of. Of course, as a young boy Doryn hadn’t understood what his father meant by Tyrant Storms until he was seven, when he was most unfortunate as to experience one himself. To experience nature turn against it’s own self. It’d been seven years since, and not one Tyrant Storm had appeared for a long while, some blaming it, (in hushed whispers) on the extinction of The Cured. But no one bothered to answer the young prince’s questions when he asked after who these people were, and what they had to do with the terrifying storms that could wipe out cities.
Doryn blamed such childhood trauma on his love for the drink, these days, as there wasn’t much else to do except drink, complain and fuck. Three things the prince found he was exceptionally good at.
Dressed in his white, princely apparel, this time donning his cloak of snow-white, sewn with a neutral blue and red Amor and Haine, signifying formality amongst empiric nobility and so forth, at least, that’s what his royal seamstress had screamed at him when he repeatedly asked why, why, why, why, why…and so forth. To which he’d simply replied with, why?
With his gilded rapier Stormbyte at his hip, Doryn attended his fathers meeting, held in the west wing of the palace, inside the Great library. In the center of this Great Library, an elevated platform was raised by a twenty-meter-high statue of a male slave, the circular platform weighing on his shoulders and neck, a look of pain scrawled across his granite face. Twin staircases wound up and around to the platform, held up by two female slaves, the young prince swaggered his way up the staircase to the right, and sat at the round, dark-wood oak table. With half a smirk, he rested his crossed legs atop the table and peered round at the happy patrons of the meeting; The Lady Wolf, a proud woman of chocolate skin, hair of smoke and crystalline blue eyes, the representative of all the hunting clans scattered amongst Valyrett, Giltard the royal kiss-ass, another four nobody lords with squinted eyes and piggish faces, and of course, his elder brothers. The twins, Aboryn and Loryn, and the almost elfish looking Oro. Abby looked at him like he was an idiot, Lorry looked to him with a smug, encouraging look and Oro simply didn’t care.
Though, by Haine, if either of the twins heard him call them that Doryn would be short a head within the second. The Lady Wolf tapped her gloved fingers against the table, impatient as ever. The Emperor sat at what one might call the ‘head’ of the table, with the grandest, intricately carved chair, placed between the intersection of two beams of light shimmering from the twin, stain-glass windows. The light shimmered against his coal hair and gentle blue eyes, the same blue of a calmed sea.
“Well…now we may begin.” The Emperor clicked a lever by his seat, and the wooden circles that formed a ‘target’ shape within the wooden table, each circle intricately carved. At that, Doryn stared incuriously and swung his legs off the table. Small tubing placed around the table hissed steam, and the circles parted a few centimeters, revealing a series a cogs and clockwork. The Emperor scattered what appeared to be a fistful of glass marbles into the small spaces between the spinning circles that spun both clockwise and anti-clockwise. The circles finally came to a stop, the echo of the mechanism sounding throughout the library as it did so.
A white light glowed from the gaps between the circles, and fluttered through the marbles, the cluster of light forming a holographic map of Valyrett. From the eastern coast of the Colonies to the western floating domain in the sky of Tytogryph, the vast expanse of the Greenlands, the high reaching Never Peaks, the desert kingdom of Terraghar and even the isolated land of Dordathion, separated by the Sirens Strait, an impassable body of water. Doryn’s father used a series of cogs on the side of the table to control the map, zooming in on the west onto what he believed was a long-abandoned city by the name of New Manster. The city came into focus, now taking up the whole of the round table. When the young prince looked to his brothers, he found that they didn’t look the least surprised at the contraption. Oro had even seemed to spaced out, looking out the open balcony.
“Last week, a squadron of Valkyries was dispatched on a retrieval mission. Whilst tracking their targets, they passed through the abandoned zone of New Manster and experienced an anomaly. Two Valkyries in the squad were killed, supposedly by the creature that emerged from a hole, the Sea-guard described it as an enigmatic creature with green eyes, horns, and made of what looks like metal, and stood at 170 meters tall,” The Emperor said, focusing in on a towards a street that had been sunken into a dark abyss.
“The rest of the squad managed to notify a local watchtower that contacted the MUNC head quarters in Ghosthelm, in the Never Peak Mountains. They called it the Monolith.”
“What happened to the remaining Valkyries of the squadron?” Aboryn asked.
Loryn half-heartedly raised a hand with a smirk, “According to the reports I certainly didn’t intercept from Giltard, the said remaining two by the names of Vynisa Alsic and Walden Spence managed to leave the local watchtower before the other Valkyries could stop them, you know, being from a stealth unit and all. It’s assumed they continued after their targets.”
“Why doesn’t the Sky King take care of this Monolith, it is in his territory after all,” One of the lords said, a sly, thin-faced man with an absurdly long mop of spindly brown hair, by the name of Lord Rew.
“At the time, my brother – Lord Brenon, and his Sky-fort Tytogryph was up the coast. The Monolith ventured directly from New Manster to Titan Bay and out into The Storming Wake,” His father explained, now standing, one arm folded and the other hand pinching his lip in thought.
The map shifted and showed the western coast, and a great mass of land floating above, supported by giant propellers a giant castle-like construct sat surrounded by fields of green and dotted with trees, looking over it all, known as Tytogryph.
“Ah, how convenient,” Doryn commented, slumping in his chair slightly, his arms folded.
“The Monolith continued walking through the ocean, and didn’t pay attention to a single Valkyrie, or anything, really. Now that Tytogryph has returned, The Sky King sent out Airships and ships on the sea alike, and found that their source of income – the fishing waters, have been emptied. Something about that creature has scared off every living thing in those waters that could swim away. Which, in return has led to every merchant and fisherman in Westerport to have a collective heart attack, as their lively hood has literally disappeared over night. Which…leads me to my next point of discussion.” The Emperor adjusted the map to the Never Peaks, and the highest mountain in the range, Ghosthelm.
“Victoria Creed, ever gracious leader of the MUNC has used this as an excuse to move troops into the area. The main force has gathered in New Manster, around the Fracture where the Monolith surfaced. Now, with such an expense of Valkyries, they’re in need of recruits. Youngbloods, I believe they call them. The only option we have here is to oblige, so I’ve allowed them access to our slums, pick and choose who they wish.”
Only option? Doryn thought, his eyebrow twitching.
The rest of the meeting carried on with talks of trade, the masked ball that was to take place to welcome the princess and a mention of the mysterious thefts of vintage strawberry wine from the cellars. The Lady wolf also felt inclined to mention the fact that a strange pilgrimage of clan elders from the Silver Pine was on their way to have a supposed audience with her, about strange Valkyrie activity in their valley home. Lord Rew had smiled (or at what he thought passed for a smile) and promised to aid The Lady Wolf with such, trivial matters.
At the mention of the princess, Doryn has groaned inwardly when he remembered, his hangover seemingly catching up with him as his head throbbed in response. The night before with Red had helped him forget. Forget the princess. Forget his duties. Forget everything that was to come in the next few weeks.
And now those memories had returned to give him a ripe ol’ bitch slap.
By the end, Aboryn dragged Loryn off (by the ear) to rouse on him for a series of inappropriate comments about his betrothed, Lady Arethe, when the subject was mentioned. And the emperor led Doryn onto the balcony, and the two stood in a deafening silence for an unbearable eternity of two seconds.
“Father.”
“Son.”
Doryn cleared his throat, “So…how many polar bears does it take to break the ice?”
His father simply sighed, “Doryn. I’m sorry if this wedding may seem…sudden. You’ve probably wondered why I selected you. Why not Loryn, or Orovyn, why my fourth born? Every man needs a purpose, and I believe yours lies in Terraghar…what’s important, is that you look to the future. Terraghar is our largest trade-partner, and through years of diplomatic treaties and talk we’ve maintained peace between the empire and their nation. We had no option but to allow the MUNC into our slums and to move such a host, as Victoria Creed has a legal precedence over addressing situations such as this. You may not be king for some time, but you will hold a high power in such a foreign land. From what I hear you’re much the charmer amongst the ladies. I trust you’ll put this to good use when it comes to the princess, as she’ll prove to be a valuable asset to be put to use when the time comes. I hope you can accept this…responsibility, my son.” The Emperor Borynad said in such a chaste manner that Doryn had no choice but to believe him.
His father reached into his chaste, blue doublet and offered him a package wrapped in white cloth. Hesitantly, Doryn took the object and gently unwrapped the cloth to reveal a copper spyglass.
“I don’t believe Creed’s intentions of such a gathering of a host was purely for the investigation of the Monolith creatures appearance. There is something in the depths of that city that I’ve searched for…for a long time. So…for now, I must ask that you look to the future, if you’re ever to rule, you’ll need to understand that,” His father said, his eyes glassy as if he could see this distant future.
“Ah…may I ask what this ever-so-mysterious something is? Or am I to assume you’re just going to provide me with this crucial information with an ambiguous answer with your usual reckless abandon?” Doryn asked, an eyebrow rose as he examined the spyglass, trying to flicking it out to its full-size it hit him directly in the eye.
His father came close to what Doryn might have called a smile, if it wasn’t for the strange look in his eyes like brewing, distant storm.
“That is another weight I do not wish to rest on your shoulders, my son. It’s a responsibility that I will carry alone, at least for now.”
The prince fidgeted with the spyglass, now folded close he tried to open it again, gnawing at it with his teeth with a strangely determined look, (a look Doryn was sure that if his father had seen it, would’ve made him completely second guess giving him such a dangerous toy.)
Doryn finally gave up trying to work the damned thing and instead looked to his father who had returned to staring out at the horizon, lost.
Snidely Doryn thought, reckless abandon it is, then.
~ ~ ~
The Streets of the Residential District were still littered with rose petals, despite the efforts of the elected cleanup crew. When Doryn and Gareth strode down the streets on their mounts, the young prince had found the empty silence of the streets deafening.
Following the traditional way of a Valyrenian, he ventured to the Stained Glass Citadel to seek out its heart, the tree of Arabella, for it’s blessings for his engagement and marriage. The Citadel was the highest point in the Residential district, as the three clock towers were positioned in the Industrial District. It was a construct of unadulterated white marble, the gilded gold winking in the suns smile, it’s roof a chrome dome patterned with a Birch Tree and Amor and Haine perched plainly on two opposing branches. No matter the time of day or season, year-round a giant bonfire within a gold fire-pit was burnt in the white courtyard, the shallow expanse of the courtyard filled with a shallow bed of freezing water. Before stepping into the courtyard, the Guardian and prince dismounted, handing their horses of to young lad dressed in robes of red and blue.
The two walked through the shallows, wincing at the smoke that lashed at their eyes as they passed the golden pit, Doryn’s white cloak sighing with the breeze.
“Emberlings, I believe,” Gareth said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Did you sneeze just now?’ Doryn asked plainly.
“The name of these patrons to Amor and Haine, call them Emberlings. I’m telling you this now so you don’t call them color-blind bi-polar bird-fanatics,” Gareth warned with a glare. He’d chosen to wear his sea-green military doublet with black pants and boots, a navy cape flowing down his back and snapping about in breeze. But whether this was because Amor and Haine were painted on it’s back or whether he wanted to hide his near sleepless night and intimidate Doryn into behaving, the prince wasn’t entirely sure.
They entered through the ridiculously high, arched doorway to the central place of worship, Doryn forcing himself to smile and nod to the color-blind-fashion-senseless-bi-polar-bird-fanatic that seemed a tad too excited that his most royal fourth-born prince had chosen to visit the Citadel. The balding, plump, soft-faced man explained that the gathering of middle-class here today were offering their thanks to the Phoenix Men through the highest form possible, in song. They chanted in unison, a heavenly force that flooded all the way to the chrome roof and through the marble hall, singing in some language Doryn did not know.
Unconsciously the prince palmed the hilt of Stormbyte, seeing the fragmented glass sculptured that sat in the very center of the hall, where the people gathered round, close as they dared. The fragmented glass floated about, the light reflecting the cloud of shards of glass so that it formed the shadows of a doe and a wolf’s life cycle, the shadows forming on the circular walls of the Citadel. An endless cycle that began and ended with each other.
“You must be here for the council of the Arabellan tree, my prince. This way.” The Emberling led them around the gathering and through another door into another, much smaller hall decorated with tapestries of the Birch Tree.
“Just through this door here, but your friend here will have to wait outside I’m afraid,” He said apologetically, motioning to the twin-blue doors.
Gareth leaned against a wall and simply said, “Be sure to scream if you’re being murdered, kid.”
Doryn just sighed as he pushed open the doors, the wood groaning as it revealed the grove of the Arabellan Tree. The tree itself glowed teal, it’s branches reaching high and low, spanning up and across the cave-like roof. Wisp-like lights floated about, whilst masses of teal fireflies sprawled across the walls, all glowing that same luminescent light that the tree glowed.
The wisps sang a tuneless, wordless song, whistling ghostly whispers. One came close, almost to inspect him, and Doryn instinctually whacked it away like he might a mosquito. The wisp flew away, as if it was afraid of him and he almost felt bad. From there, he stepped lightly, not daring to tread on the roots that spanned almost the entirety of the grove. Close to the base, where the roots were thickest, Doryn knelt, sitting on his folded legs with his hands placed placidly on his lap.
All right…all-powerful tree. Bless me. I dare you.
For a few moments only silence answered him, until an unbearable wave of static filled his head, and whined and crackled as if tuning itself to find the correct frequency. Doryn cried out, grinding his teeth as the static whined, keeling over as he gripped his head. After seconds of eternal agony the static spoke to him in a feminine voice.
“Doryn Blacksteel…fourth heir of the Blacksteel empire.”
“Ah…what the fuck?” Doryn grunted, his eyes squinted.
The static giggled in a childish manner at his curse and said, “You’re a lost boy…aren’t you? Lost to the ways of both women and men. Lost to the ways of the flamboyant courtiers and lowly servants, it seems. I cannot offer you a blessing, as I am no saint, god or patron to either. But I can offer my advice, young prince…trust is a luxury you cannot afford. Tread lightly for the coming road will be fickle with snakes lying in wait and thorns ready to tear bloody soles from your feet.”
The voice faded, and returned to static until it too faded away. Doryn pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up.
“Agh…I gotta stop day-drinking.”
~ ~ ~
In the Arabellan palace, there were in fact two libraries. The second was more structured as a library, rectangle in structure, littered with rows upon rows of shelves filled with books about anything and everything. Above, rafters over-looked the quiet scholars spilled over their desks and yellowed papers, cawing white hawks perched atop wobbling towers of books and scattering white feathers amongst the aisles. On the second floor, a particular scholar made his research quarters where he spent most of his waking hours (and sometimes his sleeping hours) researching the land of Valyrett and her history, peoples and creatures.
The particular scholar, however, happened to be absent from his research place. Absent, allowing a certain young prince and a beautiful young servant girl have their privacy, aloft in a bundle of blankets and tufts of hay, dust mites floating lazily about in the cozy, yellow lantern light.
“Celeste…” Doryn sighed into her tangle of brown curls, pressing her naked body closer against his bare chest.
She playfully curled a strand of navy hair in her finger, singing to some song popular amongst her old native colony.
“La mer…
Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d'argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie
La mer…”
Celeste sang into his ear with her heavy lilt. When her song was done, Celeste looked to him with squinted, honey-caramel eyes that smiled sweetly. She handed him a stack of four books, tied together with a bow on top. With a look of surprise, Doryn accepted the gift, reading the titles.
“The complete collection of Raze Voss’s work? His comics…poetry…artwork…huh, amazing,” Doryn smiled lightly, running a finger across the spines.
Celeste looked to him almost expectantly, her head cocked to the side. At that Doryn dropped his feign of surprise and handed her a stack of books to her glee.
“A month to read, whoever finishes first wins,” The prince said with a smirk, to which she nodded. Celeste playfully pushed his at his chest, and he pushed forward, kissing her neck until she gave in.
ns 172.69.7.166da2