Trilverda - Winds of the fall

Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Reynor left the cub in the belly of its mother, covered in blood. He clambered on his cart, held the whip in his hands - which were trembling, regret possibly. “Didn't get to see me mum as well” he mumbled to himself.

He whipped the horses and they strode calmly through the wilderness. They arrived at the path that lead to the city, not long after.

“Alright. Enough’a gloom ‘round me. Today I'll be the King of me country, last day as a crowned prince. Let's have a race, what say?” Reynor, hoping to restore the joy, yelled at his men. “Whoever gets inside the city first, gets ten silver coins”

“Hell yeaah” his men screamed in joy. Everyone wanted to win ten silver coins, meant a huge deal. Ten silver coins would feed one's family for a week, so why not? They steadied their horses, ready to ride with the wind.

“Alright, on the count-a three” Reynor yelled. “One, two—"

Men bite their lips as tension rises. They stiffen up, the whip ready to hit the horses.

“And Threeee” Reynor yelled.

Five horses sprinted polluting the silent air with the sound of hooves, dust scattered everywhere. They competed with the wind.

Reynor, alone on the road, sang his favourite ballad - Brethren of The North, as he slowly strode down the road to his throne. The young Grey-ling cuddled inside the thick and warm fur of its lifeless mother.

Five horses, mounted, stood restful before the huge gate, an entrance to the great city of Neamora – The city of northern lions, as people call it. Walls erected, nearly kissing the sky above. Four-times thick iron gates had protected the Kingdom since its begging. The city was carved out from a mountain by the great giants, as it is known. That explains the height of the wall. Two gigantic, stony Grey bear's head, leaped out from the gate's frame.

Guards with thick wolves' skin armour had not let the horsemen pass-through. Reynor approached, grinning, gazing at his men. “Dumb cunts” he laughed looking each of their faces. “Guards, open the gate as yer prince wishes to enter his home”

The huge gate open, making a sound nearly louder than of a thunder. There it was. Muddy roads, kids fiddling, salesmen screaming, young lads drinking and dancing. People seemed happy.

Reynor walked his horse inside the gates, making him the first one to enter the city. His men watched, confused, as he went inside with pride.

People stared at the dead Grey bear one by one. The cart passed the sight of every present eye. “My King” people screamed in joy, everyone cheered. The children started to jump around, as they would on a fair. Some children threw sweets at the dead Grey bear. Young ladies threw flowers, fragrant powders. Some even tore clothes and threw it on Reynor. It was a tradition, nobody could complain, not even their husbands. Joy had kissed the city from the day Reynor took the title of a crowned prince.

Reynor looked around. His people dancing on the muddy road, right where he danced for his father when he came with a dead Grey bear on a cart. He felt nostalgic as he recalled the moment in his mind. He rode across, smiling, catching some sweets the children threw, winking at the naked girls, cheering with the old men and shaking hands with lads.

And there it stood, a huge castle towering over everything that lay around it. Up in a hill, tore the clouds on its way up. Couldn’t call it a castle, they way it looked, it was more of a tower. Some called it ‘The Castle Of Valvor' and some ‘The Tower Of Valvor'. But whatever the name depicted it calling a tower or calling a castle, Reynor knew it by just one name – ‘home'.

The cart possibly couldn’t climb the stairs that high, turn of his men to carry the bear came, again. The same drill, fastened its limbs on bamboo and two men from front and three men from behind lifted the heavy bear. Reynor stepped through the stairs, commanding his men to walk faster as they struggled to carry the beast. Where is the Grey-ling? Someone might ask. Reynor rapped it under the cloth thrown by the ladies at him and hid it under his heavy leather armour.

“Me lovely bastard uncle” he yelled, after reaching the castle gates. His uncle carried the title of ‘The City's Guard Commander'. Old man, past his fifties, stood there making an uncomfortable face when he heard Reynor calling him.

“Looks like the youngest finally made a killing” he replied.

“Yes, the youngest triumphed,” Reynor said as he paced towards his uncle. “Couldn’t let The Conquer sit in me chair, could I? Uncle?”

“Of course you couldn’t” Falver replied as he hugged his nephew. “Open the gates, our new king has come” he ordered his men to open the gates. Without any delay, the men unlocked the gate.

Reynor's men still struggled to carry the bear, couldn’t even cross the half stairway when he entered the castle.

An old man, blind, with a white beard and no hair, came down to the great hall as soon as the gate opened. “Where’s the bear?” he asked in excitement.

“Yer son, the king of Cruston is home. Ya ask for a bloody bear, ol' man?” Reynor grunted.

“Yes yes, give me a warm hug, son. Is that what I'm supposed to say? ya little brat” Kelvin yelled at Reynor. “I'll have your legs cut out if ya take one more bloody step without the bloody bear”

“Alright, looks like I am the one with hugs, eh?” Reynor smiled and hugged his old fragile father. Kelvin rested his aching body on his son's strong chest. He felt a budge inside Reynor's armour.

“Is that your ‘eart? Did your ‘eart pump out your chest? I feel something movin'” Kelvin whispered in his son's ear.

“Ahh, there it comes. The great Grey bear that King Reynor slayed” Reynor ignored his father and glanced, his eyes wide open, towards the five men that had carried the dead bear. Their feet were wobbling as they brought the bear inside the castle, covered in sweat. “Useless cunts” he whispered to himself clenching his teeth glancing at his tired men.

“Where? Take me” Kelvin ordered his son, all excited and cheerful.

Reynor held his old and fragile arms and directed his father towards the bear. He held his palm and slid it over the bear's skin. Kelvin smiled as he felt the soft fur and the thick skin of the Grey bear.

“Thirty-six years...” he muttered. Kelvin clapped his hands with his face brightened with joy. “Bow down to your new king, fools” he yelled. Everyone present in the court, the guards, the servants, even those five men, fell on their knees before their new King.