Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The House of Broken Chains, Chapter 2 - Renard

When Renard closed his eyes, it was night. When he opened his eyes, it was morning. There was nothing in between; no dreams, no rest, he couldn't even be sure if there was sleep. It was like he ceased existing and returned to existing again. It reminded him of death.

He stood in the morning sun dressed in Arvix's finery. The clouds were fluffy. Birds were chirping. From a cart nearby, he could smell the most delicious freshly baked bread. What was he doing, he began to wonder. What if he were to go back to Iron Fen, and return to his parents? He was given a second chance at life. Should he not embrace life again? Corah had betrayed him, but he still missed her. Maybe he could find another girl like her. Or maybe he could forgive her.

He squirmed. The weight of his ornamented epaulets was uncomfortable. He couldn't be his old self. He would ascend to be the wyvern. He knew he would. Otherwise, to endure such cruelty and suffering, what was it all for?

Crowe, Talla, and Horus emerged from the inn doors. There was a creepiness to the girls in their matching gowns. The skirts were floor-length, making them look like finger-puppets come to life. Horus had pulled their hair back into tight buns. The effect was all too adult and serious for silly children. Luckily, their sisterly behavior disrupted the illusion. Crowe pinched the skin on Talla's elbow.

"Crowe!" Talla squealed. "I told you to quit it!"

Crowe giggled to herself and did not apologize.

"I smell bread!" she hollered instead.

"Yes. Well sniffed," said Horus. "There will be food for us at the house. Let's go."

"Aww- but that bread's shaped like animals." Crowe pointed with her stubby fingers at a loaf of bread in the form of a lion.

"Adorable," Horus said dismissively. "Come along."

They walked along the canals. They were attractive and better maintained than the seaside of Charn. The markets were in full swing with people and carts bustling by. Dressed to look wealthy as they were, no one dared to get in their way.

Renard was quick to take notice that magic was on display in greater abundance than any place in Iron Fen. At one intersection, a well-dressed woman led a man on a leash made of pure light. The woman was poised and imperious. The man on her leash was dirty, poorly fed, and anguished. No one else in the street gave the man any lingering looks of either pity or contempt. In Grey Horn, such a display was normal.

Horus would tell Renard later that it was a spell of searing enslavement. An advanced spell used either practically or intimately behind closed doors. He admitted that it was an odd sight for broad daylight.

At the eastern end of one canal, there was a steep hill with a black stair built into the earth. The grounds on either side of the stair held sinewy thorned trees with weeping red leaves. Silhouetted by the sun, Renard could make out the very top of a house from the bottom of the hill. But as he followed behind Horus, the manor, which was undoubtedly The House of Broken Chains came into view. It was tall, five stories at least, with a slick black roof. Most interesting, however, were the walls covered with a thick mass of chains painted red many times over. Renard, at first, mistook the chains for the vines of some suffocating native plant.

Flanking a set of imposing double doors, two armored guards with spears stood at attention. Renard imagined that the cult was not opposed to killing any unwanted visitors, though the guardsmen gave no immediate indication of posing a threat. They waited even as Horus stood beside him, shuffling through his messenger bag. After a moment, he pulled out a thin black cylinder engraved with fine markings and handed it to Renard. It was smaller than his index finger and coiled with the design of a red wyvern.