Throne of Blood

Part I Chapter 4

As Ilor concluded his marveling at the view around him, he threw himself down onto his bed consisting of sewn-together canvas sacks filled with straw, leaves, feathers, and other old discarded sacks. He was proud of his work for the day as he pulled out the little leather pouch he had nicked off some unsuspecting shopper in the market. The bag was of a dark green shade like the thick mountain forest of Spenia, east of Meloas. Imprinted on the coin purse was an insignia with a crescent moon with a thorn coming through it at an angle. Ilor traced the moon and thorn as he pondered its meaning.

"Hmm, thought Ilor, I haven't seen this crest before. Must be some old foreigner from far off." Ilor laughed, "Welcome to Meloas my rich friend." He could feel the immense weight of the bag as he bounced it up and down on his palm.

Ilor chuckled to himself and relaxed on his bed. He stretched his arms and legs out, feeling the sinewy muscles unburden themselves from a day of excitement and adventure. Each limb relaxing from the tiring day of running, hiding, and winning battles. The knuckles on his hands were already bruised and had swollen a bit from the jab he had thrown at the guard earlier.

"Stupid guards getting in my way, mumbled Ilor, I'll have to lay low for a bit to get this heat off me."

Ilor felt the warm, salty air run through his shoulder-length wavy brown hair. The thief was barely a man. He had the stubble of a man on his chin but the stupidity of an adventure-seeking boy in his heart. Ilor longed for the sea and all that it offered. He dreamed of being a merchant sailing on ships filled to the brim with gold from the northern mines of Amfell or spice of a thousand colors and tastes from the desert kingdom of Kilaron. He longed for the harmony of the waves crashing against his imaginary ship as he traversed through the open, defeating pirates, getting rich, and dancing with beautiful women each time he made port. He could see the nights spent celebrating with his crew that loved and adored him as he won the hearts of all Valtoria with his master trade. Ilor dreamed of escaping his ruin of a tower in the old wall. His tower, in particular, had been abandoned about one hundred years ago when the new marble wall had been built. The wall Ilor was on was still lightly patrolled, but no one dared climb the decrepit, crumbling towers. Oh, how he longed to leave the rubbles and be perched on the crows nest of his glorious ship instead of the decay of a spoiled king's tower. As Ilor lay there wishing for fantasies to become a reality, he suddenly realized he had never looked into the spoils of his labor.

Stirred by his sudden remembrance, he reached for the green velvety pouch he had set aside and felt its weight as he moved it from hand to hand, guessing what he might have won today before he spoiled the surprise and peeked inside the bag. Ilor felt the heaviness of what he assumed were a good amount of coins, and upon opening the bag, he reached in and pulled out  more gold than he had seen his entire life. The young man could feel his heart beginning to race as he poured out the contents onto his bed, gazing at the small fortune that was piled up before him. As he shuffled around the coins, gently caressing the surface of his newfound prized possession, he noticed something different amongst his sea of gold. He reached into the coins and pulled out a black, metallic medallion. Inscribed on it was the same symbol that was imprinted upon the bag of a crescent moon with a thorn going through it. What was different about this image, however, was that it had the numeral 'III' inscribed below the image. Ilor flipped the medallion over only to see the same image on the opposite side. Curiously, he weighed the dark coin in his hand, noticing it was heavier and more worn down than the shiny gold coins in the bag. Ilor replaced the strange black piece of metal back into the bag, ultimately only interested in his beloved gold that had become his newfound obsession.

Turning his attention to the gold, he began to place each piece one by one back into the bag until he had counted 30 pieces in total. Each coin made a slight 'clink' that made Ilor's heart leap each time the sound was made. Satisfied, he lay back down and began to let his eyes droop as he felt the heaviness of sleep weigh down on him after the long day.

As his eyes fluttered shut, Ilor suddenly felt the sharp cold of steel press up against his throat. His eyes immediately snapped awake as the rush of adrenaline jolted every part of his body into a tense focus. Ilor eyed his knife just feet away from where he lay.

"Ah ah ah ah I wouldn't do that if I were you," snarled a deep voice from the shadows. "You have something of mine boy. I want it back."

Ilor felt the prized object hidden underneath his body. "How the heck did he find me," thought the captive thief.

"I won't repeat myself again." As the icy knife pressed harder into Ilor's throat. A faint trickle of warm blood began to flow down his throat.

"I already spent it," laughed Ilor, "you won't get your money now it's all gone."

"We both know that's not what I'm here for," as the man pulled his knife away, he stepped from behind Ilor and pulled back his hood. Standing before him was the very man whom Ilor had stolen the money pouch from just hours earlier. The man had short dark hair and a beard black as a crow to match. Hatred consumed the man's eyes, and the boy could feel his pulse quicken as the mysterious figure made a move toward him.

"See you have taken something of value to me. I truly could care less about the money but the medallion is something I will not tolerate losing. Especially to street scum like you." The man sneered as he stood twirling his knife in front of Ilor. "You will give me back what is mine and I can kill you quickly or," he laughed, "we can do this the more...painful way."

Ilor knew he had to decide fast if the stupid gold was really worth it anymore. His ponderance did not last long as he took the bag from underneath himself and flung it towards the ground beneath the window.

"Good choice," the man smiled as he walked over to the cast-aside purse. As he was reaching down to pick up the money, Ilor, without an ounce of thinking, lunged at the man. The unsuspecting stranger, however, would not be duped by the boy again and moved with the speed of a seasoned swordsman dodging the blow of a lesser opponent. The man ripped Ilor aside by his shirt and plunged a knife into the boy's rib. Ilor crumpled against the window as the man retracted his knife from the fresh wound. The boy could feel his body tense up as he rapidly lost blood and regretted ever stealing from this foreigner. The man approached Ilor with an evil grin, ready to finish the job. As the man raised his knife, Ilor grabbed the man by the collar and flipped them both out of the window. Man and thief tumbled out of the tower, falling, cursing, trying to grab hold of anything as the ground raced to meet them at their end. Mere seconds felt like an eternity as Ilor dreamed of a sweeter place. A place where he was the captain of his own ship. Sailing the mighty seas and taking anything he wanted, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.