The Thorn Crown

Chapter II: The Garden

Brenton Dawn

The last of the afternoon night had half sunk to the west. Dusk had come. An Orange light danced from snowflake to snowflake, dazzling Brenton's eyes, which gazed upon the warm orange haze that was cast over the city of Blackvale like soft silk. He stared out to the northern rolling hills, basking in the breeze passing through the windows of his chambers. He looked idly by at Blackvale, The Dusks' homestead, filled to the mountains with houses. They sprawled like ants; the hordes of wooden cubes seemed to stretch afar, perhaps farther than the eye's reach of most men. Beyond that were mountains and beyond that was the rest of the country. The Reach. Then further onwards was the rest of the continent.

His dirty blonde locks wafted through the passing northern winds. In the reflection of his brown eyes were the great mountains surrounding the city, spindling towards the sky, the clouds wading through their tips like halo rings. The large mountain had encapsulated and housed a secret to prying eyes. Within the mountain range, were many houses, made of stone that were topped with spruce wood, and further caked with a layer of snow. Alongside this were mine-shafts and mine-carts, heading to factories in its sprawling industrial area, lining the edges of the foot of the large spikes. Beyond this was a port, with ships scattered across and hundreds of men coming in and out, carrying large boxes.

Business was as usual. The streets were less crowded than earlier today, yet nevertheless the country never slept.

The hills rolled higher and higher, until it revealed a great mansion. Proud and mighty, gilded with lavish gold, gems paint and metal. Black stone with spruce pillars held everything up. Above the grand front entrance was the House Dusk crest, a bag of gold overflowing with money alongside mountains behind the bag. At the mansion's foot was the literal shining example of House Dusks superiority to all others. Brenton looked down upon the garden rimming front of the mansion. Stunning. The snow drenched gleaming flowers of warriors felled, which riddled the grass path. Their skulls and bones joining their swords and shields.

Brenton walked out of his chambers, like the house, his room had expensive and lavish material decorating his walls, alongside the main halls running within the mansion. Down the stairs, lining the stone walls, were paintings.

One was of the House Dusk Crest. Others were of recordings of battles, and the mansion. So on and so forth until Brenton stopped at the last flight of stairs. A painting of his "Family." All of the legitimate members of House Dusk were painted. It was of his father Tybald Dusk and his two sons, Gordon and Ottoman. In between them was their sister, Lily. They all had a deep frowning expression on their faces; lines carved and etched into the brows of the males. They all shared their common stern and upright presence. However, no maiden of Tybald had appeared in the painting.

They all had icy cold eyes and pristine platinum blonde hair, while Brenton's had a hint of brown at the roots, which came from his mother. Some whore who he never laid his eyes on. He pictured her. A woman, beautiful and kind, someone who even Tybald would truly love, sporting brown eyes and hair like his. Perhaps she was brunette?

Finally at the bottom of the stairs was a white and gold carpet leading to the house's entrance. There were great doors that greeted Brenton, left open, allowing a fresh cold breeze to flood the bottom floors. He strolled to the garden. The snow crunched beneath his feet.

Grotesque forms were riddled across the snow covered grass, clad in plate with swords drawn through them. The Garden of Swords. Lord Tybald called it. A boundless graveyard with no names to respect the dead. No comfort or even grief was felt here. Only fear taking the guise of respect and admiration for Lord Tybald.

Curved swords with names Brenton wouldn't begin to try and pronounce, were stuck deep into the ground. As he gazed he heard light, delicate footsteps behind him, crunching in the snow.

'Brenton?' a woman's voice asked. Brenton turned to see his half-sister, Lily, covered in black silk, with white flecks of snow sticking in her white hair and dress. 'Gazing at the garden again?'

'Yes' he replied

She stood by his side, gazing with Brenton. 'Father's trophy from The War for The Reach.' She said. 'Do you remember when this all smelled of... uh.... corpse?'

'Yup. Absolutely unbearable!' Brenton said laughing.

'During the summer too!'

'I was fucking boiling in my room. Yet I wouldn't dare let the stench in.' There was a slight pause.

Lily finally spoke. 'Father calls you for dinner. Come.' She said walking away. Brenton followed swiftly behind, heading towards the confines of the large doors.

'I never asked but, what was it like?' Lily asked.

'What?'

'The war?'

Brenton took a long sigh, his breath visible in the cold. When he looked towards the sky the snow mantled his face, gently kissing his young skin; His hair was heavy and wet with snow.

'Dreadful.' He said at last. 'It should have been glorious. Slaying the enemies that dare set foot on my father's land. A bastard who fought for his lord father beside his brothers. Instead it was bloody and brutal with the constant smell of blood shit and guts, with my efforts unsung.' Brenton half-jokingly said. Both he and Lily entered the mansion.

'Well you know what they say. "They sing no songs for bastards."' There was a pause. They turned right, a corridor met them with windows sprawling to their sides, letting blades orange light flow through.

'I remember heavy snow like this last year,' Brenton said, looking out of the windows. 'towards the end of the hard year's fighting.'

The two stared out towards the stretching mountain-scape, lit by golden rays of sunshine, dreading the upcoming verbal brawl that would make up their dinner.