Dreisterne

CHAPTER 27

Artorius King leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant with memory. The others sat in reverent silence, their faces illuminated by the same flames that danced upon the King's silvered hair.

"It was twenty-two years ago," Artorius began, voice deep yet weary. "When Genevieve and I first took the throne, Rossland was already crumbling beneath its own weight." He paused, letting the fire crackle between his words. "The previous king ruled with corruption, indulgence, and fear. Nobles waged quiet wars through coin and blade alike while the people suffered under their heel, and the King watched it all from his throne as if the tragedies in the kingdom were dramatic plays for amusement."

The Queen laid a gentle hand upon his arm, her eyes glistening with memory. "But my husband refused despair," she said softly, gesturing affectionately at Artorius. "When we first met, I was convinced that Rossland was beyond saving. But this hopeless optimist stubbornly knocked on my door, seeking aid from my house in his bid to make the kingdom rise once more from its ashes. So, Artorius persuaded me to walk the breadth of this kingdom with him, to bear personal witness upon its beauty and its sorrow. Our travels were enough to convince me to join his cause."

Artorius nodded faintly. "With Genevieve's counsel, we gathered every knight, squire, and peasant who still believed in the sanctity of Rossland's banner. We fought and negotiated, fief by fief, until we had the means to take the fight to Londinium and overthrow its reigning tyrant at last. Even in its sorry state, we worked hand-in-hand to rebuild what Rossland had lost. By our hands, justice returned where greed reigned, and the crippling fear among the people gradually faded away, replaced by the courage to unite. For a time, our beloved Rossland was upon the cusp of a glorious rebirth. Alas..."

Artorius King fell quiet for a moment, his gaze sinking to the hearth. Nathan exchanged a glance with his friends, the weight of the King's gaze silencing even the urge to ask. Ren and the shadow-man bowed solemnly, as if in mourning. Harald dared to lean slightly forward as he sensed the shift in the air.

"Sir Morgan," Artorius continued. "His was the name that once commanded admiration across every fiefdom. I took him into my service when he was little more than sixteen, with eyes that burned brighter than steel." His tone dimmed into something closer to sorrow. "He was everything a knight aspired to be: brilliant, resolute, unyielding in his duty, and peerless in his prowess. He mastered the sword, and even Mana seemingly bent to his will. The people adored him and I... I loved him as the son I never had."

Queen Genevieve lowered her gaze, speaking quietly. "He was the pride of the Iron Castle. And when he met Gloria, the archmagus's apprentice... well, the castle's walls haven't heard laughter like theirs in years. Their courtship was the talk of the court. A knight and a mage, bound by heart and honour."

Keith smiled faintly. "Sounds almost like a fairytale, that one."

Artorius looked up. "Had the story ended that way..." he said, eyes unfocused, lost somewhere deep in memory. "One night, ten years ago, the undead walked the streets of Londinium."

A chill swept through the room as if the past itself had stirred, felt palpably by Dreisterne. Even Ren gave the shadow-man an uneasy glance, although the knight remained impassive.

"The first bodies were found in the merchant quarter," the King continued. "The City Watch didn't have the time to locate the murderer who struck them when the corpses rose again. Within hours, the city was choking in screams and smoke. The undead came in legions: soldiers, paupers, even children, wrought havoc around the city. We were unprepared. Our mages and guards did what they could, but the streets ran red before the alarm bells could even finish tolling."

Harald clenched his fists, his indignation muted by reverence. "Who was responsible for this, Your Majesty?"

"It was the archmagus who found it," said Artorius grimly. "The pulse of necromantic Mana came from the Iron Castle itself."