The Chronicles of Mythguard - A Newly Revised Version

Chapter 4

The Wall was a massive thing cut of smooth obsidian stretching from the South Sea all the way to Thane's Waters in the North. At every twenty five kilometer interval was a gatehouse built into the Wall, completely hidden from view unless one knew where to look, and even then there was no way to tell you had found it. High above them were ramparts and a tiny figure yelling down to them, although barely audible.

''What's your business?''

Barthanax cupped his hands around his mouth, speaking as loud as his voice could muster. His hands only increased the effect somewhat.

''WE'VE COME TO CROSS INTO THE FIRELANDS''

''Who are you?''

''LOR-'' Grungin interrupted him before he could continue his title. ''What is it, Grungin?''

''Wouldn't it make more sense ta' say yer the King?''

''Why would that change anything?''

''Kings have more sway, wouldn't ya say?''

''Good point.'' He cupped his hands to his lips again and yelled. ''KING BARTHANAX OF HOUSE MASTRADOME, RULER OF MYTHGUARD AND THE BLACK FORTRESS.''

Another figure appeared on the ramparts. After a moment of conversation the first figure called down again. ''Stand back, your Highness.''

They backed away as the gate began to groan open, dust falling from the sealed entrance. Several men walked out, each clad in black cuir bouilli, bevors, bascinets, knee-high riding boots and gloves. Five carried kite shields while the other two only had their swords at their sides. All seven bowed, one removing his bascinet to let red curls fall onto his face.

''Welcome to the Wall, your Highness.''

''Jorge?''

''Yes, your Lordship.'' He bowed again to Barthanax, his curls following wildly.

''It's been, what? Three years?'' Barthanax dismounted, approaching Jorge. Jorge did the same. Both men embraced in a bear hug and broke apart, patting each other's shoulder plates.

''More like four I'd say.''

''And Adrian?''

''Grown like a weed. He's inside practicing with my brother. Come. Your men can pass through while you see him.''

The army marched inwards. Another gate opened across to the Firelands, greeting them with a marshy swamp that smelt heavily of brimstone. Barthanax and Jorge turned right into a narrow hallway that opened up into a courtyard-like area. Straw dummies lined one wall while on the other were straw mats terribly painted with targets. An arena lay on the far side where Adrian and his mentor fought, battered and bruised with a cut here and a wound there bleeding slightly. They batted at each other with blunted steel, their breastplates dented from numerous blows. Barthanax approached the arena, and Adrian perked up at the sight of his father but missed the blow that slammed into his face, breaking his nose. The seven year old teared up while his mentor bowed.

''Lord Barthanax. What brings you here?''

''Many reasons.'' It was a blunt answer yet conveyed that he was in a hurry. The mentor nodded.

''I take it with the noise in the hall that you're marching into the Firelands?''

Barthanax nodded slightly. ''We are. As well as I've come to check on my son and station some men here.''

He looked down to his son who was wiping the blood off onto his sleeve. The bottom part of Adrian's face was coated in blood, but he seemed happy to see his father despite the wound.