The War of Four

Chapter 4

Zora walked swiftly towards the tall spiral stone pillars of Keep Nerodus. The thick walls were built for a strong defense and displayed no engravings or intricate design of any kind. Garrins had very little interest in creative practices such as art. They found it all quite frivolous and frankly an utter waste of energy. Nearly all time and effort had to be directed to war, strategy, and finding and training new soldiers. Little thought was given to food for they had a surplus of it. And no discussion was given to where to evacuate villagers in the case of a breach for each and every citizen was trained in battle even if it was just for two or three years. This allowed everyone in Garrin to be able to fight in the War of Four spare those too young or too old for serious combat. Even those with young children were expected to join the fight and if their home was attacked and their child killed, no pity was to be shown to the family for it meant they failed to fight hard enough to protect it. Each life lost was a symbol of weakness therefor Garrins had no belief in the afterlife. They believed there was great glory in surviving rather than dying in honorable battle. It showed strength and determination, quite valued traits in Garrin.

The guards stationed around the Keep stiffened as Zora approached and quickly pulled open the mighty steel doors. Holding the massive doors to the side with one hand they balled their sword hand into a tight fist and pressed it to their chest in salute. She gave the soldiers a short nod and headed in. Her ribs still ached but she ignored the pain. Her arm was wrapped in thick gauze but blood had still managed to soak all the way through. The stone on the inside of the keep was polished and there were a few potted plants that sat against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye Zora watched a servant scurry to scrub the floor where she had stepped, for she had accidentally tracked the bloodied dirt that still clung to the bottom of her shoes along the hallway. The servant was Kahiitan as shown by the three small circles that lay under each eye and now glowed a pale white, showing her fear and urgency. She felt the young servant girl sneaking glances at her, the circles under her eyes flashing light shades of purple with curiosity and awe along with the flecks of white from terror. Zora forced her gaze ahead, not wanting her eyes to catch the unmistakable brand on her arm of a child sold by Dreg Slavers. The one that had been burned into her skin as well, many years ago...
Zora shook the painful memories from her troubled thoughts and turned a corner and strode down a second hallway, one that would lead her to the mighty throne room. She shoved the heavy steal doors aside and entered a room of incredible size.

The walls were smooth granite covered with racks of mighty weapons. Massive swords once wielded by the greatest of warriors. Large axes crafted by Welniks, bows from the skilled Skian archers, and even the short handheld daggers of Kahiitan warriors lined the walls as trophies of the many battles Garrin has won over the ages. Two chairs crafted from polished gold sat at the far end of the room. She looked up at the tall seat where King Brutus Nerodus sat beside his wife Juno. His chair was taller than hers for he was of direct royal blood and therefor held more power.

Brutus was a tall man with a long face that seemed frozen in a stern expression. He had a neatly trimmed short beard and a bald head. His eyes were a menacing red brown and his lips were pulled into a scowl. He was cold and unforgiving, aiming always to kill with a swift and merciless strike each time he fought. Brutus carried more blood on his hands than anyone else in the kingdom and showed not even the slightest remorse after a slaughter. Many silently questioned his sanity for the sight of death did not disturb him in the least, in fact, it was the only thing that caused him to smile.

Juno wore a thin face and crooked nose. She had short, spiked dark hair and madness in her cold black eyes. Her face was often twisted into a cruel smile that sent chills down ones spine. She had made it her game to pit her two daughters against one another in ruthless competitions that often ended in spilled blood. She found joy in pain and chaos and her obvious insanity was unquestionable. Yet she ruled in a seemingly calm manner, which was all the more terrifying in Zora's opinion.