The Broken Throne (WIP)

Two

In times before many pilgrims used to visit the Chapel of Dawn, now called the Forgotten Chapel,

Before setting out on their long journey to the holy city of Valheim

Once the chapel had been a grand and beautiful structure. Little more than a ruin remained. There were holes in the roof, parts of the walls were crumbling and the faces of the winged, stone guardians have been chipped and worn away. It stood upon a high hill overlooking the city and one could see all the filth and suffering spread out like an infection. Very few, if any, visited the chapel anymore.

As the young man reached the top he encountered a small contingent of knights in shining, gold-tinted armour at the bottom of the chapel's steps. One of the knights turned to greet him.

"Hail brother! Have you come to join in our holy quest?"

"No, I'm here to see the priest. May I ask what your quest entails?"

"We have sworn to protect the Lady Constance on her pilgrimage. She is inside, taking her prayers. We set out very soon."

"Who is Lady Constance?" the young man asked.

"Oh she is the fairest and the wisest maiden to have graced the earth," the knight said heartily. "She is the daughter of Ser Roderick of Castor, who had slain the Serpent of the Deeps."

None of these names mattered much to the young man, but he guessed that they were important. He bowed to the knight and said, "Then I wish you all fortune on your quest and may you reach your journey's end unharmed."

"Are you certain you do not wish to join us? Wither our journey leads I cannot say, but honour and glory awaits!"

"Thank you, but I am on a quest of my own."

"In that case," the knight slammed his gauntlet to his chest plate. "May the Light guide you and good fortune to you brother!"

The man passed the knights and entered through the great wooden door into a wide hall. The pews, broken and rotted, were pushed against the walls, and the tapestries have long since faded. At the very end a hooded figure knelt by the altar, its head bowed. This must be the Lady Constance, he thought. Hundreds of candles burned around the altar. He remained at a distance so as not to bother her.

A tall, grey-haired man in plain robes approached him. "Is there anything I can help you with my son?"

"The Keeper sent me, I'm to see the priest."

"You have found him," the priest inclined his head. The young man handed him the stone. He took it and his expression turned grave. "Follow me."

The priest took him through a side door to a smaller room filled with books and scrolls and a cluttered desk. "So the Keeper sent another did she?" said the priest. Wearily he rubbed his eyes before rummaging in one of the desk drawers. He handed the young man a ring. "Wear this and servants of the Light will recognise you as a friend and lend you aid, but this also means that you will be made an enemy by others."

Hesitantly the young man put the ring on his finger. "How will I know friend from foe?"

"It won't be easy. One may seem like the other, be wary of whom you trust. The first step of your journey is to seek out the Blind King. That path leads through the Darkling Forest."

"But how will I find him?"

"Unfortunately that is all I know. I must also warn you against the Heartless and the Tainted that roam these lands, do not underestimate them even though they may appear weak. Out there are no city walls to protect you. But even worse, perhaps, are those who have been corrupted and turned. Many will try to lead you astray. The others will try to kill you. Do you still wish to walk this path?"

"I see no other way, there is nothing for me here."

The priest nodded sadly. "Very well. All I can say is good luck."

The young man left the chapel, leaving the Lady Constance at the altar and her knights at the bottom of the steps, and descended the hill. He made his way through the city, where decayed buildings crowded together and the streets ran with filth, where the inhabitants murdered and plundered until they drowned in their sin. He couldn't stand the feel of the city on his flesh any longer. Perhaps there was a place where the sun shone, like in the old stories his mother used to tell him as a child.