The Mortal Soulbinder (Severed Gods, #1)

Chapter XIII: Tymund

Tymund

Tymund walked through the city in a daze. He couldn't remember what had happened after the Elf had told him about the... Daerifters. He had not felt fear like that in a very, very long time. It shamed him. He had certainly fled without saying a word from the elf, intending to immediately inform the Royal Party of his discovery. However, in a moment of clarity, he realised that the fools would probably not believe him and condemn him a madman. Tymund wouldn't blame them - he would do the same if he were them. So, he decided not to head back to Citadel right away, and instead search for his fool of a sister. First, however, he needed to make sure that his sister would not recognsie his fear, so he began pacing the streets to try and compose himself, like a king's son should be. How long that would take, Tymund couldn't guess. 

If he were to feel no fear at such nonsense and move forward, he would have to show confidence - or rather, feign the confidence, as he usually did in the Royal Court. If truth be told, Tymund grew somewhat nervous whilst attending Royal meetings and many a time had to conceal his shaking hands. In fact, Tymund always grew a tight throat before meeting with his father concerning a Royal event. Even now, in his twenty-seventh year, had still had nightmares preceding Royal events, fearing that he would do something shameful in front of the Royal party and especially his father and sister. Myrel would never let him live it down. However, Tymund knew that he was an extremely good actor because, as far as he knew, nobody suspected him of his nervousness around the court. Naturally, it was something he dare not admit. Even to himself. 

So, if he could successfully feign confidence in the Royal court, he could feign confidence about the... Daedrifters– 

Tymund stopped dead in his tracks, curling his fists to try and stop them from trembling. The twisted, hideous creatures flashed in his mind. He had never actually seen them before, but he pictured them as a horrifying blackness. His breath had suddenly become ragged. Why was the fear getting to him so? After all, the Daedrifters weren't actually real, were they? They were merely legends, the type of stories that his mother used to read to him and Myrel when they were younger. They were part of children's stories... Yes, that's it, his breath was only like that from rushing, not from feeling fear... The King's son would never fear a childish story...

Gulping down the fear in a tight throat, Tymund continued on his way with large strides, hands in pockets. In an attempt to distract himself, he started to hum a tune, glancing around at the sprawling capital city. As to be expected, the Citadel was the biggest city in the Asneth Province and second largest in all of Riel, being bested by the Northernmost major city, Wiverlynn, in the Balarith Province, around an eighty-mile journey from the Capital (if you had a sturdy steed, that is). However, Tymund had always thought the Citadel to be the most glorious of all the cities. 

Currently, Tymund was walking through the most opulent side of the city. This was where the noblemen prospered, allowing a myriad of their successful and luxurious shops to thrive, including Royal tailor shops, salons, Royal barber-surgeons, bookshops, the Royal blacksmith, bakeries, butchers, carpenters, fishmongers and various other workshops open to the passing astriocrats. Tymund's favourites were, of course, the Royal blacksmith and Royal fletcher-bowyer workshop. He often visited them weekly to retrieve his newly forged sword and bow. But he wouldn't be visiting them today. 

This side of the Citadel, colloquially called Astriocrats Avenue, was were Tymund felt most comfortable, which helped to dissipate his prior fear somewhat. Pristine, golden rooftops span the entire Astriocrats Avenue, sparkling like polished golden ore from above. All workshop doors were painted lime green, each the product of exactly ten strokes from the most expensive paint in the world, deported all the way from Ironmere. A broad and imposing mixture of mountain ash, black ash, white ash, and elm trees delineated the circumference of Astriocrats Avenue, demarcating it from the impoverished and shunned side of the Citadel, Beggars Alley, which meant that the trees were appreciated by everyone. Not to mention, the lush leaves also provided an appreciated shade from the sun in the blistering summer. Lines of whitewashed paths split like daggers through the streets, each marble stone cut precisely and laid with immaculate precision, running to and from shops, as straight as pine branch. These paths were cleaned every hour, to ensure that the Avenue was spotless at all times.