The Heir of Kings

Chapter Four: The Steward of Gel Carn

Several times, Ronald complained about the long march. He wasn't used to this, and neither was Relma. But Relma didn't feel like complaining.

The odd thing was that Relma was tired. Her feet hurt from the constant march, and her mouth was dry. But she wasn't weary in her mind. She judged that she could keep going like this for a long time. Her feet hurt. But she didn't mind her feet hurting. Relma had never been like other people. She wasn't sure how to feel about the fact. So she thought about things.

And at last, they came out of the woods and saw the castle.

It took Relma's breath away.

Gel Carn had been built into the side of the black mountain, but it was made from white stone. The walls were massive, perhaps thirty feet high. It had thirteen spires, all of the different heights. The rightmost one was the shortest, and they got taller as you looked further left. The tallest of them was on the keep and reached so high that it was taller than the knees of the Black Mountain.

The roofs of the castle glittered in the sun. Was the surface coated in gems? It looked like the road leading up to the gate was cobbled with them. Yet that couldn't be. They must have been colorful stones or magic or something to that effect.

"At last, Gel Carn," said Aren.

"It's beautiful," said Relma.

She didn't feel detached from this. In fact, it was almost familiar. Like Relma was returning to a home she'd never been in. But which had a part of her within it.

"Once, it was the greatest castle in all of Harlenor," said Aren. "Anoa the Bright's capital. But those days are long past."

"You mean it used to be even better?" asked Ronald.

"No," said Aren. "It is one of the few things in this world that hasn't changed. Even so, stonework and city building have come a long way since. It looks wonderful, and there are potent spells on it. But Brisgald in the northwest of Antion is the more remarkable fortification. Still, there is something to be said about history.

"This castle has seen many long years. And it will see many more to come."

"I have never much liked the place," said Aunt Pan. "It reminds me too much of Anoa."

"Isn't that a good thing?" asked Ronald.

"No," said Aunt Pan. "Anoa the Bright and I never got on very well. He was a competent administrator and a great war leader. But he was reckless and bloodthirsty."

"You only saw him toward the end of his reign, Pan," said Aren. "And anyway, you always were a sap for Orsen and Gwendoven."

"Who are they?" asked Ronald.

"Orsen was the greatest knight of Harlenor," said Aunt Pan. "And Gwendoven was Anoa's Queen. They were both very kind to me when I was a girl. Then Anoa had them both butchered."

"Why would he do that?" asked Relma.

"Because they betrayed him. Orsen started it," said Aren.

"There is no excusing what Anoa did, Father," said Pan.

"He might have overreacted," admitted Aren. "But it was Orsen who drove the country into civil war. He created the situation. The situation would have been resolved if he'd just let Anoa burn Gwendoven at the stake."

"He loved her," said Pan.

"He loved another man's wife," shot back Aren. "Now quiet, we're near the gates."

As it turned out, it really was magic. As you drew near the cobblestones, they became steadily less glamorous. It must have been some spell. Even so, the walls only became more imposing. Soon, they came before the gates.