The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Thirteen

It was a quiet evening. The air was stale and not a single leaf on any branch swayed so much as an inch as Arch Chancellor Velgar wandered slowly along the inner walls of the Castle and down towards the dungeons. It was a terrible place, where the soft smooth stone was replaced with cracked and jagged rocks that had been crudely shaped into steps which led a narrow pathway down into the large sunken courtyard. There was a darkness that surrounded this place, and a low hanging mist seemed ever-present. Velgar kept close to the wall as he made way down the stairway, a thick chain had been erected and ran along him, with huge iron holdings hammered deep into the rock. At the bottom of the stairs, with the darkness surrounding him and the sound of water dripping gently down onto the mossy ground beneath his feet, Velgar came to the thick wooden door that led into the main courtyard. He knocked twice, and after a moment heard the sound of chains being unbound and locks being opened. The door opened slowly, as if the very wood itself wished to stay closed to the World beyond its walls. A tall man stood before the Chancellor, with a broad sword at his waist and thick  armour against his skin.
'Name.' The man grunted.
'Arch Chancellor Velgar.' The Chancellor returned with a smile. The man looked at the visitor with emotionless emerald eyes, nodded and moved aside. The Chancellor moved slowly across the ground, his feet making soft padding sounds against the damp earth beneath him. He looked around, there was a small group of armed men standing at six feet intervals around the edge of the yard, each with a large thick broadsword and shield in each hand. Most of the cells were empty of occupants, and now used for storing grains. Velgar passed by the cells quickly, a shudder going along his spin like a spider climbing a web. He passed torch after torch, but the darkness enveloped nearly all light that surrounded him. Against the walls that towered above him there was thick moss entangled with the roots of weeds and long dead scaling plants. There were few who now sat awaiting sentencing in the dungeons of Ceraborn, and Brodon always preferred a proficient system of justice. However, there was one who sat within this darkened courtyard whom Brodon would never allow to be sent to Kraven's Point. The Chancellor came upon the cell, it's wall thick and strong and the roof a thick slab of rock that had been cut away before thick iron bars were moulded into crudely made posts.
'Henrin?' Velgar called out into the darkness of the cell. His hands clutching the cold iron. The steady dripping of the water along the wall was the only sound to break the silence. Velgar's eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, but a moment later the hunching silhouetted figure of Henrin, second son of Haurtaff, Brother of King Brodon II of the West, came into view.
'Henrin? Are you able to speak?' Velgar asked. The figure remained hunched, unmoving and silent.
'I must speak with you. I must-'
Within a second the old man's hand was in the grasp of an unseen grip from within the cell. He tried to pull away, but the strength of the man within the cell was too strong.
'You must speak with me now? Am I a dog to you, Velgar? Where were you when I requested your council?' Said a low, whispering voice. Velgar stopped a moment and brought his gaze up to the face of Henrin. He looked older than his years, betrayed by his time within this cell. His hair, once light and soft was matted and dark, with his eyes now deep set within a tired looking weary face. The old man could do nothing in sight of the fallen Prince, nothing except let tears fall from his face and softly fall to the ground. Henrin let go of the man, shoving him back into the moonlight momentarily.
'What is done is done. The hours I have spent lementing on my mistakes have been countless. Henrin, you must believe me now, because I believe in you.' Velgar said, his voice trembling. Henrin's eyes narrowed and he stood forward facing the Chancellor directly.
'You believe me?' He said.
Velgar nodded.
'Why now?' Asked the Prince.
'I have kept close watch over your brother, and since the first sightings of the beast in the Tower I have seen moments of...change.' Velgar returned.
'As his eyes were not his own and his voice darkened.' Henrin replied quickly.
Again the Chancellor nodded in agreement.
'My brother is a good man, but if his mind is corrupted then we may have no other choice but to destroy him.' Henrin said, his voice trailing to a whisper.
'The King has his mind, for now. Though these moments are coming more and more.'
'And they said I was mad.' Henrin said with a chuckle. Velgar looked now at the Prince with different eyes, and saw what remained of the noble man that once was. The brothers were not who they once had been, and Velgar worried if it was too late to save them both.
'What do you know of these changes?' Velgar asked.
'They came not long after the birth of his child. That day changed him, suddenly he had someone to protect. His own blood, his own seed. I do not know how or why, but soon after I saw the changes within him. They began as quick flashes, mere seconds, where he seemed to be unaware of anything around him. Then they grew stronger, I watched him speak with advisors, and I watched his eyes closely and saw the look of a man who was not my brother. Those were the eyes of a man who hates all that Brodon and my family stand for, and who hates all that is in this world.' Henrin said.
'There are legends of men who have long since been dead, but who did not pass over to the Gods.' Velgar replied knowingly.
'And there are rumours of dark sorcery in this land. Of those who made pacts with men who sought nothing but to devour all living things.' Henrin replied.
'So you do believe it to be him.' Velgar asked.
'Yes, I do.' Henrin returned with a nod of his head.
Velgar nodded, almost to himself, and looked back out into the courtyard.
'The High Lords are meeting within the next few days. The Archers will go to Cerran, a dragon has destroyed the stronghold.' He said in a whisper. Henrin could not take the news in, his eyes darted from the Chancellor's eyes to the floor and back.
'He is beginning to grow in strength.' Henrin said, grasping at the iron bars of his cell.
'I fear so.' Velgar replied.
'Then we must act fast. The child and mother must be sent East. We do not know how strong the connection may become. He will kill them if he sees a chance.' Henrin said.
'The King will never allow it!' Velgar protested.
'Then do not tell the King!' Henrin returned.
The sound of distant footsteps caught them off guard.
'Go to my Chambers, there is a hidden chest with a book of the Elder Folk. I read about this kind of curse, this kind of sorcery. The Gall and the Gallerbond. That it what he is using, that is what has cursed my brother.' Henrin said frantically. He grabbed at the old man, held him close to the bars of the prison cell and looked into his eyes for a sign of trust and reassurance.
'May the Gods bless you my boy. Soon you will be free, I am sure of it.' Velgar said, and a moment later he was gone. Henrin watched the man waddle away into the darkness, listening closely as the footsteps came ever closer. There was silence, followed by whispers carried along on the midnight winds. The Prince held himself close to the bars still, though he made sure to ready himself to head back into the darkness, the guards cared little for the man they called the 'Mad Prince of Ceraborn'. He watched along the fortresses, the small silhouettes of men walking slowly along them with thin spears and large oval shields in hand and newly polished armour glistening in the moonlight. He remembered back through the years, to himself as a youth when he climbed along those same walls and shot arrows out in the hopes of catching a deer or rabbit unaware as the creatures grazed upon the grassy slopes that lined the South side of the compound. His father had disapproved of his insistence on staying around this area of the castle, for in those days dangerous men awaiting trial would be kept within these cells. When he was perhaps eight or nine, and his Father had received word of his son spying upon the place, he had had Henrin walked along the walls and into the dungeons by Ser Garston the Black. Ser Garston was a fierce man, even at his tender age the Prince knew well enough that Ser Garston was a trusted man to the Crown. He had the eyes of a crow, soulless but with signs of cunning. Short thick legs and a wide back showed his years of hard labour building ships in the Southern ports as a young man, and the scars on his  wrists told a thousand tales of bare knuckles fights and tournaments that now had been outlawed. Garston came from no lineage, and he never sought a wife or any companion. Henrin shuddered as he heard the man's voice within his mind on that cold winter day, as he dragged the Prince through the courtyard with a small party of Knights behind him. In those days the dungeons were full, often with three or more men to a cell. That day was situated deep within the years of the King's madness, and several out of favour advisors had found themselves within those cold stone walls. More often than not, after the failed attempts to send ships across to the Further West in search of the Elder Kingdoms, many men had deserted their post from the Kingsmen. They now found themselves locked within these cells too, shadows of their former selves and shuddering in the cold air with nought but old rags for comfort and warmth. He could still remember the smell of the place back then. It didn't bare thinking about. Henrin was the first to notice the madness that began to dwell within his father, a man whom he loved and feared in equal measure. As a boy, the Old King would not hesitate to show his dominance to his sons by use of his fists or belt. The relationship the two had had faded slowly, as a cliff against the currants of the shoreline. It began as Henrin had told to Velgar, but never had the Prince sought to confront his father. He knew all too well that he would face even more than a fist if he dared as question his father's sanity. In fact, Henrin had been chosen as the King's representative aboard the next expedition out into the unknown Kingdoms of the Further West, a venture that would not sail during the two men's lifetimes. It was this venture, propositioned by the Old King as the start of a new dawn for the West, and the legacy of his own Father to conquer the Kingdoms of the West, that eventually led to Henrin becoming engaged with the scrolls of the Elder Folk that were kept hidden deep within the walls of the Castle. The young Prince spent night after night day after day and countless summer evenings pouring over those texts and fragments. He was a wise and intelligent man, able to translate the text and discover the world of the men who had held this land before the New folk of his Grandfather. Through careful study, and intense dedication he soon found that the words came forth with the stories they were apart of, and with them came legends of good and evil, of Kings and Queens and immortal men who used dark sorcery against the fierce enemies that looked to conquer those peaceful lands. Entire lineages were wiped from the Earth, with Father and Son slain together on the battlefields and legions of men lost in the mists of the Mountains in the West. Darkness had befallen the lands for decades as men fought against one another for what they thought as 'true' and 'right'. This was no battle of monsters or demons. This was a war of men.