The Forgotten Kingdom

Chapter 4

    The mayor’s manor had never really felt like it belonged. To start, it was at least three stories tall, and Desmond had once heard that there were a hundred rooms within the manor. Even more unusual was the fact it was built from stone, when every other part of the town, including its walls, was made with wood and pitch. Surrounding the entire estate was an iron fence, complete with an iron gate that was always manned by at least two of the mayor’s personal guard, and as far as Desmond was aware, they never let anyone inside who didn’t have official business with the mayor. Which lead Desmond to wonder what business he could possibly have with him.

    He was forced from his thoughts by the sudden stop of the carriage, which jolted his body forward – almost enough to send him to the floor. He felt his face heat from the decidedly judgmental look on the guard’s face as he slid out of the carriage, holding the door for Desmond. Wordlessly, Desmond followed the guard’s lead.

    The doors to the manor were much larger up close than he had expected, at least ten feet tall and made of thick wood. Seeing the whole structure up close almost gave the impression of a castle, and that didn’t change when the huge double doors were opened to a grand foyer. The entry was lined by dark marble columns with gold trim, the floor had a deep red carpet that trailed from the entrance to the staircase. Desmond wasn’t entirely sure what kind of wood was used for the banister, but he was almost certain it wasn’t anything native to the surrounding forest. The walls were lined with portraits of important figures from the Byron lineage, including the first Chieftain, Byron himself.

    When he was a child, Desmond had learned that the Byrons led the people of Ignis to the snowy north over six hundred years ago, there he met one of the spirits that lit the sky with a rainbow of colors, a spirit of fire that denied Byron and his people entry to the north. Enraged that he couldn’t lead his people into the tundras because of the spirit, he challenged it to hand-to-hand combat. The spirit accepted, some say it admired Byron’s passion for his people, some say it was simply bored, but everyone agreed on what happened during their fight. At some point, Byron and the spirit were locked in an even struggle, each taking and losing control of their hold – so closely matched, the spirit and Byron’s forms merged into one, imbuing Byron and his blood with the power to harness fire, the very warmth that would allow he and his people to survive in  the north.

    It was why Hyram held any authority, in Desmond’s opinion. He was a Byron, and by right of his magic, he held authority. One rough winter, he saw Mayor Hyram use his powers. He was a child but even he knew that the people were growing restless, later he’d been told that there was talk of deposing of Hyram from some fringe elements. That was when the bandit attack happened.

    This was before the walls had been built, and was the same attack that Argent’s father had died in.

    During the attack, Desmond was hiding in a barrel, hoping not to be found.  That was when he saw the mayor’s gate open; it was the first time he’d seen Hyram in the flesh. He can’t be sure how much of his memory is accurate, but Desmond felt he was taller than anyone he’d ever seen, he was wearing the same armor that his personal guard wore but the crest on his chest felt like it was glowing like a dull ember.

    And the blade in his hand.

    No longer than his forearm but made entirely of fire.

    The image of that blade was seared into his memory. It was so bright and Hyram didn’t seem bothered by its heat in the slightest.

    That was when a bandit stuck his head out from an alley and aimed a crossbow at him. Hyram just pointed his blade at him and a stream of burning embers shot out at the bandit, seeing that made Desmond drop into the bucket, where he hid until the attack was over.

    That was the day that Desmond understood why the Byrons were in charge. No one could be given that power and be challenged except by someone with powers like that. That was how the Chieftain was selected. The strongest with the courage or foolishness to challenge the sitting Chieftain and kill them in hand to hand – or rather power to power - combat. The process was called an Ordeal. Brenneka, the current Chieftain, had killed her own father in an Ordeal. She’s been challenged since, he’d heard, but he couldn’t imagine anyone being ruthless enough to beat someone who could kill their own father.

    “Are you done drooling on the floor?” The guard asked, “Mayor Hyram is waiting.”

    Desmond jumped at the voice. He really had forgotten that he was here for anything other than gaping at the décor. The guard had walked to the middle of the foyer while Desmond was gawking at paintings and thinking about history.

    “Well?”

    “Sorry sir,” Desmond spoke quickly, finally moving from the entrance to meet the guard. He huffed at Desmond’s behavior, before leading him to the side of the foyer towards a closed door that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The guard opened the door and Desmond swallowed his fear as he entered.

    The new room he found himself in was startling. In the center was the head of a giant elk, whose antlers were made from some kind of gray crystal. Each antler was the size of Desmond’s entire body. The walls were decorated with the heads or pelts of all manner of creatures, they were mostly regular trophies from nonmagical animals that he’d seen, like deer heads or fox pelts, except one trophy: the head of a fire wolf that was hung above the fireplace. He wasn’t sure what he thought a dead one looked like, but the creature’s head was covered in an almost rocklike skin that would normally be entirely engulfed in orange flames. Its eyes seemed to glow even in death.

    Suddenly, a small flame hit the dead wolf’s head, lighting up the creature so it looked alive once more, and Desmond followed the path it took back to its origin. The pointed finger from the gloved hand of Hyram Byron, looking annoyed, and even more predatory then the currently burning fire wolf.

    “Desmond Klein, I presume?”

    Mayor Hyram looked much different than Desmond remembered, he was tall, as he remembered, but he was not in as good shape as he remembered him being. That was over a decade ago, and his once bright blond hair was now dull and graying at the sides, the signs of age had worked their way onto his skin, and his muscles were less-defined. Somehow, all of this was more imposing than the man who’d burnt a bandit alive in front of him.

    “That’s me, sir,” Desmond almost whispered as he hung his head in humility.

    “Sit,” Hyram ordered, pointing at the couch sitting opposite his own. It was an order Desmond immediately followed. “Do you know why I’ve asked you here?” Mayor Hyram asked as he removed the stopper on a glass decanter and poured two glasses of some dark liquid. He could smell the alcohol from where he sat.

    “I don’t, sir.” Hyram sipped from his glass and leaned back, making no motion to offer Desmond the other.

    “You haven’t even tried to guess. Go ahead, I’m sure you can think of something,” he sounded both annoyed and bored.

    Desmond wracked his brain for a long moment in silence, long enough for Hyram to finish the drink he’d poured. He set the glass aside, leaning forward as he grabbed the other drink and cleared his throat.

    “Well? Have you come up with anything yet, boy?”

    “No sir, I’m sorry sir.” Desmond felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

    “How dreadfully boring,” the man sighed as he leaned back once more, the second drink in his hand, “You found something I am told. Does that call anything to mind?”

    “The brick?” Desmond asked, blinking.

    “Yes. The brick. Obviously, you can’t have done anything else remotely interesting for me to care about,” Mayor Hyram said, swirling the remaining drink in his cup. Desmond tried not to feel indignant about that.

    “What about the brick.”

    “Have you told anyone about it?”

    “No.”

    “Good. Did you ever go back to look into it further?”

    “No… what’s so special about this brick?”

    “Oh nothing, nothing at all…” Mayor Hyram stopped to look at his drink, “Oh I might as well say it, I’m sure those laborers will spread tales of their own. Apparently one of them found it was apart of a path that led to some outpost, we believe it was the hideout for those bandits that attacked a while ago.” He drank what remained in his glass. “I trust you will be quiet about this. It must be inspected to make sure there are no more ruffians hiding out there.”

    Desmond wasn’t sure how to process that information. It made sense, the bandits had to come from somewhere, but he’d never considered they’d have anything so formal as a hide out.

    “Are you going to be taking guards?”

    “I think you’ve made a mistake about what this visit of yours is,” Hyram said, setting down the glass with a pointed glare, “You do not have the right to ask me anything. You are to answer mine, and you have. You are not to tell anyone about this meeting, nor are you to discuss what we spoke about here. Is that understood?”

    Desmond felt his voice catch in his throat. He could only muster up the smallest nod.

    “Good. Now leave the way you’ve come in,” he said, waving him off. Desmond stood quickly and hurried to the door, “oh and one more thing,” Hyram said, stopping Desmond right at the entrance. “If I find out you did tell someone, or that you lied to me about following that brick path… there will be serious consequences.” He said, just as the fire burnt out on the fire wolf’s head. It was unharmed it seemed.

    The door opened before Desmond could respond, and the guard led him away.