Armour

Chapter 3: A Royal Tragedy

We were awoken by a deafening trumpet call, a clarion note that pierced the quiet of the early dawn. It was the call of the royal family, unmistakable and urgent. I harbored little affection for King Albert, but such sentiments were best kept to oneself. To voice dissent would invite swift retribution—perhaps a stint in the stocks, or worse, the dreaded breaking wheel. I shuddered at the thought.

With little time to spare, we rushed to the royal court, our boots striking the cobblestones in a rhythmic cadence. The castle loomed above us, its weathered spires casting long shadows over the assembled knights and commoners. King Albert IV stood at the center of the hall, his face a mask of grief and rage. He announced, his voice trembling, that his beloved daughter Eliza had been abducted by a greedy dragon—the very one that made its lair in the tallest tower of Erryre Castle. The beast was notorious for its fiery breath and insatiable appetite for gold.

“How could he?!” the king roared, his anger echoing through the chamber. His tears, unbidden, traced lines down his cheeks, and for a moment, the court was silent, save for the rustle of armor and the uneasy shifting of feet.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I mumbled, bowing my head.

The king’s gaze swept over the assembly and settled on me. “You there, what are you doing with the knights? Serf scum,” he spat, his contempt palpable. His words stung, but I dared not react. To strike a king meant certain death—hanging, perhaps, or the breaking wheel. Neither option appealed.

“He is an apprentice of mine,” Chester interjected, his tone flat and unyielding.

“Him?!” the king demanded, incredulous.

“He has proven himself worthy. Ask Oswald,” Chester replied, gesturing toward the burly knight.

Oswald, reluctant but honest, admitted, “It’s true, he beat me in a brawl.”

The king’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Very well. Please, rescue my dear Eliza! Any questions?” he asked, his voice now edged with desperation.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes! Where is the dragon, and what is its name? Is the journey going to be dangerous?”

“The dragon is perched on the Erryre Castle in the tallest tower,” the king said. “I believe he is called Elkhyra.”

“Why can’t other people save her?” I asked, puzzled as to why such a monumental task had fallen to us.

The king’s face darkened. “They are all dead, perished in the wild. Killed by monsters and the Moroj. None have come back alive,” he said, his voice thick with horror.

Oswald, ever the pragmatist, spoke up. “Fine, but we better get something out of this!”

The king’s lips curled into a faint smile. “How does one hundred Caperci sound?” he teased.

“Sounds great!” Garrett exclaimed. Like him, I needed the coin. My parents could use the money, and the promise of reward steeled my resolve.

“Great! Now go to the Shellish Caverns. That’s your first task,” the king commanded. We did not resist, and so our journey began.

The path to the Shellish Caverns was anything but straightforward. The trail twisted and turned, winding through dense thickets and across rocky outcrops. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the occasional cry of a distant bird punctuated the quiet. As we marched, our group’s nerves were taut, each member lost in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, a wolf emerged from the underbrush, its yellow eyes glinting with hunger. Without hesitation, I drew my sword and struck the beast down. Richard shot me a look of disgust, though I could not fathom why. Perhaps he was unnerved by my readiness to kill, or perhaps there was something more.

“What the hell is in these b****y caverns, anyway?” Garrett whined, his voice breaking the silence.

“Monsters and devils,” I joked, only to receive a sharp punch to the shoulder from Chester.

“I’m only joking,” I said, rubbing my arm. Even I knew that monsters could lurk anywhere in these ancient lands.

“No time for jokes,” Chester warned, his tone stern.

Winston, ever the voice of reason, added, “Helps with not going insane,” his dry chuckle a brief respite from the tension.

“I feel insane around you, Richard!” Oswald teased, his words laced with mirth.

Richard, though clearly irritated, maintained his composure. “Aww, you do? You are most welcome,” he hissed in reply.

I sensed the growing tension within the group and urged everyone to stay calm.

“I am calm!” half the knights exclaimed in unison, though their voices betrayed their unease.

After several hours of travel, we finally reached the entrance to the Shellish Caverns. Night had fallen, and the cavern’s mouth yawned before us like the maw of some great beast. The air was cooler here, and a faint, eerie glow emanated from within.

“Any objections?” I asked the weary band of warriors.

“Nope, let’s just get some sleep,” Oswald cried, punctuating his words with a massive yawn. Soon, half the group followed suit.

As the others settled in for the night, it was just Richard and I who remained awake. Richard slipped into the forest, and, driven by curiosity, I followed. What I saw next would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Richard was not human.