Chương 63: City of Lost Moon (Ⅱ)
Arthur Olvasen:
After the stupid turn of events due to my father, we were currently now in enemy territory.
Although what I found more strange and somewhat interesting were the Warp Gates.
The sensation of passage was subtle, almost too smooth, causing an eerie dissonance to rattle my senses. When my feet finally sank into the soft, ankle-high grass, the abrupt change made me stumble, thrown off balance by the unexpected shift.
After that, nothing much happened. We saw a few wyrms that were there to carry us, but nothing out of the ordinary.
When you have seen and fought elves, frost giants, dwarves, trolls and demons, something like a wyrm fails to keep up in the 'ta-daa, surprise!' department.
For me, at the very least. And while Astrid and Michael showed totally opposite reactions to my own, they were each distinctively different from one another. Astrid was quite excited, scared and every equivalent giddy feeling after seeing it for the first time, all at once.
Meanwhile Michael just boasted about how many he had either killed or captured when wyrm riders attacked Washington DC. And while he might not have noticed the slip-up, it means that Whites have captured Eden's beasts and not reported it.
Are they trying to make a personal army?
It can't be improbable.
The Seven Syndicates have always tried to own personal Arcanum user armies for ages, but the sheer lack of them made it impossible. The ones they were able to get their hands on were either hidden until they breathed their last or killed during a scouting mission or a skirmish between subjects of two or more families.
Well, who am I to talk? We have 2 elves locked up in our basement. Even though I didn't have any say in it, I am still—begrudgingly—a part of it.
Currently we were flying. Not by ourselves, of course, but riding on the wyrms that had arrived as a backup when the guards sensed other Arcanum signatures along with Jayden's which were foreign, alien.
After a while of whining and a gruesome series of trial-and-error, Astrid was able to mount a separate wyrm as well.
Aksel—my father and Jayden were riding in the forefront while me, Astrid and Michael were in the middle with the remaining people flying behind and to our sides, their gazes set on us warily.
In contrast to the approach of people I had seen in the Keep, the demons here were not as hostile. Just…curious.
I could feel one of them—the one that was pushed down by Jayden when he tried to attack us—stealing glances at Astrid. Maybe because she was flying closer to him and he had the reins of her wyrm or it could be some other reason. Who knows. But it made me kind of uncomfortable, for some odd reason.
Michael was riding his with relative ease. His loose hair was flapping wildly in the cold air.
Turning my attention back to myself, I clung lightly to the saddle, feeling the rise and fall of the wyrm's scales beneath the leathery seat. The rhythmic motion of its scales was oddly soothing even as the wind whipped my hair around my face.
High above the ground, the air felt crisp and cool.
My cheeks tingled with the chill, but the rapid beating of my heart and the Arcanum subtly slipping into my node kept me warm.
The landscape below blurred into a patchwork of gauzy, unlit yellow, grey and browns, thin streams snaking through the right populated side of Lawold like silver threads.
I could almost see the small establishment underneath, dotting the unusually bright city, tiny from this height, their thatched roofs glinting in the blue moonlight.
People—normal and couples happily trudged across from one place to another, hands in hand. A romantic tune was playing from the Bard's instrument.
The music was not loud. It was reaching even up here, but it felt like he was playing it in a vacuum. I could tell because the sound waves were not deteriorating. It stayed the same, from the point of origin and then until here.
It was strange. And fascinating at the same time.
My fascination was short-lived as I saw ahead. A massive cathedral-castle loomed right in front of us, not even 3 kilometres away, its towers pointing towards the sky.
It was dark but the walls were a deep, ancient grey, made from stone blocks as big as average houses on Earth.
Banners, flapped in the wind, their colours bright against the stark grey stone. I could make out the movement of guards patrolling the battlements, their silver armour glinting like tiny stars.
Beneath, I felt the wyrm's muscles flex and contract beneath the saddle. The sensation of flight was exhilarating. It was like swimming through the sky, the air rushing past me, filling my ears with its constant hum which went oddly well with the Bard's music.
The wyrm opened its maw as it let out a low rumble, a sound that vibrated through my bones.
"Damn! This thing makes the same noise like that time when I ripped its wings out!" Michael laughed, talking in English instead of the Abrahamic which we had been using until now.
For someone who claims to have a lot of morality towards killing, he sure acts like a psychopath. And then I am the one who takes the brunt of allegations because I did what was right at that moment. Hah…the duality of people.
I felt my eyes widen as we approached the castle. While I had seen Fjellborg, which was one of the most elegant castles on Earth, this was something else. It had a blend of the grace of a cathedral and the security of a fortress.
Tall towers rose up, each crowned with small turrets. Demons with weaker Arcanum signatures were laying down inside it, seemingly hiding from being spotted from the otherwise flat terrain. Bows were ready in their grips and a small pile of quivers full of arrows rested along the inner, circular wall of the turrets.
Atop the turrets in the rear were battlements, with notched crenelations where archers and spears were standing. Narrow arrow slits, like dark eyes, dotted the walls.
The thick curtained walls—that connected the 4 turrets in the first layering of walls—wrapped around the castle, sturdy and solid. They looked almost impenetrable.
The gatehouse was right ahead, its portcullis ready to drop, while the drawbridge that was held by heavy chains, spanned a deep moat below.
Past the gatehouse, I saw the barbican, an extra line of defence projecting outward.
Machicolations jutted from the walls, openings for defenders to drop stones or boiling liquids in case of an invasion.
Beyond the outer bailey I saw a lush courtyard surrounded by the curtain walls.
In the inner bailey was the actual place where—most likely—Jayden and his family lived…the castle's strongest part.
This central tower was taller and thicker and the walls were lined with parapets, low barriers providing safety for guards walking along the top. Ramparts added another layer of defence, broad and sturdy.
The gate towers flanked the main entrance offering even more defence and lookout points. Chimneys rose above the roofline, releasing smoke from the fires inside.
Even though it wasn't all that cold.
"Achoo! Fuck! FUCK!" As Michael wiped his mucus-laden hand against the saddle, I turned my head away from him.
Maybe it really was cold.
Back to the castle, the watchtowers stood even higher.
Murder holes were hidden in the ceiling of the gate passage. As our wyrms circled the castle, I couldn't help but think.
Even modern weapons would have a rough time infiltrating this place. Even after factoring out the aspect of Arcanum augmentation.
The wyrms decelerated and then started to flail their wings sharply, the sound of flapping drowning the almost finished melody of the Bard.
And then they dipped downwards, all of a sudden. The air rushed past me in a blur causing my hair to wave backwards, wildly.
The moment we touched down, I felt a ripple of force surge from the wyrm's body, transferring up through the saddle and into my legs. There was a slight jolt, like a gentle but firm push as the wyrm's claws scratched against the stone ground with a rather displeasing sound.
The scales beneath me quivered with the vibration of the landing.
Letting out a slight grunt, the wyrm turned its head back at me. Its eyes were hollow, and I couldn't exactly put a finger on what colour its irises were. Shaking my head to get rid of any useless thoughts such as the colour of a beast's eye colour, I flipped my feet over and landed deftly on the ground.
The ground underneath was made of sturdy stone.
As everyone unmounted the wyrms one by one, the man flying close to Astrid—the one that was holding the reins of her wyrm—extended a hand to her. Slipping her hand into his, she nervously jumped down.
I was about to go after her, but then I remembered. There was more to the current situation than just worrying about a single thing. We were in a foreign territory. Not only in an extremely hostile area, but in the centre of the giant tornado.
The Castle of The Cromwells.
Word had already reached the castle about our arrival. Hence the reactions of the guards were nothing more than mere curiosity. They looked up and down at us as they were stationed in every corner of the pathway that led to the inside of the main residential part of the castle. It almost felt like we were animals on display inside a zoo.
Demons, mostly commoners, gawked with wide jaws at Michael.
And they are not the ones to blame. If I were them, I would be surprised as well. Michael looked eerily similar to the Cromwells. So much that it was uncanny. Just an addition of fake horns made everyone believe he was someone from their family.
Aksel was walking alongside Jayden. Common courtesy would usually demand the ones who are not the Kings to fall behind the one who is, but I suppose I can't expect common sense from a man who befriended someone who he was hell-bent on killing.
I mean, how does that make sense? How does that work? What was the thought process? I am genuinely intrigued as to what changed the strong emotions of 'I am going to kill this man' into 'I found my best friend.'
It's absurd!
I walked a few steps away from them. At this rate I am sure being in close proximity to him might result in a meltdown of my brain cells.
Not like Michael is any better, but at least there is a consistency in his behaviour.
Once we were inside the castle, I found myself in awe. Once more.
The ceilings were unnecessarily high with arches that appeared to have been carved by giants. Or in our current case. Trolls.
The walls themselves were decorated with thorough detailing. Yet, considering how large the castle was, it was eerily quiet. As if it was holding its breath. Metaphorically, of course.
Was there a need to specify that in my thoughts?
..
..
Nevermind.
After a while of walking through the silent corridor that was lit by the torches on each side of the walls, we stopped right before a series of stairs that spiralled upwards.
Suddenly, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
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