.jpg)
The Eighth Sin
Extract from The Eighth Sin
“You are searching for an ancient relic, are you not?”
“How did you,” Arvyn started, clearing his throat as he regained his composure. “As a scholar, I am certainly interested in the history and lore of my kingdom.”
She smirked, letting out a gentle chuckle as her fingers slowed to a stop. Her thin body seemed ready to break at any moment as she stood, her long white skirts billowing around her legs in the gentle breeze.
“You have the Mark of Oleksander,” she whispered, her eyes momentarily clouding over. “Do you wish to see Dunsberg’s biggest secret?”
She gestured for the strangers to follow as she stepped over the ancient threshold of her crumbling tower, removing the lit torch from the wall.
“Your Highness, this could be a trap,” Daryl hissed, grabbing the prince’s arm.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my wits about me. Besides, I have you with me.”
The entryway was narrow, not wide enough for the prince and his trusted guardian to stand side by side. The floor was layered with the same dull cobblestones as its exterior, the whitewashed walls devoid of any detail. A spiral staircase lay before them, leading up into the tower and deeper underground.
She glided down the well-worn steps, her long white skirts gently embracing the ancient stone.
“How much do you know of the Gods of Nour, Your Highness?”
The prince blinked in the darkness.
“They were the deities that our ancestors worshipped before the Demon War five hundred years ago. The stories say that they were selfish and cruel monsters who ravaged humanity,” the prince replied, following her closely. “Realistically, they were probably just nefarious criminals worshipped as gods.”
She stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the young stranger.
“Long ago, this land was divided into many different kingdoms, all vying for power. They fought for centuries, the borders constantly shifting. Seeing this weakness, eight demons came to seize control of these lands.”
Having reached the bottom, the ground began to even out, leading into a large room, already adorned with lit sconces.
Dozens of cold stone faces watched from small alcoves cut into the walls around them, their hands clasped tightly over swords or axes for all eternity. From their broad features, it was clear that they were the past lords of Dunsberg Castle, the second oldest family in the entire kingdom.
“In the great Battle of the Demons, King Oleksander the First cut them down, his sword of pure light shattering the darkness that had spread over the land. But, the eight Gods of Nour could not be killed, for they were too powerful. So, he trapped their souls in the land of the dead. Only his descendent may break the seal and release them, granting him the Sword of Nour. But, the cost of their release will be great.”
She turned her deep crimson eyes on him, the light dancing on her pupils as she smiled.
“Or so the tales say, Your Highness.” She shrugged nonchalantly.
“I will pay any price I must to defend this kingdom,” Arvyn said, his jaw clenched as his hand subconsciously rested on the hilt of his untested sword.
Daryl stood behind him, silently placing his hand on the prince’s shoulder.
She smirked.
“There is an altar, hidden in the Temple of Nour. You must return the seven artefacts; beloved trinkets that, once returned to the temple in which these gods are entombed, will summon them back to this realm. They were hidden over the kingdom hundreds of years ago, before Oleksander erased their existence from all records.”
“And how are you so knowledgeable?”
Daryl’s eyes narrowed at her.
“At the end of the Demon War, the Dunsberg family was charged with guarding the location of the Temple of Nour for all eternity.” She smiled softly, tilting her head. “This story has been passed down diligently for generation upon generation of the Dunsberg family.”
Cliona stepped gracefully to the centre of the room, where a black marble tablet stood vigil. Her hand gently caressed the ancient silver runes chiselled into the smooth stone. Eight small gemstones were embedded into a perfect circle on the marble. In the centre was a large silver rune that seemed to glow in the dim light of the crypt.
“So you know the locations of these items?” The prince interjected.
“The legend says that King Oleksander banished the followers of each god to their own otherworldly domains. It is said that only Oleksander’s heir can be granted a guide to these domains and reclaim the items.”
The two men looked at each other, the knight’s hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Cliona sighed, her fingers gently running over the black monolith beside her.
“Dunsberg Castle was built around this monument almost three hundred years ago, to keep its secrets safe. According to the legends, when all artefacts are collected and ready to be returned to the Temple of Nour, these gems will glow, and a gateway to the Demon Realm will open.”
“Why would anyone want to release the demons?” Daryl asked firmly, his steely eyes cold in the darkness. “A mythical weapon would not be worth the cost of releasing such monsters.”
Cliona gritted her teeth as she turned away from them.
“Only by collecting all seven of the artefacts and returning them to the Temple of Nour can a descendant of the First King claim the Sword of Nour. The blade itself is said to control the Demon Lords, if scriptures are to be believed. By controlling the Demon Lords, one could control the entire Demon Army and vanquish any foe.”
Arvyn turned to his uncle. “Uncle, this is a chance to protect our country from the Glerian Empire. Surely you must see that as a blessing?”
The old knight clenched his jaw.
“Your Highness, please reconsider this.”
She smiled sadly, turning her face to the prince.
Ever since he was young, he had had a fascination with old myths and tales. Perhaps it was because they were the happiest, clearest memories that he had of his mother before she died. Or, perhaps he was simply drawn to fantastical tales of magic.
He turned to his uncle, hoping his smile was less nervous than he felt. “It couldn’t hurt to try it, Daryl. Besides, we did come looking for proof of a mythical weapon hidden in the north and we’ve finally found it!”
“Your Highness,” the bodyguard sighed, his eyes pleading as he squeezed his nephew’s shoulders tightly.
Arvyn pushed his uncle away, looking at Cliona.
“All right. What must I do?”
Cliona smiled, walking to one of the nearby statues, the face completely eroded with age. She pressed her hand over the figure’s chest, muttering something in a strange ancient language that Arvyn was unfamiliar with. As she stepped back, the prince noticed a flint dagger with a black iron hilt resting on a golden cloth in her hands.
She stopped in front of the golden prince, placing the dagger in his expectant hands.
“You must willingly feed your blood to the stone,” she whispered, ignoring the tense duke unsheathing his sword. “If it is satisfied that you are, indeed, a true heir of Oleksander the First then it shall bestow upon you a gift to guide you.”
Arvyn looked down at the dagger.
As a prince, he had participated in dozens of hunts and tournaments in the last twelve years. He may never be as skilled with a sword as his eldest brother Oleksander, but he had certainly never shied away from them either. And yet, he had not once actually harmed another person, let alone allowed himself to be injured.
Daryl lay his hand on the prince’s shoulder.
“This does not sound like a wise decision, Your Highness. I strongly recommend that we leave this place at once.”
“Ultimately, the choice is yours,” Cliona said softly, turning her back to the prince.
The prince swallowed, aware of the dozens of stone eyes watching, waiting for his decision.
Finally, he stepped to the monument.
Taking the blade in his hand, he closed his eyes as he sliced through his open palm, grinding his teeth against the sharp pain. Wincing, he lifted his palm to the monolith, the dark marble cool beneath his jagged flesh.
As soon as he made contact with the stone, his head began to pound. His breathing and heart sounded loud in his ears as his hand grew warm. The silver runes around the edge of the stone turned crimson as it greedily drank his blood. He clutched at his chest as pain coursed through his entire body, his skin burning.
Daryl made to move towards his charge, only to be blocked by an expressionless Cliona.
“Causing harm to the Royal Family is treason!” The duke spat, raising his longsword towards her.
“If you interrupt the ritual then he will surely die.”
“How dare you!”
Just as he raised his sword, the prince fell to his knees, coughing.
Cliona silently held her breath, as the duke ran to him, the worry clear on his normally stern face.
The prince sat on his heels, his breath coming quickly as his uncle wrapped his large arms around his shoulders. As he looked down, his vision hazy, he saw a pristine book resting on the floor at his feet, a subtle silver glow dissipating around it. The black letters on the red velvet cover seemed to transform as he gazed at it, turning from runes to the alphabet he was used to.
The Incomplete Histories of the Conquerors of the Twelve Realms.
Arvyn clutched the book tightly to his chest as the duke helped him to his feet, consciousness trying to escape him.