Tale of Four

The words lingered in Tristan’s mind as they stood in silence, staring at the throne. The silence dragged on, the two enjoying the silence, using it to digest what the other had just argued, saying nothing more that could show they had been swayed by the other. Only when Annabell landed on his head and began pecking him did Tristan move. Annabell flew off, and following her, he saw her flying towards a man wearing the golden armour of a king’s guard.

Tristan narrowed his gaze and watched as Ser Bryan Halls approached, his white, almost grey skin unnatural in Veston bar the north. Looking at his cold black eyes, which seemed to pierce through his soul, he couldn’t help but tense up. Annabell swooped around, landing on Tristan’s shoulder.

”Merge.” Her echoing voice said without hesitation and slight panic. Tristan didn’t delay. He knew Annabell hated it, but if she was urgent with it, it meant she felt soemthing was wrong. Closing his eyes, he let his body be free as Annabell reformed into smoke and flowed through his nose and mouth. His body naturally fought back against the merging like it always did, trying to trap Annabell back where she always was when unsummoned.

’No. Be free.’ It was all he had to tell himself, for the defences in his body to crumble, and with it, her warmth spread across his entire body, becoming one with him. Every thought he had, every thought she had, was clear as day, yet Tristan didn’t read any of it, knowing it wasn’t his right to do so without her permission. Opening his eyes, he looked at Mabel, who stared back with interest, seeing his merged state before looking at Ser Halls.

Before, he saw nothing, unable to understand what Annabell feared, but now, through his pure white eyes, he saw the truth. Next to Ser Halls, another man followed, dressed in pure black robes, a black mask over his face hiding what was underneath, with his hood up. Tristan almost didn’t believe what he was seeing. No one had existed next to Ser Halls before, but now he seemed to have a wraith following him.

’Annabell?’ Tristan asked in his mind, and heard her echoing voice reply.

’He is shrouded in ancient power. Can you see it?’ Tristan narrowed his gaze, staring at the black figure. Feeling the power spreading through him, he focused it on his eyes, and with it, the white orbs that filled his sockets glowed brighter. Around the black figure, a thin purple glow shrouded him. Yet Tristan didn’t focus on that, instead looking at his mask, where the purple power was strongest, centred around his eyes and mouth.

”Ser Halls.” Mabel stepped forward, ignoring Tristan’s gulp. ”Is there a reason my cousin is so agitated?” From Mabel’s body, he saw a faint purple smoke begin to form. It was different to the power around the black figure. The figure’s was darker, feeling older and arrogant, as if nothing in the world could compare to it. Mabel’s, however, was bright, wild and free.

Ser Halls came to a stop and looked at Mabel before turning to Tristan. Placing a hand on his chest, he bowed, ”Forgive me, Princess. Princeling.” His tone was flat, as if stripped of emotion. ”A visitor from the North has arrived. It is what has made the Princeling so agitated.” Ser Halls turned to Tristan. ”It is strange he can see them.”

”So someone is there?” Mabel said the purple form on her body was beginning to form an animal. ”And yet I see no one.” Mabel turned to Tristan. ”Is he being truthful?” Tristan nodded, staring at the black figure. It was enough for Mabel, and the purple smoke that came from her solidified, forming a large purple wolf that came to her chest. Resting a hand on its head, she stared at Ser Halls.

The wolf was majestic, purple in colour, with deep black eyes. Staring at the king’s guard for a moment, it sniffed the air and turned to the empty space by his right and growled, circling around Mabel protectively. Ser Halls didn’t falter at the summons, rather placing a hand on his chest.

”The guest has come on Lord Raven’s orders.” Tristan and Mabel tensed up hearing that, thinking of the mysterious Lord behind the Divide. It was only momentary for Mabel, who stepped forward, Destria by her side, keeping a close guard of her, watching the empty space, unsure of what truly was there.

”Does Lord Raven believe he is exempt from the rules of court and can send invisible men when he pleases?” Lord Hall’s eyes sharpened.

”Do not insult Lord Raven, Princess.” His voice had a flicker of anger in it.

”Ser Halls, do you forget who you have sworn to? And I do not insult the Lord of Last Hope, but question if his isolation has made him forget that this isn’t the Deadlands. You do not send people to someone’s home without warning.” Mabel turned to the empty space, trying to look at the invisible man, off by a few degrees, ”Nor have those who cover themselves in whatever power they are using to hide from their owners.”

”He is Lord Ravens’ voice, My Princess.” Ser Halls said with a flat tone, having calmed himself down, ”Forgive me, but I must treat him with utmost respect. However, you are correct.” Ser Halls turned to the man, ”Reveal yourself, or I cannot assist any further.” The purple power that shrouded his body receded, flowing back into the section in his face. Although nothing changed for Tristan, he could see Mabel’s eyes widen in shock that someone had truly been standing there.

The man moved. Destria growled and swooped around Mabel as Tristan stepped back. An expected attack never came, as he looked at Ser Halls and began to make symbols with his hands, the king’s guard nodding each time. ”He apologises for his actions.” The figure moved again, making more signs, ”And says he didn’t wish to frighten or insult, but misunderstood the rules south.” Ser Halls waited again for him to finish. ”He says he does not follow the same laws in the north.”

”Does he not speak?” Mabel asked, staring at the black figure. Ser Halls didn’t need to wait for an answer from the figure, saying it himself.

”He is Lord Raven’s voice. He can only speak when Lord Raven allows it.” Tristan narrowed his eyes. It may have been partially true, but looking at the figure’s face and seeing a clump of purple power around his mouth and nose, Ihe wondered if there was something more. The figure looked at Tristan and began to sign again. Ser Hall let him finish before looking at Tristan.

”He says it should not have been possible for you or the bird to see him.” Ser Hall paused, debating whether he should say the next part. After a breath, he did, ”He wishes to know how, as it may concern matters related to Lord Raven and the Deadlands?” Tristan didn’t speak as Mabel spoke for him.

”And why does it concern lord Raven?” The black figure made more symbols.

”Are you sure?” Ser Halls asked after the figure finished, getting a nod in response. Looking to Mabel, he relayed what was said, ”The duties of Lord Raven involve the Resting of the Old Ones. Anything able to interfere with that is a danger.” Mabel said nothing more and looked to Tristan.

’I can see what others can’t.’

”Falsehood cannot exist before me.” The words he wished to say and what came out were different, and Tristan could only groan, hearing what he said. He hated that he couldn’t lie in his merged state, nor even skirt the truth, his body rejecting the notion of speaking without giving the truest answer possible. The black figure stared at Tristan for a moment and nodded, looking to Ser Halls and signing.

”He wishes to meet Prince Elias. Lord Raven has instructed him with soemthing and it requires meeting the Prince. The King would have been preferable, but he left before he was ready to do so.” Mabel narrowed her gaze.

”How long has he been here?” Ser Halls looked at the figure who quickly held up three fingers. ”Three days, three hours?” Mabel asked him to make a symbol for Ser Halls.

”Three weeks.” Ser Halls said, making Mabel scoff.

”Forgive, but no. He has hidden in the palace, doing Lord knows what and now he wishes for an audience. This is not how South of the Divide works.” Her words were sharp and caused a reaction in the figure. Lifting a hand up, he pulled back his mask, revealing a face that was whiter than wax, having never seen the sun. His lips had no colour in them, merging with his pale skin, but it wasn’t what horrified the two. His eyes, or what should have been eyes, were sewn shut. In the threads, Tristan could see they were the source of the purple power in his eyes, and he froze up.

It was gruesome, looking more painful than anything, as if the thread had been woven through the eyeball itself and not just the eyelids. Even Mabel stepped back, wondering if it was some unique torture method in the Deadlands, clutching the hair of Destria. The man opened his mouth, and Tristan saw again why he didn’t speak. There was no tongue, rather a purple cloud of power filling his mouth.

The purple aura surrounding his face moved, the parts in his eyes flowing behind him, and the part in his mouth became a tongue. Tristan took sharp, narrow breaths. In his mind, he could feel Annabell trembling with fear at what was coming. Destira hunched into itself, the wolf’s tail tucked between its legs. Despite its fear, it tried to put up some resistance, quietly growing. Mabel felt the hairs stand up across her skin and reached for her waist for a sword that wasn’t there.

There was nothing for a moment as the power worked, and suddenly the purple smoke formed into a shape. Mabel couldn’t see it truly. Nor could Ser Halls, but Tristan did. The smoke formed behind the black figure, and from it a blood-red iris appeared.

”Forgive me.” A whispering voice spoke from the figure’s tongueless mouth, as the red iris behind him scanned Tristan and Mabel. Its focus was momentarily on Mabel before looking at Tristan, a flash of recognition going through it, releasing that someone could see. ”Please allow my servant his visit.” The whispering voice was quiet, making people have to lean in to hear it. Yet no one could say it was a weak voice; it was proud, terrfying, one that carried a dignity only kings would have. ”I require answers.” The whispering voice said it all it would.

Mabel wished to deny it, but couldn’t and nodded, turning around. ”Follow me.”