Tale of Four

An eruption echoed as the two lances exploded as they made their way past one another. Cheers louder than the previous eruption echoed as either side egged the two on, hoping for an entertaining match. Even Lord Clover and Sunflare took to the stands, Lord Clover planting himself down in the head seat as Sandra placed her chin on his head, peering over, almost afraid to watch, and Lord Sunflare interlocking his fingers and staring without a blink. Behind Tristan, Lord Makepiece leaned atop his cane, his hands clenched around it as he stared, holding his breath, and in Lady Blackwell’s stand, she took her veil off, showing her face for the first time since the opening night, letting herself get a clear view.

No one was willing to say it, no one would be stupid enough to, but everyone knew that this wasn’t just a friendly match between cousins but a chance for them to prove why they had either voted correctly or incorrectly. Even if the two jousters didn’t care for such a reason, even if Anotn or Brandon didn’t care, they would be the ones to force this.

The two looped around again, watching one another, still trying to get a read of their opponent. Cillian aimed high, his attack blocked by Elias’ shield. As Elias blocked, he aimed at Cillian’s chest and met a shield once more. The two bounced off one another and groaned at the other’s skill before swinging around a third time.

One more, they charged. The crowd went silent the moment they began running at each other again, letting their excitement build for the clash. Elias aimed low once more and watched as Cillian copied. Waiting, he let his lance stay low before suddenly lifting it, clipping the side of Cillian’s head. Falling backwards, he dropped his lance and grabbed the saddle, letting out a growl as he pulled himself up and took his position again.

Looking at Elias, he saw his cousin give a genuine clap at his skill for staying up before running at him, not giving Cillian a chance to recover properly. Cillain gritted his teeth and charged ahead, unable to fix his posture correctly. Knowing he couldn’t take another blow and stay seated, he stabbed forward and down, missing his body but catching Elias’ arm and stopping him from attacking.

The crowd was nearly euphoric watching the display, no longer letting their cheers die down, instead beginning to chant and sing out of tune. Once more, they charged at one another. Tristan leaned forward, nervously biting his nails, finally enthralled by a match. Elias’ lance bounced off the shield, cracking but whole. Not releasing the damage, Elias ran towards the end and charged towards his opponent. Cillian threw his lance to the side and collected a new one.

The horses breathed deeply, and their hooves echoed. Closing in on one another, Elias aimed for Cillian’s chest. Lifting a shield, Cillain didn’t counter as he watched Elias, waiting for him to perform another faint. At the final moment, he raised the lance ever so slightly. Despite waiting, Cillain was late, and the lance clipped the top of the shield. The snapping of wood echoed before the lance split in half, turning the rounded edge into a sharp sword. Cillian’s eyes widened as Elias tried desperately to pull the lance away from Cillian, but failed to do so.

Standing up, Tristan froze as he watched the wooden spear catch underneath Cillain’s helmet, piercing through the side of his throat. The cheers ended, and for a moment, no one could understand what had happened. Suddenly losing his strength, Cillain fell backwards, slamming into the ground, clutching his neck, as blood popped with each breath he tried to take.

Screams echoed when people realised what had happened. A gust of wind flew past Tristan, and within an instant, Brandon rushed onto the jousting grounds, running toward his son. Kneeling by his side, he grabbed his helmet and pulled it, seeing his son’s mismatched eyes staring back at him. Each time he opened his mouth, blood bubbled out.

”Shhh.” Brandon quietly said and looked around, staring at Anton before looking at Elias and freezing. The Prince stared at Cillian without moving, but in the slit in his helmet, Brandon saw his gaze. Brandon took a rapid deep breath and looked down at Cillian, grabbing his cheek, trying to smile and comfort him, but unable to do so.

Using any knowledge he could, he tried to save him. He felt his son’s body slowly grow colder, his son’s breathing slower, the light in his eyes dimmer, and the colour on his face whiter. ”No, no, no, no.” Seeing Cillian wishing to say soemthing, Brandon leaned down next to his ear, trying to hear anything.

Everyone saw a sight they would have never felt possible. Everyone knew Brandon, knew the man he was. The hidden shadow of the dynasty, the man famed for hiding everything, finally break. His face warped in horror as the final vestiges of strength left Cillian’s body, his arm falling from Brandon’s shoulder. Brandon stared at his son without moving for a while, no one daring to approach the Chancellor.

Tristan watched for a moment and looked around, his gaze on the crowd who watched with horror. From behind, Elsa and Ellie screamed agonised cries held back by the King’s guard as they tried to rush down, weeping until they could no longer make a sound. Within the Clover tent, Hector held his sister as she burst into tears, keeping her from jumping down. Issac didn’t budge, still sat with interlocked fingers, staring with the same cold aloofness he always did as his couriers spoke to one another in panicked voices. Behind him, he didn’t need to look to see Andre’s stunned expression, already able to hear the sound of leather tightening around a cane. Continuing, his eyes widened, and his body froze. Seated atop her makeshift throne, the Lady of Bridegway watched the entire affair, a wide twitching smile on her face, her white eyes sparkling as if she had just been handed the greatest gift on the planet.

Tristan felt his heart stop and stared at the moving corpse of Lady Blackwell. For a moment, he couldn’t hear anything, not even the wind. Looking back down at Brandon and Cillian, he watched as Brandon rose, holding his son, staring up at Anton, something inside the Chancellor’s gaze gone forever. Turning to the king, he saw him stare back, wishing to say something but holding back.

Looking back at Lady Blackwell, Tristan breathed rapidly, covering his mouth in horror. That wide smile, one that no one saw, all distracted by the tragedy, showed soemthing that Brandon and Cillian had desperately been trying to stop. The joy in it. The delight. The horror that came with it. Tristan felt his heart about to burst, each beat feeling like a countdown before something terrible.

Even if it wasn’t planned, even if they couldn’t have caused what just happened, everything had gone exactly how the Blackwells wanted. It was as Cillian had guessed. The plan had changed. Three hundred years of waiting. Three hundred years of scheming.

Looking at the trail of blood following Brandon, he watched him and Cillian vanish in the distance. The wails of Elsa and Ellie behind him became a low humming in his mind as he turned to the Blackwell stand once more. Staring at Lady Blackwell, with her smile, she left bare, one thought echoed through his mind.

’They won.’

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”Janos.” A whispering voice echoed in an empty courtyard, the wind carrying it around to reach every corner. Like a phantom, a man in black knelt beside the corpse-like figure underneath the sole piece of decoration in the courtyard, a stone tablet, filled with names all ending in Raven.

”Janos.” The figure opened his eyes, revealing a pair of crimson irises deeper than blood. They were the only sign of colour on the man, his pale lips plastered on skin that was more grey than white, his hair dark as midnight. ”The Old Ones stir.” Janos knelt deeper to the voice.

”Janos.” Once again, the whispering tone was carried by the wind, never changing volume. It was quiet, making one have to come closer to hear it, yet it carried a sense of power that made one want to draw nearer. ”The south bleeds.” Janos’ bow deepened.

”Janos.” For a third time, the man spoke, ”Find out what is happening.” Despite it looking impossible, Janos bowed deeper into himself and vanished. The deep crimson eyes closed, making the man look like a corpse to be forever preserved in the Deadlands.

End of Arc One- The Invisible Princeling