Mists of Llorn

what is best suited to those in power." He stood up, his eyes locked on the char-roasted leg. „I believe our meal is ready. Eat well, both of you. We will be moving soon. Llorn is not far."

  Mist enveloped the entire city, casting a white shroud over the worn streets and ruined houses. The night sky could barely be seen but Myrsade could see a glimpse of the moon watching them from above, illuminating their path.

  „What happened here?" she asked.

  „War," answered Niall.

  „Not war," said Yko. „Retribution." He studied the moss-covered houses intently, his eyes narrowed in thought. „This place and its people suffered during the War of Giants. Something terrible happened, and it left a scar." His eyes went up to the imposing fort they could see in the middle of the city. „The city now stands as a broken reflection of what it once was, a haven for something vile."

  „What do you mean vile?" asked Myrsade, a curious look on her face.

  „A fair question," said Yko, smiling suddenly. „I am certain we will find the answer up there."

  „We're going up there?"

  „That is where Jarl Frynn lived, and it is where we will most likely find his journals."

  „What's so important about these records?" asked Myrsade.

  „I'm also curious on that aspect," said Niall.

  „Frynn was a scholarly type, much like myself. He was known for keeping extensive journals on everything that occurred around him. The Order believes that within these journals we may find every interaction between Llorn and the High Kingdom, as well as information pertaining to the fall of Llorn."

  She shrugged and followed him through the city, passing through abandoned houses wherever the streets were blocked with rubble, until they came to a fortified island in the middle of the city.

  Fort Llorn was the highest point in the city, surrounded by a wide moat filled with murky water that glowed emerald-green under the moon. The bridge over it was made from stone, but that was hardly comforting to Myrsade since a large piece was missing from it, as if a rock from a far-away catapult might have come crashing through it.

  She edged along the stone railing, glaring at Yko ahead of her. She should have been at the front, making sure the area was safe before the Seeker would move in, but Yko Dali never worried about such things. He wasn't just a scholar, he was a warrior in his own right. He refused to depend on others for safety, much to her frustration. It made her sometimes wonder why he insisted to have her along.

  A dark shape floating in the moat caught her eye - a deer carcass, missing one of its limbs. „Vile," she muttered quietly, before noticing Niall at her side.

  „Does the sight of death trouble you?" he asked with a smirk.

  „Of course it does," she sneered. „Those not troubled by something as serious as death, must truly be troubled on the inside."

  „Such a wise thing to say. I find myself wondering at times if you truly belong to those savage half-giants across the Shallow Sea."

  „I've been here long, but I still carry the hot-blooded veins of the Bruhrim," she said with a glare. „Watch your words."

  „I meant no offence. I only meant that you've come a long way towards civility. You seem almost human at times." He grinned, as if waiting for her rebuttal.

  She resisted the urge to plant a fist in his face, turned and hopped over a hole in the bridge, entertaining the thought of Niall stumbling through it as he came up behind her.

  Beyond the walls was a courtyard that may have once been a glorious sight, but the decaying wood in the walls and scattered remnants of a time long gone had brushed away what glory there once might have been. Arrows still littered the ground after all this time and, as she looked to the keep, Myrsade saw it had been breached on the upper levels by what she could only assume had been catapults. The condition of the entire fort stood as testament to a crushing defeat suffered long ago.

  „Interesting," said Yko Dali. „After all this time I would have thought this place picked clean by now." He bent down and picked up a piece of a broken blade, examining it for a moment before tossing it back.

  „It's a ruin," said Niall, strolling past Yko with a hand on his hip. „There's hardly anything of real worth here."

  „And what is your definition of real worth?" asked Yko.

  „Gold, jewels, fine silk," Niall listed. „Anything that fetches a fine price."

  „Many lifetimes have passed since Fort Llorn was attacked. It was most likely thoroughly looted shortly after by the invading soldiers. But, look at the ground." He pulled an arrow from the mud, showing them the fletchings. „This is an Isafordic arrow, an heirloom of the High Kingdom, perfectly preserved after resting in this yard for hundreds of years. This single arrow would fetch a higher price than any silk garment or lump of gold you might find, and look!" He gestured all around them. „The yard is littered with them."

  Niall stared at Yko for a moment, his brow raised in doubt, until it hit him. „By the gods," he mouthed quietly, his eyes scanning over the yard with venomous greed.

  „What's your point, Yko?" Myrsade asked.

  „My point is that in all this time, we are likely the first to enter this fort," he answered. „Or, at least the first with the ability to identify Isafordic relics."

  „Maybe others came in before us, but they never left?" muttered Niall, his attention still fixed on the litter of arrows.

  Myrsade turned to Yko, unable to conceal a hint of worry on her face. „You think that might be?"

  „We can make assumptions, but we'll never know the facts until we see what lies within." He looked at her, before darting his eyes at the main hall. The main hall was the largest part of the keep, a long building made from wood and stone, adorned with ancient-looking markings she couldn't understand.

  „You want me to take the head? As my duty calls of me?"

  „No," he said. „This is my task."

  „As you wish," she said, inclining her head slightly in respect. She noticed Niall, a few feet away, picking up arrows from the yard and stowing them away in his bag. He looked up and gave her an awkward smile before moving towards them. Myrsade shook her head with a frown and muttered.

  The winds seemed to turn colder and sharper as they approached the doors to the main hall. Yko touched the doors and, as he began to push them apart, Myrsade got a sickening feeling in her gut, as if she was being drowned from the inside. „Yko," she murmured. „Be wary."

  Yko said nothing.

  The doors slid apart with a sharp creak as the ancient hinges managed the effort. Inside was darkness. It was night, but this darkness was different, as if not only void of light, but filled with black. Myrsade could see nothing beyond her own toes and nudged along quietly, hoping her eyes would adjust to the dark but they failed to do so. The feeling in her stomach grew as she went further in, a stench of rot in the air making it considerably worse. She realized suddenly that she could no longer see Yko's outlines in front of her and it shot fear up her throat.

  „Wh-why aren't you carrying a torch?" Niall's voice startled her a bit, but as much as she disliked him, she couldn't escape the relief of hearing a friendly voice.

  „The moon is strong tonight," she said. „There shouldn't be a need for torches. This doesn't make any sense."

  Suddenly she heard a crack, and a sharp whine, and to her surprise she could see Yko standing above a small flame on the ground that cast a dull glow around them. „Wispfire," she mouthed and sighed, relieved to finally see something.

  „I never go anywhere without it," he said with a smile. Wispfire was something very old and mysterious, a combination of alchemy and magic, concocted behind the closed doors of Andvárin's lower levels. As far as Myrsade knew, it was only ever used by Seekers.

  „Words cannot express my gratitude, Seeker!" Niall started yelling and it made Myrsade feel uneasy. „But unless you have a lot more of that powder in your coat, we'll need to find some source of fire!"

  „Lower your voice, fool," she snap
ped.

  „Fire..." A voice hissed across the hall, a deep rumble folded into a lingering whisper. The Wispfire flickered and faded, casting the room into darkness again for only a moment, until blue flames began to rise from the braziers lined throughout the hall.

  Myrsade put a hand on her hilt and moved forward but Yko quickly grabbed her arm, attempting to pull her back. "Wait!" he snapped. Niall was on one knee behind Yko, palms on his temples, his face painted with panic.

  „What's happening!" asked Myrsade, hoping Yko would provide some answers, but he only stared ahead with wide eyes, his expression blank. „Yko!" She followed his gaze to the throne that sat on the other end of the hall.

  Someone rested in it.

  „Blood of the gods," muttered Yko. „It can't be."

  „What is it?" asked Myrsade, but she dreaded the answer.

  Yko carefully moved closer and Myrsade followed while Niall stayed behind, cowering like a frightened dog. As she came closer he began to take on a clearer form. A being sat on the throne, wearing rusty armor, grasping an ancient sword in its hand. The sword looked dull and notched but gleamed, nonetheless, in the light of the blue flames. Tattered leather hung from pieces of armor, like what remained of its skin hung from its bones. A circlet rested on the skull, a few strains of hair running down from it, dangling over its empty eye sockets.

  Yko stopped only a few feet away from the being, his face pale and horrified. „This is why Llorn has remained untouched for all this