Chapter Two
The Rules of Laudine Castle

Elliott relaxed into his overly plush seat. “A guard? That’s all?”

Cyneric nodded and snapped his fingers to summon his steward again. “Bring the contract, would you? Oh, and yes, Sir Stride. Being a guard should be nice and peaceful after serving as a soldier for so long, hm?”

Elliott took another sip of his wine. “It…certainly would be.” It was just the escape he’d been searching for. “It sounds more suited to me than journeying into the Otherworld, too.”

Cyneric said with a laugh, “Yes, I noticed how skittish you became when I mentioned the expedition team.”

Elliott felt comfortable enough to down another large gulp of that delicious wine. “What is it that I would be guarding, my lord?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you yet. I need to trust you before showing you all my secrets. For now, all you will be guarding is a pair of doors.”

The steward returned before Elliott could dwell too much on that mystery, his bright grin clear even in the darkness. “Here you are, my lord.”

Cyneric gracefully took a rolled-up parchment from his hands, the silk tassels gliding across his fingers before he laid it out atop the table for Elliott to see. “Sign here and you will be eagerly welcomed into Laudine Castle, Sir Stride.”

Elliott scooted forward to see it better, and his stomach churned with the alcohol he’d just swallowed. The contract was blank, all but for a single black circle where Elliott was meant to sign.

Cyneric leaned forward as well, and the flames flickered in the reflection of his bright, excited gaze. “Like I said, I have built this place to be something grand. I treat all of my servants well, but you, especially, will be granted the greatest luxuries I can offer.”

Elliott didn’t care about any of that. He just kept looking between him and the parchment, confused as to why he wasn’t mentioning what was obvious. “My lord…there’s nothing written here.”

While Cyneric closed his eyes and considered his answer, the steward carefully sprinkled more dust over the flames, turning them the colour of the deep ocean, and the same colour as Elliott’s eyes. It washed over the room like a calm wave, drenching that foreboding parchment in that new colour.

“I cannot list the details of the work in writing, lest opportunists steal the information and use it against me.”

Elliott worried his lip. “Did…Rhodese sign this?”

“Of course he did. Eagerly too.”

“Oh. Is it all right if I speak to him now?”

Cyneric clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He is away on an expedition deep within Anneili, and he might not be back for some time.” He leaned back into his seat, confident and relaxed. “You two are very close, from what little I’ve heard.”

Elliott lowered his eyes to the fire. He didn’t know where to begin with Edward Rhodese. “I would not have survived the war if it weren’t for him.”

Cyneric nodded knowingly, acting as if he understood the deep history between them. “Yes, yes, I believe he mentioned you were the only survivor of his first battalion by the end of it all.” He hummed thoughtfully before narrowing his eyes and analysing Elliott. “Perhaps it is only your beauty hiding your age, but you seem quite young to be a retired soldier. Also, if I am remembering correctly, then you joined Rhodese’s battalion when the Tenth War first started eight years ago, no?”

Elliott’s eyes glazed over, the flickering flames becoming a blur as he withdrew from the darkening conversation. “I will be twenty-two in the autumn.” The flames kept blurring and spinning.

After a long, heavy pause, Cyneric uttered quietly, “You were fourteen then?”

Elliott’s stomach twisted at the delight of intrigue that sparkled in Cyneric’s eye. “Surely you must’ve looked your age. How did you convince them that you were seventeen?”

“I didn’t need to convince them. They were desperate for soldiers – they hardly questioned me when I signed up.”

“I suppose Gala was in a worse position eight years ago, but that is a rather miserable thing to hear.” Cyneric fiddled with the glittering rings on his fingers as he said, with a good bit of pride, “I am working hard to bring this land out from its current sad state and to its full potential – to bring us into a new age.”

Then he waved his hand dismissively. “But you would hardly want to hear about my business. Instead, let us discuss your new position, hm?” He tapped the parchment again, bringing Elliott’s full attention back to what was making him so fidgety.

Elliott rubbed his face, hoping to clear that fog now clouding his mind. The walls of that tall, grand library felt like they were closing in around him. That one decision was just too much. Elliott was meant to be home, rebuilding the Stride’s once grand estate and finding some woman to rebuild the family with as well. He couldn’t sign that parchment. He should’ve never even come.

He squeezed his thigh hard as his knee bobbed frantically. I don’t want to go back. There were too many ghosts waiting for him that he still couldn’t face.

But I have to go back. He clutched his temples. I can’t handle it, though.

Cyneric watched closely as Elliott struggled to simply make his decision. “I can see that you’re uneasy.” Even the man who’d read Elliott perfectly so far seemed unsure of what was making him panic so much. “You needn’t fret. It’s only a job. You can leave any time you wish.”

Listening to his logical reassurances, Elliott managed to take a deep breath. “Of course.” It was just a job. A peaceful job that he could enjoy until Rhodese returned, then he could talk to him and decide if he wanted to return home.

“Now then.” Rather than a pen to sign the paper with, Cyneric held out a small knife encrusted with colourful gems, with only the very tip left sharp. “I will need you to let one drop of blood fall into the circle as a signature.”

Elliott snapped back into cold reality when he remembered just how bizarre the man offering his escape was. “My blood?”

Cyneric gave a practiced response, clearly expecting his apprehensiveness, “Admittedly, there is a small spell attached to this contract. But I assure you, all it does is let me know when my servants break the rules.”

Elliott had the urge to gulp down his entire goblet of wine. He was a novice when it came to magic. Cyneric could say anything he wanted, and Elliott had no real reason not to believe him. “Uh…” The sparkling jewels spun in his vision. “Um…” He was so exhausted.

“Tired from your long journey, are you, Sir Stride? Don’t worry, your new lodgings are very comfortable. You will have a lovely rest after your first shift.”

He couldn’t even speak properly anymore. “Maybe I’ll just get an inn in the town and wait for Rhodese to…uh…”

“What was that? I can’t quite hear you, Sir Stride.”

Elliott’s heart was fighting with his head. Obviously, he shouldn’t sign a contract he couldn’t read, especially a magically binding one. “You said that I can quit at any time, right?”

Cyneric grinned. “Indeed.”

If Elliott left now, would he be able to handle it? He’d have nothing to do and no one to talk with. His only companion would be that guilt eating away at his insides, whispering in his ear, and trying to convince him to go back home.

Elliott lifted his hand. Although he knew it was a mistake, he was desperate enough that he reached over the table and curled his fingers around the encrusted hilt. It was so quiet that he could hear the gentle drip of his blood against the parchment.

He braced himself in the following suspense, waiting for some terrible magic to wreck his body, but nothing happened. It was just a contract, and Elliott was just paranoid. Rhodese wouldn’t bring him there if Cyneric were untrustworthy.

Cyneric let silence fill the grand space of the library and waited for the blood to dry. “Wonderful.” He snapped his fingers, making Elliott jump. “Have Sir Stride here taken to the Guardian Chambers of the West Tower, then tell Sir Langley he is to begin straight away.”

“Yes, my lord.” The steward bowed to Elliott before gesturing towards the door. As Elliott stood, blood rushed to his feet and his vision darkened. When he steadied himself, he took one more look at Cyneric.

He merely rolled up the parchment and sat back, satisfied with the interview, then met Elliott’s gaze and shooed him away. “Off you go then. I expect excellent things from you!” In the end, all Elliott did was bow before letting himself be ushered out of the library.

Cyneric’s wish to have every inch of his world be beautiful was made incredibly apparent by the halls Elliott was guided through. Even the servants’ quarters were just as elegant as Stride Manor.

Past the dormitories was a long hallway decorated with spectacular paintings depicting many of the Otherworld stories Elliott’s mother had read to him as a child. The hall was dark as well, with no windows and no sunlight to protect those artworks from the elements that would age them.

Elliott’s eyes trailed over the enormous, four-metre-tall artworks surrounded by gilded frames. They told the stories Elliott was most afraid of: the tales of dragons.

They were the greatest power imaginable, massive beasts who had mastery over flame and magic. Scaly, feathered, slimy, horrific, monstrous creatures who would swallow you whole if they didn’t burn you first.

Elliott subconsciously rubbed his arm for comfort as they passed the next grand painting that displayed their sole, violent claim over the entire realm of fae and magical creatures. The dragon in the foreground was painted red, brightly illuminated against the dark, morbid background by the artist’s skilful hand. It drew Elliott’s full attention, making him notice all the intense details. The dragon looked unnervingly real.

The creature was snarling viciously as it pinned a fae beneath its claws. The many dragons hovering in the sky had every other sort of magical being dangling from their claws or bloodied teeth. No other could ever challenge them after all.

According to all the fairy tales Elliott had heard, Anneili was the name given to the land before the dragons made their claim, and not knowing the dragon’s new name for the land, it was simply called the Otherworld.

The final painting illustrated the way every story of dragons ended – their rule over the weak, puny humans of Elliott’s world. Even in fantasy, there was no possible way for his kind to win against such overwhelming cosmic power.

Cyneric was a sick man for commissioning such pieces.

Elliott closed his eyes for a moment and remembered what his mother told him at the close of every story, “Don’t worry, it’s not real, sweetheart.”

At the end of the hall was a spiral staircase which led up to the second floor, then the third, then the fourth. That endless spiral only worsened Elliott’s dizziness.

Beyond the fourth floor, the staircase led up a tower separate from the rest of the castle. They were standing before the final door, the only entrance to the fifth floor. “These are the Guardian Chambers.”

The steward unlocked the door, and they entered a small hallway with six doors, five on the left and one on the right. The steward led him to the fifth one on the left. “This will be your room.”

Inside was a grand bedroom, with a large canopy bed and a tall window paired with a comfortable window nook to stare out onto the town of Petteril.

The steward gave Elliott the key to the bedroom, but not the key to the stairwell. “I will advise Sir Kynton Langley of your presence. He will escort you to your first shift. Please acquaint yourself with the rules of your guardian role in the meantime.” He nodded to a sign hung beside the door and bowed, then shut the door, closing Elliott inside.

As the pitter-patter of his footsteps disappeared, Elliott did as he was told and read the small wooden sign.

                            Guardian Rules

As a guardian, you are not permitted to reveal what you do for work, when you work, or even where you work, to outside parties.

Where possible, avoid servants aside from your fellow guardians. No eating in the dining hall, no trips to the courtyard outside scheduled times, and no wandering the castle unchaperoned.

You cannot leave the castle grounds unless chaperoned.

No romantic or intimate relationships are to be pursued.

                            Cyneric Haytere.

The wine was coming up Elliott’s throat. He’d come to Laudine Castle so he could see his friend, not isolate himself even further.

Ignoring the confounding sign, Elliott dropped his travel bag and inspected his new room. He ran his hand along the silk sheets, feeling the luxurious texture between his calloused fingers, then he inspected every exquisite piece of furniture. Even more frustration bubbled up as he questioned why a servant would be given such an extravagant living space.

Digging through the drawers restlessly, he found various items that could occupy him during his isolation. Inside were paints and canvases, piles of books, an assortment of solitary games, cross-stitching frames and more. Elliott only ever had an interest in wielding swords and bows, so all of that was unfamiliar to him.

He patted the top of the pile of books, breathing in the scent of their leather-bound covers and feeling a pang of shame. Having spent his formative years on the battlefield, his reading had deteriorated to the point that he wouldn’t be able to manage a single one of those books.

Perhaps, in Laudine Castle, he had the chance to learn all the things he should’ve and pick up a hobby that didn’t include so much violence. It was a surprisingly nice thought.

His search was interrupted by a sudden hard knock. “Sir Elliott Stride, it is Kynton Langley. I have come to collect you.” The voice was formal, but weak and raspy. Opening the door, Elliott was met with a decrepit old man, dressed in too-big and ill-fitting, flamboyant clothes that reminded him greatly of what Cyneric wore.

He stood tall over Elliott and lowered his eyes to assess him while he kept himself tightly upright and his hands behind his back. “Sir Stride, it is a pleasure to meet you.” His bored tone betrayed his words.

“And to you as well, sir.” Elliott bowed deeply, and his politeness improved Langley’s mood greatly.

“A fine young man you are. Please, follow me.” He guided Elliott to the single door on the right side of the hall. “Through here we will reach the Dark Chambers, which is where you will spend every day of your work.” The key Langley used to open the door was made of an iridescent material that appeared to pulse and writhe. Beyond the door was nothingness, a place devoid of any light. Fear crawled up Elliott’s back as he felt a surreal, ghostly sensation emanate from inside.

“The walls of the Dark Chambers are bewitched, designed to keep intruders at bay.” Langley turned to Elliott, wearing a lengthy grin that stretched every wrinkle of his bony face. “Wondrous, is it not?”

Elliott took a subconscious step back from the door. “I have to admit, I’m not very familiar with magic.”

The smile on Langley’s face only widened. “Truly? Then you have the lucky chance to be acquainted with an entirely new reality.” He placed a pale, veiny hand on his chest. “I do apologise for not properly introducing myself. I am Lord Haytere’s chief researcher. I am one of the guardians, technically speaking.”

“Guardians?”

“Yes. The four rooms within this tower are occupied by four individuals with the role of guardian, though we each have different jobs. You’re the fourth one now. Come, I will explain more as we walk.”

Elliott was hesitant to follow into a place so overwhelmed with condensed magic.

“You need not fear, Sir Stride. It feels strange now, but you will acclimate yourself to the aura of magic quicker than you think. Oh, yes, I believe Sir Rhodese mentioned that you are quite afraid of it.”

Elliott’s mood immediately turned. He strode forward, not wanting to appear a coward to anyone. “It’s just that I was taught to be cautious of anything relating to the Otherworld.” He’d been warned of that world his entire childhood, with the border always looming just beyond the hills of his hometown of Meadowsweet.

The image of that boundary, a stretch of gwythroot flowers reaching from the edge of Gyffesland to the end of Gala, was seared into his mind. The gwythroot flowers grew only on that one length of earth. They were beautiful, sweet-scented, colourful, delicate flowers which appeared like the result of crossbreeding chrysanthemums with lavenders.

But their beauty was a deceptive marker for the end of their human lands and the beginning of the Otherworld, where fae and magical beasts ran rampant. They feasted on humans, and being eaten was a lucky fate for those unfortunate enough to fall into their claws. If they kept a human alive, it was for the sake of unspeakable horrors.

Humans were only safe in Gala and the neighbouring country of Gyffesland. The rest of the land was unknown, and the ocean was too dangerous to traverse. If Gala and Gyffesland were all there was, or if the world stretched on far beyond what anyone could imagine, no one had a clue. No one except for Cyneric Haytere, perhaps.

Langley finally stepped inside the hallway, with darkness enveloping him completely. His voice eerily echoed out from that darkness. “Your fear of magic is such a shame. I do believe we only have things to gain from that realm, yet we teach such fear and ignorance to our children.”

Upon Elliott’s own shaky step into the Dark Chambers, a severe cold singed his skin.

“Close the door behind you. It is the only way to continue forward.” Langley’s raspy words bounced off every surface, sounding as if he were all around Elliott.

As the door’s lock came down into place, the air suddenly warmed. A hallway came into shape as crystals along the walls brightened with a shade of purple that Elliott was becoming increasingly familiar with. Elliott looked around in wonder while Langley took the chance to prove his point.

“This kind of technology would be utterly impossible without our research and adventure into Anneili. It would be prudent of you to overcome your ignorance and learn to wonder over the properties of magic instead. I believe it is the future of humanity.”

He walked calmly forward as he continued to explain, “I have been working here longer than any other and have been close at Lord Haytere’s side as we research magic. It is my duty to study the treasures brought back by the expedition team led by Sir Rhodese.”

The hallway seemed to stretch on and on. If Elliott had left the door open, the cold would have sapped all their bodily warmth by now. The infrastructure was also bewildering, as he was certain the Guardian Chambers were just the small, top floor of a cylindrical tower, yet the Dark Chambers somehow existed. His best guess was that the hall must’ve been some sort of bridge connecting two towers.

Eventually, they reached a wider room with a small seating area and storage cupboards. Standing at the end was a set of grand double doors, each with a door knocker made of silver that hung from carved owl heads. Langley made his way to the purple crystal nearest to the storage cupboards and grabbed the purely magical item with his bare hands, making Elliott wince. He pulled on the crystal, shaking all over with effort, then the iron lip cradling the crystal clanged downwards like a lever.

Behind Elliott, the walls rumbled and clicked with the sound of metal on stone as one wall wrenched and rolled away. A wall lined with red crushed velvet was revealed, with a variety of perfectly organised weapons displayed on it.

Langley, taking huge breaths between each phrase, told him, “Please, take your pick of any…I will be happy to…explain what each weapon can do.”

Elliott nodded and gave the elderly man time to regain his composure. Before the wall, he strained his neck to look up at the many dozens of weapons. They were and all far too exquisite, with the most elaborate of details and bizarre colours, and beyond what human blacksmiths were capable of making. “Are these enchanted at all?”

“Oh yes, all of them need to be.”

Elliott grimaced at the display. As the war went on year after year, with each side becoming even more desperate to win, soldiers tried to get their hands on whatever powerful Otherworld weapons they could, weapons that were becoming increasingly easier to find in the past several years. Elliott now wondered just how many of them had been supplied by Cyneric himself.

Elliott simply sighed and accepted that he was going to have to deal with more magic than he would have liked if he wanted to see Rhodese. He ignored the large battle-axes, clubs, and spears and assessed the wide collection of swords.

They all emitted their own auras of magic, but one blade pulled Elliott in, rather than scare him away. It was a blade that was stashed away in a brilliantly white scabbard. Thankfully, the sword was close enough for Elliott to reach, although he did need to stretch up onto the tips of his toes, which made him flush. He always hated how much shorter he was than the average man.

The sword was far lighter than he’d expected. Unsheathing it revealed a longsword made of a steel so polished and well-maintained it nearly shone blue. The hilt was carved with brilliant details of feathers and wings and decorated with blue gems along the ridges. The steel felt cold against his hands, and the jagged edges were sharper than any blade he’d held before.

“In your hands, you have what we named the Finch’s Blade.”

“That’s not a very intimidating name for a sword, and one so sharp at that.”

Langley chuckled, then coughed right after. “Well, we still thought it was appropriate. Do give it a test if you find it appealing.”

Elliott timidly took a practice swing. The steel trilled with the sound of chirping birds as it swiped through the air, and a small breeze blew out from where he’d swung. He’d just wielded magic for the first time. As that breeze whirled down the hall, a force of vivacity ran up from his arm and pushed the air from his lungs.

“We’ve had that blade for a long time. The knight commander who preceded Sir Rhodese found it over a decade ago on the most dangerous expedition that he’d ever ventured. He travelled high atop a snowy mountain and found it lodged in a stone at the very peak. It wields the wind, but no one has ever taken a liking to it since it is so light.”

Elliott swiftly sheathed the sword, quieting the trilling noise. Toying around with one magical weapon was more than enough for him. “This will do, I suppose. I usually prefer to have speed over strength anyhow.” ‘Prefer’ was a bit of a lie. No matter how much Elliott strengthened his muscles, he just couldn’t compete with men twice his size.

“Very good then.” Langley returned to the crystal to hide the wall of weapons and struggled to move it once again.

Elliott offered, “Would you like me to get that for you, sir?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He stepped aside, and Elliott cursed his own politeness while he approached the purely magical thing. As the tips of his fingers grazed the crystal, pins and needles ran up his arms, and his heart throbbed painfully quickly. Once he shoved it into place, he shook out his hands to rid himself of the invasive sensation.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Langley gave him no time to reckon with the magic he’d just experienced. He was led over to the grand double doors and then waited for Langley to pull out another odd key to show him what was inside; instead, he explained, “For the next ten hours, you are to guard this door from any intruders. You do not knock on the doors, and you certainly do not open them.”

Elliott nodded along, now unsurprised by the strict rules. “I do hope for your success, Sir Stride. We are in need of another guardian.” With a final note that he would collect Elliott at the end of his shift, Langley left.

It was difficult to make out the man’s lanky silhouette at the end of the long hall. The light and warmth flickered away as he exited, only for it all to return a moment later when the door closed behind him.

Elliott’s stomach dropped in the silence. No sound could penetrate the walls, the only light was the unnatural one from the crystals, and the air felt thick with foreboding magic.

He tightly gripped his new sword as he tensed, and the Finch’s Blade trilled once more, ringing out in a low, monotonous hum that reverberated up Elliott’s arm and calmed his nerves.

He wondered if the sword somehow knew he was frightened by the silence that bore down upon him.