Halls of the Dead

~Chapter 27 - The Royal Family~

~Chapter 27- The Royal Family~

Whedon woke to the smell of sea air.

He was in the back of an otherwise empty hooded carriage. There was a change of clothes beside him that looked to be of country folk. Nothing like his royal garbs. He stretched out in the back of the wagon when something occurred to him.

"I have control of my body!" Whedon exclaimed, sitting up and grabbing his own body. It'd been so long since he'd been in control... he forgot what it was like. The last few years had felt like a terrible dream, with only brief stirrings of what his father was doing. He didn't feel his father's lingering presence within him.

Suddenly, everything that transpired in the years he was under his father's control hit him. The hundreds who suffered and died. The terrible things that he allowed to come to pass... and Norton.

Whedon's breathing became uneven, and he leaned against the carriage. His one and only son was gone.

And the rest of his family... his wife. What happened to them?

The carriage stopped, and Whedon heard someone circle around from the front to the back. The back opened, revealing a soldier of the Kingsguard. Captain Aingr. Behind him was a port town bordering the sea.

"Hello... Whedon," Aingr greeted tiredly.

"H-Hello... what's happening?" Whedon asked nervously.

Aingr seemed as taken aback as Whedon. "Huh... I forgot you were so timid. Well, I'm escorting you to safety. You can board a ship to Damin soon. We're near the harbor. But you'll want to change into those clothes I left you. You won't make it out of here dressed as a King."

"Right..." Whedon grasped at the clothing and began disrobing, "But what happened in Mortel?"

"We discovered your father and the Hall of the Dead's dungeons. The whole city knows he's been capturing people. Meaning, everyone in the city wants you dead."

"My father isn't possessing me anymore," Whedon said as he pulled a commoner's shirt over him.

"He's residing within Ein now," Aingr said, "He knew you were innocent and tricked Denile so you could get away."

"Okay..." Whedon replied, his mind racing. Trying to come to terms with everything, "Where's my family?"

"They're safe. We got them out of the city before the riot hit."

"Where are they?"

Aingr sighed, "I can't tell you that."

"Why?"
Aingr ran a hand over his bald head and paced just outside the carriage.

"Some of us know it was your father, not you, who did all those terrible things... but it's going to be impossible to convince people otherwise. Everyone thinks you're a mad king who captured and tortured his people. No one is going to believe you were possessed. Your family thinks you died in the riots. As will everyone."

Whedon pulled the trousers on himself and thought for a moment. He thought of his son.

"I deserve this. I should've stopped my father... or at least let him die peacefully."

Aingr sighed, "You wanted to save your father. You didn't know what would happen afterwards."

Whedon stepped out of the carriage into the bright sun and sea air. He looked like a proper commoner. "I'll make up for what I've done, I swear. Where did you say I was going?"

"The country of Damin."

"Isn't that place awful?"

"No one will recognize you at least," Aingr placed a hand on his back and guided him towards the port, "Keep your head down until you make it out to sea, and good luck."

Whedon nodded to himself, "You could've just killed me and my father... Thank you for giving me another chance. I won't waste it."

Whedon sounded determined, and it gave Aingr hope. Maybe things would take a better turn for him.

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After watching Whedon board a ship and set sail, Aingr returned to the city of Mortel. With Ein imprisoned, he had been placed in charge of the Kingsguard. Every single monk of the Hall of the Dead had been captured and were being placed on trial. Those confirmed to have been involved with the dungeons were executed.

Each copy of their accursed book was burnt to a crisp. He didn't want a single trace of the ritual to remain. But there was one loose end he needed to take care of.

Aingr took a horse to the outer rim, to the house that Lumb and his family had been staying at. He found an exhausted Deporah sitting on the doorstep, gripping her broken sword in one hand.

"How's everyone doing?" Aingr asked as he dismounted his horse.

Deporah shook her head, "She's not looking good."

Aingr nodded glumly, "Do you think I could speak with Lumb for a moment?"

"If you make it quick."

"That's all I'll need."

An exhausted Lumb was fetched from the house, recently changed bandages applied to his shoulder from the wound that was there.

"After everything, I'm surprised you have time to mingle with me, Captain," Lumb snipped at him.

"Commander now," Aingr replied.

"Hmm..." Lumb nodded, "Who's going to oversee this city now that the monarchy is gone. A new king?"

"I don't think so. There's talk of electing individuals to lead. Not sure what will happen to the Kingsguard without a king, but we'll figure it out," Aingr explained, "We'll keep order until then."

"Can't be as bad as it was before," Lumb replied tiredly.

"I need to ask... Where is that book you took from the Hall of the Dead? We've managed to purge every trace of that ritual those monks had. I want to make sure there's no chance of something like this happening again. I've lost too much."

Lumb scowled, "I've lost a lot as well."

"Where's the book?"

"I burned the damn thing. You really think I would hang onto that longer than I needed to?"

Aingr nodded to himself, "Of course. Just had to be sure. We're finishing trials on all the monks. After that's sorted, this will all be over."

Aingr stepped away from the building and mounted his horse, "I wish your mother the best of luck."

"She isn't going to die," Lumb snapped back.

Aingr stopped and stared. This man... was scary at times. The look in his eyes was stubborn beyond belief. He had words for Lumb, all of which he kept to himself. Instead, he nodded and left the family on their own.

As Lumb watched Aingr leave, he gripped something and slipped it into the back of his trousers before concealing it with his shirt. They were a select few ripped pages stitched back together. Ones he still had a need for.