The Golden Knot: Book 1 of the Echo Land Chronicles (UPDATED WEEKLY)

AZE'MAR II

"...It is not that I see you as weak, my son. You are strong and you are indeed powerful. But you are arrogant. Learn humility then we might talk..."

(Daebah)

"Guards! Guards!"

Aze'mar jostled his way through the tight ring of prim gasping high lords and ladies that encircled his father. Fear permeated the air, a mixture of scented clothes and perspiration that lingered even on the open viewing balcony.

The King; a mere man that had unified the five warring High Princes, the man that had single-handedly maintained the unity of the four strands of the Golden Knot and the man that had lived the lives of at least five men was keeled over on his knees like a wounded pup; growling, coughing, and pounding a meaty fist against his chest. The metallic tang of blood permeated the air, its acrid taste lingering in the back of Aze'mar's throat. Crimson droplets splattered from his father's mouth, dripping down the side of his face and chin, tracing a macabre path before pooling beneath his head, staining the polished marble floor.

His hands; usually so steady, shuddered like leaves caught in a fierce gale, the tremors reverberating through the balcony, almost palpable.

Not now, not yet. Aze'mar ran to his father's side. "Move aside! Give him some air." The crowd ignored him, their murmurs and gasps a dissonant symphony to the unfolding spectacle. One the likes of which they, or their fathers, and father's fathers had ever seen. The man deemed a God amongst the mortals was showing weakness, a chink in his seemingly impenetrable armour. Aze'mar, heart pounding, leant down and tried to wedge his arm under his father's armpit.

"Get off me!" Daebah said. His voice, usually a commanding boom, was now ragged and raw. He shrugged Aze'mar off and pushed himself onto all fours. The room seemed to spin around Aze'mar as Daebah staggered backward. The beast of a man breathed heavily, each breath an almighty rasp. As he tilted his head up, he eyed the crowd of dignitaries, much like a wolf pinned down by hunters. His blood-slicked hands rolled into fists, the sinews in his arms taut and bulging, a stark contrast to the quivering frailty moments ago, as he pushed himself to his feet unaided. He swung a hasty paw. The fabric of his robes whooshed through the air, the sound cutting through the silence like a sharp blade, and the crowd seemed to jolt to life, a cacophony of gasps and hurried movements filling the room.

"Father, we need-"

"Everyone move!" A Herald said, barging his way through the crowd. "Make way for the King."

This time the crowd listened and immediately parted, the rustle of silk and the murmur of voices creating a clatter of movement, forming a wide aisle to the doorway.

Daebah staggered between them; his laboured breaths cutting through the tense atmosphere like the slicing wind before a tempest, spitting crimson saliva and growling curses under his breath.

Aze'mar shadowed his father to the stairwell. This is dangerous, Aze'mar thought, heat rushing through his veins, making every step feel charged. His father was power incarnate. Even slightly weakened, he exuded an aura of authority and danger, perhaps even more so now that he likely sensed impending peril. He followed his father up and up the never-ending winding marble staircase of The King's Tower, each step echoing with a faint echo that reverberated off the polished walls, amplifying the charge in the air.

Blood-fire. Was it always this long a climb? The sweat on Aze'mar's brow mingled with the humidity in the air, creating an uncomfortable sheen on his skin as they ascended.

They reached the balcony; a slick and monstrous half-crescent landing that jutted from the tower, offering a wide vista despite the curtain of rain that seemed to strike from every direction and none. The distant sights of the Capital lay obscured by the vicious downpour, but glimpses of the brown and sodden sands of The Magnamora and the sprawling fish markets teased through the mist. The chill wind whipped at their clothes, filling Aze'mar's ears with the burgeoning of the storm; while raindrops hammered against the marble archway, splattering the ground below.

"Close the door," Daebah said, his voice strained and hoarse, as a sliver of saliva-tainted blood ran down the cleft in his chin. "Close it now!"

Aze'mar nodded, his eyes surveying the stairwell before shutting the door, ensuring that prying eyes and busy ears were nowhere to be seen.

"The vial. Give it to me!" Daebah said.

Blood-fire, he sounds weak. Aze'mar rifled through his loose golden sleeves, feeling the cool glass of the vial against his fingers, and pulled it out. He handed it to his father, who fiddled with the cork stopper, before draining the contents in a greedy gulp.

Daebah immediately dropped to his knees. The stench of the tincture lingered in the air, its bitter, acrid smell mixing with the rain. Daebah's body spasmed and grow taut, his grip tightening on the railing. The raindrops tapped against the marble floor, punctuating the tense silence. Slowly, Daebah pulled himself up, using the perimeter railing of the balcony.

"I can feel it..." he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of the storm, staring out across the Capital, arms spread wide along the banister's edge for support.

"Feel what?" Aze'mar asked, the thunder in the distance rumbling.

Daebah glanced over his shoulder. "It, boy! It is in the city."

That's not possible. "I don't understand," Aze'mar said. "I thought you said it was impossible."

Daebah's eyes sharpened, the sound of the surrounding storm fading into the background. "Can't you feel it? Can't you hear and smell it?" Daebah's words struck Aze'mar like bolts of lightning, the weight of his words heavy. That voice terrified Aze'mar. This was not supposed to happen. Not yet, at least. But now was not the time for fear.

"Are you..." Aze'mar paused, the tempestuous feelings within him at odds. He ventured a step towards his father, careful not to move too close. When enraged, his father was a maelstrom. "How can you be certain?"

"The other strands stir in me, boy," Daebah said, brushing a paw across his brow. "they call for their kin like wolves in the night. It is near-" Daebah's shoulders slunk and he looked down over the banister. "It must be near..." he whispered.

The rain began to hail against the black, slippery balcony. The night erupted to day as a vast network of pink tendrils of lightning webbed across the now midnight shaded sky, followed by a thunder clap that bellowed through the darkness, shaking the balcony.

"Sound the city bells," Daebah finally said, "and lock down the city gates now. The yearn for its kin is strong."

"Father, are you certain that-"

"One of the shattered strands is in the city walls." Daebah snapped, "I'm sure of it." He glared at Aze'mar, blood-red eyes pricking Aze'mar like needles. He turned back to his city, his world. "It must stay within them. Start your search on the Eastern front."

"Yes, Father...of course." Aze'mar said and bowed, though his father didn't seem to notice, and he backed his way off the balcony. His father remained. He barely moved. In the shifting grey storm light, the man looked more like the grotesques that lined the perimeter of the balcony than a man. If you could still call him that.

Aze'mar made his way back down the stairs. Once he got about half-way down, he dropped onto a step, head in hands.

This was not supposed to happen. He wasn't ready, but could you ever truly be ready for anything? Could one ever be truly ready for...this? Doubt. He smiled to himself. Doubt was maybe the only luxury he couldn't afford. The ultimate irony of being a Prince. You could have everything, but the simplest of things. Doubt destroyed kingdoms, doubt destroyed lives, doubt...Aze'mar shook his head and rubbed his wet eyes with the heel of his palms, and took a deep, yet stuttering breath to steady himself. It didn't matter now; his hand was forced. That did not explain how this had happened. Could he have made a mistake in calculating the precise measures of...No? No, no, no, no, no! That wasn't possible. Aze'mar attempted to banish such thoughts. Yet how could this of happened? He took another breath. It came a little smoother. This wasn't the time for more doubt. The entire time frame would have to be pushed forward. By the end of the day, either a king would live or a Prince will fall.