Heirs of the Lost Kingdom - Chapter 1

In the waning days of late summer, in the month of Barrakas, the sun ascended over the sprawling ir'Fassime manor, casting golden rays across the lush gardens and the grand façade of the estate. The year was 998, two years after the Treaty of Thronehold had officially ended the Last War. The once-peaceful kingdom of Galifar had been shattered. It was divided into the nations of Breland, Aundair, Karrnath, Thrane, and the Talenta Plains, each vying for power and influence. The Fassime manor, nestled near the small town of Moonwatch in western Breland, had thus far remained unscathed, a beacon of stability amidst the turmoil.

The grand carriage of Duke Rukon ir’Clarn rolled into the manor grounds of the Fassime Barony, its gilded wheels churning the gravel with a crunching whisper of power and prestige. The entourage that followed was akin to a migrating caravan, filled with servants, guards, and sycophants, all eager to bask in the duke’s reflected glory. Tents sprouted like exotic mushrooms upon the lawns, while the duke himself commandeered the manor's finest suite, displacing the brothers ir’Fassime from their usual quarters.

The young men of the old noble family ir'Fassime had waited in vain for news of their parents, Shard and Tash ir'Fassime. Summoned by the Royal Court during the war, they had been dispatched on a mysterious mission for the King and had not been seen since. Hope had dwindled with each passing day, and the once-vibrant manor now felt shrouded in a cloak of uncertainty.

The brothers, Ardron, Luis, and Gan, were the scions of an ancient and proud noble line. Their father, Shard, was a descendant of the ir'Fassime dynasty, known for their valour and wisdom. Their mother, Tash, hailed from the ir'Caitlar family of Aundair, renowned for their arcane prowess and political acumen. The brothers had been raised with the weight of their family's legacy on their shoulders, and the disappearance of their parents had only served to intensify their desire to uphold the ir'Fassime name.

Ardron, the eldest of the brothers at 20 years old, observed the duke’s arrival with a stoic expression, his dark curls framing a face that betrayed little of his inner thoughts. His eyes, however, gleamed with a keen intelligence as he took in the duke’s retinue, noting the lavish displays of wealth and the barely concealed arrogance of the nobles in tow. Luis, two years younger than Ardron, tall and gangly, his wavy blond hair dishevelled from hours spent poring over ancient tomes, watched with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Ganan, his fraternal twin, and the youngest by minutes, stood apart, his green eyes scanning the crowd with a hunter's wariness, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.

The duke’s presence was felt immediately, his demands echoing through the halls of the manor like the tolling of a bell. He commanded the finest foods, the rarest vintages, and the undivided attention of the household staff. The manor's cook, a stout and usually jovial woman named Mira, was seen muttering to herself as she hurried to accommodate the duke’s appetites. Ardron, ever the diplomat, sought to soothe her frayed nerves, assuring her that her efforts were appreciated and that the duke’s visit would be brief. Luis, meanwhile, could not resist a sarcastic quip about the duke’s gluttony, earning him a sharp elbow from Ganan, who preferred to observe the chaos with a quiet, watchful eye.

While the Duke indulged in the manor's hospitality, Sir Jorda ir’Fassime lay abed, his once-robust frame now a withered husk. His breath rattled in his chest like a dying man's last roll of the dice. The brothers visited their uncle, the air in the sickroom thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and the weight of unspoken words.

"Beware the Duke, my boys," Sir Jorda whispered, his voice barely audible. "His ambition is a hungry beast, never sated. He seeks to place his own cousin as seneschal, to tighten his grip on our lands."

Ardron leaned in, his brow furrowed with concern. "What would you have us do, Uncle? We cannot defy the duke openly."

Sir Jorda's gaze drifted to the window, where the late afternoon sun cast long, dancing shadows. "Your parents... they followed the summons of the King, sought the counsel of the King's Swords. If you are to unravel this mystery, you must tread carefully, and trust few."

Luis, his eyes narrowed in thought, asked, "You believe the duke knows more than he lets on, don't you?"

A faint smile touched Sir Jorda's lips. "The duke is a spider, spinning webs within webs. But remember, my boys, even the cleverest spider can be outwitted."

Ganan, his voice barely above a whisper, vowed, "We will find the truth, Uncle. We will not let our family's name be sullied."

Sir Jorda's eyes closed, his strength waning. "Be wary, my boys. The path you tread is treacherous, and the shadows are filled with hidden dangers."

The Duke insisted that the young men be present to witness their uncle's passing, as if the morbid spectacle were some essential rite of nobility. And so, in the dim light of the sickroom, Ardron, Luis, and Ganan stood vigil, their hearts heavy with grief and their minds racing with the implications of their uncle's words.

Sir Jorda passed within days of the duke’s arrival, his life slipping away like sand through an hourglass. The brothers felt the weight of their loss, but the duke allowed them little time for mourning. As the first light of dawn filtered through the stained-glass windows of their father's study, they found themselves summoned to an audience with the duke.

Duke Rukon ir’Clarn was a man of imposing stature, his dark hair silvered at the temples, and his eyes as cold and calculating as a Sharn gambling den. He regarded the brothers with a mixture of condescension and amusement, as one might observe a trio of puppies tumbling over their own paws.

"Ardron," he began, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, "you are young, and your father's fate remains uncertain. As such, I have decided to appoint my cousin, Krall ir’Clarn, as the new Seneschal of the Barony. He will guide the Fassime lands through these troubled times."

Ardron's eyes flashed with a barely suppressed anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "With all due respect, my lord, I am the rightful heir to the Barony. I am more than capable of guiding our lands through whatever trials may come."

The duke’s lips curled into a patronizing smile. "Ah, the fiery spirit of youth. I admire your passion, Ardron, but these are uncertain times. Your father's fate remains a mystery, and the Barony requires a steady, experienced hand."

Luis, his voice laced with sarcasm, interjected, "And I suppose your cousin just happens to be the most qualified candidate for the position?"

The duke’s gaze shifted to Luis, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Krall is a man of considerable talent and experience. He has my full confidence."

Ganan, his voice steady and calm, asked, "And what of our confidence, my lord? What of the loyalty of our people, who have served the ir’Fassime family for generations?"

The duke steepled his fingers, his gaze never wavering from the brothers. "Loyalty is a precious commodity, Ganan. It must be earned, and it can be lost. I trust that you and your brothers will make the right choices in the days to come."

Sensing Ardron's growing frustration, the duke continued, "Out of respect for your father, I offer you and your brothers positions in my house guard. You will be well-compensated and given the opportunity to prove yourselves."

Ardron's eyes narrowed as he sensed the duke’s hidden motives. "And what of our father, my lord? Will there be no effort made to locate him and restore our family's rightful place?"

The duke leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest. "I will dispatch a contingent of my house guard to investigate your father's disappearance. If there is ought to be found, they shall find it."

Seizing the opportunity, Ardron requested, "Allow my brothers and me to join the search party, my lord. We wish to play an active role in uncovering the truth."

The duke’s eyebrows raised a fraction, as if surprised by Ardron's audacity. After a moment's consideration, he acquiesced. "Very well. You shall accompany the search party. Perhaps this will put an end to your restlessness."

The brothers exchanged glances, their thoughts racing. That evening, they gathered in Ardron's chambers, the air thick with tension and the weight of their decision.

"We cannot trust the duke," Luis insisted, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. "He seeks to control our lands, to bend us to his will."

Ganan, his voice barely above a whisper, agreed, "His cousin will be little more than a puppet, dancing to the duke’s tune. We must find a way to thwart his plans."

Ardron paced the length of the room, his brow furrowed in thought. "We must be clever, brothers. We must outwit the spider in his own web. The duke’s offer is a chance for us to uncover the truth about our parents. We shall journey to Sharn, speak with the Captain of the King's Swords, and unravel this mystery once and for all."

Luis, his voice laced with concern, asked, "But what of our lands, Ardron? What of our people? We cannot simply abandon them to the duke’s whims."

Ardron paused, his gaze steady and resolved. "We will not abandon them, Luis. We will fight for them, in our own way. We will find the truth, and we will restore our family's name. But we must be patient, and we must be clever. We must outwit the Duke at his own game."

Ganan nodded, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "We will follow your lead, Ardron. Together, we will find the truth, and we will bring our family home."

And so, as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the brothers ir’Fassime set out on their journey, their hearts filled with determination and their minds set on the path that would lead them to the City of Towers, and the truth that awaited them there.

The manor of the Fassime Barony was a sprawling affair, a testament to the generations of ir’Fassimes who had dwelt within its stone walls. The brothers hurried through the halls, their footsteps echoing on the polished stone floors. The hall was adorned with tapestries depicting the family's illustrious history, the threads worn thin by the passage of time. Ardron's eyes lingered on the portrait of their father, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and longing.

They passed through the great library, the scent of ancient parchment and leather bindings filling the air. Luis paused for a moment, his fingers brushing against the spines of the books that had been his constant companions throughout his youth. The memories of long nights spent poring over tomes by the light of a flickering candle were etched into every corner of the room.

As they made their way towards the courtyard, they encountered several of the manor's long-serving retainers, each one a familiar face that had become a part of the fabric of their lives.

Old Mira, the head cook, stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms folded across her ample bosom. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, took in the brothers' hurried pace. "Off on an adventure, are ye?" she asked, her voice a warm rumble. "I remember when your father was just a lad, always eager to explore the woods. Mind ye don't get lost, now." She pressed a small package into Ardron's hands, her eyes twinkling with unshed tears. "A bit of journey bread for the road. Can't have ye going hungry, now can we?"

Ardron smiled, his heart warming at the memory of Mira's kitchen, always filled with the tantalising aroma of fresh-baked bread and the comforting hum of her voice. "Thank you, Mira," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll be back before you know it."

Further along the corridor, they encountered Thom, the old stablemaster, his gnarled hands clutching a worn leather harness. His eyes, clouded with cataracts, still held a spark of the vitality that had once been his trademark. "Ye be leavin', then?" he asked, his voice a raspy whisper. Luis nodded, his eyes drawn to the intricate knots of the harness, a testament to Thom's skill and patience. "Remember, young master," Thom said, his voice barely audible, "the strongest bonds are those forged with patience and care. Don't let the world rush ye into foolishness."

Luis smiled, his heart swelling with affection for the old man who had taught him the value of patience and the beauty of a job well done. "I won't, Thom," he promised. "I won't forget."

As they stepped out into the courtyard, they were greeted by a flurry of activity. The Duke's retinue was in a state of chaos, soldiers and servants alike scrambling to pack up the encampment. The air was filled with the shouts of sergeants barking orders and the clatter of hastily dismantled tents. It was clear that the departure was unscheduled, a whim of the duke’s that had thrown his entire entourage into disarray.

Leith, the old half-elf gamekeeper, stood at the edge of the courtyard, his eyes scanning the chaos with a mixture of amusement and disdain. He caught sight of Gan and beckoned him over, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ye be leavin', then?" he asked, his eyes searching Gan's face. Gan nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. Leith pressed a small, intricately carved stone into Gan's hand, closing his fingers around it. "A token for yer journey, young master. The spirits of the wood be with ye. Remember, the truth be a tricky beast to hunt, but ye have the heart of a true tracker."

Gan swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Leith's steady gaze. "Thank you, Leith," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll return, I promise."

The old half-elf nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Aye, I know ye will. Now go, before the spider catches ye in his web."

The brothers slipped into the encampment, their eyes scanning the sea of tents and milling soldiers. They sought out the quartermaster, their hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. They were directed to a burly, red-faced man with a thick beard and a harried expression. Sergeant Prix, as he was introduced, looked the brothers up and down, his eyes narrowing as he took in their fine clothes and noble bearing.

"And what can I do for ye, young masters?" he asked, his voice a gruff rumble.

Ardron stepped forward, his voice smooth and confident. "We are the newest members of the Duke's household guard, Sergeant. We've been sent to equip ourselves for the journey ahead."

Prix's eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening in surprise. "New members, ye say? I wasn't informed of any such—"

Luis interjected, his voice laced with a charming smile. "Oh, the Duke only just decided to take us on. You know how these things go, Sergeant. The whims of the nobility and all that. I'm sure you've had your fair share of unexpected orders this morning."

Prix grumbled under his breath, his gaze shifting from one brother to the next. "Aye, that I have. The duke’s decided to up and leave, and we're all scrambling to keep up. Very well, then. Take what ye need but be quick about it. We're set to depart within the hour."

The brothers exchanged a triumphant glance, their hearts pounding with the thrill of their deception. They moved quickly, gathering supplies and equipment from the duke’s well-stocked stores. Ganan selected a fine set of blades, his eyes gleaming with appreciation as he tested their weight and balance. Luis tucked several small, intricate devices into his pack, his mind already racing with the possibilities they presented. Ardron, meanwhile, noticed three fine, saddled horses standing apart from the rest, their black coats gleaming in the sunlight.

With a confidence born of his noble upbringing, Ardron approached the horses, his eyes scanning their fine lines and the exquisite craftsmanship of their saddles. "These must surely be for us," he declared, his voice loud enough to carry to Prix, who was watching them with a wary eye. "The duke would want his newest guards to be well-mounted, after all."

Prix's face reddened, his eyes bulging as he took in the sight of the brothers leading the fine steeds away. "But—but those are the duke’s own horses!" he spluttered, his hands flapping helplessly at his sides.

Ardron turned to him, his expression one of innocent confusion. "Are they? Well, I'm sure the duke would want us to have the best. After all, we are to represent him in Sharn, are we not?"

Prix's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his arms flailing helplessly at his sides, and his protests dying on his lips as the brothers swung easily into the saddles and rode away, their laughter echoing behind them.

As they approached the manor gates, the brothers cast one last, bittersweet glance at their ancestral home. The familiar stones and towers stood tall and proud, a testament to the generations of ir’Fassimes who had come before them. They knew that their journey would not be an easy one, that the path before them was fraught with danger and uncertainty. But they also knew that they could not turn back, not now, not ever.

The sound of hoofbeats echoed behind them, and the brothers cast a wary glance over their shoulders, their hearts pounding in their chests. The duke’s retinue was ready to move, the column of soldiers and nobles forming up ready to move out from the former encampment. The brothers exchanged a determined look, their minds made up. They would not wait to be caught, to be ensnared once more in the duke’s web of deceit and manipulation.

With a shout of defiance, they spurred their stolen horses forward, their hearts pounding with the thrill of the chase. The wind whipped through their hair, the sun beat down upon their backs, and the road to Sharn stretched out before them, a ribbon of possibility and danger, a path to the truth they so desperately sought.

And so, with laughter on their lips and fire in their hearts, the brothers ir’Fassime rode forth, their journey to the City of Towers begun in earnest, their quest for the truth a burning flame that would not be extinguished.

About an hour into their journey, Gan's keen eyes spotted a half dozen of the Duke's Guard riding quickly up the road towards them. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to his brothers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Riders approaching. It looks like the Duke's Guard."

Ardron's brow furrowed, his mind racing. "We can't let them catch us. We'll have to take the old smuggler's route. It's rougher, but it should get us to Sharn all the same."

Luis nodded, his eyes scanning the landscape. "It's been years since we last took that path. You're know it best, Gan, do you think you can find it?"

Gan grinned, his eyes gleaming with a hunter's instinct. "I could find it blindfolded. Follow me."

They veered off the main road, their horses' hooves kicking up dust as they galloped across the open fields. The old smuggler's route was overgrown and barely visible, but Gan led them unerringly, his memory of the land guiding them true. They rode hard, their hearts pounding in their chests, until the sound of the pursuing guards faded into the distance.

The brothers rode on, the wind rustling through the tall grass and wildflowers that lined the old smuggler's route. The sun bathed the rolling hills in a warm, golden light, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of bees. The countryside was a vibrant tapestry of greens and golds, dotted with the occasional copse of trees and the sparkling ribbon of a meandering stream.

As the sun reached its zenith, they found themselves approaching a wagon traveling towards them on the back road. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the wagon, blowing it onto its side and sending the draught horses bolting in terror. The wagon driver was thrown clear, his body landing in a crumpled heap on the side of the road.

Luis reined in his horse, his eyes wide with shock. "That was a magical lightning bolt! It came from the trees!"

As he spoke, a tall, gaunt figure in a dark robe stepped out from the tree line, approaching the stricken wagon driver. Without a moment's hesitation, the figure stomped down hard on the driver's neck, killing him instantly.

Ardron and Gan drew their swords, their faces pale with anger and disbelief. They charged down the road towards the killer, their horses' hooves thundering against the packed earth. "Murderer!" Ardron yelled, his voice echoing through the countryside, filled with disgust and indignation.

The robed figure looked up, annoyance flashing across his face. With a wave of his hand, he sent the corpse flying through the air, straight at Gan.

Gan, caught off guard by the gruesome projectile, managed to twist his body just in time to avoid being unhorsed. The corpse landed with a sickening thud on the road behind him, but Gan barely had time to register the impact before the robed figure disappeared.

Luis, following at a more discreet pace, guessed that the mage had turned invisible. He prepared a detect magic spell, his mind racing as he tried to anticipate the mage's next move. As Gan and Ardron rode through the spot where the mage had last been seen, Luis activated his spell.

Gan's horse collided with something unseen but solid, and the invisible mage staggered back, his form flickering into view for a moment. Gan circled back, yelling and pointing at the spot where he had felt the impact. Ardron dismounted, his voice ringing out with authority. "Surrender now, murderer! You will face justice for your crimes!"

Luis, his spell active, located the mage staggering against the side of the upturned wagon, clearly stunned from the collision with Gan's horse. Casting a mind spell, Luis melded his thoughts with his brothers, sharing the mage's location with Ardron. Using his blind fighting skills and guided by Luis's spell, Ardron lunged forward, his sword flashing in the sunlight.

The mage reappeared at the end of Ardron's blade, his eyes wide with confusion and anger. He grabbed at the sword, cutting his hands, before slipping back off the blade and collapsing to the ground, dead.

The brothers dismounted, their hearts pounding as they approached the bodies. They turned the wagon driver over, revealing a man of middle years, his clothes marked with the signs of alchemical work. A quick search of his pockets revealed his name to be Cynric Twozel. The mage, meanwhile, bore no identifying marks, but the symbols embroidered on his robes suggested a connection to a druidical sect known as the Children of the Winter.

Luis used his magic to inspect the bodies and the wagon, his eyes widening as he discovered several magical items: a pair of boots, a knife, a ring, and a staff. Ardron, meanwhile, paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in thought. "We should bury them," he said finally. "We can't leave them here to be defiled by wild animals."

Luis looked up from his inspection of the wagon, his expression troubled. "Ardron, we don't have time for a proper burial. And if we do bury them, it will be clear that someone was here. We can't afford to leave a trail for the duke’s men to follow."

Gan nodded, his eyes scanning the surrounding countryside. "Luis is right. We need to keep moving. But we can't just leave them here like this."

Ardron sighed, running a hand through his dark curls. "Then what do you suggest, brothers? We can't take them with us, and we can't leave them here. What would you have us do?"

Luis and Gan exchanged a glance, their minds racing. Finally, Luis spoke up, his voice steady. "We could make it look like they killed each other. It won't be a proper burial, but at least it will give them some measure of dignity in death."

Ardron looked at his brothers, his expression torn. "You would have us desecrate the dead, brothers? Is that who we are now?"

Gan placed a hand on Ardron's shoulder, his voice gentle but firm. "We do what we must, Ardron. We can't let sentimentality cloud our judgment. We have to think about our mission, about finding the truth about our parents. We can't let anything get in the way of that."

Ardron sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "Very well. But we must at least make it look convincing. We must give them a story, a final act of defiance against the cruelty of the world."

Together, the brothers worked quickly, positioning the wagon-driver's body so that it appeared he had been pinned under the wagon, and placed a shard of glass from a broken bottle in his hand, making it seem as if he had stabbed the mage in a final, desperate act.

With the grim task complete, Gan led the group to a secure camping spot he knew of old, a hidden glade nestled deep within the woods. The glade was surrounded by tall, ancient trees, their branches intertwining overhead to create a natural canopy that shielded the brothers from prying eyes. A small stream bubbled nearby, providing a source of fresh water, and the soft, mossy ground offered a comfortable place to rest.

Gan chose the spot for its strategic advantage, knowing that the dense foliage would muffle the sound of their camp and that the stream would provide a natural barrier against any would-be attackers. As they set up camp, the brothers worked together, gathering firewood and setting up a small, contained fire that would provide warmth and light without giving away their position.

As they huddled around the fire, the brothers shared a meal of journey bread and dried meat, their thoughts turned inward, each lost in his own memories and fears. Ardron broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to set up a guard roster for the night. We can't afford to let our guard down, not even for a moment."

Luis nodded, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire. "I'll take the first watch. I'll wake Gan in a few hours, and he can wake you, Ardron. That way, we'll all get some rest, but we'll always have someone keeping watch."

Gan agreed, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "It's a good plan. We can't afford to be caught off guard, not out here."

Ardron looked at his brothers, his expression serious. "We did what we had to do today. We protected ourselves, and we took what we needed to survive. But we must not lose sight of who we are, brothers. We must not let this journey change us, not in our hearts."

Luis and Gan nodded, their eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire. They knew that the road ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but they also knew that they could face whatever came their way, so long as they stood together.

And so, beneath the watchful eyes of the stars, the brothers ir’Fassime settled down to rest, their first day on the quest for truth drawing to a close. The fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows across the glade, and the night was filled with the soft, steady sounds of their breathing, a testament to their unbreakable bond and their unyielding resolve.