Chapter 7

Having long exited the Estoc arena, Annesha and the crew walked along the path leading back to the upper district of the capital. The crew were rather quiet, a very unusual thing, but Annesha could guess quite easily. For now they managed to hold their tongues, that was until they had made it to the main street of the lower capital.

"That was rather… cruel, Annesha," Rollan stated in a low voice.

"We've dealt with others like her in the past," she simply stated.

"Yes, but... Verreene…" he pressed. "She's a Carthinnian. One of our own."

"It's all the same Rollan, drop this matter."

It was then, Garld broke to the front of the pack before addressing, "my Princess?"

"Yes, Garld?" she questioned, recognising him by voice as she continued on her path forward.

"What about Chillian's corps?" he asked?

Annesha paused briefly, before turning around and asking, "what?" There in Garld's arms lay a corpse filled quilt wrap of Chillian's body. "Garld," she scolded. "I thought you took it to the mortician."

Hesitating, he asked, "where's the mortician?"

Annesha took a moment to quell the headache brewing within her head before respectfully explaining, "the Mortician was among the first buildings on the path leading from the Estoc Arena. Do you know why?" she pressed.

"Because…" Garld hesitantly began. "People die at the…"

"People die at the Estoc Arena, yes." It was then she was struck with realization, and asked, "in fact, why are the rest of you following me? The tavern's that way, I'm going to the castle…" They all seemed to stammer, scratch their heads and mumble their ill conceived reasonings, unable to quite find one suitable enough. With an understanding sigh, Annesha offered, "old habits, I suppose."

"Aye," they all seemed to agree in a low solemn tone.

"I'll make it up to you guys," she offered. "I just have to do one thing. In fact, I should've let you know sooner that my…" Yet, before she could finish her sentence, her gaze was drawn from those of her crew, to three figures making haste for her as they speedily. They were guardsmen and with yet another heavy sigh, Annesha questioned to herself, "what now?" She was quick to recognise the first of the guardsmen, though it strained her memory just to do so and as he parted his way through Annesha's crew, she greeted the man as naturally as ever, "ah, Commander Erwin it's been a good few days since we've spoken."

"My princess," he spoke in between breaths of air, winded from having ran all the way from the docks. "At the docks! -you're… you're…"

"Dalvion…" she finished for him. "You needn't have run all this way commander, though it is much appreciated. He could've just announced his arrival himself. Couldn't you have spared the courtesy, Dalvion?" she questioned, raising her voice to an obvious degree before glancing up to the nearest rooftop.

There a fine prince of Carthol stood, both with a grin and arms folded as glared down upon the group below. "Heh, you were always wise to my schemes, Annesha."

"And now you're going to challenge me to a race to the castle, aye?" she inquired, though her tone sounded more affirmative than questioning.

Again Dalvion laughed dismissively, asserting, "oh please. We're both adults now. Such childish things are beyond us."

They both quietly chuckled to one another seeming to agree with the sentiment before soon falling eerily quiet. It was a silence that lasted only a single moment as their soft familiar gaze quickly faded to that of cold determination. In a single, brief blinding flash of light, the two vanished before the crew as they dashed across rooftops in a desperate race to be the first to the castle.

"Wait a minute," Rollan muttered to himself. "If Dalvion is back, then that means…"

He turned on his heels before pushing through his crew to look west to the wall only to find a gang of men with similar numbers to the Dregsen's crew. They looked like a dogged old bunch, worn from the many days and nights at sea as they carried cargo upon their shoulders with weapons at their side. There was no denying the sight. It was the crew of the Ruggul, the crew of Prince Dalvion.

Hesitantly, Taldon asked, "is that…"

"Yes," Rollan was quick to affirm.

"And that's..." he pointed to a man who stood ahead, with a likeness similar to that of Rollan.

And before he could finish, Rollan was quick to answer, "no…"

"What? Still alive?" the man ahead of them suddenly bellowed for all to hear, turning many heads their way.

"Dammit," Rollan quietly simmered beneath his breath.

"Little Rollan is all grown up," he loudly exclaimed, throwing whatever bags and cargo he carried into his peer's arm to properly stand to face Rollan.

Rollan's blood began to boil. They were only born hours apart, yet his brother always acted as though he held decades over him. Gritting his teeth, Rollan lashed out with a witty line of his own.

"One of us had to, Dorron," he shot back, a response that earned him a chuckle from his crew, and stone cold silence from Dorron's.

"I can still ground you into the dirt, old boy."

"The only thing you're capable of grounding is the hull of your ship. No doubt it's why you're still just an oarman."

Dorron forced a grin and inferred, "and you've been keeping better yourself?"

"Crew!" he called in a loud commanding voice. "What am I to you?"

"Captain of the Dregsen! -captain…" they uniformly answered and addressed.

"Captain?" he scoffed. His crew certainly didn't seem convinced. "You think I'm a fool? Captain is reserved for the prince and princess."

It was then Taginal stepped forward and shouted, "he is the captain and mighty fine one at that!"

"Aye!" the rest cheered.

"Oh," Dorron beamed. He donned an all too familiar look upon his face. It was the look of a conniving and the glint of some profound revelation. "Was our dear princess…"

"Do Not Speak Ill of Princess Annesha!" Rollan snapped.

Dorron and his crew bellowed out laughing and it was only when he was able to gain a proper breath to speak did he say, "she can't navigate the seas yet you think she's sufficient to be Lordess. You Jest! Haha."

"Men," Rollan spoke as he stepped forward.

"Aye," Kallion answered as he stepped with him.

"We hear you captain," Taginal assured as they each approached the Ruggul's crew in Rollan's stead, drawing weapons, cracking knuckles and tightly fastening the armor upon their body.

The laughter of the Ruggul's crew died down once they saw this affrontive display of the Dregsen's crew before returning the gesture. "Seems we've ought to settle this then," Dorron muttered as he and the rest stepped to the challenge.

As they each approached within the quiet, suddenly sparse-of-life main street ready to initiate a bloody war, did heavily armored glistening figure land before them all, shattering the earth upon impact, kicking up a cloud of dust that obscured their vision.

"I will not sanction this battle upon capitol grounds," this figure muttered in a deep commanding voice. As the dust cleared, it was revealed to the crews to be none other than a royal guardsmen of Carthol. Their power and ability was said to be immense, and they were warriors hand picked by Old Lord Mortemy himself. The rule was law, and their judgment final upon the men and women of Carthol. "If you wish to slay one another, take it to the Arena where you can have the courtesy to provide the public with fine entertainment. Else go your separate ways. That is my decree, the words of Quvo Phelten."

Dawn had just beamed into the bounds of the valley when Annesha raced across the rooftops of buildings to reach the castle garden. The excitement she now felt simply couldn't be rivaled, not even the anticipation she felt when she'd first arrived in Carthol could be compared. How has he changed, what would he look like and how powerful he had become were questions that filled her mind and she couldn't help but feel almost like a child again. Like how they always used to play and cause trouble all around causing shop owners and commoners a headache for the ages.

With one final swift sleep, she surmounted the cliff and onto the stone rail of the garden. Only then did she see her brother standing before the fountain, hand over chin as he looked at it with quite the pensive glare. She first shunned herself for having been beaten to the castle for she was sure she had the lead advantage from the Estoc Arena as opposed to the docks beyond the walls.

"Hmm," he muttered as Annesha let the minor loss pass. "I got to say, the new fountain head is a little uninspired." It was a simple smoothed orb with water that flowed over its surface and into several pools below like a fine layer of silk through the wind. "I rather liked the maiden with water jutting from her hand. She held such a bizarre pose."

"Perhaps you should've considered that before you accidentally shattered it."

He then let out a chuckle as he folded his arms, and turned to her with a grin. "You're still calling it an accident?"

"Oh? So we're dropping the act then?" she answered, returning a grin of her own. As they both let out a laugh, they came together before crossing her forearms. "It sure has been long, Dalvion."

"Has it?" he questioned, playfully mimicking her pose by folding his arms and even dramatically cocking his hip to one side.

"Well… last I saw, you were much more… cocky beyond all reason…"

"And you had a rather… snappy temperament. Now it seems more of a… slow burn but a burn nonetheless."

As Annesha grinned with amusement, she had an odd feeling in her horns. A strange undeniable tingling as though someone or something more was watching. She scanned the scenery, glancing from left to right and around, but nobody was there. The presence didn't feel particularly malicious. Not entirely at least. It was rather a mixture of several emotions; distrust and doubt being two among them.

"Are you alright, Annesha?" Dalvion questioned, noticing her sudden and uncharacteristic awareness.

"Perfectly," she assured with one final glance, rubbing a horn before returning Dalvion's gaze with a reassuring smile. "Why don't we go have lunch?" she offered. "I know the sea rations get rather stale."

"Yeah, lets," he affirmed. "It's been a long time since I walked the castle halls, and longer yet since I've heard from you. I'm sure you have many stories to tell."

"So long as you tell a few epics of yourself."

"That's a promise I can keep."

As they entered the castle, Annesha had instructed a servant to ready a lunch for Dalvion and her. As they walked the halls, Annesha couldn't help but steal glances at Dalvion as he looked through the newly designed castle corridors and windows with matching wonder and critique Annesha too had when she first arrived. They shared much the same opinion, that being the old interior had seemed much better in comparison, but at least the halls themselves opened a flood of nostalgia for the both.

Soon, lunch was given as they sat across from one another on the shorter side of the long and grand table. They were both given two plates, meat with a side of salad and two sets of silverware. In all honesty, Annesha still hadn't grasped the purpose of each set, and looking to Dalvion it was apparent he too lacked understanding.

Instead he waved a hand as he took the bigger set of the two. "There's no purpose to be so formal. We're family," he said as he stabbed the meat and began cutting.

"Aye," she agreed as she followed suit.

"We may be royaltee, but we're warriors at heart. Formality and decadence were long gone from my mind after just the first months out on the sea."

"In fact," she began. "Exactly what was that like for you?"

"Hard at first," he spoke with a mouth full of food as he chewed. "Honestly, I didn't know much of what I was doing, but it was the time I truly found value in hard work and calaced hands. The seas were rather rough, the navigator inexplicably sickly. As captain I had to step up, learn the ropes and not just others what to do. I learned to navigate the stars and soon enough the sea became my domain. You?" He then asked.

Truth be told, Annesha was rather embarrassed. For one, she didn't necessarily call herself captain because of her inability to sail. Could she possibly tell Dalvion that? "Same," she replied. "The seas were rather rough the first few months, but me and my men had pulled through and persevered."

It was much less extravagant sounding hearing the words leave her mouth, and truth be told she felt rather underwhelmed at herself and deservedly so.

"Yes, and I'm sure you grew stronger too. Any masters you trained with abroad?"

"All kinds," she assured. "Masters of the sword, masters of light and dark magic, and masters of the Euth. Each one had something new to teach, some methods I had not yet known nor thought of and I was always willing to learn."

"Oh," he inquired. "What did you learn."

As a matter of fact, that was a rather hard question to answer. She definitely could recall many things, many styles of physical and magical combat, but she worried it might've been unimpressive to describe it alone. She'd need someone to demonstrate on and she'd rather not leave a servant dead. Everything just seemed like a blur, every ounce of knowledge she ever gained seemed insignificant the more she pondered and dilberated, but then she had it. A single morsel of experience she was undoubtedly proud of beyond all else.

"I subjected a drake once," she answered after a rather unusually long pause.

Truthfully, it was perhaps her hardest fought personal achievement that not only could she just boast about but present in combat. However the way she said it made it seem so dull, so insignificant just as she'd feared. It was rather embarrassing. Just what would Dalvion think?

"Oh, that certainly sounds great. What-"

"What about you?" she interjected in an all to blatant and shameless attempt to shift the focus to Dalvion.

"Me? Well like you I can say I've learned many things and grown much stronger over the years."

He continued to explain more about himself, every bit of strength he accrued, the nations he's been and the masters he met. He spared no detail and nothing was too insignificant to speak of. Unlike Annesha, he made even the most trivial of things sound so enthralling, he spoke with excitement and enthusiasm, has he delved into each story telling them as though they were legends of old, yet he was the hero, he was the savior, he was the paragon of man. The tyrants he slayed, the people he helped and the masters he trained under. He told it all and before either of them knew it, hours had passed and yet there was still so much to say, but even more Annesha wanted to hear.

But his spiel was cut abruptly short as Delvion then turned his gaze to capital looking upon the wall. It was then Annesha noticed she had somehow and inexplicably found herself standing within the guardian. How they got there and when, she couldn't recall, but she suspected it happened naturally and Annesha was simply too aloof to properly keep track of time and her own spatial awareness.

"So, that wall. Was that Old Lord Mortemy's doing?" he asked, giving Annesha proper reason to speak and not simply idly listen. No doubt it was the only reason she was snapped back to reality in any meaningful capacity.

"Aye," she answered as she leaned over the stone railing still jarred by her utter lack of awareness. "That's what I've been told and I do certainly believe it. Just raising it drove him to frailty and as such he became deathly ill."

"And you sent him off," he asked.

"Of course. With respect and his honor intact." Dalvion shook his head in approval, his demeanor rather melancholy. "Rest assured, he resides among the iron kings now, forever immortalized as one of Carthol's greatest."

"And there stands his monument to Carthol," he said with a gesture to the wall. "I can see the design is coming great."

"Is it?" she asked as she again looked to admire the work being done.

It was a slow process for it stood taller than many mountains but gradually as the days passed since Annesha's arrival and the council's approval, the wall began taking on a new form as the stone was carved and sculpted into a rather refined design. At the very top, towers were carved spaced one thousand meters apart. However, of all the towers, the largest and grandest were located at the north and south end with one at the very center of it all with crenellations having been carved to bridge them one with another.

However, while carving the towers and battlements was a priority, secondary to that was giving the wall dimension and design. True, Carthinnians were considered a war type nation reveling in the thrill of combat and honor of battle, but they were just as much artisans and artists all the same. You'd be hard pressed to find a single jagged uncut stone surface go to waste wherever Carthinnians commoned or settled.

Beneath the center most tower, the face of the old Lord began to take shape. It was uncanny how striking its likeness was to Mortemy from the dimensions of his face, to the design of his hair. It was undeniably old Lord Mortemy and soon, his shoulders, body, arms and legs would take shape and be carved, sculpted, molded and forever to be immortalized within the great monolith that was the wall. It was the very legacy he left behind, the unbreakable will that defended Carthol in its most dire hour. That was the will, that was the legacy of old Lord Mortemy.

"Yeah…" she said, agreeing with Dalvion's rather dull compliment. "I suppose you can say that."

"Well, given Carthol hasn't fallen yet, I do suppose it is in good hands."

Again, Annesha nodded. "I remember as children, you told me you'd hate to become as old and as boring as father. The man who sits around on a boring old throne, wearing a boring old crown, talking to boring old people about boring old things and being such a bore every boring old day in and boring old day out."

With a chuckle, he asked, "and how are you taking to it?"

"It's… boring," she admitted. "But there's so much Carthol must do if it is to cling to its place in the world."

"Aye, I can agree on that. If Carthol must reclaim its place, it'd be wisest to raise yet another army and defeat Narrovinnia once and for all."

Annesha paused for a moment, taking a precious moment to properly process the words he just spoke.

'Raise… another army?' the princess internally questioned. "Dalvion," she began in a light tone of voice hoping she wouldn't come off as demeaning. "We don't have the resources, logistics, economy or infrastructure to raise yet another army anywhere near the size of the former. The largest majority of our trained forces lie at the bottom of Xanthian. Our mightiest and most fearsome warriors and soldiers... all dead."

She had hoped she clearly explained her point and helped Dalvion to understand the state of Carthol's plight and that such notions and fantasies of yet another war with Narrovinia, much less one Carthol could win, was infeasible, a pure fantasy.

"Carthol without war?" he questioned, laughing at Annesha. He was so quick to dismiss these concerns that it felt like a true slap in the face and it was only when he was able to quel in laughter that he finally declared, "war is the rite of all Carthinnians! Battle is our mold, and the blood we shed is what binds us."

"Dalvion," she shot. "We have no army! They're dead! Hundreds of thousands wiped out in an instant!"

"Aye, but what of our territories around the world?" he inquired.

Yet, Annesha was quick to answer with, "any sizable force that could be spared where here the day that titan foundered the entirety of Carthol's navy."

"Aye," he belched. "But what of the elders?"

"You can't be... The Elders Earned Their Rest," Annesha asserted with waning composure, her voice rife with agitation. "They've fought for twenty and one years, and more. -than earned. -their keep! We cannot ask them to raise the sword once more, not for meaningless war! Not for war with Narrovinnia."

"Sure," he muttered. However, it was only when he turned to her did he clarify. "Sure I can, when I'm Lord of Carthol of course."

"Dalvion!" she snapped, quickly losing both patience and grace.

"You know what I see Annesha? The Archipelago of Reathean in the Hands of Those Savages!" he barked. His kind, jeering deminor long since faded in lieu of cold, hard, self assured conviction. "-Sailing Our Ships! Chasing Out Our People! And Steeling Off Our Trade Routes to the World Beyond the Mouth of Xanthian!"

"Narrovinnia's Occupation Of that Archipelago is the Reason Carthol Still Stands!" Annesha loudly retorted. "It's the Reason We Have Peace!"

"You call that peace?" he questioned. "As they further bolster their forces day by day, expanding their reach beyond the mouth of Xanthian while our economy and trade is left to stagnate, fester and rot…"

"There's more recourse to be had than just the mouth of Xanthian. There's more to toppling a nation than outright battle. Your only resolve is brutal war, war we cannot fund, war we cannot sustain, war we can never hope to win. With what metal will we forge our armor? With what hands will we forage our swords and with what grain will we feed our armies? It's frivolous, it's irresponsible, it's absurde, it's foolish Dalvion... Utterly, undeniably and inexplicably foolish."

"And that is where we disagree, Annesha."

She didn't respond, she didn't know how to. She said what was necessary and meant what she said. There was nothing more to it, nothing left to be mentioned. If he disagreed with her judgment, there was simply no other alternative.

"Tomorrow's dawn," Annesha spoke with a fair and even voice. "Within the Estoc arena…"

"Too small," he insisted. "Within the valley beyond the northern pass, we'll duel to decide who takes up the mantle of Lord of Carthol.

Annesha nearly felt sick as she and Dalvion went their separate ways for the time being. Her mind raced and her heart pounded as she pondered their debate and deliberated over the stark, cold future to come. Could she really fight her brother, how far would she take it? How likely was it either would die and if it was necessary, could she ever bring herself to kill Dalvion? Would Dalvion stand to slay Annesha? Would anything short of death suffice as victory? Dalvion was never one to simply roll over. His tenacity was unmatched and even as a hot headed kid Dalvion would die before ever admitting defeat.

Annesha had only one place she could go, and soon she found herself standing before Echon's family tavern. Knocking, she again was greeted by Kallion who looked at her through the slit in the door, only before he could come up with his witty joke to further annoy her, he was quick to soon noticed Annesha's rather somber demeanor. She never looked so sullen and down for no good reason. Certainly something was afoot.

Hastily opening the door, Kallion asked, "Annesha, what's the matter?"

"Excuse me," she quietly commanded before he stood aside to let her in.

She didn't hold her head so high, she didn't step with the same confidence as she had prior and her presence lacked an air of authority. It was so unusual, that as the men gradually began noticing her one by one, they all fell silent, concerned, worried and perhaps even fearful of what Annesha would say next.

"Men," she addressed, low yet deliberate. "It seems my claim to the throne as Lordess isn't guaranteed. It seems Dalvion Mortemy has other plans for Carthol. It seems one that would directly conflict with my desires. So, here he and I stand at an impasse and a duel will be what settles our discourse. Who wins will drastically alter the future of Carthol. I don't mean to be so bold in my assertion for nothing can ever truly be guaranteed, but his plans will most definitely lead Carthol to its demise. If by any chance I do not succeed, I say it's best you take what you can, hop aboard the Dregsen and get out of here while you still can."

There was a considerably long moment of silence before Rollan inquired, "you're not just going to roll over?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "Carthol and its people come first and foremost. I'd kill each and every one of you all if it meant saving this nation."

There was a burst of laughter as one of the men said, "wouldn't that be a privilege?"

Even Annesha herself couldn't help but crack a smirk.

"Commander," Rollan began. "We know you're the best and if anything you're not one to concede and neither one roll over. Defeat isn't in your blood and defeat sure as hell has been beaten out of us."

"We'll be there to cheer you on, commander!"

"Aye!" they shouted.

"Lordess or not, Princess or not, you're the commander of the Dregsen Brigade!"

"If I lose, I don't ask that you rebel," she clarified. "If the worst comes, I want you to know that I simply want you all to live your life and to leave a legacy of your own."

"Legacy isn't borne by blood and not only our bonds," Placing a hand over Annesha's shoulder, Rollan stood beside her reassuringly before looking to each and every one of the crew. "We are the soul of the Dregsen, the ship our study carapace and there's no greater legacy we lead when we're united with all hands on oars, as our heart mimics the drum and our bodies row in unison to pull us across the vast abyss that is the seas and oceans abroad. We'll take your side to the edge of the world and back, to the bounds of the glass and beyond the stars. We've got your back Annesha no matter you resolve, fate of this duel be damned, we'll be there during your lowest, and your highest or Vreuth find us."

"D-dammit," she quietly stammered as she wiped her eyes dry. "You're all hopeless," she endearingly joked. "I'll win this duel with breath in my lungs, blood in my heart and Lordess as my title. I swear it!"