Young Writers Society

Atheron was intimidating. The city rose on a slight incline, the pinnacle of which was a hundred-foot tall keep, crowned with a red brick dome. Often described as a dartboard when seen from atop the Agressi mountains, it swirled out in rings from that keep. First a ring of military stables, barracks, blacksmiths, training courtyards, and a large dining hall. From there rose dozens of double-story houses and inns, looped in rings. A thick stone wall surrounded this upper level of the city. From that wall outward looped hundreds of smaller buildings. There were huts and houses, stores, a market, a temple, banks, and various other small businesses. This outer level was protected by a palisade of sharp wooden logs pointing outward.

It was at the South Gate of this palisade that Devlin, Malcolm, Miles, and Gwyn now approached as the sun descended behind the mountains. Violet and golden light spilled over the snowy peaks, adding some color to an otherwise drab landscape of dead bushes, leafless trees, and the dark walls of Atheron.

“Here’s the plan,” Devlin said, walking backward so that he could face the group. Miles and Malcolm flanked Archie which carried Gwyn. “We go straight to the magistrate and see if Carris, by some miracle, made it here, and if so, if he has news of Eridan.”

“What if she didn’t?” Miles asked.

“We explain the situation and prepare for his arrival.”

“What if he’s already there?” Malcolm chimed in.

“Atheron is a war-conquered city. There’s a weapons ban upon entry for anyone not military, or with specific papers containing direct orders from an officer, advisor, or the king himself. If Eridan arrived he would have turned in his weapons.”

“That means that this is the best time to take him, right?”

“Yes. I think.” Devlin rubbed his hands together. “From what I could tell, his power is coming from that ebony blade.”

Miles raised a hand. “If he has arrived and turned in this, uh, magical sword, can we get access to the weapons turned in? There’s got to be some sort of storage facility or armory where the weapons are kept.”

“Excellent point. We should check that out straight away.”

“And if he hasn’t arrived?” Malcolm questioned. “He’s not going to waltz in with that armor. And why is he going to Atheron?”

“I believe he’s trying to recruit followers. He lost his troop in the dragon att-“

Miles interrupted. “I’m sorry. you said armor? What’s so special about it?”

“It’s strange. All black. The helmet has bull horns on it. Looks like he’s a performer in some strange play.”

“A bull? A black bull?”

Yes?” Devlin said, raising an eyebrow.

“The Black Bull.”

Devlin said nothing. He raised his hands. “Am I missing something?”

“You might be in some trouble. The Black Bull is a Sadorian legend. Miles’ voiced swelled. “He’s supposed to rise out of the ashes of a fallen Sadoria and come as a savior to the country’s aid. He’s said to be un-killable! Every Sadorian child grows up hearing about him.”

Devlin looked at the ground in thought. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”

A gust of wind blew across the group. Archie snorted shook his head. Miles patted his neck and stroke his side. “almost there boy.” He spoke softly into the horse’s ear. He turned back to Devlin. “We can talk to the magistrate and figure out what the best plan is, but we need to get some lodging as well. Gwyn and Malcolm need rest and food, and a long-term solution.”

“I’ll be fine,” Malcolm muttered. He tucked his arms together. “I just want to find Eridan.”

Devlin nodded. “We’ll take care of all of that.”

They were within a hundred yards of the South Gate now. Two guards, dressed in royal Astorian red with the hawk crest on their breastplates, stood on either side of the fifteen-foot tall structure, currently disarming a couple of men. One of them held a lantern while the other took what appeared to be a bow and a pair of swords. The weapons were placed in a wheelbarrow and the men were waved through.

One of them glanced back at the incoming group and shook his head pitifully. Neither of the soldiers looked exactly thrilled either. They leaned against the gate, shoulders sunken, faces barely seen buried in red scarves. As Devlin approached them the one on the left pushed himself off the wall and held a hand up as he sauntered forward, right hand on his hilt.

“State your name and business,” he said, voice muffled but loud. It sounded weary like he was tired of stating the requirement, and so he had resolved to simply bellow it out without tact.

Devlin winced, then stood as straight as he could and spoke in a smooth, confident voice. “Private Devlin Tarathin. 7th Mountain Regiment.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow and his partner took a step closer. “From Hoden’s Pass?” he asked.

Devlin noted that the guard’s hand was still on his hilt.

“Yes. But it’s been overrun. It’s urgent that I speak to the magistrate as soon as possible.” Devlin took a step toward the gate, but the soldier shuffled in front of him and put a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry private, but I’m going to have to ask you for your papers.”

“My papers?” Devlin asked, pushing the hand away. “I don’t have any papers.”

The guard rocked on his feet. “So you have no proof that you should be here? Y’know, it’s mighty cold up in the mountains. Plenty of troops have ditched their stations and tried to hide here in Atheron.”

Devlin’s heart dropped. “You think I’m a traitor? Look,” he said, more adamant than ever, “Hoden’s Pass has been overrun by Sadorians, and I nee-“

“Ha! sure thing, and I’m best friends with the queen,” the soldier mocked. He narrowed his gaze. “I’m going to ask you one more time to provide some evidence for why you’re here, or I’m going to have to arrest you and your friends here.”

Devlin turned back to the group. Gwyn’s eyes were wide and flitting back and forth, Malcolm was looking at the ground, muttering to himself. Miles stood with Archie’s hands in his reins. He stepped forward.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “but we don’t have time for this. I’m here on official business, and Private Devlin is with me.” He produced a tied scroll from his side-bag. “I can vouch for his character.”

The guard took the scroll and looked it over. “Looks official. But it makes no mention of any escort. Who are these people?” He gestured towards Gwyn and Malcolm as he returned the scroll to Miles.

“Survivors,” Devlin growled. “Potter’s Creek. Look it up on a map. It’s been burned to the ground and they are all that is left.”

The guard looked to his companion. “Never heard of it.”

Devlin scoffed. “I don’t really care. If I was deserting, why would I be trying to speak to the magistrate? There is an imminent threat headed towards this city, and if we don’t act now, we could all be in serious danger.” Devlin could feel the heat rising from his neck.

The guard shifted on his feet. “Fine. We’ll take you to him, but we’re stripping you of your weapons.”

Devlin shook his head. “No, I’m a soldier in the Royal Army. I have clearance to be armed in any conquest city.”

“Look, friend, you’re not in army attire, you’ve got no clearance papers and no way of identifying yourself. Now hand over the sword.”

Devlin hesitated, then unbuckled his sword belt and shoved it unceremoniously into the guard’s chest. “You’re wasting your time.”

The guard tossed the belt into the wheelbarrow along with dozens of other daggers, swords, bows, and a few hatchets. “Might be. But better safe than sorry right,” he said, offering a fake smile. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything else on ya,” he said. “Face the other way with your hands up.”

Devlin did everything he could not to huff right then and there. He turned, facing Miles now.

Miles gave a sardonic smile. “Could be worse,” he offered up. “This will all be straightened out right away.

Devlin shook his head. The guard patted him down, checking his sleeves, legs, and finally his jacket. His hand landed on Devlin’s left pocket, and he stopped. “What this?”

He reached into the pocket and pulled out an object.

Devlin glanced over his shoulder. It was the carving of the black bull that he had found after the ambush at the Pass.

The bull. Of course! Miles was right.

Miles had an intake of breath as he caught sight of the carving. “Oh, this is bad.”

The guard grunted. “Huh? What’s this? A child’s toy?”

Miles shook his head. “No, it’s a carving of the Black Bull. His followers carry them as a sign of loyalty.”

“Oi,” the second guard spoke for the first time, walking over. “I seen one of them yesterday. Them two big burly fellers had ‘em. Let ‘em keep ‘em cuz they seemed harmless.”

“What?” Devlin shouted, spinning on his feet. The first guard stumbled back, drawing his sword.

“Wait!” Devlin shouted, keeping his hands above his head as he stepped back. “Those carvings. These two men, was one of the older, the other one larger? Dressed in fur coats. Maybe even had some blue paint draw on them.”

The second guard had drawn his sword, but he held it at waist level now. “Yeah. The big one didn’t talk much, just kept askin’ ‘bout the nearest place he could get a roasted chicken.”

Devlin ran a hand through his hair. “Was there a third man with them?”

“Look, what’s this about,” The first guard growled, stepping up to Devlin.

“Just take me to the magistrate. Things are worse than I feared.”

The guard looked into Devlin’s eyes, and Devlin stared straight back. “Now.”