Castle Shyr

Finally! :) It seems like it took me forever to finish this section. Ahh well.. it\'s done now and with the timeline sitting on my computer, hopefully things will be moving a lot faster now.

In any case - more of the Tev in this chapter. More of the insanity that is King Valagor - and the introduction of another one of Loki\'s favorite characters. A boy known simply as \'kardon\'.

AAaaaahh yeah. There you go.


-The Childlike Army-

Valagor found that children without anything to occupy their time became destructive. They were loud and obnoxious; no good; lazy; and they grew into poor soldiers and ignorant slaves. He refused to let his already terrorized Kingdom go plagued by these damaging youths - and so he had come up with a plan. It was a good plan - if he did say so himself, which he did, continuously.

His son, Shakir, had suggested they start with the academy nonsense again. He had tried, years ago when Valagor was still young, to build an academy, to train the Tev - to make them smart. He wanted to teach them all to read, to write, to do complicated numerical problems - and apparently this would help them in their day to day work. Psht. They were soldiers - intelligence in the lower ranks was a stupid move for any King to make.

Then again - Shakir was trying to usurp him, wasn’t he?

Valagor chuckled, wiggling his toes a bit in the blankets gathered at his ankles. He’d paused in his rising this morning to listen to the sound of metal humming just outside his window - in the courtyard. It was a marvelous sound to awaken to - humming metal. The occasional clink, a shout.

Thinking of his son’s attempts on his life always made him smile - the idiot really thought he could manage it. Thought he could get the better of his old man. The real problem with Shakir was that he had gone soft when his sister died all those years ago. They’d been very close, and it left some deep scars - or so Shakir whimpered whenever the subject was breached.

Death was inevitable. Only the weak suffered from it.

Valagor chuckled again and stood, kicking the blankets askew to make his way to the window. Listening to the humming of metal was nothing next to watching it happen - watching his plan in motion.

Train the children - that had been his idea. If they want something to do, if their ‘minds want to be stimulated’ then teach them to use a sword. Teach them to defend themselves. Teach them to fight on Valagor’s command - teach them to talk to the Ju’agul - make Valagor an army out of the misguided youths of his swamps.

After three weeks the training seemed to be coming along quite nicely.

They still couldn’t move in unison, which was fine considering neither could most of the grown Tev soldiers, and most of them were still having difficulties lifting the real swords versus the training ones - but in three weeks they had come a long way. Even the hard-hearted Valagor was impressed.

It took months to get an adult army to cooperate this well - to follow commands so quickly. Why hadn’t anyone thought of this earlier? Perhaps it was just the genius that Valagor was given that allowed him to come up with such a brilliant strategy. And best of all the army would be made of children now, and what Nanion, even in battle, would harm a child? The Nanion were weak-willed, and would sooner take their own life then harm a child, even a Tev child.

Oh - basking in the glory of one’s triumphs was metaphorical gold.

He narrowed his eyes, both the good one and the bad one, and focused in on the slightly blurred moving figures, trying to pick individuals out of the crowd. There was a boy with dark blue hair and a mean swing - this was General Nebori’s son. The boy seemed not to care about the death of his father, at least he scoffed and looked away when Valagor mentioned him as if he didn’t care. The only thing that really unnerved Valagor about him was that he was always seen with Wiston’s daughter at his side. The girl was older, not nearly as bright, but she was damned strong - almost acting as the boy’s body guard from time to time, seeing as how his defense suffered in comparison to his offense. At the moment Valagor could recall niether of their names.

“K-yah!” Valagor’s attention was suddenly drawn to the other side of the courtyard, where one of the standing guards was unceremoniously attacked by - oh yes - that child. Valagor snarled silently from his window.

Shakir had brought him in, out of the goodness of his heart, or some hawk-shit like that. The boy was trouble - trouble like Mordecai. He wasn’t a halfling, thank the Gods, but he was going to be just as difficult, if not more so. While Mordecai seemed to give in to Valagor’s power with a sort of quiet, undermining sense of treason, this boy blatantly attacked Valagor - ran at him with a small dagger in his crooked hands. When the King had stated he was to be executed for treason - Shakir had stopped him. Fed some shit-and-boot story to the King and the council, and stopped the whole thing.

He wasn’t stopping Valagor now. The King smirked.

“You!” He shouted, leaning further out his window, frail bare chest scraping lightly on the cracking sill. “Guard!” Valagor smiled in an amused way as the courtyard fluttered into a different sort of life. Everyone below recognized the King’s voice, but none were able to locate it, pre-occupied and dim-witted as they were. It seemed obvious to Valagor that the first place one would look for the King would be his bedroom.

After a few more moments of scanning the areas below for him, one of the guards finally wizened up and looked to the window. He then fell into a deep bow, and the rest of the courtyard took their cue from him.

“My liege.” The guard whined obediently. “What can I do for you?”

“The children,” Valagor began, scanning the crowd of youths once again, “bring them to the throne room, I wish an audience with them.”

“Yes, my lord.”

And so it was done. Now all Valagor had to do was dress himself, arm himself, and he would finally be rid of the idiot boy. Wouldn’t Shakir be surprised when he came home and found his newest charge dead? Maybe Valagor would even pin the boy’s head to the stakes outside as a welcome for his son. He smirked.

His room was normally kept in a horrendous state of disarray, mostly because he would be damned before he’d lift a finger to clean anything - but he’d also be damned before he let any of his sniveling, back-stabbing servants into his room to touch his things. However, Valagor always managed to find exactly what he was looking for on the first try, no matter how deeply buried under years of clutter it was. It was with this same expertise that he pulled from the rubbish a light brown tunic and his royal robe, maroon and dark sienna - the colors of the Tev crest.

He quickly pulled on the tunic, fastening it over his bony waist and gray slacks, and stepped into his boots barefoot. Then he donned the robe, adjusting it here and there and appraising himself in the mirror for a few moments before he was completely satisfied. He liked the way the robe made him look much larger than he was without swallowing his frame whole.

The last piece of his ensemble was the crown - a haughty object which sat upon his vanity to overlook his room like it owned the space before it. The craftsmanship that had gone into the crown made it nearly impossible for any King to fathom the want for it’s destruction, even as they tore down throne after throne. There was just something frighteningly captivating about the crown. It was shaped like the Castle Tevlar itself - the hollow cones and spheres adorning the circle were shaped like the various towers and roofs on the castle - giving the wearer the impression he had the whole Castle at his call.

Yes. Valagor decided. That was why he liked it - because it showed to everyone just how much power he had at his fingertips. That was why he hadn’t destroyed the heavy thing.

Placing the crown on his head, Valagor was able to spend a few more moments adjusting the weight of the object before he had to make his long trek down the corridors. He hated traveling the length of the upper halls, but knew that it would take just as long, if not longer, to descend the stairs and run through the lower levels.

The corridors on the uppermost level of the Castle were reserved for the Royal family, or whomever the King wished to house in the best rooms. Valagor himself wanted nothing more than to empty the rooms, to leave the whole corridor to himself, but his Queen and the Council would have none of it. They demanded at least room for themselves, if not their best servants and family. The moment Valagor gave in to their demands he regretted it. He now had to deal with his Queen’s whole family, dysfunctional and wretched as they were. At least the council members and their families had the decency to stay away - the Queen’s blood walked right up to Valagor and began talking to him as if he cared, as if he didn’t have the power to silence them forever with a wave of his arm. Which, for reasons unknown to him, he had never done. Perhaps if he killed one of her beloved cousins, the Queen and hers would take a hint and leave him alone.

He stalked out into the hallway, chin up but eyes down, hoping that if he didn’t make eye contact with any of them that his chances of making it through the halls unscathed were better. Unfortunately for him the Queen’s closest brother was ambling about uselessly in the hallways. The idiot had always been a few stitches short of a hide, but after a spear injury to his head - he had deteriorated to a far less amusing state.

“The corridor.. Is… too dark.” Teyron mumbled, looking crookedly at Valagor as if he expected the King to fix things. “We need… more light!” He bellowed and immediately turned to beat his fists against the wall.

Valagor sneered and moved to walk against the railing, giving plenty of space between himself and Teyron. He walked quickly past him as he heard the boy give out a shout, and had to stop himself from tripping up Teyron’s nursemaid as she came barreling out of one of the rooms.

“So-sorry my King!” She whimpered as she bowed low, and even walked backwards to keep her face hidden from Valagor. He lifted his lip in a snarl, but kept his hands to himself and said nothing. He would speak with the Queen later about getting rid of Teyron’s nuisance once and for all.

The rest of the hall was thankfully free of obstructions, and aside from pulling back his ears at the raucous noise pouring out of his Queen’s room, Valagor found his trip down the corridor surprisingly uneventful. He was sure Yurlin would at least make once appearance, storm out of her room and demand he treat her family like his family - after all, they were his family, through more ways than just marriage. (Incest was not uncommon in the royal lines.)

He swept around the turn onto the flight of stairs, smiling at the feeling of his robe fanning out behind him to drip down the stairs in his wake. He found it amazing that even though he had so much on his mind he still had the time to think and marvel on the little things. He was more brilliant then they knew.

Finally stepping onto flat ground Valagor turned into the dining hall. He paused for a moment, wondering if he’d taken a wrong turn, then remembered he knew a short-cut through the kitchens, smirked, and continued on.

He ignored the strange looks of the servants in the adjoined rooms, wondering what he was doing down in their space at this hour. He had half a mind to turn and holler at them about how disgusting dinner had been the previous night, about how he wanted them all working on his breakfast - now - and about how horrible their deaths would be if it was not to his liking. He refrained, miraculously, and passed as quickly through the kitchen as he could. He thought again of causing trouble as he walked past the cabinet with all the expensive and priceless glasses; just a quick kick or well placed brush of his hand and he could send the whole thing careening into the middle of the room. What a mess that would make. He could then spend ample time punishing the servants for placing the cabinet in such an instigating position. With mercy and a whole lot of restraint he again walked by without disruption.

The throne room was now just across the entrance hall, big and empty as usual. Because of the strong draft coming in through the doors to the right, the Tev tended to steer clear of this room. Most of the time one found they could forget about what lay just outside while walking through the Castle’s almost welcoming halls, but the moment they stepped into a draft from outside, the very second they saw an outside window, they were again reminded of the dismal swamps that surrounded them. Not to mention the draft always smelled of mold and horse-shit.

Valagor was pleasantly surprised when he found that the guard had managed to slip all the children into the throne room in perfect linear formation before the King arrived. Most of them were behaving themselves, standing at attention like good pawns, but one or two in the back had started a little slapping contest, seeing who would blanche first.

Now Valagor could cause some trouble.

He walked silently up behind the battling children, motioning for the guards who saw him to remain quiet and still, they did so, albeit a bit nervously. He folded his hands almost curiously behind his back as he leaned forward, now close enough to feel wind from the boy’s slaps - and now close enough for them to see him. They stopped immediately, poised in mid-battle, and stared.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Valagor mewed politely, smiling. The boys fell quickly to their knees and hid their heads, unsure of what exactly the King wanted to hear. Valagor’s polite façade immediately vanished and he raised a foot, landing it squarely between one of the boys’ shoulder blades.

“Disrespect will not go unpunished!” He shouted belligerently, digging his heel into the boy’s spine to elicit a short shriek. He stepped over the duo and motioned for one of his guards to take them away.

He passed easily through the rest of the juvenile crowd, the children - all too scared to breathe - parted quickly for him, none daring to meet his eye or even look in his direction. He was surprised they managed such organized motion without stumbling into each other.

His sneer returned as he walked up the stairs to his raised throne and turned in a swirl of his darkened cape to sit on the throne and glare at the children as if highly offended by their very presence.

“I have been,” Valagor began, his voice dripping with a strange sort of arrogance, “exceptionally kind to you. I have forgiven whatever sins you may have had; I have given you warm rooms to sleep in; I have feed you three times a day, more than anyone could hope for out there; I have trained you; I have brought you into my service.. And how do you repay me? You shelter and hide among you the enemy. A traitor who should have been killed days ago for his blasphemy. Does my kindness mean nothing to you? Are you all that eager to see me fall?”

Teerin slowly turned his gaze to the right as the King paused to collect his thoughts. He ran a hand through his messy dark blue hair and clicked his tongue quietly against the roof of his mouth.

“What is he getting at?” He muttered almost without moving his lips or making a sound. “Do you think he means Kardon?”

“Teerin! Don’t call him that.” Whimpered the girl to his immediate right, wringing her hands softly in front of her as she looked about nervously. “It’s a horrid name.”

“Well, what am I supposed to call him then? It’s not like he’s given us his name.” The boy muttered offhandedly, tilting his gaze in the opposite direction to search for the one in question.

“Maybe he doesn’t have one.” Daitrope replied almost wistfully, earning her a strange glare from her companion.

“Tck. It’s not like he speaks our language, or any language for that matter, so he doesn’t know what it means. To him it’s just another funny bunch of sounds.”

“But you know what it means, Teerin. Don’t be so mean-spirited.”

“Geez girl, you sound like a Nanion.”

“I’ll kick your ass for that next time we spar.”

Teerin responded with a simple show of his tongue, and then continued his inconspicuous search for the wild boy, Kardon. Every year, just as it happened elsewhere in Nanio, the Swamps of Tevlar flooded, causing horrific destruction. No matter how prepared the Tev thought they had been for the onslaught of rain and waves of muck, they always suffered greatly. The waters had to eventually recede, and when they did they left behind putrid, sucking puddles of unnamable filth - these puddles were called kardon. When the guards who found the boy had been taking him to Shakir, one had commented that the boy reminded him of the kardon, the way he dripped in black swamp muck. The derogatory name had stuck, especially after Shakir announced he would be keeping the boy as a ‘special pupil.’ (Of course for all those loyal to Valagor this had lead to ceaseless new material at the Prince’s expense. The mightily haughty Shakir had taken in a kardon as his special pupil.)

Teerin liked the name simply because he found it ironic, and was curious to see if fate would deal the boy a good hand. Teerin, like many of the children gathered in the throne room, had spent a good deal of time out in the swamps, living life by scraping by one near death experience to the next, unlike the primped and spoiled soldier-brats who spent life in the relative safety of the castle. He knew first hand how devastating the floods could be - he also knew what joy the kardon brought to the people. If a kardon was spotted early enough it was considered a good omen - an omen that the harsh floods were over, that things could settle down and return to semi-peace. To Teerin it seemed as if the boy had been named for a change in times - he was curious to see if he would bring about that change, especially now that he’d again ended up on the King’s want list.

“-so now I ask you, as my soldiers, as my children, to point out this traitor. You will not be punished for hiding him - but rewarded for aiding me in his capture.” Valagor’s voice was practically dripping, and he found it difficult not to smirk or chuckle - but somehow, he managed. He scanned the children restlessly for a few seconds, his patience not nearly what he made it out to be. This was absolutely ridiculous. He gave these children everything! He treated them like royalty, like they were better than the scum they really were, and how did they repay him? But publicly stating they wished for his demise, in his own throne room, nonetheless! Just as he was about to stand and announce that they were all to be executed for their silence, a hand shot up near the back.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Daitrope whimpered, turning, as did everyone else, to look at the child who’d raised his hand.

“Turning in the wild boy.” Teerin answered snidely, crossing his arms over his chest. “What a coward.” He tilted his head as Daitrope didn’t answer and sighed; she was clearly upset about the whole thing. Honestly it was a disappointment to him too - he had wanted to see where the boy ended up - but there was nothing he could do about it now, and there was no use fretting over some boy who wouldn’t be missed by anyone. Except maybe Daitrope and Prince Shakir. Teerin rolled his eyes.

“Well child? Speak up!” Valagor shouted, standing and almost eagerly wringing his hands together.

“K-kardon.” The boy mouthed quietly, his voice barely carrying over the mass of heads in front of him. There was a slight stirring a few rows away from the King, and then Kardon made his presence known. The boy let out a fierce shouting cry and leapt almost clean over the head of the child in front of him, dashing the rest of the way until he was at the very front. He stood, bent nearly in half and panting like an animal, crooked hands groping at the air as if to pull a weapon from nothingness. He snarled, and lashed his head to the side.

“What an idiot.” Teerin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head a bit.

“You’d think the rumors about him and the Ju’agul were true - the way he acts.” Daitrope muttered, though she was still very clearly concerned about the boy. Teerin gave her a sidelong glance and snorted again through his nose.

“You think the King will kill him on the spot, or make a public spectacle out of it?”

“Teerin, shut your trap before I shut it for you.”

Valagor’s anger could not be expressed in words, but it almost radiated off him in waves, making his cape flap about his ankles as if there were a strange wind. He descended the platform slowly and deliberately, trying to stare down the child as he continued to thrash his head from side to side, baring pointed teeth as he shuffled his feet.

Valagor’s hand gesture was almost too quick to be seen, but the boy paused and balled his hands into fists. He didn’t understand the strange wave but he had a feeling it involved him, and he didn’t like not knowing things, especially when they concerned him.

“Gyaaaah!” He shouted, taking a few steps forward in preparation for a leap. The two guards which Valagor had called over immediately seized the boy, wrapping their arms under the child’s and lifting him until his feet no longer touched the ground.

“Raaaauuuuggghhhh!”

Valagor pulled on a smug grin as he watched the child struggle against the guards. He’d heard numerous reports of the child’s surprising physical strength, but being held like that left the child no options - he was completely at the King’s mercy.

“So, you still wish to kill me?” Valagor sneered, hiding his face from the crowd so they wouldn’t see him chuckle. “That’s a shame - I had hoped you would’ve changed your mind. You would have been a - great asset to this army.”

“Teerin-” Daitrope whispered, suddenly turning to grab the boy’s sleeve. “He’s going to kill him right now, isn’t he?” Teerin tilted his head and gave her the most baffled look he could muster before shrugging her off his arm.

“Would you calm down already, idiot? It’s not like you were close to him or anything.”

“I’m going to kill you someday..”

“Sure you are.”

“Aaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaggggg!” The two guards shifted their weight, spreading their legs a little to help keep balance as the Kardon continued to struggle, kicking and flailing. The duo exchanged glances, neither of them had expected the child to be so strong.

“Now, all of you will see what happens,” Valagor started, his voice low and dramatically clear, “when you challenge the King of the Tev.” He turned, sword in hand, and raised it high over his head, his mouth falling open in anticipation.

The boy stopped struggling and stared up at the sword, wincing as the only beam of light in the room struck the blade, reflecting off and into his eyes - forcing him to look away. The two guards again exchanged uneasy looks and turned their heads away from the boy, trusting that the King knew what he was doing.

Valagor’s open-mouthed grin widened into a vicious smile as he prepared to bring down the blade. This was it! His moment of triumph over Shakir. Once the Prince saw that Valagor was free to do what he wanted, when he wanted, he would realize that he was no match for him. He might even resign his royalty. Or better yet - commit suicide for thinking such horrible things about his father. Valagor laughed and immediately began to lower the sword.

He stopped him.

Valagor’s eyes grew wide as his sword was met by the solid, and unscathed hand. The man narrowed his light eyes viciously, his tangles of red hair looking tended and washed. He wore royal-looking garb and was clearly in a better state of health then he had been a few nights ago. He stared hard at Valagor, tightening his fingers over the sword in a move which should have surely severed his hand - yet there was not a drop of blood to be seen.

“My Lord?” One of the guards asked, trying to peer around the glint off the sword to see Valagor’s face. He pulled back and looked at his companion, flabbergasted. It seemed as if the King were staring at someone, someone who wasn’t there.

“Not this again..” Muttered the other guard, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth afterwards - hoping the King hadn’t heard his comment.

But Valagor wasn’t interested in comments concerning his mental health - at the moment he was occupied with the man in front of him, gripping the blade so hard it shattered. As the spider web cracks swam their way down the sword the man stepped closer to the King, forcing him backwards, away from the wild boy.

“Wh-what do… do you want?” Valagor rasped, still holding the sword out, only because he was too stiff with fear to lower it.

“Do not. Harm him.”

It.. Spoke. The words seemed hard for the apparition to get out, as if his mouth was dry or simply just too unused - but he had said them nonetheless. His voice was deep, and it echoed in Valagor’s ears, seeming to reverberate through the very foundations of the Castle -as if the man was not speaking, but the Castle itself was. The thought of the Castle manifesting itself simply to thwart Valagor made his head spin.

He stumbled backwards and the sword slipped from his fingers.

“My King!” The guards immediately released their hold on the boy and ran forward. The Kardon took a moment to watch in curiosity as the red-haired man continued to advance on the King, but he was not stupid - he realized this was his chance at escape, and he took it. He turned and immediately plowed through the mass of children without regard to whom, or what, he stepped on or pushed aside.

“King Valagor!”

The Tev narrowed his eyes as the man pulled back his hand and crossed his arms over his chest, never moving his eyes from Valagor’s - not even as the rest of his body began to disappear, eventually leaving only light eyes, staring into Valagor’s very essence until they too were swallowed by the Castle.

“My liege, are you alright?”

Valagor couldn’t answer the guard. He couldn’t seem to force his tongue to move, his throat to open - and the room was still spinning. He tried to sit, to force away the guards at his sides and shout orders at the children - they would not see him in such a state - but he couldn’t.

“M-my lord!” The guards whimpered in a slight panic as the King began to flail about, trying to sit himself upright without really knowing what direction that was. His hands began slapping at anything they came in contact with in an attempt to push off them and hopefully send himself ‘up’.

“Out of my way!” He snarled as his legs connected with the ankles of some misfortunate guard, sending him to the floor with a highly undignified noise.

He turned his gaze defiantly to the child closest to him - and his eyes again grew wide.

The boy’s hair fell to his hips in curly strands of dark sienna. His eyes, wide and fearful as the King’s, were heavy with maroon. The colors of the Tev crest.

But this was no Tev..

This child, was Nanion.