Page 2 of Heirs of the Cursed

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Is this him?” Kirus Allencort questioned with a slight frown.

“He’s the best scout in the Royal Army.” Killian’s deep, slanted voice drowned out the ears of those present.

“I hope he won’t let me down.”

His son leaned against the door frame with a nonchalant air. “You can always cut off his head if you’re not pleased with his performance.”

Leonel held back a gasp of dread.

The king grimaced in approval and, without so much as a glance, spoke to the young soldier, “You will take the horse that will be ready at the castle entrance in five minutes. You will ride without rest to Evrethia and make sure that everything in the cursed kingdom is intact.”

“At your command, Your Majesty.” Leonel’s voice trembled, as did the rest of his body.

“You understand what is at stake, don’t you, Soldier Ramsdean?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated.

“Good. Then you will obey my command and bring answers. Or I swear to you that the last thing you’ll see before you die will be rats eating your insides and crows devouring your eyes until you bleed to death.”

The threat still thundered in Leonel’s ears, even with the darkness of the early morning upon him. As he had been ordered, the young scout had begun his journey toward Evrethia, the ghost city that had been banned from residence since the last war came to an end. Tales of terror were told throughout the world about the desolate land bathed in shadows, yet Leonel didn’t know what awaited him.

Fear had accompanied him during the seven days of travel. He had ridden relentlessly across Edrivann Path, between Ferus Woods and Pixies’ Forest, rationing the food neither he nor thehorse had been able to eat, both gripped by the fear of the fate they were about to face.

Leonel couldn’t help but think of his little sister and his mother, both defenseless against the kingdom’s weapons were he to fail the king. He couldn’t afford to do so, and if he did . . . Killian would find him, or perhaps the goddesses would be benevolent and it might be the Chaser who did. They’d tear him apart and kill everyone he had ever loved.

As he arrived at the city that protected the entrance to the cursed kingdom, the soldier prayed to the Triad to provide him the answer the king sought. His prayers grew louder when he stepped through the crypt’s door and into the eerie silence.

The smell of decay and death accompanied him down the steep stairs, and Leonel instinctively pressed a hand to his nose, trying to push it away from his lungs. His fingers grazed the walls made of dry earth and the remains of bones, as he lifted the oil lamp to see his surroundings.

What would he find downstairs?

Would it be a never ending rot? Corpses infected by diseases and consumed by years of torment?

The flights of stairs ended in a sandy, slippery floor that branched off into three narrow, cramped corridors. Hanging in the air, above the foul smell, he distinguished two sweet scents: tulips in the right path and poppies in the left one. The absence of footprints in the soil led him to believe they hadn’t been frequented by the last scouts.

A stinking trail came from the darkness in the path between them. Following the footprints, Leonel hoped it was the right path. He turned several times until coming upon a colossal statue protruding from the wall. It was the head of a tiger that left an opening in the shape of an elegant, closed door. Leonel approached and stroked the wall—cold and intimidating, it conveyed a cautionary warning.

The Door of Etmek, the only means of salvation that the goddess Gimmera had provided them to avoid their doom. A door that separated the kingdoms born of light and darkness, and that had kept the peace for hundreds of years until it was opened.

Leonel Ramsdean knocked three times, as he was required to do.

One for each goddess: a creator, a preserver, and a destroyer.

A sudden boreal glare sliced through the frame and the door opened with a shrill echo, similar to a distant roar.

He closed his fingers tightly around the oil lamp, walking cautiously to avoid the treacherous stones that could send him tumbling from the bridge that connected the catacombs to the once imposing castle of onyx. The doors and windows, the flying buttresses and the moons and stars that decorated the turrets had all been turned to stone.

The soldier couldn’t help but admire the capital of the cursed kingdom. Despite the fear, terror, and danger, he was awash with surprise and amazement upon finding himself in such a magnificent place that towered above him.

What had become of Ro’i Rajya? Was it really a forgotten tomb or the true nightmare of a cursed kingdom?

He headed toward the castle, oblivious to how the flame in his lamp had gradually faded. The vastness of the structure prevented Leonel from seeing the entire kingdom spread out into the distance, as well as the rest of the cities, seas, forests and mountains they were taught to despise.

Twenty minutes passed, and Leonel reached the castle door. As he pushed it, the corroded hinges creaked and let out a cold breeze that chilled his blood. In front of him, the statues of maids, servants, and guards welcomed him, each frozen with faces of horror at the inevitable death that had claimed them.

---