The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 49: Tallion

"You will remain here until the Duke allows your leave, when the sun has risen." The servant girl pushed Tallion into a small bedroom and slammed a large oak door behind him. Tallion, weak from his travels and the tole of his brother's treason, fell to the floor. He looked up at a blank ceiling, as thoughts spun through his head. He never thought things would end this way. One brother lost, another now his enemy. He had always done his best to protect them, to guide them, but it had gotten them nowhere.

Tears of guilt began to slowly fall from his eyes, and drown him in a sea of his own regret. He thought of everything he could have done differently. He wished so badly he could go back. He wished he could go back and change things, make sure that his brothers never left his side. They all should have fought as one against the Vanguard, and they should all be as one still.

Tallion took a deep breath and pulled his tired body up from the cold stone floor. He heard a strange clash, like the sound of a blacksmith forging steel. On the ground before him lay a red tree, a sigil of House Morione. Tallion did not know where the sigil had come from, or how he had acquired it. But still there it lay, having fallen from his pocket.

He stared into the deep red that contrasted with the grey stone floor. His eyes fell into a trance, and his mind washed away any thought of his brothers. Alina was his Queen. How could he possibly regret devoting his life to her? He bent down and picked up the sigil, gripping it tightly. It reminded Tallion of his purpose, it reminded him exactly where his loyalties belonged.

He finally sat upon the bed, and leaned back to rest. But before he could doze off, the door to Tallion's chambers began to slowly creep open. He sat anxiously and waited for someone to enter. Every muscle in his body tensed against his bones, ready to thrust his arms forward and defend himself. He was a guest in Cranst, but Tallion felt far more like a prisoner. Surely there were those who believed it better to kill him than to send him back North.

A foot stepped out past the door and crashed against the stone floor. Suddenly a leg, and a body, then the face of Lord Nicholas Brenly. Tallion stood from the bed.

"Please, no need for that. I'm a one-handed Lord of a kingless city. Hardly anything to stand for." Lord Brenly closed the door quietly behind him. Tallion wasn't quite sure what to say. So he said nothing. He simply watched as Lord Brenly sat in a chair, just beside the bed.

"Hasn't been easy, you know," Lord Brenly said as he held up the stump where his left hand should have been. "My father wanted me dead as a child. Said a man with one hand would only ever be half a man. But my mother fought to keep me alive. Told me not to listen to his words. But how could I not? A boy is no more than the words his father tells him. Still I did my best to prove him wrong." Nicholas Brenly talked with a quiet tone. He seemed to be a serious man, and Tallion listened intently as he continued. "Each day I trained with the sword, and fastened a shield to my other arm. I practiced in the courtyard, here at the Keep. One day, my father saw me practicing. He told me a one-armed soldier was as good as dead. He took my shield, and my sword and forbade me from ever fighting in battle. My days became spent, instead, in the library, reading. I wanted to be like the other boys, but I knew I wasn't. I was different. And it was my difference which kept me alive. If I'd have fought in the Esternlund battle, I'd likely be dead, just as my father."

"What am I to make of this? A Lord of a city I am soon to lay siege upon, entering my chambers to tell me stories of his youth," Tallion said. Lord Brenly looked back at him with wise eyes.

"Men who live long lives, Tallion, don't spend their time fighting wars. I've gotten used to living, and I intend to keep things that way." Tallion was still unsure of what Lord Brenly was saying. He continued to watch as the one-handed Lord pulled a letter from his pocket.