Undying Blood - Beta - Chapter 11 -

Francis felt the shimmer of power wash over him as he stepped over a line of some kind of glowing red sand that encircled the King’s tent.

Upon placing both feet on the other side, the landscape around the tent changed, light everywhere like an early morning sunrise even though on the other side the night had still been completely dark.  An aura of energy also surged through his body that left him feeling recharged.

[ Fatigue Removed ]

What the hell kind of magic is this? I’ve never heard of this shit before…

He watched as plate wearing guards kept a fifty yard perimeter clear of anyone between the red circle of sand and the tent.  A few servants could be spotted running around, heads down and carrying different supplies in random directions.

Grass… they have grass? And trees?

His eyes tried to take it all in, seeing the lush green grass that looked perfectly manicured and the trees that were just about fifteen feet tall, each leaf looking full of life.

“Sir, they are expecting us. The King does not like to be kept waiting.”

Nodding, Francis stopped his gawking and turned to see Nehemiah digging his pinky finger in his ear and twisting.

“He’s right boy, King Baxter doesn’t like to wait,” the old man said as he stared at the speck of wax on his finger. “Even worse is the Queen.”

A cough from their escort stopped whatever Nehemiah was about to say.

They walked along a crushed black stone path, no dirt present anywhere, ignored by everyone as they went.

Upon reaching the large tent which had to span at least fifty feet or higher into the air, the pair of guards in red plate armor bowed once, and then reached over, opening both flaps to the tent.

Music escaped from inside and Francis spotted what had to be at least eighty people milling about in a large open area.

A hand on his back from Nehemiah propelled him forward, and as he stepped inside, everyone went quiet, even the music to see what had just come in.

Tugging at his jacket which was made from very fine material, softer and more colorful than anything he ever owned, Francis couldn’t help but still feel out of place.  

Everyone here is dressed way nicer than anything.

Gold, silver and other fine metals were embroidered on everyone's outfits. The women had more jewels in their hair then he could count.  

Each man present had a sword, their scabbards covered in gems and ornate metal work.  

He noticed they all had a small red ribbon tied around the hilt and scabbard, wound tight.

Servants moved deftly, between the nobles and lords, providing drinks and snacks, stealing empty glasses and replacing them with full ones, all while being invisible to the people they were meant to serve.

Eventually, Francis’s eyes moved to the two thrones that sat at the far end of the open area and the pair that were in them.

King Baxter was a mountain of a man, standing easily seven feet tall and muscular shoulders, broader than a horse.  His jet black hair was trimmed short and didn’t carry a spec of gray even though the man was well over a hundred years old. His large throne was covered in wolves, carved into the gold and silver furniture, slaying men and animals alike, red gems set where each eye would be for his namesake beast. Those gems had been chosen to match the red eyes of the king.

Queen Auri was to his right, sitting on a smaller throne, no decorations at all.  Her red hair was perfectly set and had pins with green gems providing a highlight to her matching green eyes.

Both wore a long robe and the clothing that was underneath them and showing didn’t appear all that special when compared to the others in the room.

“My King and my Queen!” a voice to his left called out. “May I present to you Sage Francis Mudaburg!”

A few gasps and whispers came from the nobles spread around the carpeted area yet he couldn’t make out a single word any of them had said.

“Move you fool,” Nehemiah whispered, his hand once more giving a gentle push.

Taking care not to trip, Francis moved with a steady pace, his eyes locked on the King who had a slight frown and narrowed eyes at his approach.

A servant moved from near the King, dressed in a red and white robe and came to stop ten feet before the ruler of this land and held up a hand when Francis drew near.

Halting his steps, he stood there, doing his best to not shake as an overwhelming presence seemed to be striking him.

[ Mental Resist Check Successful ]

[ Mental Resist Skill Increased - 18 Novice ]

That bastard…

“Sage Francis, welcome to my tent.  Forgive me for not realizing we had one of your rank in our midst upon your arrival.  As you can imagine none of us would have believed a ninth son possessed your power.”

“No apology needed my King,” Francis replied with a bow. “I simply wanted to do what I could to help win this war and I felt my dream had to be true.”

He could see King Baxter smile just slightly at that comment before it was hidden behind a practiced expression.

“Tomorrow we shall see just how right your dreams were then.  For now, there are many here who would like to meet you. Until I am certain that Nehemiah’s attempt to read you is correct, I shall keep you from their claws.  No doubt you could imagine the things they might try to tempt you with and ensnare you to their family.”

A few chuckles came from the crowd but Francis knew the King was probably doing this for other reasons as well.

King Baxter leaned forward, his large frame seemingly ready to topple out of the throne.

“Now then, I have heard you had some simple requests for your aid. Are you certain all that you desire right now is training?”

“I would rather not be one who thinks only of himself, but as one who cares about his brother and this Kingdom,” Francis partially lied.

Really I could give two fucks about this kingdom… All I care about is Michael.

The eyes of the wolves on the throne glowed for a few seconds and then faded and as they did, the King frowned.

“That wasn’t an entirely true statement was it?”

He felt his eyes widen and the lack of noise behind him was enough to make this tense moment even worse.

“Well… there are other things that someone like me would want, but perhaps it would be better if the two I asked for first happened.  Then after my dream is verified in a few hours, we could discuss other things later.”

Like some food!

This time none of the eyes lit up and the King nodded, seemingly pleased with his answer.

“Very well.  I have someone waiting for you outside.  They shall give you training and if things go as you revealed, then your brother shall join you.”

The red eyes moved from him to someone behind him and Francis felt a hand he was becoming way too familiar with on his shoulder.

“Nehemiah, escort Sage Francis to the dueling field.  Knight Ginge is waiting for him.”

Some hissing sounds as people breathed in through their teeth made him wonder what kind of person this Ginge must be to elicit such a response.

“It would be my honor, your Highness.”

With that a gentle tug on his arm helped him turn around.

It’s like I’m some food at a table… the way some of these men and women are staring at me… 

Trying his best to smile and nod as the gaze of all those in attendance studied his every move, Francis stayed on the older man’s heels, grateful the moment the flaps opened and he was allowed to escape.

Sighing, he couldn’t help but feel like a large weight was lifted off his shoulders.

“You did well boy, except for lying.  That will never go well for anyone who lies before the King.”

“Why didn’t you warn me,” Francis asked as he moved to walk beside the older man who turned off the path and traipsed across the grass.

“One of the best ways to read someone's character is to see how they act and what they say.  For the most part,” Nehemiah said as he gave a sideways grin, “you performed well.  If I was a hundred years younger I might wish to be in your shoes but sadly I am not.”

“How old are you?” he asked, trying not to cough at that statement.

“Not a question one should ask, yet I can understand your lack of training and social skills.  I am almost two hundred and fifty… Perhaps I have another fifty years in me before my time will come.  There is little chance of me growing strong enough to hold back the demands of time.”

Two hundred and fifty? How in the… the system… How strong must he be to be this old?

His mind raced, having only been given small tidbits of knowledge about the system and power.  There were many ways to live longer, some outlawed as dark magic required the stealing of others' life force, others focused on raising physical stats beyond what most mortal men and women could.  

The sounds of two birds singing as they sat in a tree they passed drew his attention away, and before Francis knew it they were on the edge of the red sand barrier, preparing to step across.

“We have a bit to go but don’t worry, there are torches out there and I’ll keep you safe,” Nehemiah stated as he winked at him.

“Safe from whom?”

“Those women inside,” replied the older man as he stepped over the line. 

Darkness came and torches provided the only light as the aura of whatever magic was contained within vanished.

A hand rose, stopping him.

“Let your eyes adjust. It will take a moment I’m certain.”

The weird old man was right as spots danced before his eyes until they vanished after a minute.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Walking through the maze of large tents, Francis tried to consider what today might bring.

I wonder if they have Michael held somewhere… I can only imagine what he is saying and…

A chill ran down his spine as the thought they might torture his brother to gain knowledge about him. Then he started to smile at the next thought.

Perhaps they would be kind enough to visit my father and torture him… oh how I’d pay to see that.

Lost in those thoughts and getting to see the man he hated more than any other whipped, flogged, racked or a hundred other things done to him, Francis was caught off guard when he found himself in another lighted area.

This space was much smaller, only about fifty yards across, and a twenty foot marked box on the hard packed dirt ground.  Rows of weapons on racks, shields and random pieces of armor stood on one side of the box.  There were some tables with food and drink that called out to him, begging to fill the stomach that let out a roar.

“Didn’t you eat yet?” Nehemiah asked as they moved toward a tall, blond haired man who was moving through some patterns of swinging a sword.  He didn’t have on anything but a simple pair of leather pants. Sweat ran down the toned, tanned, muscular body that had no fat on it.

As they drew near, the man spun around quickly, leveling the tip of the sword at them both as they stood outside the square.

“Knight Ginge, may I present, Sage Francis.”

Two cold blue eyes narrowed as they studied the new arrival, the muscular man cocking his head both ways as he stared.

“Seems awfully young for a sage. Are you sure you’re not drunk or your ability isn’t messed up old man?”

“Bah, you wouldn’t know talent if it smacked you in the face. Now stop being an ass and show me some respect!” 

A slight bow came and a grin appeared on the Knight's face.

“Forgive me father. Now then, let me see what the King has sent me.”