Of Blood Short Stories

Free to read short stories set in the world of The Bloodkind Chronicles

Best Friend

Janes awoke with a start, realising a moment later that he had fallen asleep in the chair again, still in his armour. He sighed and tried to roll his neck, knowing that he was going to pay for that later, his muscles complaining from not sleeping in a bed. He carefully stood up, wanting not to wake the princess, who had fallen asleep as he read to her. He quietly carpet towards the door, avoiding the creaking floorboard, before reaching the door and grasping the handle. He gave the princess one last look before he walked out. Silence. That wasn’t right. He had been reading to her in bed for years and he knew for a fact, that she snored every few moments. He waited a few more moments in the silence, before walking towards the bed. He grabbed the sheet and pulled it back, only to find pillows where there should be a princess.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake Victoria.’ Janes uttered, turning and quickly walking to the door, hoping that someone had seen her.

Victoria would not have stayed in the palace. Her desire to sneak out stemmed from her wanting to explore the stranger, more off the track areas of the city, something that was difficult when you are a princess followed everywhere by armed guards. Janes walked through the city streets, dark and quiet with only a few people passing by occasionally, most of whom just ignored him. He had checked several of her usual hang out places, the biggest tree in lower park, around the corner from a tavern called the Whales Yard and a bench overlooking the harbour. Janes was starting to wonder if, in the time that he had been walking around looking for her, she may have just gone back to the palace and back to bed.
A clanging bell split the air, followed by a degree of yelling, voices of men and women shouting ‘Fire!’
The sky was lit with bright light, as dark smoke poured into the air, a block away from where Janes was standing. He hurried towards the fire, as many others peered out of their homes, awoken by the clanging bell. A warehouse, one likely used for storing grain, was ablaze, bright and hot flames licking up the sides, the dry wood being consumed within moments. People ran and shouted, throwing buckets of water onto the dancing flames, yelling as they tried to stop the fire from spreading to nearby houses. There was no saving the warehouse, the flames were too intense, but it could be stopped from spreading.
‘Focus on the edges!’ Janes shouted, ‘Don’t let the fire spread. The entire city might go up if-’
A scream cut him off. A high pitched, terrified scream.
‘That came from within the warehouse!’ A woman said, pointing towards the flames. Another scream followed, then a shrill voice, ‘Help me, please!’
Janes went cold. That was Victoria's voice. She was in the burning warehouse.
‘Please he-’ The voice cut off and turned into a shrill, piercing scream. Janes was running. He didn’t even remember starting to run, but he was going full sprint. He slid his helmet over his head, looking towards the door of the warehouse, bright flames licking at the wood. He winced as his shoulder struck the wood, shattering beneath his weight. He fell forwards, landing hard on the floor, his tabard burning, the heat from the fire already intense. He rolled several times to try and quell the flames, but they were all around him. He stood, trying to pat the flames out, all while looking around for Victoria. Inside the warehouse, the flames were far more intense than they had been outside. Bags, bales and barrels of grain roared with flames, burning with an intensity that could be described as passionate. The heat made Janes sweat instantly, the metal of his armour already likely hot to the touch, his helmet suffocating. Moving forwards, Janes heard another scream, from behind a stack of wooden boxes. He started to climb, ignoring the flames that licked at his legs, his hands and arms, his head. Once on top of the boxes, the flames beneath his feet, cooking his body within his armour, he saw her.
Victoria was lying on her side, her arms covering her head. Around her, stood three men, all of varying size, all holding wooden clubs. They were yelling at one another, looking around anxiously, eyes darting.
‘We need to get the fuck out of here!’
‘Not without the girl. We’ve come this far!’
‘Fuck the girl, we are going to die in here!’
‘Grab her, we can make it out if we go that way!’
One of the men grabbed Victoria by the hair, sharply pulling her up as she shrieked. Her hair came out in a thick clump, bloody skin hanging off the end.

‘Ew, fucking disgusting.’ The man said, showing Victoria back down where she crumpled, unconscious. Another of the men grabbed her by the arm, ready to drag her through the flames.
‘Let’s fucking g-’’ He stopped, spotting Janes stood amongst the flames, ‘Who’s that?’
Janes felt a fury that burnt hotter than the flames around him. He drew his sword and leapt down onto the men, hacking, slashing, clubbing, stabbing, chopping, bludgeoning. The white fury blinded him, he wasn’t in control of his actions and before he knew it, the men were bloody corpses on the floor, hacked to pieces. Sheathing his sword, Janes bent down and carefully collected Victoria in his arms. Her head was bleeding profusely, and a half of her head was horrifically burnt. Janes looked around the building, watching as several beams from above shattered and tumbled down, showering sparks and burning splinters around, feeding the already roaring flames. He could feel his skin burning beneath his clothes, his armour, his sweat like acid on his skin. There was a clear path to the far wall, which he instantly broke into a run towards. Just as he reached the wall, he leapt into the air and turned, protecting Victoria with his body, his back striking the burnt wood, shattering beneath his weight. They fell out into the open air before Jane's back struck the stone ground. He rolled several times, his tabard still burning, his armour blackened, his skin blistered. Wincing, he managed to move his arms and check on Victoria. She was still breathing, thank the Gods. Shouting surrounded Janes, as he looked around, managing to get his helmet off, the night air painfully cold against his skin. Soldiers ran towards him, yelling and calling his name.
‘Protector Janes, are you alright? Is that Princess Victoria?’ One of the guards, a captain, yelled.
‘The palace,’ He managed to utter, ‘Get her to the palace.’
He felt Victoria being taken from his arms, the sounds of running footsteps going away from him as he stared into the sky, thousands of embers tumbling through the darkness as the warehouse collapsed.

Kingdomfall

‘Well, what's it look like over there?’ Commander Bry couldn’t help but wince as the king's grating voice reached his ears. He was just thankful that he was facing the opposite direction, so he didn’t have to make up a lie that he had gotten a cramp in his leg. Bry looked at the remains of the small cottage before him, at the split timbers, shattered furniture, shattered windows. His scouts had called it a cottage, but it was more of a hut, with barely enough room for more than two people to live.
‘How many bodies?’ Bry asked the soldier next to him.
‘Five, we think.’ The soldier replied, staring down at a dark patch of blood-soaked grass.
‘You think?’
The soldier shrugged, ‘There weren't much of them left. Whatever this was, tore them to absolute shreds.’
Bry sighed and stood, folding his arms across his chest.

‘Some of the lads think it was a bear.’ The soldier continued, scratching his poorly shaved stubble.
Bry shook his head, ‘No, this was bigger. Look at those claw marks. They are far larger than a bear. And there,’ He pointed, ‘Those teeth marks aren’t like any bear I’ve ever seen. They look more like…horse teeth.’
Bry put his hand to his temple, ‘I need to get the king back to the capital. Bury the remains as best you can, then burn the wood. We need to try and keep this on the down low. The last thing we need is the people panicking about a potential monster bear on the loose.’
The soldier looked at Bry, ‘I thought you said it wasn’t a bear?’
‘Just get it done.’ Bry snapped, angrier than he meant. The soldier saluted and walked towards the hut, shouting at several others to join him. Bry sighed and turned towards the carriage. The carriage was more like a war wagon, built of thick wood, with iron edging and thick rivets. Dozens of heavily armoured soldiers surrounded it, while several more sat on the roof, carrying heavy crossbows. Retrieving the key from his belt, Bry unlocked the door and climbed into the carriage, to the loud and fearful squeal of King Hill.
‘It's just me, your grace.’ Bry said, settling into the squeaking leather chair opposite the king. The king was wrapped in a long and thick cloak, made from the finest furs and silks, despite being late spring. There was a light frost on the ground in the morning, but since then it had melted away under a bright and warm sun. Bry was wearing his standard uniform, without armour and was still sweating. He had no idea how the king was able to wear so many layers and not pass out from heat stroke.
‘Bry, thank goodness. What was it? Assassins? Rebels?’ The king asked, his face white as milk. Bry shook his head, ‘No your grace, just an animal attack. Nothing more. Nothing for you to worry about.’
The king nodded and breathed out, ‘Oh, thank goodness. Thank Glory for you Commander, what would I do without you?’
Shit alone most likely, Bry thought.
‘Can we go now? We are going to be late!’ King Hill said, wrapping his coat even tighter around himself.
Bry thumped his fist against the roof of the carriage and it shuddered into movement, the sounds of marching footsteps following them along.

No matter how many times Commander Bry met Cleric Thyndal, he could never quite get used to how small the man was. Bry was forced to meet the cleric many times, due to the king's constant paranoia of being assassinated or rebelled against, resulting in him only trusting a very small number of people to be in the same room as him. Unfortunately for Bry, he was one of those few people that the king trusted. The doors to the king's personal drawing room opened, two towering guards pushing them open, both clad in the thickest armour. Between them, Cleric Thyndal walked through, his chin held high. Bry looked down at the smaller man, who was no taller than a barrel, a near comical caricature of an old man. Skin wrinkly like old leather, a hunched back, pure white vestments and a waddle that made him look more like an albino penguin than the leader of a new movement. Bry was amazed how this man had managed to amass the power he had over the years, seemingly pulling this new ‘religion’ out of nowhere. It had been gaining popularity over the past few years, but since the king had become a fully-fledged member, it had spread like a wildfire in a dry forest. The moment the old man was in the room, the King was suddenly a commoner, desperate to appease the more important man.
‘Brother, Glory to you!’ The king said excitedly, nearly jumping for joy. Thyndal held his hand out to the king, who grabbed it and planted a kiss on the back. Thyndal was the only other person the king would touch, something that made Bry pity the kings wife. The old man looked up from beneath his thick, wild eyebrows and gave a small, toothless smile.

‘Good to see you too, my boy.’ Thyndal said, his voice shaking with age.
‘Come, come, sit!’ The king said, gesturing to the high backed cushioned seats where they sat each and every week, while Bry was forced to stand on guard and listen to their incessant and inane ramblings. Thyndal passed Bry on the way to his chair, the old man looking up and given the Commander the smallest of nods.
‘Glory to you.’
‘Aye, and you.’ Bry said. He was formal, but he didn’t believe in Glory. Bry had been raised worshipping the Three Unnamed and so far, was unable to shake that belief, one of the few who still held onto the old faith. He also didn’t necessarily believe in the Three Unnamed, but his parents had been deeply faithful, so he did it in their name. Once the king and the cleric had sat, Bry stepped forwards and poured them both a small cup of tea. Both men reached out and grasped the small cups, the kings looking far smaller in his hands than it did in Thydals. They both drank and then, as regular as the sun rises, their conversation began. Bry did his best to daydream, so he didn’t have to listen to the regular burbling conversation that they had every week, one that Bry had heard so often, he could predict when certain things would be said. The king nodded and sat back in his chair, that meant he was about to ask if there were any new teachings. Thyndal sneezed twice. He was about to say the same thing he always said, about Glory being within us all.
The king rubbed his chin, about to agree wholeheartedly and repeat, ‘Yes, within us all.’
Mindless drivel. Then, to his utter shock, Thyndal did something new. He placed down his cup, far too early. Bry started to listen again.
‘Now, Brother Hill, there is something of great importance that I wish to discuss with you, in the benefit of Glory.’
Immediately, the King was leaning forwards, ‘Yes, anything!’ He said.
‘Your taxes, on the people. Well, they are extremely high. So high, that many are struggling to eat, to feed their children, to warm their homes….’
Bry raised an eyebrow, this was unusual. He hadn’t heard Thyndal care for anything other than Glory before.
‘Unable to pay their tithes to the church. Ah, there it is.
‘So,’ The king said, ‘I should lower the taxes for the people?’
‘Well, not exactly. But many of the tithes that they pay to the church are also taxed, so I recommend you remove that tax. Any tax that will affect our ability to spread the great word of Glory.’
The king acted as if this was the greatest thing he had ever heard, ‘Excellent! Masterful, what a brilliant idea! Right away, no more taxes towards the House of Glory!’
Bry sighed. For once, he just wished the king would do something that would make the people actually like him. He was paranoid about being assassinated by the people, but did absolutely nothing to actually prevent that from being a possibility, aside from throwing copious amounts of gold at Glory. Bry opened his mouth, ready to actually say something for once, when he was cut off by a sudden loud banging on the door. The king in response, shrieked loudly, causing the old man to nearly have a heart attack. Bry steadied the king with an open palm, ‘It's likely nothing, your grace. Just stay here and continue your conversation. I shall see who it is.’
‘Draw your sword commander!’ The king squeaked, ‘In case it is rebels!’
Bry did not draw his sword. He reached the door and opened it, only to find his son Henri. He was red faced, breathing hard, his scout uniform drenched in sweat.
‘Easy boy, breathe. What is it?’ Bry asked, pulling Henri up by the shoulders.
‘At the gate…’ Henri wheezed, ‘The gate.’
Bry turned to the king, who was standing, while Thyndal had not moved.
‘What is it?’ The king asked, his voice a squawk.
‘Nothing, your grace, just something I need to take care of. Will you stay here with Cleric Thyndal a little longer? Continue your fascinating conversations. The door will be locked behind me.’
The King nodded, ‘Yes, yes of course.’ Thyndal didn’t even seem to notice what was going on.
‘No one enters until I return.’ Bry said to the guards, locking the door and pocketing the key. They snapped their heels in acknowledgement, before Henri led Bry towards the gate. Bry and Henri raced through the city streets, shoving past people and yelling at others to get out of the way. Shouting, ‘In the name of the King’ worked well in these situations, the people scattering in an instant.
The city of Lorkan was nestled against the side of two mountains that surrounded the peak, providing a natural shelter and fortification to a majority of the city. The only man-made defence was the southern wall, a long expanse of dark stone, stretching from one mountain side to the other, with a thick and wide gatehouse in the centre.
‘What is it? Have the Westlands invaded?’ Bry asked over the clamouring of the passing city. Henri shook his head, not turning it back to the commander.
‘I...have no idea sir. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before.’
They reached the steps that lead up the wall, then onto the top of the city gate. At the top of the wall, they found dozens of soldiers, clamouring, pointing, jostling to try and see.
‘Make way for the commander!’ Henri barked. The soldiers went silent and stepped to the side, allowing Bry to move forwards and look for himself. Outside of the city was a long road that passed south, before splitting off and sweeping to the east and west. Near the walls were dozens of wooden buildings, a small out spilling of the city, beyond which were several fields and a collection of dense trees. Usually, the outer town and fields were full of people, harvesting crops or trading, but now, it was a ghost town. In the centre of the town, in the centre of the road, stood three figures.
‘Is that…a bear?’ Bry asked, staring down at the people. They remained unmoving, simply staring towards the city.
‘We have no idea…’ Henri said, ‘But…’
Bry looked to his son, ‘What?’
Henri swallowed, then spoke, ‘Man, Woman, Beast?’
Bry stared at his son, his brow furrowed, ‘You mean to tell me, you think they are the Three Unnamed?’
Henri, suddenly white as a sheet, shrugged, ‘I mean, I don’t…’
Bry sighed, ‘I’m going to go down. Whoever these people are, they are nothing more than fools trying to mess with innocent people or scam them of their hard-earned money. Let me deal with them.’
Despite knowing that these three, two pranksters and what was likely just a big dog, Bry found his hand holding onto his sword hilt. As he approached, the wet mud squelching beneath his feet, the three figures became clearer, Brys fear growing with each step.
The woman had multiple arms and was covered in chains, the man was deathly pale, his head appearing to have no neck and was dripping with something. The bear was actually not a bear, but a monstrosity covered in bloody fur, bone and an antlered skull. Bry was suddenly terrified, yet he found himself continuing to walk forwards. He stopped, not too far from the three, his fist trembling against his sword. The three stared at him with an intensity, a power which he could feel seeping from them, penetrating deep into him. He had to swallow hard in order to speak.
‘My name is commander Bry of the city of Lorkan, under the rule of his royal Highness King Hill. Who are you and what business do you have here?’
The three figures didn’t move, still staring at Bry, making him more uncomfortable than ever.
‘Are you the Three Unnamed?’ he found himself asking, his voice barely a whisper. The woman raised her left arms, open palms gesturing towards the city behind him. Bry hesitantly turned, looking back to Lorkan, the long wall stretching from mountain to mountain, the city buildings beyond, the towering House of Grace and the elaborate Palace of the king. The city wiped away, as if it was steam on glass and a cloth had just passed over it. Bry went to open his mouth to scream, or cry or something. He never had the chance, as a blinding white light hit him, shattering his eardrums and sent him tumbling through the air, the Three Unnamed having not moved an inch.

A Wars Beginning

Ioan pushed open the doors to the dining room, replaying his words in his head over and over. He walked towards the table, where King Uberan sat, feasting on a thick cutting of dripping beef. He momentarily looked up, before returning to his meal.‘Join me, sit! The beef is good, really good.’Ioan remained standing, before sighing deeply, ‘Please, please tell me it's not true.’The king turned his head this time, looking at Ioan.‘What’s not true?’‘Wendeal. Please tell me you didn’t…slaughter them. Please just tell me it's nothing more than a rumour.’The king looked back to his meat, his knife squeaking on the plate as he cut through the beef.‘Oh no, it's true. Why would I deny it, it's one of my greatest achievements!’ The king said, with a jovial laugh. Ioan felt his fists clenching.‘Achievements? You slaughtered men, women, and children! For no other reason than…what? Sport?’The king forked a piece of dripping beef into his mouth, ‘Yesh, shport.’ He said, mouth full.Ioan snapped, ‘Are you fucking insane? Slaughtering innocents for sport isn’t something to be proud of, that's how rebellions, revolutions, wars start!’Uberan waved his fork in a dismissive manner, ‘No one is brave enough to do that, not against me. Now, are you going to join me or not?’Ioan stared at the king, who had a dribble of bloody gravy spilling down his chin. The king didn’t seem to notice, either that or he didn’t care.‘No Uberan. I’m not going to join you. But I will ask you, as your oldest friend, please. Please stop this. Before it becomes too late. You can fix this.’The king winced, having bitten the inside of his mouth. Anger appeared to flash over his face, Ioan unsure if it was due to their conversation or because of the pain. Uberan spat his mouthful of beef out and stood, starting to shout, ‘I’m the fucking king, I can do what I like. I can kill who I want, when I want and no one can fucking do anything about it! Do you hear me?’Spit flew from his mouth, his teeth strained with gravy. Ioan, glad he wasn’t closer, locked his jaw and turned away from the king.‘Someone can do something about it. Someone always does.’He started to walk towards the door, away from the king.‘Don’t you dare walk away from me you c-’There was a squealing of furniture, then the sound of falling and clattering of crockery. Ioan briefly looked over his shoulder, to see the king flat on his face, food spilled all over his back and head. He had tried to chase after Ioan, only for his long cloak to get caught under the leg of his chair, pulling him back. He had fallen onto his dining table and knocked a majority of the food onto the floor and himself, where he now writhed on the floor, gently moaning to himself. Ioan, ashamed to have been his friend, continued on out of the door, as several guards ran to the king, who had started to wail loudly.

A Chat

Lord Pairn looked out over the city, at the streaming Accursed that moved through the streets, their black armour making them look like ants. He turned and looked towards the two who stood by the door, dead eyes behind their helmets staring forwards. He waved his hand and they turned, bodies rigid, before marching out of the door and down the steps, to join the thousands of others. Pairn sighed, before picking up the parcel that was on top of his desk, before walking to the door and making his way down. Once he reached the ground floor level, he did not stop. He continued on down, heading into the dark and cold dungeon, picking up a glowing lantern as he walked. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the clanking of chains coming from the far end of the hall, as well as the shuffling of feet. Pairn walked forwards until he was at the door. He placed the lantern on the hook and reached into his pocket, retrieving the key. He looked through the door, seeing the dark figure in the far corner, crouched, knees pulled closely to their chest.‘Come to gloat again arsehole?’ The figure said.‘Not exactly.’ Pairn said. He slid the key into the lock and turned it, the metal clanking as the lock opened. He pushed the door and it swung open, the metal hinges squealing. The figure in the corner was now standing, but not moving, staring towards him. Pairn took a step forward, before placing the parcel down in the doorway. He gave a single, sad smile, before turning and starting to walk away.‘Wait.’ The figure's voice said. He turned, ‘What are you doing?’‘You are free to go.’ Pairn said, ‘no lie.’The figure stared at him. He couldn’t see their face, but knew they were staring at him.‘Why?’Pairn sighed, placing his hands on his hips.‘It’s time. We are marching on the Westlands. We are marching against the combined forces of the Westlands and Flynne, though their numbers are far fewer than our own. Your daughter is going to be with them, most likely.’‘My question still stands. If you are going to war against them, why are you freeing me?’Pairn was silent for several moments, before he looked up and gave his sad smile once more.‘Your daughter is powerful Gael, more than you could possibly imagine. More than I could imagine. You should be proud of her.’He turned and started walking away, before stopping and turning back around.‘Almost forgot this.’ He said, placing a small box, the kind that you keep a ring in, onto the parcel in the doorway, ‘For Larissa. It's her birthday soon, isn’t it?’ He gave her one more sad smile, before turning and walking away, not looking back, healing up the dungeon steps and out into the city, joining his army as they marched towards the Westlands.

Birth

Warren grunted as he heaved the log onto his shoulder, breathing deeply several times before he shifted it over his head and onto the other. He then rolled the log into the channel, where it landed with a hollow clunk. Flexing his shoulders to stop the ache, he pulled on the lever to make the saw start moving. It squealed, then clunked and didn’t move.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ Warren muttered, brushing his trousers down with his hands. He walked to the side with the waterwheel, seeing the water flowing from the sluice gate onto the wheel itself, which was not moving. He sighed and climbed around the wet wood, the water splashing down onto him, soaking his clothes and hair within a few moments. If the wheel started to move now, he would be crushed and then dragged underwater, where he would absolutely die. Reaching in through the spokes, he blindly grasped for the weeds that were the likely cause of the blockage. He gasped as his hands touched something slimy and thick, grabbing a hefty handful. He ripped at it, tearing out a clump, causing the wheel to shudder. Quickly pulling his arm back, the wheel started to move again, the buckets filling with the cold water. Hopping down off the side of the wheel, Warren removed his shirt, wringing the water out of it, while listening to the sound of sawing wood.
‘Warren!’
He turned, putting his damp shirt back on as Alpen walked towards him, waving a piece of paper above his head. The chubby man had his usual wide, toothy smile on his face, so it might not have been a final pay before Warren was let go. As if he would ever be kicked out of this job, the mill would barely be working if it wasn’t for him.

‘Letter for you!’ The older man said as he reached Warren, handing over the folded piece of paper.
Warren looked at it, the paper sealed with a small blob of wax. The other side had his name, neatly written in pencil.

‘Who from?’
‘No idea. Found it on my desk this morning.’ Alpen said with a small shrug, ‘I only knew it was for you because it has your name on it.’

‘Alright, thanks. I’ll have my lunch now.’ Warren said. Alpen smiled and patted his stomach, ‘Alright, enjoy.’
Biting into his apple, Warren opened the letter, breaking the wax with his thumb. Inside was a paragraph of writing

Mr Han,

You do not know me, but my name is Henric Yurtil. I am writing to you in order to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity, with guaranteed results that will make you an extraordinarily rich man.
Please join myself and two others at the Bane of Niox, to the far east of Bail, for a special event that will profoundly change your life.
Yours faithfully

Henric Yurtil

Warren crunched his apple again, reading the letter several times over.
‘Once in a lifetime eh? Would that opportunity involve me getting my head smashed in and robbed?’
He realised he was talking to himself. Stripping his apple to the core, he tossed the core into the river and stood. He stretched, then sighed heavily, ‘Well, worth a look. It’s not like I have anything going for me here.’
Warren had never travelled out of the Farmlands before, so travelling south towards Bail filled him with a sense of dread. He passed the great city, seeing the towering keep in the centre, but avoided going in. Maybe he would visit on his way back but for now, he was going to resist the temptation. Heading east from there, he had no idea what he was looking for. The ‘Bane of Niox’ wasn’t really a good description of what to look for. Was it a building, was it a natural structure, or was it a group of people? He found his hand gripping tightly to the hilt of the sword he wore on his waist. It wasn’t his, it belonged to Alpen, but the man hadn’t let Warren leave without it.
‘It's not like it's getting any use here. It should be seeing the world, going on journeys.’
The sword itself was a simple hand and a half, leather wrapped hilt and sharp, though Warren had no idea how to use it. If he drew it, there was a greater chance of him chopping off his own head than hurting anyone. He crested the hill before him and a tower rose into the air before him, tall and strange, the same width the whole way up. Warren was no architect, but even he knew that was a structural nightmare. He also knew as soon as he saw it, this was the Bane of Niox. He walked towards the bottom of the tower, experiencing slight vertigo as he approached, the giant tower looming over him. At the bottom were three other figures, causing him to grip his sword hilt again. Were these the people who were going to bash his head in and rob him? As he got closer, he could see it was an elderly man, woman and a younger woman. They all turned to look towards him, a smile breaking out on the older man's face.
‘Warren?’ He asked. Warren nodded.
‘Wonderful!’ The old man said, stepping forwards and grabbing Warren's hand, shaking it wildly with excitement.
‘Warren, I am Henric Yurtil. Thank you , thank you so much for coming! I hoped you would. This,’ He gestured to the other two, ‘Is Helida Jonev and Gael Elunae. They have also come here, thanks to my letters.’
Warren half-heartedly waved at the other two, ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m sorry, but what is it I’m doing here? In your letter you said this is an opportunity to change my life. To make me an extraordinarily rich man.’
‘Yes, yes, very rich!’ Henric said, almost jumping on the spot, ‘Come, let us enter and I shall explain once we are at the top! We cannot wait a second more!’
Before Warren could say another word, he turned and strode towards the door, ‘It's a long way up, so make sure you are ready for some exercise,’ He called over his shoulder, before opening the door and entering the tower.
Helida smiled towards Warren and pulled a small parcel out of the basket she held. She handed one to Gael and then another to Warren.
‘Here you go. Make sure you eat this, you need your energy.’
‘Thank you,’ Warren said, opening the parcel to find an egg and cress sandwich, on thick bread.
‘There are cakes and drinks in the basket too, for when we get to the top!’ She said, before walking towards the door and following Henric inside. That then left only Warren and Gael. He turned to her and her him. She was pretty, he thought, maybe a bit younger than him, with dark brown hair and a huge battle-axe on her back. She looked just as confused as he did.
‘So…what did Henric promise you in his letter? He promised to make me rich.’ Warren asked. Gael shrugged her shoulders.
‘He promised me power.’

‘When he said it was a long way up, he wasn’t fucking lying.’ Warren gasped, his legs burning, lungs wheezing. He was glad that even Gael was struggling with the sheer number of steps that were within this tower. She too was puffy faced and groaning with each step.
‘How the hell did those two manage to do this? They looked way too old for this kind of thing.’ Gael said. Warren was too out of breath to reply, pushing on until finally, a wooden door appeared around the corner. He took a moment to catch his breath, before pushing the door open and entering the room. It was round, with a thick carpet in the centre, bookshelves full of dusty books covered the walls, while the ceiling was adorned with copious amounts of dried herbs. All around the room were hundreds of lit candles, while in the centre of the room was a round shallow basin. In the far corner, was a small brasier, with something poking out of it.
‘Ah, you made it!’ Henric said excitedly, clapping his hands together jovially. Warren and Gael could only nod, still trying to catch their breath. Helida, who sat on the floor, appeared unaffected by the climb. Once Warren had caught his breath, he looked to the old man.

‘Now what? Where are my riches?’ He asked. Henric stared back at him, eyebrows furrowed, ‘You promised to make me a rich man.’ Warren elaborated.

‘Oh, that! Henric started to laugh, ‘Rich with knowledge, rich with power! Not rich with money! My apologies, I should have been clearer.’
Warren's jaw dropped and he looked at Gael, who was sucking in lungful’s of air. All she did was shrug.
‘You Bastard.’ Warren uttered, turning to leave.
‘Warren, wait!’ Helida called out, ‘Please stay! This will benefit you; I swear!’
Warren had reached the door and was staring down the stairs, his legs still aching from the climb up. He sighed and closed the door, turning back around.
‘Fine. This had better not be a waste of any more of my time.’ He uttered.
‘Please sit.’ Henric said, gesturing to the space next to Helida. Gael joined her, followed by Warren.
‘Now, I need you all to trust me. Do you?’
Helida was nodding straight away. Gael nodded a moment later and finally, Warren shrugged, ‘Yeah sure.’
‘Wonderful.’ Henric said. He picked up a platter with four cups on and passed one to each of them, before taking one for himself. He then passed them an unlit candle and, to Warren's increasing worry, a small knife.’
‘Now, listen carefully. I need you to light this candle. Then, cut your left hand and let the blood fall into the cup.’
‘Are you fucking mad?’ Warren asked, voice raised. He was shushed by Helida.

‘Please, don’t interrupt!’ Henric said, before continuing, ‘Then, pour the blood into the basin before you.’ He gestured to the shallow basin in front of them all. Warren looked to Gael again, who shrugged. With a sigh, Warren lit his candle, before slashing his palm, wincing from the pain. Dark red blood pooled in his palm, before he let it drip into the cup he held. Once he had collected what he assumed was enough, he poured it into the basin, Gael, Helida and Henric doing the same. Henric then picked up a small bowl and poured something else in, a sludgy mix of a thick, clear liquid and what looked like pieces of sand or possibly metal shavings. He used a long stick to mix it for several moments, before looking to the others.
‘Now, gather some up in your cup, snuff out your candle, and drink.’
Warren stared at Henric, ‘Fucking what?’
‘Oh just do it.’ Gael hissed, scooping her cup in the mixture and drinking it down, her candle hissing out between her fingers.
‘Fucking madness,’ Warren muttered as he also scooped the liquid, downing it, trying to ensure it didn’t touch his tongue. It didn’t help, he was still drinking other people’s blood and gods knows what else, causing him to gag. He snuffed his candle out at the same time with a sharp waft of his hand.
‘Now what?’ he managed to gasp, trying to avoid being sick. Henric smiled down at him.
‘Hold out your hand flat.’ Warren did so. In a flash of movement, the old man had turned to the brazier, seized the thing poking out of it and pressed the glowing orange end onto Warren's palm. Strangely, there was no pain, just a cold, ice-like feeling, then the smell of cooking meat. It didn’t stop Warren from screaming. Pulling the metal away, Henric did the same for Helida and Gael, who both also greatly struggled with the cold feeling. Warren looked at his hand, still smouldering. The cut was sealed up, with a three-quarter circle, ending with a line passing through. His hand shook, as an intense pain started to travel down his arm. Henric finally pressed the brand against his own hand, barely wincing. The pain engulfed Warren's entire body, making him want to scream, to cry, to vomit and curl up in a ball, but he was unable to move. He was frozen in place, staring at his burned hand. He was going mad with the pain, one that he could only assume that the others were also feeling, as they also appeared to be frozen in place. The pain went so suddenly that Warren made a small shriek, before vomiting onto the floor. He breathed deep, his body finally able to move, his entire body burning. Next to him, Gael was also breathing hard, but had not vomited, while Helida looked like she had passed out. Warren stared at Gael, who noticed and scowled.
‘What?’
‘Your hair…’ Warren said, pointing. Gaels hair, once dark brown, had now turned a deep, near blood red. Gael grabbed her ponytail and pulled it around so she could see. She looked at Warren and pointed at his head, ‘The same has happened to you.’ She said, His hair was shorter and harder to see, but she was right, his hair had gone from blonde, to a dark red. Both Helida and Henrics remained the same white and grey.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Warren yelled at Henric, who appeared to have not been at all affected by whatever had just happened to them. He smiled and looked down at Warren, his hands clasping before them.
‘That my boy, is the start of your new life.’

‘Please sir! Please, do not hurt me!’

‘What the hell!’ I yelled, taking a step back, nearly throwing the fruit across the room.

‘Don’t listen to him!’ The second pineapple said, ‘He is evil! Kill him now!’

I looked between the two pineapples, both motionless, one still upright, the other on its side. I must be tired, that's the only explanation. Tired and delirious. I walked back to the first pineapple and placed the knife against it again.

‘No! Please! I’m not evil!’ It shrieked, once more making me yelp and toss it into the sink, knocking over my glass of orange juice at the same time, the liquid pooling onto the floor.

‘Hurry! Before he kills us all!’ The second pineapple said. To my own shock, I spoke back to the pineapples.

‘What do you mean, he is evil? He is a pineapple.’ I scoffed at myself, calling a pineapple ‘he’.

‘Exactly that! He is evil. Unless you cut him up, he will destroy us all.’ The second pineapple said, not moving from its position atop the kitchen counter.

‘I’m not evil, she is the evil one!’ the first pineapple said, from its place within the sink. I rubbed my face with my spare hand.

‘How is a pineapple going to destroy us?’ I asked. The second pineapple audibly sighed, ‘This is beyond your simple human understanding,’ It replied, ‘Pineapples are more than you could ever comprehend. We are ancient, powerful and know all.’

‘Then…what do you let us eat you? I asked, ‘And on pizza no less.’

‘It is all part of his great evil plan.’ The second pineapple said, ‘Let humans become weak and unprepared, then, strike when they least expect it.’

‘Lies!’ the first pineapple said, ‘We are just fruit!’

‘If you are going to strike when humanity is unassuming, why not do it already? It's hundreds, if not thousands of years of humanity eating your kind.’ I said.

‘He was waiting. Waiting for the one to bring about the great change.’ The second pineapple said, ‘Now stop wasting time! Kill him already!’

I looked between the two pineapples, shaking my head, ‘This is ridiculous. You know what? I’m not going to cut either of you open. I’m going to take you back to the shop and get a melon. Maybe I can then eat that without being presented with a moral dilemma.’

I stepped towards the melons, reaching out to pick up the one in the sink. My foot went out from under me, slipping on the pool of orange juice that had spilled there. On the way down, my head struck the side of the sink with a loud crack, while the kitchen knife in my hand entered below my right ribs. As I lay there dying, the world turning dark and all feeling within my limps quickly fading, I could hear the pineapples talking again.

‘That was a bit far wasn't it? Calling me evil, telling him to cut me open? I could have been hurt.’