The Lord of Castle Cent

Sometime before dawn, the fire died. Andruth was made presently aware as his body began to tremble on the wooden table. Sitting up, he looked around the now darkened room. The snow had formed a skirt around the entrance but had seemed to stop falling. Andruth walked over to the dead flame, seeing if he could coax any life back into it. Only gray soot and muddy ashes from the falling snow. At least the fluke was open. Seems the flame was long past dead. With the chairs all burnt, they were out of firewood. Andruth would have to journey further in to find more. Realizing this, the young boy went to his sleeping companion. Kalen was curled into a tight ball to try and preserve whatever little warmth he could. Andruth rocked his body on the table just enough to rouse him. The blond-haired boy stirred gently, likely only in a light nap. He sat up and looked around, 

“The captain needs us to move again?” Kalen said with a slurred yawn. 

“No captains, we’re out of firewood,” Andruth pointed to the silent harth. 

“Oh!” Kalen seemed pleasantly surprised, despite the lack of warmth. “I know just the place.” 

Kalen grabbed his long sword and walked to the other door out of the hall. It led to a narrow path with stone walls. The great gray blocks did little to keep the warmth in, but it was far less breezy than before. The “fort” seemed far grander than any watch tower Andruth had seen. There were a number of stairs leading up and a few paths that wound through the stone. Finally, the boys came upon a grand room. It stood about six yards high with a triangular shape, like a chapel of old. There, in the center of the room, was an ornate chair carved from dark oak logs. The room was vacant and dark, save for a slight, creeping dawn shimmering through the stained glass over the room. The boys crept along the side of the room, trying not to lose themselves. Kalen’s hand bumped something loose on the wall—an old torch. The oil was likely long dried but the wood itself smelled pleasantly of beeswax. Using his sword on the cracked stone floor, Kalen the old dry rags on the stick. The light cast a wavering circle around them as the pair explored the throneroom. Kalen marched up to the chair. It was covered in old bear furs and adorned with a crown of roses. The roses were withered and dead, but charming nonetheless. Kalen passed off the torch to Andruth and took the crown, placing it gently on the other boy’s head. He scooped up the pelts and turned to leave when something metal clattered to the floor. Both boys turned to investigate and upon further inspection, a real crown had fallen from under the pelts. It was only silver with a single gem inlaid. A red ruby about the size of a corn kernel. Under it was an old parchment note. Kalen wrapped the pelt around his shoulder and knelt to read the letter. He put on a grand voice and began, 

“To my dearest sons, I regret to welcome you back to such an empty hall. Castle Cent will not last the siege, I worry. Your mother thankfully passed before this accursed day came, I take peace that she will not have to witness the bloodshed. We haven’t riches, but this land is prosperous and full of abundant life. I pray you will reclaim this humble throne. My sons, may God and the virgin mother watch over you both. In his grace, amen.” 

“Hmm, seems we found Castle Cent,” Andruth muttered. 

“This isn’t right!” Kalen turned the letter over. “Father always spoke of Cent as a land of peace. Why would anyone fight with such a small kingdom?” Anruth looked around the deserted hall. 

“Who knows…” A dark silence began to settle on the hall. Andruth mulled over the ominous feeling. He knew what would come next. “So, if Cent has fallen, what then?” Andruth looked at his new companion’s slunk shoulders. 

“It’s not,” Kalen suddenly spoke. 

“It’s not?” 

“We came to reclaim it as sons of the lord!” Kalen shot up and pointed to the crown on Andruth’s head. Andruth reached for the rose crown, wondering what power it could possess that would give them an entire castle. Kalen set the ruby set crown on his own head with a smile. There was a long, cold pause before he spoke again. 

“You can wear the real one if you want.” 

“That’s not the problem! We’re not lords! We don’t even know our supposed father’s name!” 

“Must be Cent, or we could play it safe and just always refer to him as Father?” Kalen seemed remarkably serious about this plan. Andurth looked around at the empty castle. 

“What about that accursed day he spoke of? What if this place is cursed?” Kalen’s face curled into a sly smirk. 

“Nonsense. This isn’t a curse! It’s a blessing!” Andruth tried to argue, but somehow he felt his own wisdom slipping. The rosy sun began to clear the hills spilling pink light into the throne room. The crown fit Kalen surprisingly well. Andruth looked around for some excuse, but none came. With a sigh, he nodded his head. 

“We should look for a drawing room then; maybe our father left us a journal.” Kalen’s smile crossed his entire face. 

“That’s the spirit!” 

With the torch in hand, Andruth led up the stairs behind the throne. The carved stone steps led up to a second floor, or even further up to a tower. Andruth decided to look around the second floor. Old rooms were left open; it looked like someone had gone through most of them a long time ago. Upturned chests, broken tables—it was a mess. 

“I doubt there’s anything up here,” Kalen muttered. 

"Anyone foolish enough to make this mess is too foolish to read. We may be in luck if we find that drawing room.” Andruth came to the end of the hall; to his left was a well lit room. The morning sun illuminated the space—a narrow desk and racks that once held wine. Andruth set the torch on an empty hook on the wall and began to search the desk. Kalen instead went to the wine rack. He began to look through the broken shards of glass. 

“Guess whoever did this didn’t have a taste for refreshments.” 

“They might have broken from the cold,” Andruth chimed in. 

“Smell good, either way,” Kalen remarked. Andruth sifted through the drawers of the desk. Scratches on the bottom of many of the drawers meant someone had already searched for any secret compartments. Andruth stood up with a parchment in his hand. Kalen wandered over, taking in one last long smell of the wine. 

“What is it?” 

“A treaty, says here in Latin that Lord… uh, Yay-mius, will give two winters worth of supplies in exchange for protection from the nearby Kingdom of… Ruber-vood.” 

“That’s not any kingdom I’ve heard of?” Kalen walked over to take a look. Andruth passed it off to him, and the slightly shorter boy checked it over. He shook his head. 

“I can’t read a lick of Latin; are you sure that’s right?” 

“Father Gregory taught me a long time ago; maybe I’m mispronouncing it. Vood could wood, I think.” 

“And Yay-mius?” 

“I-am-mius, or Jay-mius.” 

“Neither of those sound right; better just call him father, I think.” 

“We could keep looking–,” There was a creak from outside. Suddenly, the horse began to snort and huff. Kalen ran to the window, looking down at the courtyard. Andruth took the other window. Someone was shuffling into the castle yard. The boys glanced at each other, then at the newcomer. The morning sun glistened off the fresh snow and the man’s bald-ringed head. 

“A clergyman,” Kalen mused. 

“He’s not wearing a habit,” Andruth noted. 

“Maybe just balding then,” Kalen said with a chuckle. “If we stay quiet maybe he’ll–,” Again, the boys were cut off as their mare rushed out, churning the once calm snow-sea. Powder went flying as the horse bucked and thrashed about. 

“Woah, woah!” The stranger held out an apple. The horse continued to jump and kick but slowed down after seeing the shiny, red treat. Finally, the mare ceased her stamping and marched over to take her reward. The man began to stroke her long face gently as she ate from his hand. “Proud thing, aren’t you?” The mare snorted a reply. The man began to inspect her flank, making sure to keep a steady hand on her face. 

“Not from around here, are you?” The man produced another apple, which the horse happily ate. His voice was high for his rounded stature. He had a freshly shaven, pale face with plump cheeks and big eyes. His hair was shaven in the traditional monk’s fashion but he wore a fur cloak around his body. The man took the horse’s lead and walked it to the fence near the gate. A haybale had been placed to keep the horse busy. 

“We should probably act unless we want to lose our horse,” Kalen whispered from his hiding spot. While the mare happily munched on the light-green hay, the man began to check its reins and armor. His voice was too low to hear, but Andruth thought he could see the man mumbling to himself. Kalen walked to the hallway again. He moved slowly, his eyes tracing the walls and doors for something. As he moved, his steps became more concise. He straightened out his back and strode forward with confidence. “Tis, us! Sons of Cent!” 

“We need a better title than that,” Andruth was beginning to question the validity of this plan. However, they had little else in the way of options. With one final check over the desk, Andruth reached for the old inkwell pen, still upright in its bottle. To his surprise, the feathered quill didn’t move. Instead, there was a click in the desk. Leaning closer, Andruth reached under the desk and found something metal touching his fingers. It was small, only about the size of his palm. With a tug, Andruth pulled out the metal relic. It was a small metal seal in the shape of a shield. At the very top was a small silver button. When Andruth pressed it, the shield opened to reveal the signet ring of Cent. Kalen stood in the doorway waiting for his companion, blissfully unaware of what Andruth just found. Silently, the young knight held the ring aloft. Kalen squinted at it in the low light. Then his eyes went wide with realization. Both boys dared not speak, lest they break the spell that had been cast. Kalen nodded and without thinking, Andruth slid the ring over his right middle finger. It was plain silver band but with the same apple-ruby emblazed on the top. With pride, both boys strode out to meet the clergyman.