PROLOGUE
Once upon a time, in the southern mainland of Arkanar, lies the Kingdom of Incuria with its capital in Galatley. This is a tale of a special day, a day when the royal castle is more packed than ever with the noblest and most respected men and women from all over Arkanar. Representatives of allied kingdoms and estates, aristocrats, merchants, and famous warriors gather in the Triumphal Hall to celebrate King Inglud the Serpent Slayer's 60th birthday.
The Triumphal Hall has been the venue for every important ceremonial event, from the coronation of a king to his marriage. As guests arrive, they marvel at the exquisite drawings on the black walls and the perfectly rounded columns. Above them, scarlet tapestries with a three-headed bear devouring a snake, the cognizance of Incuria, hang proudly.
The air is thick with revelry, the tables loaded with greasy food and excellent booze, jesters dancing in multi-colored outfits, and bards playing lutes. The guests loudly chant Incurian songs, all in honor of King Inglud. But this year, something feels different.
Recent events have cast a shadow on the king's reputation. Rumors of political unrest and dissent have been spreading throughout the kingdom, and some say that the king's grip on power is weakening. Nonetheless, the celebration continues, and the king's loyal subjects raise their glasses in a toast to their beloved monarch, unaware of the troubles that lay ahead.
Inglud the Serpent-Slayer, also known as the Bear, was an unparalleled king and general of Incuria. His enemies trembled in fear and respected him greatly. With over a hundred victorious campaigns, dozens of conquered kingdoms, and thousands of slain foes to his name, he was a true legend. His massive hand could easily crush a human with a single blow, and his thick gray curls and beard gave him an air of wisdom that belied his ferocity. Despite his age, King Inglud still outshone many young warriors in every aspect of combat.
The guests at the castle drank deeply of ale and feasted on hearty fare as they toasted the king with loud exclamations of "For the king! For the king!" The warriors roared with laughter, spilling their cups of intoxicating ale as they reveled in the celebration.
The king raised his goblet, fashioned from the skull of a fallen enemy, and nodded his approval before wiping the froth from his beard.
"And for the queen!" someone shouted from the crowd.
"Yes! Yes! For the queen!" The warriors raised their goblets once more, timidly stealing glances at the beautiful Queen Nymira the Warrior, who was seated beside the king.
She wore a queen's green robe with a deep V-shaped neckline, and at only 41 years old, she had borne several children for the insatiable king, yet still looked perfect. The gray-eyed, buxom princess hailed from the Wooded Mountains, with mesmerizing curves and long golden hair tied in a bun beneath her crown. Despite giving birth five times, she still possessed a girlish body and kept herself in excellent shape to satisfy the king's needs and avoid giving him any reason to doubt their marriage. Every man in the castle secretly desired her, but all knew that the queen belonged solely to the king.
Nymira smiled, her plump pink lips curling upwards as she ran her hands over her rounded belly. She was in the final month of her pregnancy, and everyone was eagerly anticipating the birth of the new successor. The king had even ordered the healers to stay sober in case of an early arrival.
"I have something to say," the king's bass voice boomed over the music and cheers of his guests. The hall fell silent as he deftly rose from his throne, clasping the armrest with one hand while raising his skull-shaped mug in the other.
"I want to thank everyone who came here today..." He paused for a moment and glanced around the room. "Today, I turn 60. I've lived long enough to see kingdoms rise and fall, to conquer enemies and make allies, to enjoy the finest feasts and the sweetest wines. But you know what I haven't been able to do yet? Figure out how to blow out all these candles in one breath!"
The king pointed to a massive cake with a ridiculous number of candles on it, eliciting laughter from the guests.
Inglud's expression turned serious as he prepared to broach an important topic.
"Seriously, though," he began, "right now, my eldest son Nome is leading our army to victory against the barbarians from Overseas. Let's raise a toast to him! Cheers!" The guests slammed their jugs onto the tables in agreement, shouting "For Nome!"
The King drained his skull-shaped goblet and exclaimed, "For NOME!" Beer dripped from his overgrown beard as he reclined back onto his throne, clutching his stomach and laughing. "Enjoy yourselves, drink and eat. It's all on me!" The hall once again filled with the sound of chatter and revelry.
As mentioned earlier, King Inglud had many children. Two of his daughters were married to kings from neighboring states, his eldest son Nome was currently on a campaign, and his youngest son Karlas had died in battle a couple of years ago. The only son present at the celebration was Darian, a twenty-two-year-old young man with brown hair. Leaning against the wall, the prince watched what was happening in the Triumphal Hall. All these feasts were alien to him.
Darian took a sip from his mug and gazed at the guests. A young girl in a corner tried to wink at him. He was fond of girls, but just like feasts, love affairs weren't actually his thing. His only goal was to earn respect and glory and to be known throughout Arkanar as a brave warrior, general, and king. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many attempts he made, his older brother Nome was always one step ahead. Nome was better at everything: bigger, stronger, deadlier. He was the one son who would inherit the throne, the very throne that Darian desired for himself.
"I will return to my chambers, my love," Nymira said as she rose from the throne, clutching her stomach. A wet puddle appeared beneath her, indicating that her water had just broken. "Healers, come here!" the king yelled, grabbing the queen.
-
Everyone had gathered outside the queen's chambers - guards, entourage, and servants, except for the counselors. Darian stood aside, closer to the corridor walls, lost in thought. The childbirth lasted for several hours, stretching into the early hours of the morning.
For some reason, he remembered the old rumors about the King's mistresses who had died during childbirth due to the enormous size of their newborns. Only Queen Nymira was able to give birth to the King's offspring. It was probably just a myth propagated to make people believe that Inglud was not an ordinary man but possibly a demigod. To be honest, it was not so hard to be fooled, considering all of the King's sons and daughters were indeed huge. Queen Nymira's procreative abilities were undoubtedly worthy of attention and praise.
Finally, the king emerged from the queen's chambers, wiping his sweaty hands with a cloth handkerchief, and glanced at the shocked and timid crowd that had fallen silent. The king needed to speak first.
"The gods have blessed me with a son," he proudly announced.
The corridor erupted with cheers and congratulations, but Darian remained silent and watched from the sidelines.
"And what name have you given the new heir?" someone asked.
"I am still considering options. For now, our queen needs rest," he replied, scanning the crowd. When his gaze fell upon Darian, he spoke with a thunderous voice. "Leave me and Darian alone. All of you."
The last time Inglud had made such a request was almost a year ago when Karlas, Darian's younger brother, died. A few tears had been shed for him, as it was told that Karlas had died in a battle like a worthy Incurian. Only Darian and Inglud knew that Karlas had actually fallen off his horse and broken his neck like a weak, unworthy man during a battle with barbarians.
"It should have been you... Not him," the king had told Darian that night, his eyes full of silent fury at the gods and destiny.
Darian didn't even try to guess what Inglud was going to say to him now.
"I haven't heard from Nome in a long time," Inglud finally started, as the torches and fire on the walls became their only company. He sounded tired and slightly desperate. "I'm afraid he will not return. The last time we received word from him was a month ago, and things were not going well for his army. Perhaps the barbarians are stronger than we thought."
