CHAPTER TWO

King Kaelric traveled through the mountains, a quarter day's journey on his steadfast horse, accompanied by three of his strongest soldiers for the auction which took place underground, three villages away from Arkenholt.

The lair was owned by an old goblin who went far beyond the five kingdoms and deep into the sea, searching for precious, magical relics. In his most shrewd ways, he’d send an invitation to the kings and have them bid over his stolen treasures—all for his entertainment and wealth.

Arriving at the mouth of the cave, Kaelric dismounted his horse and handed the reins to his soldier captain, sheathing his sword on the left side of his iron armor. The auction was secluded only to kings, not even knights, noble men, or queens were permitted to partake.

Fire torches hung on either side of the cave, clearing a path within the darkness that led to an enclosure with seated kings—some friends of Kaelric, many of them foes.

“King Kaelric Dragonblood.” A disembodied voice spoke and he turned around, his ember glare fixating on the amber hue of Aetherion, the Phoenix King. “It's been a long time.” Aetherion gave a bow in reverence.

“King Aetherion,” Kaelric grasped his shoulder, straightening his posture. No king was allowed to bow to another but it was irrefutable to deny King Aetherion sincere allegiance to Kealric, which provoked the other kings.

“After I saved your kingdom from the Gryphons, you lost the map to Arkenholt,” Kaelric said, reminding Aetherion about their last encounter as they walked side by side, down the aisle.

King Aetherion was barely sixteen when he fought his first battle. After losing half his kingdom to the Gryphons, the young king knelt before Kaelric for help, and without a sound, Kaelric’s army fought and won beside him.

That was six years ago.

“I passed along Arkenholt’s mountains three moons ago, but I received news you weren't entertaining guests.” Aetherion's reply came as they settled down on a seat next to each other.

King Aetherion wasn't lying as three moons ago, King Kaelric’s twenty-sixth maiden, Lysa, had a miscarriage. He remembered her name dearly because she had carried twins and her pregnancy surpassed every other maiden he had lain with.

The event threw Arkenholt into more despair, the crops withered faster, the rivers ran dry and the children died from strange ailments. Kaelric couldn't bear to face anyone, locking himself in the dragon's den.

“Is Kaelric still considered a king? I believe Arkenholt is fermenting in maggots.” The Gryphon king clicked his tongue, a felt of long brown feathers around his black cloak.

The Gryphons and Dragons were known as the two most powerful kingdoms out of the five but they have never stood on the same side, never saw eye to eye, and have been adversaries for generations.

“Because he can't produce an offspring!” The lord of Orcs, a tribe of barbarians, bellowed in laughter, his blaring voice echoing within the hollow cave. “He probably has a vagina under that armor.”

Kaelric growled—dangerously low, vibrating the hairs on Aetherion’s arms beside him. Kaelric could endure one or two insults from the Gryphon king but when Lord Orc spoke, it aroused a revolting disgust from the depths of his gut.

“At least he lives for decades. How old is he now? Three hundred years?” Alpha Thane of Wolfblood chided Lord Orc's statement in a calm tone, his windless demeanor exuding neither offense nor contentment.

“Being alive for long doesn’t mean he’s immortal.” Lord Orc refuted, thick brows knotted together in a hardened scowl. “An arrow to his heart—” he smashed a fist on his right chest because, unlike other beings, a dragon's heart rests on the right side, “—and he’s dead.”

Vapor fumed out of Kaelric’s flared nostrils, his fingernails biting into the palm of his hand. He fought the overpowering urge to summon his dragon and hail down fire and brimstone upon Lord Orc and his kind, destroying every single one of them savages.

“Good d-day, my dist-tinguis-shed k-kings.” The globin welcomed, sauntering to the front of the cave, his eyes round with mischief. “Today-y, we h-have some rare, m-magical relics for the p-possessions of kings.”

A boisterous cheer and applause resounded and the goblin giggled, his head stiff to his neck. “B-bring in the first item-m.” He waved over a younger globin who wheeled in a double-edged silver sword.

“B-behold, a sword that d-drains the blood of anyone who s-tands against it.” The globin revealed its potential. “And it goes for five thousand gold coins.”

Lord Orc raised his hand, his armpit sprouting with overgrown hair. “Five thousand gold coins!”

Another brute voice rose from the back. “Six thousand gold coins!”

“I have eight thousand!” Someone growled behind Aetherion, startling the young king’s fearsome heart. Kaelric wasn't intimidated by tense power dynamics as fights never ensued during an auction—but a king's body would be found cold on his way back.

The Orc Lord spat on the ground, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, “Ten thousand pure gold coins!” He said more in a challenging tone than an offer. The cave remained silent for a second and no one else made a higher bid.

“The s-sword goes to Lord Orc, for ten t-thousand gold coins.” The globin declared and Lord Orc stood to his bare feet, beating his chest in triumph.

He marched to the front, dropping a satchel of coins and the globin only fiddled its weight to confirm the amount. Lord Orc lifted the sword to the air, “Time to slay thy enemy!” He roared, receiving a blasting tumult of cheer.

“Next-t is a p-potion that guarantees life after d-death,” the globin spoke and the cheering seized, diverting the king's attention to the purple liquid sealed in an oval glass pendant.

Deep murmurs followed the globin’s statement, suspicion arousing as a couple of furrowed brows scrutinized the liquid from their seats. Aetherion sat up, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

Many believed the little creature to be mischievous and willing to do the unthinkable for a hefty bag of gold coins, however, he wasn't a liar.

“It g-grants every being three lives-s after death and the bidding starts at twenty thousand gold c-coins,” the globin added and the murmurs became audible clamors.

“I’ll have it for twenty thousand.” Aetherion’s voice wavered through the noise, his raised hand taking everyone by surprise. Kaelric didn't join the others to stare at Aetherion—he didn't need to see his face to know he was serious.

Aetherion's heartbeat was stronger, his amber gaze more relentless than ever. Unlike any other creature, the phoenix king had to die for his ashes to reincarnate the next heir.

The lineage never ceases but the king never meets his heir and Aetherion wished for the potion to keep himself from dying soon and rebirthing an heir.

“Twenty-five thousand gold coins!” A half-bull, half-man snorted out his bejeweled snout. He was the ruler of the Minotaurs, a clan who were no less different than the Orcs.

“Twenty-six thousand.” Aetherion blurted in an instant, unshaken by the Minotaur's domineering stance. If Kaelric’s lips could, he would’ve smiled but underneath his scowl was nothing other than satisfaction.

“Twenty-seven.” The Minotaur ruler laughed dismissively, showing he had no intention of making a reasonable offer. Minotaurs weren’t royalty; they only gained wealth by collecting scraps from Lord Orc.

Kaelric lowered his head and voice. “Double it.”

Two words by Kaelric and Aetherion nodded, raising a hand. “Fifty-four gold coins!”

The Minotaur ruler closed his mouth in shame and swallowed, his eyes darting to Lord Orc as he sank further into his seat. The globin declared Aetherion as the highest bidder and handed the pendant over to him which Aetherion wore around his neck.

As the auction went on with the next item, Kaelric observed Lord Orc sending a command to the Minotaur ruler, their gaze slowly darting to Aetherion and the pendant around his neck.

“Aetherion,” Kaelric whispered without looking at him. “I think it’s best you leave before it gets dark.”

Aetherion nodded and fled without a word of objection.

The Minotaur advanced from his seat in hastened pursuit but halted as the globin said, “s-saving the b-best item for last-t—” trudging and pulling his weight on a heavy chain clung around a girl’s neck, the cold metal biting against the warmth of her skin with her hands bound together.

King Kaelric frowned—when did the goblin begin trading other creatures for gold? Clad in a black tattered dress that hung loosely from her frail frame, she appeared weak and weary, her arms and legs tattooed with intricate and strange markings.

Kaelric slightly tilted his head to make out her face but long tangled curls of deep brown hair formed a wild curtain that obscured her face, beckoning further curiosity.

“For f-forty thousand g-gold coins.” The goblin set the price higher than other magical relics auctioned.

“What?! I have seen prettier-looking women than this twig!” The Minotaur ruler spat.

“Hmm, she’d make a fine slave.” Alpha Thane denoted.

“Have her turn around.” Gryphon King ordered and the globin yanked on the chain around her neck, nudging her to turn. “See, there’s still some flesh at the backside!” He mentioned and they cheered.

“I’ll have the slave for forty gold coins.” Lord Orc held up his hand, once again displaying the unkempt overgrown hairs in his underarm. “Tonight’s going to be wild.” The barbarian made a provocative motion, thrusting two fists and his hips repeatedly in the air.

Kaelric despised the ways of the Orcs—the raiders, reapers, and rapers— as they were known by many. He wondered how Lord Orc was regarded as a king merely because he led a band of savages.

“Sixty gold coins.” Gryphon said, catching Lord Orc by surprise, “I can’t let you have all the pleasure, can I?”

“Don’t worry, we can share.” Lord Orc accepted the friendly competition and they both shared a chuckle.

King Kaelric shook his head in disdain, he was no martyr, but their grotesque display of power eroded the honor of actual kings.

He imagined the Gryphon King and Lord Orc in a gruesome traid penetration with the slave girl, stripping off whatever dignity was left of her while their wives stayed awake, untouched by their husbands.

In truth, their sordid habits or utterances didn't only make Kaelric sick, it was their entire existence he desired to burn.

“Going for s-sixty gold c-coins to King Gry—”

“—a hundred gold coins.” The goblin was interrupted as the words left Kaelric's mouth before he realized it.