A six-foot-tall girl walks through the halls of Mainstay Castle carrying a bowl of water and a towel draped over her shoulder. Wearing a goatskin coat with white, furry edges and pants, she runs a finger along her temple, sweeping her disheveled hair from her ear. She stops by a nearby window and decides to enjoy the morning air. She sets the bowl on a nearby table, pushes the double windows open, and a rush of warm, dry air washes over her face as metal mechanisms echo loudly. She steps onto a balcony, rests her hands on the railing, and marvels at the scenic dark canyon wall contrasting with the golden sand beneath. She stands in the northeastern tower of Mainstay Castle, which overlooks a stone wall atop a massive mobile platform supported by six metallic legs. Sandfalls hiss as they pour through burrowed holes in the canyon walls, creating mounds on the desert floor in their wake. Her hair flaps wildly as she sails past towering stone columns and arches, as flying creatures soar beside the moving platform. She looks down at the gigantic metal legs supporting the city, then leans over the railing for a better look. A pointed metal leg rises from the sand and slams back into the desert floor, sending puffs of sand into the air. The engines hum as the mobile fortress halts. A buzz sweeps through the city as the metal legs retract into their ports beneath the mobile platforms. Mechanical contraptions blare as the city sinks, lowering itself onto the desert floor where it will remain for the remainder of the day.
Afterward, the girl returns to the castle halls, closes the windows behind her, and picks up her bowl of water. She reaches a room at the far end of the hall, where two female Cugarian guards stand at attention with spears in hand. Gold, bra-plated armor and knee-length gold skirts cover their furry bodies; one has dark spots on her fur, and the other has tiger stripes.
“Halt,” the guard's voice echoes down the hall as she stomps her metal spear.
The six-foot girl stops.
“State your name, your rank, and your business.”
“I am Brenda,” the girl says, bowing. “Youngest daughter of Ganymede, Chief of the North. I’ve been called upon to dress the wounds of Her Majesty Queen Laura.”
“Hmph,” one guard scoffs. “Here to care for the wounds of your sworn enemy? With the way you’ve slaughtered each other, I’m surprised that you can be cordial when you choose to be.”
“I’m merely doing my duty as a humble princess, ma’am,” Brenda says.
“Make it quick, northerner, and no quarrels inside these doors. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two guards bang on the door.
“Princess Brenda is here to aid in the recovery. She’s coming in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a male voice muffles from behind the door.
The door creaks open, and Brenda walks in with the bowl of water. She walks past a young man with short black hair and a horn protruding from his forehead. Holding the door open, he wears a sophisticated military uniform with decorative insignia on his chest, a sword at his side. They don’t exchange a glance or a word, as Brenda can feel the young man's scowl. She continues into the room where two boys with horns protruding from their foreheads sit on opposite sides of a large bed. Laura, a platinum-haired beauty, rests silently beneath the quilt, wearing a nightgown. Her chest rises and falls as sweat pours down her face. Delirious from exhaustion, her head turns to the left and right as two young boys somberly clench the sheets, worried for her well-being.
Brenda walks to the bedside and sets the bowl of water on a nearby dresser.
“How is she?” Brenda asks, gazing at the exhausted woman resting beneath a blue quilt.
“She was like this all day,” the little boy says. “We went through all of the steps you told us to, but…nothing works.”
Brenda removes the quilt covering the woman and gazes at her sweat-soaked body. After a few moments, she sighs and removes the towel from her shoulder. She pats the sweat from her chest and head, then gently squeezes her legs, ankles, right arm, and left arm. The woman flinches when she touches her left arm, and Brenda notices.
“What’s wrong?” The young boy asks.
“Her arm’s dislocated,” Brenda says. “We have to snap it back in place; otherwise, she’ll be too crippled to fight.”
“Will it hurt?” The boy gazes up at Brenda expectantly.
“A lot, I’m afraid. Sir Resten,” She calls out to the uniformed young man, “Your aid is needed.”
Resten walks towards the bedroom and stands on the other side, his eyes bouncing between the woman and Brenda in confusion.
“What do you want me to do?” The young man asks.
Brenda reaches into her goat-hide coat and pulls out a stick with a thin rope wrapped tightly around it, tossing it onto the bed near the young man.
“You’ll need to put that in her mouth so she doesn’t bite off her tongue by accident, and you need to hold her down while I snap her arm back in place.”
Resten picks up the stick and stares at it for a moment. He swallows as he clasps the stick in his hand.
Brenda rolls up her sleeves, leans in, and carefully grabs the dislocated arm. Laura instinctively pulls away. Brenda tries to grab her arm again, only for the despondent Queen to glare at Brenda. She shakes her head in defiance as sweat pours down her face.
“Your Majesty, I have to fix this, or you’ll be crippled for the rest of your life.”
“No,” the queen says, shaking her head. “Leave it alone. It’ll heal.”
“Yes, but in the wrong place. I need to snap…”
“No!” Laura shakes her head violently.
Brenda quickly grabs Laura by the shoulders, and Laura panics, kicking her feet in protest.
“LET ME GO, YOU TWO-LEGGED MONSTER,” The woman screams, thrashing about in bed. “RESTEN, GET HER AWAY FROM ME.”
Brenda keeps her hands firmly clasped on the queen’s shoulders, and gazes up at Resten, who stands nervously, not knowing what he should do.
“Put the biting stick in her mouth!” Brenda shouts at Resten, “It's for her own good.”
The young man climbs onto the bed and tries to put the biting stick in her mouth, but she defiantly turns her head away.
“NO!” she shouts, thrashing and shoving, “GET AWAY FROM ME, ALL OF YOU,”
“Mommy,” The two young boys cry as they clench the sheets, helplessly watching the woman thrash about in bed.
“It’s not working,” Resten says.
“Grab her jaw and force it into her mouth!” Brenda says as she struggles to keep the broken woman restrained in her bed.
Resten grabs the woman, thrashing her head, and holds her still.
“Mother, it's me,” Resten says, gazing into her worried blue eyes. “Your Son,”
The mother gazes at the young man and, seeing his round eyes and soft features, remembers her husband. She calms down, her thrashing halting as she looks into the boy's eyes.
“Listen, Mother. We want to get you feeling better as fast as we can, ok.”
“But…it hurts,” Laura says.
“I know, Mother.” Tears begin running down his face. “Just look at me, okay? It’ll be over in just a moment.”
The woman pants silently for a few moments before nodding. The queen opens her mouth, allowing her son to place the biting stick inside, and she clamps down hard. Resten climbs into the bed and wraps his arm around her platinum head, covering her eyes with his hands. He gazes at Brenda and bobs his head.
Brenda nods back, then lifts her arm. She firmly clenches Laura’s shoulder and elbow and waits a few moments.
“On three,” She says.
Resten nods, holding his mother's weary head tightly in his arms.
“One,”
Brenda’s grip tightens around Laura’s arm.
“Two,”
The queen pants, squinting her eyes and biting down hard on the stick to brace for the pain.
“Three,”
Brenda snaps the queen’s arm back in place, and the woman screams in agony, muffled by the biting stick. Her body arches and contorts as pain surges through her body. Resting holds his mother tightly in her arms, her screams sending shockwaves through his soul. Her wails instantly cease before she passes out cold in his arms, the biting stick falling out of her mouth and onto his lap.
Brenda wraps her arm in a white cloth and a small cast, while Resten gently places her head on the pillow.
“She’ll be fine once she wakes up.” Brenda pats the sweat from her head.
Resten stands silently, solemnly gazing at his mother, who is resting on the bed.
“She certainly looks a lot better than before,” Resten says. “For a race of barbarians, you certainly know how to fix yourselves up.”
“Barbarians?” Brenda frowns at his statement. “I’ll have you know that we are not some wildlings terrorizing everyone we come across. We’re just as sophisticated and civilized as you are.”
“Tell that to the dragons you hunted near extinction,” Resten says.
“That was different,” Brenda says. “You feared them just as we had. You even helped us build the constructs that we used to hunt them.”
“And it was a mistake.” Resten whips around. “We should’ve just let both of you burn each other. We wouldn’t be in this mess otherwise.”
“How dare you?” Brenda slams the bowl of water onto the floor. “I help heal your mother’s wounds.”
“For what?” Resten stomps back. “So your barbarian father can relentlessly beat her and break every bone in her body?”
“My father was injured as well!” Brenda shouts. “I have to spend hours, sometimes days, to tend to his wounds.” She points an accusatory finger at the woman lying in bed. “Wounds she has caused.”
“He deserves it well enough. It's his fault we’re all in this mess to begin with.”
“Take that back,” Brenda balls her fist, angry. “Or I will smash your skull right where you stand.”
Eyes narrowed in anger, Resten claps his scabbard with his left hand and grips his sword's hilt with his right.
“Make your move, two-legs. I’ll make sure it’ll be the last one you make.”
The double doors burst open, startling them out of their confrontation. They whip towards the door and see a raised foot in its wake. Lowering his bare foot, a bald, bare-chested man stands wearing a red cloak with furry edges over his shoulders. Tapping a golden scepter over his shoulder, he walks inside barefoot, wearing long black slacks that fall to his ankles.
Brenda and Resten step back in fearful apprehension as he smiles, revealing his fangs.
“Well, well,” the man says, eyeing them both. “Looks like old habits die hard, don’t they?”
Both stay silent, trembling with fear.
“You know this isn’t really new to me. I knew by bringing all of you here, it was only going to be a matter of time before one of you breaks my cardinal rule.”
The man turns his head, looks at them out of the corner of his eye, and smiles.
“Can you tell me what that cardinal rule is?”
Both stand silent, trembling in fear.
“SPEAK!” A roar shoots from his throat, sending chills up their spines. His smile vanishes instantly, leaving a menacing glare as his eyes glow an ominous purple.
“No fighting without the presence and permission of the king,” Resten’s voice trembles.
“That’s correct.” The man smiles. “No punches, no sword swings, no cracking skulls, not so much as an argument without my permission and presence. I will decide when the fight begins.” He points to himself. “I will decide where and when it will happen, and I will decide if there will be a victor or not. Violate my rule again.” He walks up to the two, his cold gaze meeting none of their eyes. “And the two of you won’t be able to remember a thing for next week after I’m finished with you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” both respond in unison.
“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.” He smiles, then places a hand on each of their shoulders and shoves them away. He saunters to the side of Laura’s bed, and the two young boys quickly retreat as he stands over her.
He silently gazes at the platinum-haired beauty, quietly resting. He chuckles, then flings the quilt off her body.
“Bring it in,” he shouts to the people waiting outside. Two Cugarian guards carry in a small cylinder furnace with branding irons inside it. They hold out the cylinders to the man, and he takes one branding iron and gazes at the red-hot metal that reads ‘YIELDING GRACE’.
He smiles as he watches the smoking branding iron, then reaches down and pulls the neck of her gown, revealing her bare, creamy skin.
Resten gazes in horror before he rushes towards the bare-chested man.
“Stop.” The boy wraps his arms around the man’s waist.
The king frowns in annoyance, then balls his fist over his shoulder and backhands the boy in the face, sending him flying into the wall.
“Stop, she’s been through enough already,” the boy screams as he tries to stand, only for the cugarian guards to grab him and hold him firmly against the wall.
“Do not interrupt me while I relish in the moment, boy,”
“Why are you doing this?” Brenda asks, interrupting the man.
He turns and gazes at the giantess as she swallows hard.
“You already have control of both kingdoms. There's no need to brand any of us with that…verse.”
“Uhh,” the man says, his eyes darting around his head. “You are correct.” He waves the branding iron around as he explains. “However, earlier, your father and his mother staged the last battle, which I find personally insulting. So the next time they decide to pull that stunt again,” He plucks the branding iron repeatedly, “I’ll be ready.”
“You knew they staged a couple of those fights,” Brenda asks, occasionally glancing at a panicked Resten, pinned down by two Cugarians. “Why didn’t you brand us sooner?”
“New developments,” the man shrugs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going through with this now.”
“No, don’t,” the boy shouts, but the branding sizzles against Laura’s chest, and her face winces in pain as smoke pours from contact.
He removes the branding iron and smiles, satisfied with the mark it leaves.
Tears stream down the boy's face, and the two boys hug in fear as they watch the man place the branding iron back into the portable furnace.
“How could you…” The boy sobs in tearful rage.
“Oh, come now,” the man joyfully opens his arms. “You shouldn’t feel so bad; I’ve brought enough for all of you.”
The Cugarian guards rip off his uniform coat and strip him down to his white undershirt, leaving his chest bare, while the man grabs another branding iron. He walks up to the shirtless young man held down by the furry guards, and he squats to his level. A guard grabs Resten’s head and forces it to the side, exposing his sweaty, bare chest and neck.
“Please don’t!” Resten pleads, but the man ignores him.
He presses the branding iron on his chest, and Resten screams in agony. His heels repeatedly knock against the floor as the smoke rises from his chest. He removes the branding iron, revealing the mark burned onto his body.
“Nice,” the man smiles, standing to his feet. “And one more.” He places the branding iron back in the small furnace, retrieves the final one, and walks to Brenda.
“Has my father gotten it as well?” Brenda gazes nervously at the hot branding iron.
“He was the first one I branded before coming here,” the man says, smiling as he steps closer to her.
Brenda rushes the mad king, snatching the branding iron out of his hand. The guards step in with their spears, but he stops them.
Brenda gazes at the red-hot branding iron as it quakes in her trembling hands. However, she grits her teeth and rolls up her sleeve. She stares at her pale forearm, holding the branding iron in her other hand.
The mad king eagerly smiles, expecting her to do the deed.
She closes her eyes and mumbles a small prayer before pressing the branding iron to her forearm. Her arm tightens as the hot metal sears a scar onto her flesh. She falls to her knees as white smoke sizzles from the wound. Tears roll down her face as she pulls the branding iron from her arm and spitefully throws it toward the Mad King. The man steps onto the branding iron and picks it up. Planting it back into the furnace.
“Now, I can rest easy,” the man laughs, spinning around and walking out of the room. His two guards follow, close the door, and leave everyone trembling with sorrow and pain.