The Gate of Eight Worlds

Chapter 3: The Princess of Ollie's Kingdom

Barnaby’s massive talons struck the scorched white marble terrace with a bone-rattling thud, kicking up a shower of stone chips and powdered glass. The griffin folded his thirty-foot wings with a heavy rustle of canvas-hard feathers, his beak clicking open to emit a low, watchful rumble that echoed against the cliff face.

Dwaho slid down from the leather harness first, his legs feeling remarkably unsteady on the solid stone after the steep descent through the clouds. Beside him, Alex swung his leg over the saddle, his hand remaining firmly clamped around the hilt of his practice sword. Queen Natasha stepped down last, her dark blue cloak sweeping over the ash-stained marble as her sharp eyes surveyed the courtyard.

The terrace was in ruins. Overturned supply wagons lay smashed against the outer balustrade, their iron wheels buckled and spokes splintered. The chiming glass leaves from the surrounding forest littered the ground like broken green bottles, interspersed with the heavy, triangular footprints of six-legged hunting hounds.

At the center of the terrace, beside a smoking brazier that threw three distinct pillars of white smoke into the sky, stood a makeshift barricade of stacked granite blocks.

Standing atop the highest stone, a heavy longbow drawn taut to her ear, was a girl no older than Alex. She wore a fitted tunic of deep crimson wool, trimmed with silver thread that bore the crest of a coiled sea-serpent. A narrow silver circlet glittered against her dark, tightly braided hair, and her grey eyes held a cold, unyielding focus as she trained her iron-tipped arrow directly at Queen Natasha’s chest.

"State your house and your allegiance," the girl demanded. Her voice rang out clear and sharp across the silent terrace, unhurried by the wind. "The Sovereign’s vanguard holds the lower locks. Ollie’s Kingdom does not yield to imperial turncoats."

Queen Natasha did not flinch, nor did she raise her hands. She stood at her full, regal height, her unadorned golden crown catching the dim light of the three silver moons.

"Put down your bow, Princess," Natasha said, her voice carrying the quiet, undeniable weight of ancient authority. "You speak to Natasha, Queen of the Upper Realm. Behind me stand Alex, the Chosen King, and Dwaho, Keeper of the Sight. We have crossed the High Threshold to claim the First Key before the Arch crumbles into ash."

The girl’s grey eyes darted from Queen Natasha’s face to the pale, crest-shaped mark glowing faintly on Alex’s right palm. Slowly, her tension eased. She relaxed her draw and unstrung the heavy bow with a swift, practiced motion before jumping down from the barricade. She bowed her head, her hand coming across her chest in the formal salute of the Eastern Fleet.

"Forgive my caution, Your Majesty," she said, her voice dropping a fraction. "I am Princess Rose of Ollie’s Kingdom. My father’s royal fleet was trapped in the Drowned Citadel when the Second Gate locked from the inside two weeks ago. He sent me with a guard of forty archers to hold this pass, but... we were overwhelmed."

Dwaho stepped closer, looking at the empty, quiet courtyard. "Where are your archers, Princess?"

Rose’s jaw tightened, a shadow of fierce grief crossing her face before she forced her composure back. "The Sovereign’s iron-tipped hounds drove them into the lower canyons yesterday morning. I managed to fall back to this terrace and light the crest-fire, but I am all that remains of the guard."

Alex stepped forward, stepping around a pile of shattered glass foliage, his hand resting on his sword pommel. "Then you aren't fighting alone anymore. We need to reach the Sunken Vault beneath the Altar of Glass, but we cannot unlock the Second Gate without someone who knows the tides of the Drowned Citadel."

"The Altar of Glass is already under siege," Rose replied, drawing a slender, iron-headed hunting dagger from her belt and pointing toward the valley floor below the cliff. "The Sovereign's commander, General Vane, has brought an iron-borer to the vault doors. They have been hammer-striking the seals since dawn."

A low, deep vibration shook the marble floor beneath their boots, followed by a distant, booming sound that rattled the remaining balustrade. Barnaby let out a sharp, brassy screech and snapped his beak toward the shadow of the mountain tunnel behind the barricade.

"That wasn't the borer," Dwaho said, his heart hammering against his ribs as he pulled his small leather sling from his belt. "That came from inside the mountain."

Rose notched an arrow back onto her string with seamless, silent speed, her grey eyes locking onto the dark tunnel mouth. "The hunting pack has tracked the smoke. They've come up through the inner stairs."

From the darkness of the archway, two glowing, sulfur-yellow eyes ignited in the shadows, followed by the heavy, rhythmic clatter of iron claws against stone.