The Empty Kingdom

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

The golden hour, which once symbolized her waking each day, maintained a steady, somber blue. The short, cut grass in the valleys beyond her palace did not gain their ritual dew. The once-pleasant morning breeze stifled the air. Lethargic wildlife cluttered the massive forests. Only a few rose from their nests.

The townsfolk stirred in their homes. They felt an unidentifiable pressure through their anxiety this morning. Peeking heads looked through half-opened shutters. Children, who typically littered the streets in the early mornings, were absent, still in bed, telling their parents about an apparent tummy ache. Leaves rustled and scattered papyrus tumbled through empty avenues. Shop stalls opened, but to no expectation of business. The street beggars curled in dark alleyways, displaying fever-like symptoms and visibly afraid of the day and what possibly happened to their queen. She would usually buy them food and drink to sustain them throughout the day, but they felt today would not be one of those days. Noble families sent their help out to gather information around the town, their usual kindness for those less fortunate replaced with contempt. In many homes, they bickered over why the queen would ever spend so much time with people of lower social standing.

This was different. For several moments in morning haze, nothing moved in a natural rhythm. The queen was this land's heartbeat, her power central to the liveliness of the natural and artificial world. Though the land could move on its own, it was she who gave it identity. Because that's just who she was.

And the land mourned.

The deafening silence of the castle town began a crescendo to the metallic clatter of guards rummaging through every crevice of the land. The armored men had no order to look for their queen; they'd taken it upon themselves to organize and begin a watch party for their beloved ruler.

The entire kingdom knew she liked to run off. The queen gained notoriety in the early days of her rule for starting her own micro-adventures, shirking the responsibilities to her Seneschal and Sister Princess. The guards hit every usual spot—be it the tavern where she would hide in plain sight, tankard of ale in hand, bellowing off-key to whatever ballad the bard dared play in front of the rowdy crowd. She would get into many fights. Most she would lose just because.

The now-open bazaar was their first target. The queen would disguise herself as a peddler of goods, crafting her own stall and selling merchandise to off-duty guards who are now frantic in their search. One guard fell to his knees in front of a fish stall and cried aloud. Sometime before, the queen secretly managed that stall and bartered with that guard. Once she discovered the guard did not have enough money to feed his whole family, the queen gave him the fish for free, then sent a year's supply of food and drink to their home. She was always good at selling at a premium, but sometimes taking care of her subjects was more important. If she happened to have a good selling day, all the money made went back to the shopkeeper she'd sold for, and the rest went to increase guard wages.

Each usual spot empty, and the cries of the people grew louder, permeating through the stone of the castle walls.

Inside the castle, the remaining guards knocked and shuffled along marble floors and stairs. Constables, Huntsmen, and Falconers watched in waning hope, whispering their theories on where their queen disappeared. The going theory was she was unhappy with ruling. "It was never her style," they'd say. She spent most of her time, when inside the castle, running in their circles as she saw their work "more exciting and familiar."

Another rumor, started by the housekeepers, maids, and butlers, was that she'd eloped with the handsome man who owned the tannery—or was it the equally gorgeous woman who had opened a new apothecary—she met at the tavern some weeks ago. They remembered seeing one or two of them leaving her chambers frequently over the last couple of days. It only made sense.

The whispers took on a life of their own and brought about a new light the castle was clearly missing. Some in the queen's service settled into these rumors and moved on with their daily tasks. No sense in worrying when someone will just take her place or she'll simply return. A well-kept castle meant a happy kingdom.

Through the mumblings cut a cleanly dressed human-height dwarf walking crisply and intently through the castle halls. Though he had a clear destination, the man lacked posture. Every servant he passed ceased their discussions and watched intently. It didn't matter; he heard it all but refused to acknowledge a single one. Looking the staff in the eye would only give legitimacy to their off-the-wall claims.

He sighed at all the nonsense.

Cardiff, her best friend and Chief Seneschal, paced along the white marble halls. A fair but stern right hand, he shared equal responsibility for the health of the lands. While his queen protected the lands through brute strength, he was calculated, level-headed, and pragmatic. He never faltered in his trust in her.

Until today.

As he continued his walk along the halls, the lights and whispers began to dim, his own thoughts drowning out the remaining stray guards lightly jogging through the halls. Any who approached him got a simple wave of the hand. He never noticed the concern on their faces. He was the one they always looked to for the calm in uncertainty. His demeanor screamed the latter.

Cardiff's pace came to a halt in the middle of an intersected hall, near the queen's living quarters. He had a choice to make: check on their emergency measure, which should have activated by then, or head to the throne room. The emptiness here was different from the bustling search elsewhere in the castle—the pressure accumulating in the silence was heavy. He swayed for a moment, the pressure of unchecked magic burying him underneath. Blurry and burning eyes, the taste of blood in his mouth. His hand immediately covered it, trying to suppress the vomit from the stress he was in.

"Where has she gone, Cardiff?" A stern voice eked from the shadows of a large, stone pillar. The voice, familiar to Cardiff, pitched quieter than usual. Less cunning.

"Out," Cardiff spat.

The figure, a tall muscular woman beaming with beauty and ferociousness, stepped into the light and followed Cardiff as he returned to pacing the halls. She picked up on his hunched shoulders and quick gait, though Cardiff made it painfully obvious that he wanted to look stressed.

"Okay? More details please." Her tone soft, but never mistaken for weakness. Every soldier in the castle gave a crisp salute as they passed by. Cardiff knew she could keep up with him, so he sped up. The metallic staccato of her boots was louder than any of the guards he passed by earlier.

"I mustn't, Ilana, she'd kill me." He didn't believe that, but maybe she would.

"Her absence is throwing off the land's balance. Which way would you really prefer to die?"

The two were in perfect step. Their footsteps echoed among the stained glass windows of the living quarter's grand hall. Servants bowed their heads as the two passed. Ilana snaked her way in front of Cardiff, staring him down with huge green eyes.

"She's my sister, you know? Out with it." Ilana towered over Cardiff. She was the offspring of her mother's second husband, an orc raised by humans who was as brutish as he was gentle. Her father's frame dominated her physical appearance while maintaining her mother's beauty. Those green eyes and strong jawline won her many arguments. Especially with Cardiff.

He stared up at the half-orc woman and sighed. "Look. Our fallback plan hasn't activated yet. Give the generator about another hour and the river, birds, and every other bloody thing in this kingdom will run perfectly normal." She lowered her shoulders in partial relief and he pushed past her. Though she was a head taller than him, Cardiff's shoulder still collided with hers. He shivered at the thought of what would happen to him if the generator didn't work as intended. Parts of his stomach already turned.

Cardiff sauntered ahead of Ilana. She remained silent for a few moments before she lifted her boot, and her armor scratched with each step.

Ilana whispered so no passing guards would hear, "Cardiff, are you going to be okay? Being consumed by my sister's disappearance, I've neglected to check on you. It's been so long since someone started that damned rumor. I forgot about the generator's real purpose."

"And we've benefitted from it, Ilana." He stopped near a wall and braced a low-hanging sconce. "Though the people came up with their own story, they weren't far off base." Ilana caught up to him, placing her hand on his back, rubbing softly.

"True, but the generator was never about succession. Maintaining balance, sure, but never to choose her next successor."

"I know. But now's not the time to discuss our lie. It'll turn on soon enough," he grunted and pushed off the wall. Regardless of the true purpose of the generator, they'd hope to never use it. Cardiff pressed on sluggishly.

Ilana and Cardiff were closer to the throne room. The natural pressure magic released magnified in this area of the castle. Since it was where the queen slept and spent most of her working hours, they decided to house the generator in her chambers, which lay near the throne room. Since the pair were standing in front of the throne room, the pressure exerted was similar to fifty fully matured redwoods stacked on top of the average man's back. Adept magic users could dispel the pressure by exerting their own. But with the queen missing, Cardiff strained, releasing more sweat from his forehead and brow than he'd like to be noticeable. Ilana remained calm and patient.

In front of the door, ornate gold and silver accents were placed meticulously around the large iron frames. A keyhole appeared, nestled in the middle of one door, and Cardiff removed his sweat-soaked ring, placing it perfectly within the hole.

As he began to open the door, he hesitated. The air smelled of newly cast magic—a dense, pungent metallic aroma. When one could identify what wafted through the air, it meant one of two things: You are preparing a spell to use on someone, or someone is using a spell on you. Cardiff felt Ilana piercing through him, yelling inside his mind like a pouting child. He finally looked over. "Yes, I know it's not an answer. You can stop invading my mind." She rolled her eyes.

His hand raised, dispersing the magic targeting him. Ilana poked her lip. "Then just tell me."

"Ilana, you'll worry even more."

"I won't."

"You will."

The door to the throne room opened. Still dark, Cardiff and Ilana flicked their wrists to light the wall sconces and chandeliers.

Cardiff called to Ilana and walked deeper into the room. "I figured you'd come to me first, Ilana. I gave everyone the order to not investigate the throne room or bedchamber until you and I looked first." Ilana moved around the room, surveying the damage and nodded.

The throne room was a massive feat of architectural innovation, now partially destroyed. Pure white stone pillars accented with Gold and Onyx were chipped and clawed. They supported buttressed ceilings stained with artisanal glass, blood, and whatever chandeliers remained. The floors were checkered and scratched marble with a torn purple carpet lining the middle of the room. Each side of the room sat medium-height stands for the royal court seating—in the rare event they gathered. The original structure lost large amounts of stone and wood.

The throne, relatively untouched, nestled at the end of the purple carpet. A large, gaudy Mahogany chair accented with various gems around the high backrest. Parts of it were chipped, as it was customary for the queen to take hacks at it in times of stress.

On the throne sat ceremonial gowns and the queen's crown. Purple and black silk cluttered with precious gems twinkling against the flickering candlelights. Cardiff leaned against the threshold, with folded arms and little words for the sight before them.

Ilana stomped slowly toward her sister's seat. The fabrics and crown her sister wore hours before bunched in her hands.

"Lyhara," she whispered, "where are you?" The orc woman turned to Cardiff. "Spill. I'm worried now."

Cardiff let out a massive sigh before closing the door behind him. Though not as tall as Ilana or as strong as Lyhara, he did his best to appear on equal footing. His steps, slow. Wringing his hands as if stained with blood. An egg-sized ball formed in his throat. Sweat accumulating across his brow. He couldn't look her in the eye. "They're back."

"Who?" Ilana stepped closer.

"I shouldn't te—" He stepped back but she closed the distance. His breath ragged and thin.

"For the love of everything in this land, Cardiff. I will punch you in the face."

"Alright. Anders and Rohan." He opened a squinted eye for her reaction.

The clang of metal crashed in the empty throne room. She stared, mouth wide and unspeaking. Fire flickered uncontrollably. Cardiff felt the heavy pressure of magic Ilana released. It's what she did in stressful situations. His stomach churned.

"Fuck. Me. Her father and my brother?" she finally whispered. The lights slightly calmed. Cardiff nodded.

"She immediately felt their presence in the land, and somehow they bypassed security to get in here. By the time she communicated with me through mind invasion, it was too late. They'd already jumped her and carried her outside of our lands."

"But why not start with that!" her voice boomed in the empty room. "Why didn't you get here in time? Why didn't she call me?"

"One: Because you're clutching your daggers, ready to dive headfirst into something you don't know the first clue to handle." He placed a soft hand on hers. "Two: I was on the other side of the kingdom. Though I'm practiced in magic, I can't teleport like you two. Three: Her last message to me was that by themselves she could have won, but something happened soon after and she was gone."

The two turned to the chipped empty throne. Their friend and sister gone without a trace, with no way of knowing where. Ilana placed her hands on Cardiff's, looking directly into his bright, tired eyes. "Well, what are we going to do, Card?"

"What do you think?" He never let his eyes off of her.

"Find my sister? And re-banish our family?"

"Precisely. Scouts should be back any moment now."