Brother, Betrayed

  Brother, Betrayed

  Raver, Danielle

  (2011)

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  One brother will betray the others with such treachery that it will change the destiny of Miscia forever.

  The three princes hear this prophecy, and they will discover how far it will drive them to explore love, loyalty, and their own souls.

  The princes are bound by loyalty to each other and their kingdom. When conflict comes to their land, their ascension into power is darkened by betrayal.

  Oman, eldest and Anteria's promised king, leads his brothers on their journey through Arnith.

  Fasime, driven by passion, seeks a life of romance and adventure.

  Syah, born the ailing youngest brother of these two outgoing princes, endeavours to overcome his bleak destiny through pursuit of knowledge and magic; a quest that may reveal unknown power within his own soul.

  A tale woven with deception, war, sacrifice, and magic, BROTHER, BETRAYED takes readers to a troubled kingdom surrounded by barbarians, magical races, and forbidden boundaries.

  Brother, Betrayed

  Danielle Raver

  Copyright © 2011 Danielle Raver

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental

  ISBN-13: 978-0615533438

  (Fantasy Island Book Publishing)

  ISBN-10: 0615533434

  Front Cover © Danielle Raver

  “Three Brothers” by Walt Barna

  Senior Editor: Pamela Brennan

  Structural Editor: J. Darroll Hall

  Fantasy Island Book Publishing

  Contact us at: www.fantasyislandbookpublishing.com

  For Michael, Amanda, Jacob, Nathan, and Kristy

  My siblings

  You made me believe in myself

  PROLOGUE

  The prince was a familiar sight on the city’s walls, but the soldiers still bowed to him. Passing with a nod, Syah continued his vigil of the fields and forests surrounding the capital city. Farmers had begun preparing the soil for spring planting. The brisk breeze brought up sounds from the city, creaking carts transporting goods, city dwellers waking and conducting their business.

  Syah stopped, spotting a cluster of horses crossing the freshly tilled field to the north. Their pace was unhurried and the reason for their labored approach was apparent. A flash of black erupted amongst the gathered riders, tousling them. It was a captive horse, with a coat that gleamed like crow’s feathers. Syah knew it was not a steed of Anteria.

  “Guard!” the prince called. “Send for Oman. Inform him Fasime has returned.”

  Oman examined the rows of weapons positioned precisely upon the tables. Each blade and handle shone without blemish in the morning light.

  “These represent the work of the finest craftsmen in Arnith,” an advisor told him. He was one of three advisors in the room, along with two squires who had arranged the display.

  Oman spotted a two-handed sword with a thick guard and a grooved, hexagonal pommel. The fuller was simple and extended almost the length of the blade. Its leather and metal bore no intricate designs, as the other swords did. The prince traced the grooves of the pommel thoughtfully.

  “Who made this sword?”

  “I believe it was Reddock of Anteria, the same smith who constructed your current sword, sire.”

  “Tell us the design you desire,” another adviser added, “and we will start him working on it right away.”

  Oman turned to a faint call outside the large room. “Prince Oman!” It was repeated closer. A servant entered and bowed, catching his breath. “Prince Fasime has returned.”

  Oman’s gaze went to the window.

  “So, we will see if the rumors of a wild stallion roaming the Arnithian countryside were true.” He chuckled, lifting up the blade.

  “Sire, do you wish Reddock to create your new sword?” the advisor asked hurriedly when Oman started to leave.

  “This one will do,” Oman stated and left, heading towards the entrance of the castle.

  The rope dug into Fasime’s sweaty palms, but he tightened his fists. The closer they drew to the city the more agitated the stallion became. Five other riders surrounded the beast, ropes lashed around its neck, struggling to keep it subdued. Perhaps he remembers this place, Fasime mused.

  Without warning the stallion reared up, striking out with its hooves. The ropes stretched taut, ripping through the other riders’ hands. The bindings gave way and the steed broke from its bonds. The heavy beast bucked and then slammed against Fasime, nearly knocking him off his mount. The ropes were jerked back before the stallion could rear up again.

  “Sir, are you all right?” a soldier inquired.

  Fasime ran his hand down his leg, feeling it ache from the impact. He checked the restrained, rasping stallion. The black beast neighed with fury, stomping its hooves in the ground as the tight ropes pulled him forward again. The stallion turned its eye towards him with purpose. Fasime wrapped the rope around his hand a second time.

  “Let’s get him to the paddock before he tries that again.”

  The riders escorted the stallion into the fenced area and were relieved by soldiers on the ground. The steed did not become more agitated inside the enclosure. It still tried the ropes, wrenching its head and body with such force it lifted some of its captors off the ground.

  Fasime dismounted unsteadily. He noticed Oman and Syah observing the scene from outside the fence.

  “Fasime, you fool!” Oman called as Fasime limped towards them.

  Fasime leaned on the wooden fence and drank from a canteen. He turned around to gaze at the stallion, snorting and shaking its head.

  “It’s true, Oman, he is the colt we lost three summers ago.”

  “How do you know that?” Syah asked.

  “Most horses become used to their fences within a moon. He has never known one.”

  The soldiers shouted as the stallion reared up, knocking several of them onto the ground. They scattered to avoid the steed’s pummeling hooves. When their ropes had it subdued, one of them approached the princes.

  “Was anyone injured?” Oman asked.

  “No, my lords,” the soldier answered then turned to Fasime. “Perhaps we should put the beast down, sir. He is untamable.”

  “I did not track the stallion for half a moon to have him be slaughtered as cattle are for their skin.”

  “Fasime, the horse is mad. There is no use trying to tame it,” Oman told him.

  “He is destined to be a horse of kings. His coat matches the colt that vanished three cycles ago. The king’s horse fathered that colt. He belongs to the Anteria.”

  A grim expression came over Syah’s face. “The colt you speak of lost its mother during a storm. If this stallion was that colt, it is not just wild, it is insane. That horse will break your bones.”

  “And that will be a worthy end, a prince struck down by such a noble steed.”

  Fasime pushed himself off the support of the fence, but Oman grabbed his arm. “It’s not worth it, brother.”

  “I can tame him.”

  “What will we tell Mother and Father if he kills you?” Oman questioned.

  “Tell them I gave my life with pride. Do not punish him if he kills me. Release him back in
to the wild, and my spirit will ride him into the mist.”

  Fasime broke free from Oman.

  “Fasime!” Oman cried.

  “You cannot bring a wild thing into civilization. It won’t conform to our existence,” Syah pressed.

  “You had better stand back from the fence, little brother,” Fasime replied, turning his back to them and facing the struggling steed.

  “Let us quarter the steed in the stables,” a soldier urged when they noticed Fasime returning, “until it calms.”

  “He has sensed our fear,” Fasime spoke in even tones, approaching the steed straight on. The stallion’s labored breaths matched his measured footsteps. “My fear equals his own.” The prince reached out his hand.

  “Caution, Prince,” a soldier warned, not raising his voice for fear of spooking the steed.

  When Fasime was close, the stallion snorted and tossed its head. Though Fasime winced, he forced himself not to withdraw. “You know I am afraid,” he told the beast. The horse gnashed its teeth and pawed at the ground. Fasime stood his ground. “For three cycles you have wandered Arnith’s forests, free from any enclosure or binding, but you will remember what you are.” Fasime reached out and grabbed the ropes an arm’s length from the stallion’s head. “Release the ropes on my command,” the prince stated to the surrounding soldiers. “Release him and remove yourselves from the paddock.”

  “You don’t mean to ride the steed bareback!” Oman shouted.

  “It is not the saddle that will tame him.”

  Before the soldiers or the stallion knew what he was doing, Fasime ducked below the ropes. He grabbed the coil of ropes around the horse’s neck and used it to propel himself onto its back. The stallion’s muscles rippled beneath him. “Release him!”

  “Prince Fasime, no! It is too dangerous!”

  All the soldiers tightened their holds as the stallion shook its head and tried to back out of the ropes.

  The prince tightened his grip on the knots and drew his sword.

  “Fasime, don’t!” Oman cried.

  Fasime swung his blade, severing several of the ropes. The stallion trampled the ground, almost able to break free.

  “You had all better run!” Fasime yelled. Amidst cries on all sides, he aimed his sword for the ropes on his right. Though only two ropes snapped at the impact, the remaining ropes were unable to contain the stallion’s force, pushing four sturdy legs into the earth. The stallion’s gallop was instantaneous. It tore around the paddock, narrowly missing soldiers as they fled the flying hooves. Fasime dropped his sword and gripped the ropes with both hands to avoid being thrown. The stallion seemed to sense him, but focused on speed rather than bucking him off. It galloped for the fence, leaping it with ease, barely jolting Fasime as it hit the ground, maintaining its momentum as it entered the field.

  Fasime’s brothers watched him lean forward, grasping the fugitive steed with all his strength.

  “Without a bridle, Fasime will be unable to steer him,” Syah remarked.

  Oman shook his head. “The beast won’t slow until it has tossed him onto the forest floor, and the stubborn fool won’t let go while he still draws breath.”

  Soldiers mounted in an attempt to follow, but the stallion and crouching prince disappeared into the forest before they could set off in pursuit.

  Chapter One

  CELEBRATIONS

  Well, I’ve committed. I’ve stained the first words onto these bound pages. What was empty possibility is now destined to fulfill a purpose my pen has decided. The words are permanent records of consciousness transcending through time and changing histories.

  What confession would be worth the space these words now inhabit? What variance of sounds and letters would justify the effort to write, and read, and remember them? What could I possibly write, other than that which occupies my heart?

  I am here in the eastern tower, on the stairs overlooking the city. The smoke of Anteria’s hearths rise into the dusk. No one will come up here today; they are all too occupied with planning Mother’s birth celebration. For a quiet interval I am allowed some time alone.

  Fasime is still missing. The stallion probably carried him to the reaches of our kingdom. It could be half a moon before he returns, hiking back to Anteria on foot. With Fasime missing it has been difficult to plan our journey. Oman and I have been mapping our route, but we may never be allowed to leave the capital if Fasime returns injured.

  It was Oman’s idea to explore the kingdom that will be ours. Of course our parents would never let the three of us travel alone. They will believe escorts accompany us. With how often my brothers have been leaving the castle, the king and queen have grown used to allowing them to arrange accompaniment for their ventures.

  Oman said we should wander and see where the roads take us, but I told him that could be dangerous. We could end up anywhere – lost in the elven woods, in the cave of a giant, or trespassing in the Black Mountains. I told him I would plan the journey. He will see the White Cane does have some useful things to teach us.

  It will all be for naught if Fasime doesn’t return soon. I hear the trumpets calling. I must continue this later.

  For the three brothers,

  Syah, Prince of Arnith

  Ignoring the summons to join the celebrations in the great hall, Syah decided to take advantage of the solitude the empty castle provided. The hallways and rooms were void of guards and servants. He made his way to the library and found it lit with the setting sun’s final glow. The four walls of the library were lined floor to ceiling with thick volumes, most of which contained Arnith’s history and economical logs.

  Syah approached the shelf near the windows containing a disheveled collection of scrolls. He rarely perused this section while the White Cane tutored him. The scrolls and the seclusion of the library enticed Syah. He ran his fingers over the wrapped parchment. Pulling one free, he saw the parchment was dirtied with age and neglect.

  Syah sat on the windowsill and unrolled the scroll. He had the feeling that the last time the scroll had been opened was when it was written. The author was ambiguous, but the text was a plainspoken account of a scout’s patrol of the eastern border. Syah wondered why this account had been chronicled, until he removed the front parchment. The scout had visited the Dikartian tribe before they had become aggressive with Arnith.

  Syah leaned forward, lifting the scroll to read it in the final ambiance of sunlight. Syah’s gaze flitted over tedious facts, such as the typical rates of trade and the common wares the Dikartians offered. He squinted, trying to read the scroll in the failing light. The next page was a large sketch of a road and trees, but he was unable to make out the inscription at the bottom.

  A column of moonlight emerged from the corner of the window and cast upon the picture, revealing a grizzly depiction of a creature in the thick forest. A face materializedfrom the shaded branches. A gaping mouth and two solid eyes turned towards the prince. The mouth opened…

  Syah dropped the scroll and backed away. The inadequate light in here made suggestions to your eyes. He clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He stared at the mess of parchment on the floor. Don’t be foolish… there was nothing on the page. Syah knelt by the rolls of parchment and found the sketch. Examining it in the moonlight, Syah realized the trees and branches had evoked the impression of a creature. He read the writing at the bottom explaining that this was a common meeting place for the Dikartians. He checked the spot where the apparition had appeared. Though there was no trace of a creature, the feeling still lingered. The surrounding silence lost its comfort and intrigue. He replaced the scroll and turned for the door.

  Syah touched the handle, feeling music vibrate through the door to the great hall. He hesitated, knowing noise would inundate him if he entered. He imagined the guests awaiting him inside. He wondered what the consequences would be if he ignored the summons to join the celebration and returned to his solitude.

  Oman will discuss our plans tonight.
The weak feeling in his gut settled and the lure of adventure doused his fear. He turned the handle and entered the hall.

  Syah held his breath as the torrent of greetings, music, and commotion flooded him. The visitors respectfully let him pass through the fervor. His calm demeanor showed through his actions, his hand he gave to others, and his bow he returned to a few.

  The commotion eased as he made his way to a less crowded corner near one of the casements. He sat at a table and gazed across the immense room, crowded with nobles, soldiers, and the royal court. The guests gave him little heed, as if he were one of the noble stone statues that lined the perimeter of the hall. They were decorations too, he realized, necessary but overlooked guests.

  The music began to lure his attention with its melody and rhythm. The piping and strumming notes swayed his thoughts. He imagined the music was a warm aroma, a smoke filling and intoxicating the hall. His mind saw the fumes enticing subjects of his kingdom to cross legs, turn arms, and change direction as the smoke shifted.

  A single amused breath shook Syah’s form, proving his body had more life than the stone carvings. The dancers moved as if the fingers of the musicians strummed them flesh to flesh. The melody penetrated deeper into the prince’s mind as he watched them, seeing the guests as actors in a grand charade.

  Syah imagined a tall man growing sleek, long hair down his back. His brown hat became a jeweled crown and his garment became intricate cloth. He greeted the interesting but barbaric humans around him.

  And a group of children, laughing with locked arms twirling in a circle, grew limbs that hardened, darkened into living branches, their hair full of leaves and flowers. Their voices were the playful wind through a meadow, the chirping of birds, and the chatter of mice and squirrels.