Brother, Betrayed Read online

  “Mother!” his cries of dread and despair vibrated through the stone walls of the room. The king felt Syah’s struggle weakening. The dizziness fully taking him now, he gasped and tried to become still, some part of his trained, conscious mind realizing he was ineffectually resisting and deciding to think of a way free from his father’s grasp.

  In the lull of calm, Syah felt his father release a shuddering, unsteady breath. Syah realized the grief in it. It was at that moment that Syah knew she was gone. The prince lost the struggle, the anger inside him, and the king quickly caught him, readjusting his hold as Syah lost his legs.

  The king felt him suck in a long breath and then tighten. As he turned and started towards the door, Syah began to weep. Syah tightly grabbed hold of his armor, twisting as he gasped. The king reached and opened the door, holding Syah’s wrenching body close. But then Syah stopped and tried to catch his breath, lifting his head. “No, I want to stay with her,” he protested as they stepped through the door. Syah lifted his hands to his father’s arms when he didn’t release him and tried to push him away.

  “No, my son,” the king replied and then held down his son’s body’s frustrated response. Syah cried futilely as his father took and held his head against his chest and continued to walk out of the room.

  “We’ll take him,” Oman said as he and Fasime stood, standing and coming up to them. They took Syah’s arms, and though he protested, he didn’t fight them as they draped his arms over their shoulders and lifted him up.

  Oman looked back to their father as they turned to leave, standing like a sentinel over Syah’s dismissal, though distracted. The eldest prince felt a shared strength and yet secret agony as he gazed at the king. The king was alone, but still somehow sharing the world with a great love, but sorrowful…

  “The service will be tomorrow, we will postpone all talk of battle until after her mourning is complete,” the king told him in a tempered, cool voice. Oman nodded and they turned and started through the hallway away from their parents’ chambers.

  Syah’s mourning was deep but weakening, and they had to support him more as they walked the hallway, until they were carrying him completely. With heads bowed, they continued on their slow, unbroken path. Cold tears slid down each of their faces, and every servant and guard of Anteria that laid eyes on their woeful journey fell on their knees and cried out in mourning.

  Dark. Darkness. Dark gray mist reaching forward in the cool blackness. An agile, strong paw pushed into the stone and earth and shifted as it carried the weight of the lean leg and wild muscle, stepping silently forward, upward, following the mist. With a graceful, powerful bound, the legs overcame the peak and the mist swirled as the thin form, covered in sleek, shining darkness appeared and halted at the top of the hill. Breathing, searching the clean, crisp, vast air. Sharp eyes scanning the familiar darkness below, around, finding, affirming. A beast’s face, lifting to the white stars above, the emptiness of the dark sky, the passing shadows of sleeping clouds, understanding. It looks to the cold, glowing moon, a beacon of memory, not of life. The calm of the night is overwhelming, strengthening, and its chest tightens with the thin night air. He lets out a call, lifting his head to the pitiless sky, letting his deep voice mourn out of his outstretched neck and carry on the loneliness of mist, cold, and darkness around the hill. The stars, the moon, the dark land and wet sky listen emptily as his voice stretches beyond him, falls into him, deepens. He feels the cry linger in the air, its power and meaning controlling him, but it is purposeless, fading…

  The call was answered, and he turned to the silhouetted hills around him, hearing the distant sound of another crying to the cold moon, sharing in his loss and regrets. Another cry and he turned again, hearing it join his echo. Then another, and another, till it couldn’t be told where one mourner cried and another echoed. The sharing hearts surrounding him, he felt strengthened again, and lifted his head to answer. It was still loss, loneliness that spilled from his soul, but he cried it now with defiance and power. His call joined the others in the thick darkness and the night was warmed with the sound.

  Eyes moved, awoke beneath their lids, but were still trapped in darkness as their mind was trapped in sleep. Consciousness tempted it, but exhaustion, avoidance, and heaviness persuaded it to keep the shield of darkness and denial.

  But there was a thread of thought left in his mind. Though he resisted, it was taken up and followed like a child alone in a dark room, finding a string and wondering where it would lead. He tried to let the ruin and darkness retake him, but curiosity persisted, wanting answers to questions that he wasn’t awake enough to ask.

  The eyelids tensed as the brows above them lowered in discomfort. No. His mind echoed in protest, but instead of settling him, this only strove him to ask more questions. Why shouldn’t he wake?

  The eyes opened. The pupils sharpened as they found the light of the fireplace across the room. Then they lowered to the bed he lay on and he blinked as he perceived the information his body gave him. He lay awkwardly straight, heavy covers pulled over him, and he was not alone. He was in Oman’s room, he realized as he moved his head to see the shadowed silhouettes on either side of him. He felt that they were asleep and laying atop the covers that they had put over him, effectively pinning him to the bed. Why was he here?

  Confused and offset as he was, he was not angry or afraid. The heavy stillness of the room and the proximity of his brothers caused a feeling of peace and safety. He blinked, feeling a wave of comfort coming over him, trying to take him back, but he turned his head and focused his eyes on his brother. He saw that Fasime was lying on his back, his head turned away from him, and so he turned to his eldest brother, looking into his face as if it would help answer his questions. What happened? He looked back to the ceiling and tested the tightness of the covers, freeing his arms.

  Oman’s eyes opened when he left Syah move. “Go back to sleep,” Oman whispered.

  Numbness filled Syah’s mind almost instantly upon meeting his brother’s studying eyes. Then it was a dull ache and Syah blinked as he gazed at his older brother. What was going on? He pulled his arms free and pushed the covers down a little, but then he felt Oman’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Relax, Syah. It is late, you should get some rest.” His brother’s words compounded the ache and dizziness in his head and he had to close his eyes. Exhaustion was winning over again, and he gratefully felt his body begin to relax and forget.

  But the string was still in his hand. He knew that it led somewhere, but now he felt an intense dread to what was at the end of it. The ache was still in his head, but now it sharpened, intensified. Weariness combated consciousness, but the struggle itself baffled him, lured his mind to wake and remember. His body embraced the darkness, tried to let it consume him, but he couldn’t help not follow the questions…

  Syah’s eyes shot open as he gasped. She was gone. His body cringed away from the coming loss and despair. The desperate fight to retract his conscious thoughts was failing as the night’s secret reawakened. His mind was returning to her chambers, to the concern as he came to her bed, to the terror when he saw her…

  But it was stopped. His brother’s hand on his forehead calmed his thoughts. Somehow Oman’s touch subdued him and he sank back in dizziness. Safety overwhelmed him, soothing his body, his thoughts. His mind was still remembering, and as comfort took him he saw for a moment her face, that was not her face, but a pale, empty remnant of life. But he couldn’t react to it, sleep and forget captured him. He closed his eyes and a single tear slid down his face then was still.

  A fortress of a thousand faces, making the blocks of stone like walls surrounding them. They were aware of the people and the eyes set on them, aware of their father, the king, standing tall before them, aware of the priest and his words echoing loud over the crowd, but mostly aware of the white sheet, and the foreign form that rested perfectly motionless beneath it. They felt like they should weep, or scream, beg or fight or fall, bu
t they did nothing but stand. The priest’s echoing words were muted in their minds, the whispering wind more like a roar in their ears.

  “Waters return to the spring, to the river and beyond, into the unknown. We are all from the waters. The wind blows from the south. It whispers of lands distant and unfamiliar. It passes. It returns. We are all from the wind. The sky and the sun rise above us. The moon and stars pass over. They set each day and in morning rise again. We are all of the sky. Loss. Loss is momentary, for everything returns and begins again. Language cannot describe our loss. Our words are inadequate to express our understanding and our confusion. Therefore we dismiss them, for one rising and setting of the sun. In silence our hearts will speak. In silence the whisper of her voice on the departing wind will be heard. And as the sun descends to rest at the end of its journey, the silence will remind us. Day and warmth will return after the long night.”

  The princes, the king and the worshipers of the kingdom bowed their heads, letting the wind be a song in their ears. The feelings of griping inaction grew stronger now, and Syah didn’t know if he could contain them. He listened as the crowd departed, but heard their solemn quiet that the absence of speech caused. He sensed his brothers turning to follow the king and his body replied. Then he realized her again, but he resisted turning to gaze at the form once more. Grief overtook him and he stopped. His brothers immediately turned to him, but he couldn’t continue. Fasime reached out for him, compassion mixing with impatience on his countenance. Syah felt he was about to break the decree of silence and cry out, but Oman intervened. Syah half watched him take Fasime’s arm and motion for him, the youngest lowering his gaze from them. He fell to his knees and wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  WAR COUNCIL

  The calm of the room and warmth of the fire soothed him even if his mind refused to settle. The castle dogs distracted him, cleaning and nipping each other as they lay in a conglomerate mass as near to the fire as they could tolerate. A long haired white dog, his mother’s favorite, lay away from the others with her head sulking on the floor. Syah watched her, only turning her eyes to the pack moving beside her and the darkness of the room beyond. He remembered when he had first seen her, frolicking and dancing like a child in a distant field. She had seemed too beautiful, too pure to be real, and he had imagined her a spectre or illusion. But now she lay, the unusual and unique qualities defeated by… The prince’s gaze lowered and then returned to the fire, not allowing the thoughts to resurface.

  The sound of footsteps aided the dismissal of the thoughts until he realized who it was. Oman. But his older brother just nodded to him and went to stand before the fire. “I thought I could find you in here,” Oman said, then turned to check Syah’s face. Seeing weariness but not despair around his eyes, he looked away and turned to the dogs, who had all looked up to him as he entered. Syah watched Oman kneel next to the white shepherd dog and lay his hand on her head.

  “It makes me think, with all that’s going on, it is a waste having to care for these pets when they can do nothing for us,” Oman said. “But I suppose they can have a purpose. They are loyal friends.”

  Syah’s brows lowered, tempted by the conversation but unwilling to speak. Oman didn’t mind his silence, expecting it.

  “Will you come to see us off tomorrow?” Oman questioned, and by the response on his brother’s face he realized he had ensued an argument, but it was tolerable if it got Syah to speak.

  “So Father is still going to attack them, then?” Syah asked.

  “They are about to attack us, brother.”

  “They only do so because we provoked them.”

  “You speak boldly now, but how would you talk when you witnessed the havoc they wreaked on the outlying villages?” The elder’s words were fervent, but his tone was mild and he had not moved from beside the dormant canine.

  The younger sighed, lowering his gaze. “I am just worried, Oman.”

  Oman nodded. “Come tomorrow and you will see that you have nothing to be worried about.”

  The brothers did not speak as the war counsel met. They listened as generals and scouts made their reports.

  “Three attacks on eastern towns, sire.”

  “And the raiders, were they captured?”

  “No, your majesty, their troops stole supplies and burned a few buildings, but escaped before the city guard apprehended them.”

  “Send a few squadrons to fortify the eastern cities. We will not tolerate any more attacks during this coming time of glory for Arnith.”

  “Yes, King Algoth. I will assign troops there immediately.”

  “Father, have we heard any further reports of militia joining the enemy at Three Hill Bend?” Oman asked and the king looked over to him.

  “There have only been a few more reinforcements added to their troops,” another general replied.

  “Very well,” the king said, “let them all gather there, and we will destroy them with one swift stroke. I want everything prepared for our assault. Let’s settle all other business and then we will discuss our battle tactics. Are there any last reports?”

  “Just one, sire,” a scout replied. “Before we left Parmin we heard locals report sightings of Dikartians in the area.”

  “To be expected, there are always some Dikartian raiders roaming that area this season. Station a few soldiers in each village to dissuade raiding.”

  Syah cleared his throat then got his father’s attention. “Father, could this be more of a threat?”

  “What do you mean, Syah?” the king asked with impatience in his tone.

  Syah could feel his brothers and soldiers gaze at him. He tried to focus on his point. “We wouldn’t want any Dikartian troops to slip in while our defenses are down.”

  “Syah,” Fasime whispered a warning from beside him, but was interrupted.

  “All the officers have orders at Three Hills Bend. I will send a general to patrol the border after this confrontation is settled,” the king told him.

  “I will go,” the young prince volunteered. He felt Fasime grab his arm under the table but pulled free and explained to the watchful war council, “I will take a squadron to the Forest’s Edge, then through Romain Forest. We will determine how valid these rumors of Dikartians are. Perhaps we can deter any of their invasions while you are occupied with the Marrians with a slight show of force and presence in the area.”

  The king looked at Syah, perhaps seeing him completely since the meeting started. “Very well,” King Algoth stated and Syah marked his tone, as if he spoke to another general, “Prince Syah will lead a regiment to the western border to watch our backs as we are engaged in the east. Now, let us discuss the battle at the Bend.”

  Syah heard them make their plans for surrounding the Marrians and he tried to listen. But he felt flushed with feelings about the commitment he had just made. He felt a surge of strength, but also a sensation of fear and nervousness. Was he, in truth, ready?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  SYAH'S VIGIL

  “Sir!” a harried voice shouted from the door and the men at the table turned quickly towards it. “There is news from the western border,” the messenger stated, calming as he reached the table and stood before the king.

  “What is it?” the eldest prince asked from beside him.

  “The Marrian forces have begun to move south, towards Bafonville. Commander Lenpece predicts they will reach it before the next rising sun.”

  The king stood, followed by the princes and officers at the table. He went to the large map they had hung on the wall behind them. “Our forces have amassed west and east of the Marrians. We can try to pincer them now to prevent damage to the town.”

  “Exposing our troops may preempt them to flee,” Oman stated as he joined him.

  “We are ready to engage them. Their gallantry in preparing a full-out attack suggests they may not flee if we were to face them in battle.”

  “The time has come then,” Oman said.

&nbs
p; “Yes, gather the remaining men.” The king turned around to Fasime, who straightened at his mention. “Son, I am leaving Anteria and the castle in your charge. Oman will join me at this battle to rid us of the Marrians forever.”

  “Yes, Father,” Fasime answered and bowed.

  “Come,” the king commanded, “we will delay no longer.”

  Syah’s thoughtful gaze rose from the low fire to the older general in light armor beside him. “So is your life worth nothing?” Syah paused, thinking he had lost the conversation with the general, seeing unease and discomfort on the man’s face as he turned away to the darkness surrounding them. But then a look of thoughtfulness replaced the man’s concern. Syah was relieved that he hadn’t offended him

  “A child is loyal to his parent. Soldiers and knights are loyal to their king. That is why they would sacrifice their lives,” the general answered.

  Syah paused before continuing, studying the weathered soldier before him closely. “How could you do it? How could you follow orders with the knowledge that they will lead you to certain death?”

  “When the moment comes, a true soldier does not think of his own life. He thinks of his comrades, of loyalty and the glory of battle.”

  “It must be a conditioning, then, against the fear,” Syah mused, looking at the camp of Arnithian soldiers settling the business of unpacking and preparing for the night.

  “We all have fear, young prince. The experienced have hardened against it, learned to use it.”

  Syah nodded at him. “I feel it is a great burden, to command these men and have them entrust their lives to me.”

  The general raised his head, studying the prince with appreciation. “It is a duty you will fulfill well, sire,” the general finally told him. The prince bowed his head at his sincerity, but did not reply as they both turned to the camp, hearing a commotion from the men. Syah and the general stood when they saw a scout direct a reaction of concern towards them.