Brother, Betrayed Page 3

  “What are you doing here?” a rough voice startled Syah. His insides cramped, but he realized whom it was before his body or lungs could react. He turned around.

  “Oh, Prince Syah,” the voice said, but in the same tone. The prince recognized the large, thickly bearded man approaching him from a dark corner of the room. It was their weapons master, Malgar. He had been there when Syah had entered, and had been watching him the entire time.

  “I was just getting my sword,” Syah answered finally, motioning to the table where numerous other swords and weapons still lay.

  Malgar stopped before Syah. “You have been practicing a little,” he said, “but are you ready to carry it?”

  “I don’t know.” Syah shook his head. “I’m considering going on a hunting trip with Fasime. I thought it would be wise to bring it with me.” The young prince heard his voice shaking and cursed his nervousness.

  “If you carry a sword, you need to know how to wield it properly,” the weapon’s master said. Moving to the window, he opened the shutters and let more light into the large room. “Let’s practice another time before you leave.”

  Syah wanted to refuse, but before he could his mind brought up the moves he had learned, the defenses, the strategies. His arm and fist tightened, and he nodded.

  The large man stepped back, drawing his sword. Syah watched him grasp the hilt with both hands and then stand still. “You strike first,” Malgar said, as usual, “gradually to start.”

  Syah nodded again as he drew his sword. His mind moved ahead of his actions, calculating the trainer’s moves, his vulnerabilities with a larger, slower sword. The prince moved towards him, swinging his blade downward and stepping to the side.

  Malgar parried. “Good, and again,” he ordered.

  Syah turned and swung at him from the other side. The trainer parried again and the prince tried at him from a different angle.

  “Now faster,” Malgar ordered, stepping back to avoid the prince’s novice blade. The prince could feel his breathing grow shallow and his pulse quicken. He felt a rush of energy, his mind clear, thinking ahead of his strikes, evaluating and executing.

  “Good,” Malgar said, “now defend.” Syah changed his stance to block the trainer’s sword. He saw the man’s direction; he watched the position of his sword, predicting his actions. Syah felt satisfaction as he was able to block each of Malgar’s attacks.

  “Very nice, you defend well,” the trainer praised. “You know the moves well. Now we’ll increase the speed.”

  Syah shifted his sword as Malgar came towards him. The prince held his ground a moment, but stepped back after blocking several quick attacks. Malgar moved forward again. Syah glanced at the trainer’s face, seeing his eyes were narrow, resolute, angry. Syah tightened his hands on the hilt and continued to defensively position his sword to prevent Malgar’s attacks from following through. The weapons master pushed forward, but Syah was close to the wall and had no room to maneuver. The man’s flashing sword came at him faster; although the prince was able to block it, it was becoming more difficult. Syah tried to move to a more open position away from the wall, but his adversary’s sword prevented him.

  Malgar emitted a low, furious battle cry and Syah shuddered. Their swords locked and the prince saw his eyes again, staring hotly into his own. Syah couldn’t decide if he was in danger as Malgar pulled his sword away and swung at him again. Syah’s body shook as he struggled to block the attack, and then another. The attacker’s sword slid around his and Syah realized his own mistake as soon as it started. It was a simple move that caused the prince’s sword to slip from his grasp and clatter to the floor out of his sight.

  Malgar’s blade was at Syah’s throat. Accusations filled Syah’s head, but his clenched jaw wouldn’t allow him to speak them.

  “You fought well,” Malgar said, the ferocity on his face subsiding. He withdrew the sword from Syah’s throat and replaced it casually on his belt, but did not move away from him. “If you mastered the techniques you now know, you could defeat any foe in battle, regardless of his strength,” Malgar explained. Syah raised his head. The trainer glanced down at Syah’s sword on the floor beside him and then met the young prince’s eyes again. “Remember, Syah, half of sword-fighting is valor. You cannot let your enemy intimidate you, or he will overpower you.” Malgar placed his large hand on Syah’s shoulder and the prince let out a slow breath, the tightness easing inside him. “Be careful,” the weapons master said, and he released him.

  “It is only for one season, you will barely miss me.” Oman set his hand on the table and leaned towards his father, half watching him stand by the fire.

  The king did not turn towards him, speaking instead to the flames, “It is a dangerous time to be traveling; any of the tribes would be pleased to have a young prince to ransom.”

  Oman waited, lowering his head as if he was considering his father’s words. “You’re right, Father, but I won’t be alone. These dangerous times require preparation, and this training will ready me for trials to come. You’ve said so more than once since I started the lessons three cycles ago.” The king lifted his head, then turned and faced his son. The prince straightened.

  “Very well,” the king said, holding Oman’s eyes with his own. “If you stay with the camp you should be safe.”

  Oman forced a steady nod. “Yes Father.”

  “I would like to speak to the soldiers before you go.”

  The prince shifted his gaze. “I could fetch them for you, but Father… they are the same soldiers who taught me in cycles past.”

  The king let out a long breath. “You know your brothers are leaving as well?”

  The prince stiffened, but then nodded. His father turned back towards the fire and gazed into it once again. “It will be a barren and forlorn castle until you return.” Oman realized the king had nothing more to say. He turned to leave, seeing only his father’s shadow was moved by the shifting flames.

  The three brothers gathered in Oman’s room, gazing at a large map stretched across a table. Rives, roads, forests, and towns of Miscia were labeled in detail throughout Arnith, and slightly beyond the lines of the mapmaker had faded beyond the known world.

  “So after Shal, we will start for the south. How far is it to the southern mountains?” Fasime asked.

  “About a day’s ride,” Syah answered, his finger tracing the road from Anteria to the small villages east of the capital.

  “We will need to stay off the roads,” Oman stated. “We would meet too many travelers, increasing the risk of our journey.”

  Syah nodded. “I agree. We can map out a journey through the southern forest. Then after we reach the Plains of Trebec we can turn north through Keslewood Forest, towards the Black Mountains.”

  “We will need to stop at settlements to restock supplies,” Fasime added.

  “Won’t we be able to pack enough supplies for the entire journey?” Syah asked.

  Fasime shook his head at him. “Not for everything, Syah. We can hunt to replenish some of our rations, but we will have to trade for other food.”

  “All right,” Oman said with irritation, “what about the horses? We can plan to meet in the city somewhere before leaving together under our disguises.”

  “I have been practicing Lightning with the saddle. I think he will be ready by…”

  “What?” Oman interrupted him. “Lighting, you don’t mean the wild stallion do you?”

  Fasime chuckled. “Of course I do, what other steed would be as fit for such a journey?”

  “But he will be recognized!” Oman said, hitting the table.

  “And what about Oman’s horse, mighty as he is, or Syah’s mare? They are just as well known. But I have a plan. We will cover them with undecorated trappers, as merchants’ mounts. Fitted with worn saddles and bridles, they won’t be recognized.”

  “It’s not just that, what if the stallion tries to escape again, and with you atop it?” Syah interjected.

  �
�He won’t. I wouldn’t bring him if I didn’t think he was ready. I trust him more than any other steed.”

  Syah shrugged. “If you think bringing an untrained horse is worth the risk.”

  Fasime glared and lifted a threatening hand, but Oman intervened. “Fine, if you want to bring him. I don’t doubt his stamina.” Oman and Syah laughed. Fasime crossed his arms but amusement crossed his face.

  “So we are drawing closer,” Syah stated, moving his gaze across the eastern border of Arnith.

  “We will trust our route to the dreamer,” Oman said. He and Fasime left their younger brother absorbed in planning their journey.

  “Mother,” Syah called out, joining her on the staircase.

  “What is it, my son?” she asked, and stared at him. He took her hand and motioned for her to continue down the hallway with him.

  “I have come to wish you farewell,” he answered in a lighthearted, cheerful voice.

  “Farewell?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Father is always telling me… I should see the forest.”

  She stopped, turned to him, and he moved to stand beside her in the light of the window. “What do you mean?”

  “Fasime is going on another hunting trip.” Syah kept her eyes. “This time I have decided to go with him.”

  Her face paled. She leaned forward, placing her hand on his arm. “One of his long hunting trips?”

  Syah nodded. He could see the concern and conflict on his mother’s face, and he wondered if he could sway the decision. “Do you not want me to go?” he asked.

  “I am just afraid, Syah, that something could happen.”

  Syah paused a moment. “I don’t have to go, if you don’t think it’s safe. I was beginning to reconsider. It would probably be dull and tedious, anyway, going with Fasime and his escorts.”

  His mother’s brows knit together. “No,” she said, “you should go, if you want to. Fasime will look after you.”

  “All right,” he said and the cheerfulness was on him again. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, seeing her slight movement as he started to leave her.

  “Wait,” she said. He turned back, having anticipated it. “Here,” she said and her hands moved behind her neck. The facade of cheer and questions tore away when Syah realized what she was doing.

  “No, Mother!”

  “Yes, here,” she insisted, as she withdrew the strings and pulled a small charm from around her neck.

  “No, I can’t.” Syah took a hesitant step back.

  “It will keep you safe,” she told him. She reached for his arm, then turned his hand so she could place the charm in his open palm. Its subtle touch on his skin caused waves of guilt through him for his deception to her. He looked down at it. At the end of the chain, a small white stone was carved with a delicate winged creature wrapped around it, protecting it. He remembered when he was younger, tracing over and over the outline of the beast that always hung from his mother’s neck.

  He looked up at her with his breath caught in his chest. “I can’t take this!” The words were forced from his throat.

  She closed his fingers around it and held her hand tightly over his. “You know the story of it. I wore it as I carried you, and placed it round your neck when you were ill as an infant, so frail…” He breathed uneasily as she held his fist in her hands, pressing against his chest. “But look at you now… a strong young man of sixteen cycles.”

  Pain filled his chest, but he no longer protested.

  “Take it with you.”

  Hands trembling with anticipation grabbed the leather and tightly pulled it. Fasime reached for another pack and fastened it securely to the saddle. The large black eyes of the stallion looked towards him, curious. “You are not a horse of burden, but these supplies will not hamper you.” The muscles twitched beneath the skin of the steed and its rear hoof pawed at the dirt. Fasime lifted his hand, no longer shaking, and set it on the stallion’s shoulder. “Are you ready to use those legs, Lightning?” the prince questioned the beast, smoothing its fine ebony coat. The horse turned its head towards him as he extracted a biscuit from his pocket. The stallion’s large mouth lifted it from Fasime’s hand, and he patted its shoulder. Fasime took another pack from the pile and secured it to his brother’s horse, which moved its head, expectantly, for a treat.

  The door to the stables opened. Syah entered the stables and stopped on the other side of Fasime’s horse. Fasime reached for another pack. Syah did the same, and helped to tie them to the horses. Blankets, maps, provisions, weapons, Fasime’s hand ran over them as he checked them. “Well,” he said, “that’s everything. We are ready.”

  A wave of inaction swept over Fasime. Syah nodded affirmatively. Fasime forced strength into his muscles and limbs and raised his head to the challenge of committing to their adventure. He heard the stallion grunt a hot breath, next to him, and he nodded back to his brother. They both took their horses’ reins, leading them out of the stables.

  Fasime raised a hand in salute to the soldiers standing near the entrance to the stables and they bowed in return. The brothers lowered their heads and led their horses away from the castle, into the main street of the city. Servants going to the castle smiled and bowed to them. Fasime motioned to one of the streets branching off the central avenue, leading to a residential district. Turning to the new street, they quickened their pace, watching people of the city acknowledge them as they passed. It wasn’t uncommon to see the princes passing through streets of the city, but the men and women still bowed and curtsied to them, and children ran along behind them, giggling.

  Fasime and Syah turned again to a smaller passageway, less crowded. The men and women coming in and out of houses stopped and watched them a moment. They led their horses aside to another lane, narrower, empty. They walked quickly now, not wanting to be seen by any other civilians.

  “Fasime.” They heard the voice of their older brother at the turn of another narrow alley. Fasime let out a sigh of relief when he laid eyes on Oman, standing beside his horse waiting for them. “I am glad you made it,” Oman said with a smile. Fasime and Syah led their horses next to his. “Any trouble leaving?” They shook their heads. “Are we ready, then?” Oman asked, after gazing for a long interval into each of his brothers’ eyes.

  The youngest nodded. “It’s time,” Syah said, reaching for the fastening of his riding coat. His brothers did the same. Luxurious dyed cloth was replaced by plain, worn clothing. They removed the saddles from their steeds and covered them with the tan trappers. Oman and Syah’s horses responded calmly to the covering, but the stallion protested. Fasime spoke to him while he replaced the saddle and bridle.

  The brothers gazed at themselves, and at each other, observing the transformation that had overcome them with such a simple change as their clothing. Privileged, deserving, and protected became common, unnoticeable, and valueless. But this transformation pleased them. They packed the fine cloth into one of their sacks, then stood staring at it.

  “We leave all titles behind us from his point onward,” the eldest declared. He took the dark cloak Fasime handed him and tied it around his shoulders. They mounted, pulling hoods over their heads, completing the disguise. Oman started his horse down the alley and the others followed. As they turned into another street, they all held their breath, anticipating their journey might come to an abrupt halt when someone recognized them. But as they passed the workers and merchants, they smiled, realizing no one bowed or curtsied to them, no one noticed them except to move out of the way of their horses.

  They kept their heads lowered through the streets of the city. Then they came in view of the city gates, unavoidable, imposing between them and the forest, their freedom. Their eyes went to the soldiers standing on either side of the gate and guards upon the wall. They tightened their grips upon the reins and commenced the journey.

  Chapter Three

  THE ESCAPE

  We are out! We are out! We have traveled out of the sight of the cit
y walls, and no alarm has been raised, no horde of soldiers has followed us through the gates. Our plan worked; they didn’t even question us. We would have been ready if they had.

  It feels, I imagine, like how a freed prisoner would feel after cycles in a dank dungeon. The road is calling to me… to us. The moment we paused for a noon meal we felt as though we should be mounted and riding again. The food tasted richer, our water sweeter, and they nourished us as if we had been starved all of our lives. It is curious, this feeling. The first embarkation on a journey – I will not soon forget it.

  The future calls us. I cannot further delay it.

  For the three brothers, and the wilderness,

  Syah, Prince of Arnith

  The horses’ leisurely steps carried them over the soft pine needles and twig-covered earth along the forest path. Their manes shifted as their heads moved rhythmically with their hooves, their large eyes barely noticing their trail, trusting the route to their reins, their riders.

  The holds on the reins were slack. The path seemed to pull the brothers towards a destined location. The attraction of the unknown strengthened their senses and nourished their minds and bodies with excitement. Their conversations had ceased. Each young rider, alone with his thoughts, experienced the overwhelming scenery of the wilderness they passed. The trees, stone, earth, and light of the forest changed around them. Minds attempted to hold on to each moment, though they were lost again as new scenes replaced them.

  Oman motioned for the others to slow. Syah let out a satisfied breath as he moved his horse beside Oman’s. Each knew his duty; Fasime took out the jerky and Syah the water. They shared both, washing their necks and chewing on the meat as they watched the quiet forest around them. The three sat on large boulders, resting, as they waited for their ambition to renew and the horses to eat their fill of the dry grass.