Brother, Betrayed Page 6

  “Why does Arnith claim these plains?” Fasime questioned as he gazed at the sloping hills they were approaching. “There are no habitations south of here.”

  “That we know of,” Syah amended, grinning at Fasime’s scowl. “The southern mountains create a definite border,” Syah explained, though his brothers already understood it. “Just as the Black Mountains do in the north.”

  “And the elven forest in the west,” Oman added shortly, to stop their geography lesson.

  “Actually,” Fasime began, “the elves only provide a partial boundary. The Dugshi forests to the far west can still be claimed by Arnith.”

  “But then we would have to deal with the Rognoth and Marrians.”

  “Father has already begun the campaign to conquer them, Syah,” Oman told him. The youngest nodded, feeling their conversation was beginning to distract them from the significance of their southern trek. The other brothers must have sensed it as well, for their attention returned to the gradual hills they were beginning to enter.

  “It’s too bad we won’t be able to tell Father…” Syah stopped mid-sentence, realizing his words but bound to finish them, “about what we’ve seen here.”

  Fasime and Oman didn’t respond, trying to dismiss the thoughts the statement created. Breaking their silence, Oman stated, “If we climb one of these hills, we should be able to see the mountains from there.”

  As they approached the summit of one of the large hills, the roar increased like the building of a distant storm. They were about to achieve the vantage point when a powerful gust of wind attacked them. The horses protested and turned, forcing them to dismount

  They hobbled the horses and tied the reins to some bushes gripping the slope of the hill. Fasime took Lightning’s head in his hands and spoke seriously to the stallion. “Stay here, my friend, and keep the others with you,” he said. “We’ll return before long, and go back to better weather.” With a final pat to the shining black shoulder, he turned to his brothers. They continued the final trek on foot, covering their faces with their cloaks.

  The wind calmed as they stepped forward upon the crest of the hill. They lowered their cloaks and revealed the cause of the sound: immense mountains, distant and massive. Their peaks were steep, unimaginably high. Each of the princes felt weak in the legs at the thought of trying to climb them. The peaks were so high that the wind blew snow off the tops of them, forming clouds high above the princes’ heads. The roar was the wind between the peaks, coming from back, back, where there were only more layers upon layers of monstrous mountains rising from the icy fog. The three brothers stepped forward, standing tall with clenched fists, as if it were difficult to look upon such an incredible sight.

  Syah gazed at the mountains with wonder. The wind seemed to be calling to him. He imagined that if he spread his arms, he could drift above the hills and then soar into the frozen mountains.

  “Dragons…” he whispered to the wind.

  “What?” Oman had caught the edge of Syah’s rumination.

  Syah remembered, and his hand lifted to the charm strung from his neck; his fingers traced its form. “The constant wind from the southern mountains is said to be the breath of the dragons that sleep there,” Syah explained. His brothers marked his voice, speaking more like a bard than a scholar.

  “Dragons are children’s stories,” Oman told him derisively, disliking the mystified look in Syah’s eyes.

  Syah ignored him, watching the shifting snow glide between the mountains. But he had heard what Oman said. Children’s stories… perhaps. But what if they were true?

  Soon they looked down, seeing a stretch of a low, flat valley between them and the wall of mountains. Their eyes followed it in either direction, but then Fasime noticed a blurry darkness to the east. He studied the end of the great valley where the ground darkened and became stony, and the valley crashed upon smaller, gray and jagged mountains.

  “What is that?”

  Oman came beside him. They both looked at the dark patch of earth and the gray mountains beyond it. “That is the Black Waste, Gorusk, a land less fertile than these empty hills,” Oman answered in a longing yet fearful voice. “There barbaric tribes constantly war over worthless lands and little game.”

  “Why does anyone live there at all?” Fasime asked the mountain air, knowing Oman didn’t have the answer. They stared at the waste a long while, the wind whipping at them as they imagined life beyond the dark mountains.

  “They aren’t worth trying to subjugate,” Oman concluded. His voice had grown stern, as if he spoke to his own army. “Father shouldn’t bother with them.”

  “Shouldn’t they be part of Arnith?”

  “Not if they aren’t truly human. Barbarians, worn by wind, carved by stone; what force could conquer them?”

  “They could,” Syah said as he stared out into the vastness of the unknown. Fasime and Oman shook their heads at him, but turned back to gaze with him at the mysterious mountains sleeping before them.

  “We should return. The horses won’t linger here long,” Fasime warned. They turned away regretfully and started back down the way they had come. The wind took its toll, rushing past them as they descended the hill.

  Finally they reached the base. They mounted the nervous horses and turned gratefully away from the hungry wind, back towards the north, the forest.

  We are safe. We have stopped at a crossroads before a forest that we will soon explore. It is the last obstacle before the eastern border of Arnith. This will be the second border of the kingdom we reach. The next should be more interesting; the terrain will grow mountainous as we travel towards the dwarves. But we will not cross the natural border at the base of the Black Mountains, as it has been since the beginning.

  Fasime would say I am rambling. Does it make any difference that I write this down? Or are these words merely scratches on a page? I will continue my rambling. I do not claim this to be some writing of great importance… just the tale of three brothers traveling the roads of Miscia. When our journey ends, perhaps I will scribe the events in the life of King Algoth, and then King Oman and his two brothers who stood with him as the humans of Miscia were united under one ruler.

  For now, we are travelers in a forest. The trees, the fields, the towns, all appear the same to us as they do to the merchant, farmer, or soldier of Arnith. This journey has already taught me much, and we aren’t yet halfway through. It won’t be the same when I return to the walls of the castle. Perhaps when I am older, I will plan another exploration. Perhaps Miscia will be peaceful by then.

  I sense a change in the air, but perhaps it is a change in myself that I feel. While writing, I have found my eyes repeatedly lift to the path before us. The leaves are glowing in the light of the filtering sun. In this moment, though brief, I found a peace, a strength.

  More rambling. I suppose the moment is over. They seem ready to mount.

  For the three brothers,

  Syah, Prince of Arnith

  Chapter Six

  AMBUSH

  The forest was calm. Boulders and chunks of rock were becoming more numerous and made their path winding and unpredictable. Their direction was easy to follow; they kept the sinking sun to their left. Soon they would find a clearing and rest for the night.

  Days had passed and they had spoken very little, no directions to be given or questions to be asked. The journey was their entertainment. Watchful glances, moving their horses beside the others, passing food and drink between them were their conversations. Each of them was in a state of peace as they moved their horses at a medium pace through the quiet forest.

  They were coming upon an area with large boulders, some the size of hills, resting in between the trees of the forest. As they passed into the shadow of one of these enormous strange stones, the horses breathed nervously. The sun’s light crowned the top of the boulders, but didn’t reach where they now traveled. The forest quieted, and their horses’ hoof beats across the damp brush echoed off the mossy sto
nes.

  The three brothers drew back their reins. The horses neighed, startled and agitated. A rider on a black horse suddenly appeared in their path. The rider pulled the reins of his shifting horse as he gazed at them from beneath a helmet that shadowed his eyes.

  “Young travelers, a word,” he said.

  The brothers were uneasy, but stayed their hands, held over their swords. Their shock left them and they examined the rider. He was lightly armored in chain, a blue tunic and cape draped over his sturdy shoulders and down the sides of his steed. Intricately tooled leather, they noticed, held a sword at his waist. The same leather decorated the girdle of his horse, now pumping its head and snorting at them. They moved their horses back a few steps, close to each other.

  “He is a soldier of Arnith,” Fasime whispered.

  “How did he find us?” Oman asked in a speculative tone.

  “We should order him back,” Fasime stated, glaring at the rider but waiting.

  “No, then he would know who we are,” Syah warned.

  The rider’s horse shifted again but he held him back. “I need to speak with you,” the soldier said in a tactful, compelling voice.

  “Why have you tried to ambush us?” Oman demanded.

  “You should not be here,” the stranger answered. “I am a knight of Arnith. You three need to come with me.”

  “It’s not worth trying to speak with him,” Syah interrupted Oman from responding. “He stopped us for a reason – probably thought we were trespassing. He will try to figure out who we are.” Syah turned his horse, blocking the stranger’s view. “We can lose him in the forest, out ride him and forget him.”

  Oman stared into the man’s shaded eyes a long moment, growing angrier that he stood in their path.

  “Dismount and let us talk,” the stranger appealed to them.

  “And Syah?” queried Oman, ignoring him.

  Fasime glanced at the stranger. “I will hang back and make the soldier follow me. When you two are safely away, Lightning and I can lose him.”

  “We can meet at the crossroad we passed at midday,” Syah suggested.

  “Can you make it alone?” Oman asked his younger brother. Syah nodded. “Fine, then. Syah, you go first.”

  The rider saw them begin to turn their horses. “Wait!” he cried.

  Fasime turned his horse just in time, the stranger close enough to touch him. The stallion jumped. He could feel its desire to lean its head down and dig into the forest floor with its hooves, but Fasime pulled back a little. He saw Oman and Syah in the woods ahead of him. He looked back. The stranger was further behind, but following him. He pressed his heels in Lightning’s sides, feeling the stallion’s eagerness as they sped into the forest.

  Trees and brush flashed by them. Fasime gradually began to turn, seeing Oman and Syah were further ahead. He looked back; the stranger turned towards his horse. Fasime smiled and refocused on the forest. He lowered himself in the saddle, trusting their footing to the stallion as the trees and stones rushed by. Around this next bend, he thought, I’ll push Lightning just a bit more, and we’ll lose him easily. He turned to check the stranger’s distance, but slackened his hold.

  The rider was gone.

  Syah tried to catch his breath and calm his heaving chest as he urged his horse and himself faster through the forest. He was pleased in spite of the tenseness of his body. He was already halfway back to the crossroads. He hoped Oman and Fasime would be there when he arrived – if they hadn’t gotten lost.

  He had to relax his legs a little and his horse slowed some. He wondered if Fasime was still luring the stranger or if he had lost him by now. He moved his arms and shifted his legs, feeling their soreness.

  Syah jerked, sensing movement in the forest behind him. He tried to see if it was Oman or Fasime, but the horse jolted him and he couldn’t turn. He pulled back the reins. The mare stopped and turned as Syah searched the trees. He saw nothing, but he heard…

  A horse. It wasn’t Oman or Fasime’s horse. Then he focused on the rider… The stranger? He chose me! The soldier’s clothing was only a ruse. A spy, an assassin!

  Syah stared at the rider, who slowed his horse and was approaching at a walk. Anger tingled awake inside Syah and he thought about his sword. No, a murderer would have more skill than I do. Fear came as he realized he was alone. He looked beyond the rider, scanning the forest for his brothers.

  “Please, young prince, a word,” the stranger said, lifting his hand. Syah caught his breath. He knows. Yes, of course he knows. That is his intent. Now run! Run!

  Syah backed up his horse, watching the man.

  “Don’t run, Syah. I mean you no harm.”

  Syah’s face tightened. He whipped the reins to turn his mount, and dug his heels into the horse. He raced away from the stalker. Glancing over his shoulder, Syah saw the stranger’s horse leap to a start and the man leaning forward in his saddle.

  Syah felt a surge of power go through him, and through his horse. He cried to the mare over and over, not trying to see how closely the rider followed. Just make it to the fork, he begged the mare silently. Oman will be there. Oh, Fasime – what if he’s already killed him? Syah swallowed. His vision blurred and he clenched his fists on the reins. Just make it to the fork.

  The muscles in his legs began to ache. His chest burned more with every breath he took. He clenched his jaw; he heard the pant of another horse. The black horse was gaining on him. Syah looked forward and tried to make his horse go faster.

  The black horse was beside him. The rider’s gaze stayed on him a moment then shifted forward, expertly maneuvering his horse through the brush.

  Syah shouted and jerked the reins to the left. His horse staggered a little, but began to turn. Syah gasped as the rider’s horse jostled his own. Syah’s horse jumped away, then turned back towards his pursuer’s steed. He tried to steer his horse away, but the other horse shoved against him again and brought the horses even once more.

  Syah’s eyes grew wide. Should he stop? They were closer to the fork now. But you are leading the assassin to them!

  Before Syah could react, the rider’s hand reached for the mare’s reins. In one quick movement he had them. Syah gasped and tried to pull free, but the killer held them fast. Syah reached for his sword. The stranger jerked the reins, and Syah lost his grip. He tried to grasp the saddle, but the speed at which they galloped, and the suddenness of his horse’s jolting stop, threw him out of his seat. The ground came at him very fast and he braced. His arm hit first – but then it was every limb, muscle, and bone in his body that was pounded by dirt and wood as he rolled to a stop.

  Syah closed his eyes. He couldn’t feel the pain yet, but he knew it was soon to come. Where was the rider? Syah tried to lift his head. All he saw was a blurry, spinning mass of branches and trees. He heard the horses, but couldn’t tell what direction their whickers and shuffling came from.

  “Are you all right?” a voice asked. Syah saw the two horses, and the indistinct image of a man coming towards him. He tried to lift himself up, but his shaking arm wouldn’t support him. He reached for his sword.

  “You chose the weakest rider,” Syah panted, “and you may have chosen the weakest swordsman, but you won’t take me without a fight.” He finished drawing his sword and struggled to hold it straight in front of him.

  The man stopped and stood over him. Soon it became difficult to hold the sword. Syah blinked. Although he was becoming dizzy, he fought to keep his eyes on the stranger’s face.

  The man knelt down beside him. He was so close that Syah could have cut him, if he’d had the strength.

  “It’s all right, Syah. Be easy, now,” the man said. Abruptly his hand had Syah’s wrist. Syah tried to jerk his arm free, but before he could do so, the stranger pulled the sword from his grasp.

  Syah tried to back away, but fell back with a wave of pain.

  “Young prince, don’t fear me. I mean you no harm,” the man said in a quiet tone.

 
Syah’s voice was strained. “Then why did you make my horse throw me?”

  The stranger sighed. “That was an accident. But I had to take the risk that you may be injured, to protect you.” The man noticed the prince wasn’t using his left arm. “I knew I would lose my life if I let a son of the king be maimed…” The stranger brushed a hand down his arm; Syah flinched, but didn’t cry out. “But the skies themselves would have cursed my name forever if I had let your brother Oman, heir to the throne of Arnith, be taken by the enemy.” The man looked intently at Syah and said, “Forgive me.”

  Syah had to close his eyes a moment. When they opened, his vision only became more unfocused and his thoughts more confused. “What… what do you want?”

  “I want the three of you to return to the castle.”

  Syah leaned back, but flinched when he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head. He felt the soldier turn his head and the pain came again. This time it rippled down his neck and across his shoulders.

  “You’re bleeding,” said a voice that sounded further and further away. “Syah?” The soldier grabbed his shoulders. “Syah, you are slipping. You have to tell me where your brothers are.”

  “No,” he managed to voice.

  “Syah, listen to me. They are in danger. There could be Dikartian soldiers in these forests. Tell me where you were going to meet them.”

  “Danger?”

  “Syah, tell me.”

  His fading voice whispered, “Do you think I would lead them to danger?”

  “Lead them? What? Syah? Syah…”

  Oman slowed his horse. He was close. Though he couldn’t see beyond the trees, he sensed there was no one at the road ahead. He had expected he’d be the first to return. Syah was a slower rider, and Fasime would be busy leading the stranger.

  Oman turned back to the woods. It was silent; not even a wind stirred the branches of the tall trees. Was something wrong? He dismounted, then turned back again. He stood quiet, petting the face of his large brown horse as he searched through the trees.