Brother, Betrayed Read online

  He let out a long breath and looked away. They’ll be here soon, he told himself as he took his horse’s reins and started for the road.

  Fasime whispered for Lightning to go faster. He was afraid, but he didn’t let himself think what he felt in his heart.

  Oman, Syah, I’m coming. Lightning felt Fasime’s legs tighten around him and obeyed.

  Something moved ahead. He drew his sword and approached the road cautiously. Around a barrier of branches, Fasime found it was Oman, and sighed as he lowered his sword. But then his grip tightened. “Where’s Syah?”

  “Fasime! I am glad you got here safely. Syah hasn’t returned yet.” Oman took in Fasime’s pale face and anxious, distracted expression. “What’s the matter?”

  “He could still be behind us…”

  “He is the slowest rider; it hasn’t been long since we left him.” Oman’s brows lowered when he noticed Fasime wasn’t listening to him. “He’ll be…”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to make it here so fast. I could have cut across, doubled back.”

  “What?” Oman watched two beads of sweat streak down his brother’s face. He placed a hand on Fasime’s shoulder and hardened his tone. “Fasime, what’s wrong?”

  The dark-haired brother jumped at the touch. He grabbed Oman’s arms, as if the elder had the cure for the weakening feeling inside him. “Oman!” he cried. “The soldier didn’t follow me!”

  “What?” Oman’s concern for his brother’s demeanor vanished. He turned to the forest.

  “Not far from where we split up, I turned around and he was just… gone. At first I thought he had given up trying to catch me, but I realized he could have…”

  Oman turned back to him. “That soldier has him.”

  “He could still be…”

  “It’s getting dark. We can’t leave him out there.”

  “We should wait here. He could be on his way.”

  “No, you were right. Syah should have been here by now. That rider could have been a Dikartian… could have stolen the garb off a fallen Arnith soldier.” Fasime released him. “Remount! We have to find him.”

  “But how? He could have gone off course.” Fasime was still pale, almost shaking.

  “Let’s hope he thought about us and didn’t,” Oman said grimly, and untied and mounted his horse.

  Syah felt himself falling, sinking, spinning… flowing around through the darkness. He felt warmth as he spun deeper, slower, closer. Sleep… Death…

  Syah gasped awake. An enormous fire was before him and his chest tightened. He was engulfed by a strong herbal odor. He cringed, trying to bring his arm up to cover his face, but it didn’t stir from under the blankets that covered him. He bit his lip, trying to look around. The uneasy silence made him realize music had been playing.

  The rider. Syah stiffened as the memory flooded back. Someone approached him. He tried to move again, but couldn’t.

  The rider appeared above him. Syah’s breath quickened as he met the gaze of the stranger kneeling beside him. He felt his head pressing down into the cloth beneath him, he felt the muscles in his legs and arms tighten, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him.

  “So, the spell has passed,” the soldier said, studying Syah’s apprehensive expression.

  “Release me,” Syah demanded when he could speak.

  “I have not bound you.” The soldier spoke calmly as he moved his hands underneath Syah.

  “I can’t move,” Syah said with frustration. The man raised him to a sitting position.

  “Your entire body is bruised.” The soldier moved packs and blankets behind the boy to make him comfortable. “Be still and let it rest.”

  Syah looked at the large blazing fire. The strong smell made him cringe. “What is that?”

  “I’m burning fensien weed; it puts off a strong odor.”

  “That smell… the fire… your music…” Syah gasped. “You are leading them here!”

  “Yes, it will be easier for your brothers to find you.”

  “A trap!” Syah clenched his fists and tried to force his limbs to move.

  “What?” The soldier grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Syah, no! There is no trap!”

  With a muster of energy, Syah was able to force the stranger away. But a sleeping ache awoke in his limbs and chest as he struggled to sit up. He fought not to cry out as it intensified.

  “Don’t struggle, you’ll make it worse.”

  Syah stared at the man’s dark face. “Murderer!” Syah forced the word from his throat. The man’s eyes widened. Before he could speak, Syah concentrated his anger, using its force to clench his fist around the man’s throat. His body resisted, but he tried to deny the pain of its hold on his limbs. Too late, he realized this was the arm that had taken the impact of his fall. Pure will kept the pain from breaking his grip.

  “I won’t let you hurt them!” The soldier met his gaze. Syah could barely draw breath, but commanded his fist to hold tighter. Still, man was motionless. Why wasn’t he resisting?

  His adversary blinked and reached stealthily around Syah’s torso. The prince gasped. He felt it – but it was too late. The soldier found the points on his back. His fingers tensed as he pressed the nerve points and held them.

  Syah cried out as a brief, sharp jolt of pain snapped down his back and through his body. His cry ceased as his breath was caught in his chest. His body went limp, his limbs sank helplessly around him. The man lowered him down. The strange sensation still pulsed through his back, paralyzing him. Syah felt his head sink down into something soft. The soldier released his grip.

  Syah’s breath returned, smooth and easy. He tilted his head, more interested in what the man had done to him than angered at his sudden weakness.

  “Murderer?” The man sighed and turned towards the fire.

  Syah wanted to speak, but found he couldn’t interrupt his smooth cycle of breathing.

  “You think I am…” He met the prince’s eyes. “I am sorry. I thought you ran from me to avoid some punishment from the king.” The stranger’s gaze, frank and open. “I underestimated you. I apologize.” The man paused, straightening. “I am not an enemy,” he said. “My name is Denire Sharlane. I am a Knight of Arnith, soldier to your father, King Algoth. You and your brothers are safe. My only intention is to return you all to the city.”

  Syah tried to say something; Denire nodded.

  “Perhaps I should have come to you sooner. I was content following you… until you strayed closer to the Dikartian border.”

  “You’ve been…” Syah whispered.

  The man heard him. “Yes. I have been following you. I kept my distance, but now I regret letting you pass through the gates of the city.” The soldier waited as Syah contemplated his words.

  “You knew… How did you recognize us?”

  “Yes,” the soldier said, pulling at the prince’s brown shirt, “you were disguised.” Denire smiled. “Your horses. Princely horses,” he caught Syah’s eyes, “almost kingly horses – with three peasant boys leading them. I recognized you immediately.”

  Syah breathed out and looked up at the lightening sky beyond the canopy of trees.

  “And so could an enemy of Arnith. It’s not safe for you to travel alone. Your kingdom is at war. Any travel should be restricted to errands of the utmost importance. And here are Algoth’s only sons, traveling alone, a day’s ride from enemy lands!”

  “The Dikartians are not here this time of year.”

  “What?”

  “It’s their harvesting season. Most of them are in the eastern part of their lands, gathering maize.”

  The soldier raised an eyebrow. “You have studied the enemy. Even so, there’s still a chance they could be here this time of year; we are at war.”

  “It is a slim chance. They are still occupied with Forest’s Edge. What would their soldiers be doing here?”

  Again Denire waited a moment before replying. “A slim chance… but it increases the closer you get to the
ir lands.”

  Syah looked back at the sky.

  “Why were you going to Dikartia?”

  “We weren’t.”

  “Then what…”

  “Surveying the kingdom,” the prince explained.

  “Surveying…?”

  “We are traveling the kingdom we will one day govern. You can’t expect us to understand something when we only have seen it on maps and ledgers. You say we are in danger of being recognized and taken… but you are the only one who saw us for what we are. The only one in the capital city, and among all the villages and travelers we passed.”

  “Even so, there are thieves, and other dangers. There’s always the chance someone may recognize you.”

  “Isn’t every venture in life accompanied by some danger? Don’t we fall more than walk as we take our first steps?” Syah saw Denire was about to protest and continued, “Did the danger of battle prevent you from defending your kingdom?”

  “No,” said Denire, agitated. “But the fate of a country does not rest on a soldier. You are more valuable than you realize. You are the only heirs to a kingdom with an aged king. Our history cannot trace your ancestors to the original leaders of our lands. An Arnithian knight’s primary oath is to preserve the Arnith line. How could I allow you to travel into danger, just to satisfy your boyhood wanderlust? No matter what your plans were, one way or another, you and your brothers are returning with me to the capital city.”

  Syah’s brows lowered as he studied the soldier’s face. He moved his arm, the limber one, and placed it on Denire’s hand. “My brothers and I set out from Anteria on a quest,” Syah declared. “And no matter the obstacle, we will finish it.”

  The soldier relaxed and shifted. “Your brothers will be here soon,” Denire said, and leaned forward. Syah saw the soldier’s hand move towards him with purpose. Syah tried to move or deflect him, but it was too late. He found his target on Syah’s neck. “Rest,” he said. There was a strange pressure through his chest. And then… darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  A BROTHER'S LIFE

  There was the music again. It seemed part of the sounds of the forests. But, no, he knew: it was a flute, a wooden whisperer. Yes, whispering… smooth yet melancholy. Filtering through the trees. Drifting beyond the light of the fire, like a woodland creature, dreaming… calling…

  The music stopped. Syah’s eyes opened. He blinked. This time, he remembered where he was. He listened for the soldier, Denire. He tested his limbs and flinched; they were more painful than before. He decided to lie still, but in a moment the soldier was beside him.

  “You’re awake.” Denire laid his hand on Syah’s shoulder. “Your brothers are near,” he said. Startled, Syah looked to the forest, but he saw nothing between the trees. “I have to move you,” Denire said, removing the blankets that covered the young man. Still looking to the forest, Syah tried to sit up.

  When the soldier lifted him, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He felt a flush of pain, but his eyes only left the forest for a moment. Denire carried him around the fire. As the soldier set him down, Syah found them, two riders in the distance, pale in the morning’s foredawn. He attempted to stand, but when he shifted his weight, he realized he was being held. His insides turned. The soldier was behind him, holding Syah in front. Syah stiffened; his heart lurched in his chest. He is using me as a shield. He found the quickly approaching riders. What is about to happen?

  “You said earlier,” Denire began, close to him, “that you thought I chose you because you were the weakest rider. You were right. I did choose you – because I knew I could catch you.” Syah breathed in and out, feeling a spasm in his gut. He saw the riders more clearly now; they were slowing down, probably seeing his small silhouette in front of the fire. Syah knew the soldier’s eyes were on them as well. “But it is not because you lack the strength.” The horses were approaching faster; Syah could discern Oman and Fasime. “You pushed your horse too much in the beginning, so she didn’t have anything to give when you really needed her.”

  The prince blinked, distracted by a dizzying flush.

  His eyes focused. He heard the neigh of a horse. The stallion. His brothers’ concerned faces came into his view.

  “Be calm,” said a stranger’s voice. Syah felt the grip on his arms tighten. “I won’t hurt you if you cooperate.”

  Fear pulsed in his body. Reason pressed him to assess the situation, but his thoughts couldn’t keep up.

  “Syah!” Fasime cried, not slowing his pace though he was close.

  Syah gasped. He should warn them!

  “No,” the soldier said in a firm tone. Syah felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Be still.”

  Denire’s eyes went to the middle brother. He had jerked his horse to a stop and was dismounting. The soldier watched him draw his sword, hot and angry. “Let him go, villain!” Fasime cried, stepping forward.

  “Release him or die,” the eldest brother warned in a low tone. He remained mounted, but his hand was on his sword. The middle brother was still stalking towards them.

  “You use Malgar’s tactics well,” the soldier stated and Fasime stopped instantly, “sizing up your enemy before you attack.”

  Oman halted his horse. “Malgar!”

  Denire nodded. “Yes. I am a soldier of Arnith.”

  “What?” Fasime gasped. “Then why did you chase us? Why have you harmed a…”

  “Fasime!” Oman warned. He looked at Syah, holding his gaze, then returned his attention to the stranger. “You know who we are?”

  “Yes.”

  Oman straightened in his saddle. “Then, soldier of Arnith, I command you to release him.”

  The stranger nodded once, in acknowledgment of the command, but otherwise didn’t move. “I cannot.”

  Oman’s face hardened and he shifted his horse. “Then you disobey an order from the king?”

  “No,” the soldier retorted. “I disobey an order from a young prince who stole away from his castle dressed as a peasant, and placed himself and his brothers in danger.”

  Oman’s eyes widened with shock. “You followed us?”

  The soldier took note of the middle brother, who had stopped a little ways in front of them. “Yes,” he replied. “I am here to return you to Anteria.”

  Oman moved his steed closer. “You followed us from the castle, and you wait until now to confront us?”

  “You were heading towards…”

  “You waited until now,” Oman interrupted him, “when we were days from any town, where no travelers could aid us…” He drew his sword and dismounted.

  “Oman, I am not your enemy,” Denire said, his voice deepening. “I mean none of you harm.”

  “You have already harmed one of us!” Fasime spoke in anger.

  “No, Fasime,” Syah said, and they both looked down at him. “I fell from my horse.” The soldier’s grip on his arm loosened.

  “What?” Fasime exclaimed.

  Denire looked up from Syah. He watched the two others, breathing heavy, grasping their swords. “Oman, listen to me. I am an Arnithian Knight. It is my sworn duty to protect you. I am sorry that I surprised you.”

  “No, I don’t trust you.”

  “You must return to the castle with me, for your safety.”

  “What we do is our own affair. Your conduct has not been that of a knight, therefore I do not believe your claim. Now, you will release our brother or suffer the consequences,” Oman warned. Holding his sword in both hands, he took a step forward. Fasime mimicked him.

  “Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter,” Denire said. He removed his hand from Syah’s shoulder. “I cannot allow you to continue this journey.”

  Fasime and Oman stiffened. Syah looked down and felt chilled. The soldier was holding his sword across his chest. Syah felt it press against him. The grip on his arm tightened again.

  “Traitor!” Fasime cried, ready to charge him.

  “Stop! If you care about the welf
are of your brother, you will do as I say.”

  Syah forced himself to breathe. He looked up at Oman, who hadn’t moved. Fear was on Oman’s face.

  “I will do what I must do to protect you,” the soldier said firmly. “Step back, both of you.” The young men stood with their swords drawn and but not daring to move. “Do as I say,” the soldier warned. They watched him press the sword harder against Syah’s chest. Syah straightened with a rigid movement. The brothers moved back a few paces.

  Syah fought to quench the fear inside him. Oman and Fasime had moved away from him, but he hardened his resolve.

  “Now lay your swords on the ground,” Denire told them. They started to comply.

  “Wait,” Syah said with force. He felt the soldier go taut behind him. He met Oman’s eyes. “He’s bluffing,” Syah said. Before the soldier could stop him, he had both hands around the blade on his chest.

  “What are you doing?” Denire demanded as Syah pushed the sword up. He let go of the boy’s arm and caught the outer end of the blade, holding both ends to stop him. He felt the boy take in a quick breath, and looked down to see blood streaming from Syah’s palms. He was still pushing up. “Syah, stop!” the soldier exclaimed. He had no choice but to let the prince push the sword up, or else the blade would cut him deeper.

  Syah stifled the urge to cry out and forced from between his teeth, “He won’t hurt me.” The sword was close to his throat.

  “Stop!” Fasime cried.

  Syah continued to lift it higher.

  “Syah, no!” Denire yelled. “Stop!”

  The blade touched his skin. He held his breath.

  Denire stopped the sword. Syah kept pushing, flinching when the blade cut into his hands again. The knight felt the boy’s body shaking with pain. “All right! Enough!” the soldier cried.

  Syah opened his eyes and smiled.

  “All right, Syah, let it go.”

  The prince sighed. He loosened his fingers from the blade and lowered his hands, trying to ignore the sting in his bleeding fingers and palms. The soldier removed the sword from his throat.