by R. T. Cole
“I know I’m a day late, Rudimere, but I wanted to give you something that you’d always remember about this birthday. With you leaving, it only seemed right.” She stood up in front of him and put her hands on his cheeks. As she bent down, she lifted his head toward her lips and kissed his forehead softly. “I love you, my son. Happy Birthday.”
Rudi smiled as the tears rolled down his cheeks this time. It was a simple gift, but he knew that a mother’s love was far from simple. Today, it was what he needed.
He stood up and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you too, Mother,” he told her.
Soon after his heartfelt farewell with his mother, Rudimere made his way to the city gates to meet with his friends and the soldiers that he would be leading on their journey. Finally arriving in the courtyard, he saw Thasus and Andemar speaking with Ashra and Paxton. His friends noticed him and immediately approached him.
“All is ready, my lord,” Paxton said as he directed Rudi’s attention to the men on horses in the back of the courtyard.
Rudi turned around and saw the men gathered, waiting on his command. He felt an enormous amount of pride that his father came to this decision, but began to feel a nervousness that he had never truly felt before. He shook his head slightly. I’m not afraid, he thought. I’m ready. He gathered his composure and turned toward Paxton.
“Skymane?” he asked.
He saw Pax motion to his left as Ashra came towards them, helping a beautiful white horse along. Skymane was bred to be Rudi’s personal steed, but over the years he became Rudi’s good friend. Rudi smiled widely at seeing Skymane. It had been a long time since they rode together through the fields surrounding Angelia, though this time they rode into certain danger, and Rudi hoped that Skymane was ready.
“Ready your horses, my friends. We leave momentarily,” he said to Ashra and Paxton. As they prepared their own horses for the journey, Rudi noticed his brothers waiting for him a few feet away. After walking toward them and stopping, he sighed, thinking of all the years they had spoken about a moment such as this. They had gone over it a hundred times: their father’s orders would someday separate the three of them, but they would not grow sad. They would remain strong, do their duty and make their family and Angelia proud.
“Looks like the day is here,” Rudi said to his brothers, knowing that they would understand.
Andemar nodded and put a hand on Rudimere’s shoulder. He put his other hand on Thasus’s shoulder.
“Blessings be with you both, brothers,” he said.
Rudi embraced Andemar, holding him tight, and as he pulled away he put a hand on Andemar’s shoulder.
“Same to you, Andemar. Train the men well. And tell my nephew and niece that I meant what I said.” Earlier that day, before saying goodbye to his father and grandfather, Rudimere visited his brother’s family to say his farewells. After telling Maryn to take care of Andemar, he spoke privately with Anden and Ginny. He hated that they cried when they found out he and Thasus were leaving the city, but he promised them that he would return. Later, he thought that maybe he shouldn’t have made a promise that he possibly couldn’t keep, but then he thought, I have no plans to die anytime soon, and steeled himself to keep his promise.
“I will,” Andemar said.
Rudi then turned to Thasus. “Be safe, brother. The North is a dangerous place,” he warned.
Thasus gave Rudi a dismissive look and said, “No more than the South, little brother.” He climbed atop his horse, ready to head out first. “Blessings to you, Rudimere. The East is counting on us both to do well.”
Rudimere couldn’t help but think that Thasus was still treating him like a child, but he nodded at his older brother in respect. Even now, Thasus being who he was looked like a giant to Rudi’s eyes. Thasus would always be his big brother. As much as he and his brother fought, it pained him to see Thasus ride away and out of the open gates that day.
Rudi nodded to Andemar one more time. “Farewell, brother,” he said, as he turned towards Skymane. He climbed his own horse, took a deep breath and put his hand up, addressing his men.
“Dragoons! We ride for Stoneshield!” he cried. As he led his mounted cavalry out of the gates, Paxton and Ashra rode ahead and joined him, so that it was the three of them on the front lines. They knew that inside the gates of Angelia, that may have been an insulting move, at least in front of Rudi’s brothers or father, but Rudi never minded having his best friends by his side one bit. This day was no different.
Chapter 7
DRAVEN DARKWOOD
It was all about the gold. He had been telling himself that small detail throughout the entire ride to the soaring black structure that stood before him. The man never wanted to come to this place, but he was hard-pressed and was forced to accept the tremendous offer from his new king. Even though he was a hired mercenary, and had shed the colors of his house long ago, he still drew the stares and sideways glances of the people of Zenithor.
Yesterday, when the man first arrived in the West, he stopped at an inn to get some rest, but was met with some unfavorable individuals. A burly man across the room had shouted out to him, “You’re not from around here! Who are you?!”
“That doesn’t concern you,” Draven had said to him.
The man didn’t like the answer. He rose from his chair and began to walk over towards Draven. As he stood there, hovering over the seated mercenary, he sniffed the air around the table.
“Hmph! You reek of the woods,” he said right before he sniffed again. “Western woods.”
Draven shot him an annoyed look.
“Well, I guess you win the prize,” he said sarcastically. “Yes, I’m originally from Woodhaven, but I haven’t been there in years,” he admitted. “The fact that you could still somehow smell that on me is next to impossible. So, either you have an ability unknown to all of Areon, or you’re attempting to pick a fight with me.” Draven then stood up out of his chair and asked the man, “Which is it?”
The man lunged at Draven with all of his might, clearing the table and landing on top of Drave before the mercenary quickly used his foot to launch the man backwards. When Draven turned on his belly and stood up, he saw that the man had crashed into a nearby table and was slow getting to his feet.
“That’s the spirit,” he said with a slight grin. While the man started to rise, Draven reverted back to his stern demeanor and asked, “Tell me, friend: in all of your days, have you ever killed someone from Woodhaven?”
Finally, the man was on his feet, but with a confused look on his face. He ignored the question and charged at Draven, yelling as he did so. Draven sidestepped the man, using the back of his fist to cause the attacker to lose his balance and fall again.
“I won’t ask again,” Draven threatened, as the man rose to his feet again.
“What is your problem?! I’m a man of Zenithor! Of course I’ve killed people from that pile of shit!”
At this, Draven drew both of his swords and impaled the man with precision. The unfortunate slab on the end of Draven’s blades started to choke on his own blood as he stared at the floor in disbelief.
“Justice,” Draven said. He took his blades back and the man’s body fell to the ground with a thud. After letting the moment sink in, he pointed one of his swords at the rest of the people in the room and said, “You all know who I am. You know what happens to those who’ve taken a life from Woodhaven.” Letting a moment go by, he sheathed his swords to the relief of the rest of the patrons. “Perhaps justice will seek you out another day,” Draven warned, “but for now, I need a bed. I speak with the West King tomorrow.”
As he was about to retire to his room, the inn’s owner said to him, “Ser... the King murdered many Woodhaven soldiers only days ago. Is it your plan to assassinate him?”
Draven’s eyebrows rose. He was surprised at the comment, but admired the boldness. A part of him thought it was amusing that the new King had common people who already wished for his death.
&nbs
p; “Not at all. It was he who summoned me here,” he said to the innkeeper’s disbelief.
Snapping back to the present task, Draven became very anxious to meet the King in his hall, as he was only a few feet away from the door. As he approached, the two guards standing there had their weapons crossed, forbidding anyone from entry to the hall. Draven was amused at the sight of their armor and the bright red shark fin that would’ve instilled fear in most men. He always thought it was a strange choice of sigil for the people of Zenithor to have. There had always been talk of the creatures in the Crimson Sea, legends mostly, but nothing about simple sharks.
“State your business,” one of the guards grunted.
“Draven Darkwood, here at the behest of West King Kelbain.”
The other guard spoke up this time. “He’s waiting for you, mercenary scum,” he said scathingly.
As the guards parted their weapons to clear a path, they also opened the large double doors to the hall of the King. Draven nodded to them as he walked through, fully ignoring that last insult. He knew better than to act on any impulses in the King’s own castle.
The room he walked into was fully lit with torches, but remained dark in a sense. He figured it must’ve been the color of the walls and ceiling, coupled with the vastness of the room that gave off the extra darkness. Draven wondered if this was anything like what the Heroes of the Sorcerer’s War experienced during their final assault against Magor. Now focusing on the people waiting for him by the throne, he walked with purpose. After all, it was all about the gold; an enormous amount of gold that Kelbain promised him. When he reached the throne where Kelbain sat, Draven noticed a man standing to the King’s right, while a very beautiful woman sat on his left. The woman was no lady from Woodhaven, but she was an exotic and rare find in Draven’s eyes. He wrested his eyes off of her for a moment and addressed the man on the throne.
“Your Majesty,” he said as he bent the knee to the new West King.
King Kelbain looked upon the man with curiosity and wonderment. He had heard many stories about the mercenary, but what he saw was entirely different: a face full of hair completely unkempt, similar to the man’s dark brown hair that stood just a bit shorter than Kelbain’s. He was of ordinary height and his clothes were all tattered and worn, including the cloak that draped around his neck and halfway down his back. Their color, for the most part, matched the man’s hair, displaying a shade of dirt brown. The King was not impressed, though he wouldn’t allow that opinion to show. “Draven Darkwood. Your reputation precedes you. Please stand.”
Draven stood up and snuck another glance toward the woman sitting next to the King, whom he now realized was most likely the King’s intended bride.
“I believe ‘Congratulations’ are in order,” Draven said to Kelbain as he bowed his head in respect.
“And I believe that the King didn’t ask for your praise,” the man on the right of the King said.
“Now, now, Zane, he was only expressing a sincere compliment,” Kelbain berated the man as if he were a child.
It was more obvious to Draven now. The rude ‘boy’ standing next to the King was the Prince of the West.
“I apologize for my son, Draven. He should learn when to speak... and when not to.” The King shot Zane a look of cold ire, which immediately silenced the prince.
Draven silently applauded this act. He was here for gold, and not to deal with spoiled little brats like this Prince Zane.
“It’s of no consequence, Your Majesty,” Draven said. “May I ask, why have you summoned me here?”
“Your exploits throughout Areon have become somewhat legend,” Kelbain confessed. “As the commander of Woodhaven’s army, you won many battles in years past.”
Draven jerked at the mention. “Former commander, Your Majesty. That was a lifetime ago.”
The King rustled in his seat at the apparent insulting tone of Draven’s. It was the woman sitting next to him who intervened this time.
“My love, I’m sure that this man meant only to address the correction, so as to avoid any confusion,” Dirce said calmly. “Isn’t that right?” she said as she looked directly at Draven.
“Of course, My Lady,” Draven said courteously. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure...”
“Where are my manners? Draven Darkwood, this is my betrothed. My beloved, Dirce,” Kelbain acknowledged.
Draven walked over to the future queen and knelt on one knee. He plucked one of her hands from her lap and kissed it gently.
“It is an honor, My Lady,” Draven said. He then noticed, as he walked back to the spot in front of the King, that Zane was glaring at him. The boy must already have a soft spot for his future mother.
“Let’s get down to business, Draven,” Kelbain stated. “Of all the things I’ve heard about you, the same word keeps coming up: Honorable.”
Draven seemed to disagree with that term. “Your Majesty, I believe that the wrong people have been spreading rumors about me, if that’s what you heard.”
Kelbain smiled at this. “Good. I don’t need an honorable man. I need someone with your... talents. Someone who will get the job done without issue. But, most of all, I need someone who will fight for me, and only me,” the King declared.
Draven shook his head, surprising the three people in front of him. “I no longer fight for armies, Your Majesty. I fight for gold, and only gold,” Draven replied.
“How dare you!” Zane said with contempt.
Kelbain put his hand up to silence his son once more and Zane retreated. “If it’s gold that you want, Draven, you shall have it. Enough to buy your loyalty for this war.”
Draven thought it over for a moment. If the King was willing to pay for his services for the duration of the war, then he would be a fool to turn down that much gold. He had been a mercenary for the better half of 20 years now, and was used to scraping by from day-to-day, from week-to-week sometimes, without steady pay, but this would change everything. But, serving again, just as he did when he was Commander Darkwood of the army of Woodhaven, began to sound like something he didn’t want to do. Then, it hit him. Unless...
“Alright. You win, Your Majesty. We will go over the final amount of payment for all services that I will provide.” He noticed a look of accomplishment on the King’s face, which made it more difficult to bring up the next topic. “But... I request a little something extra for my willingness to serve a higher authority again,” Draven revealed.
Zane’s face turned red. He strutted down the two steps from where he stood and met Draven, face to face.
“Have you lost your mind, scum?” Zane seethed with outrage. He addressed the King this time. “Father, you can’t allow this man to make demands of you! You’re the King!”
Kelbain stood up fast and held out his right hand, which had now become engulfed in flames. This caused Zane to turn a sheet of white.
“I will not tolerate any more outbursts from you, Zane! Stand down!”
Zane lowered his head and nodded, silently hoping for the day to come soon where he and Dirce would fulfill their plan.
“Yes, Father,” said Zane.
Kelbain extinguished the flame and asked, “What is it that you want, Darkwood?” He was beginning to lose all of his patience now.
Draven’s eyes drifted toward Dirce, and he smiled.
The King looked back at Dirce, who was left open-mouthed, and he realized what Draven really wanted. Strangely enough, he could only stare at the mercenary with intrigue. Zane, however, was malice personified.
Relishing the thought of Dirce in his bedchamber tonight, Draven Darkwood thought to himself, Indeed, it isn’t always about the gold.
Chapter 8
A FAMILY MAN
It was quiet around the castle. With two of the Prince’s sons away on their respective missions, those who still dwelled in the citadel claimed that morale had gone down at the knowledge of impending war. Prince Vandal had done all he could to lift the people’s spirits, b
ut he had more important duties and decisions to take care of as acting King. It fell to Andemar to be a man of the people, as well as the master-at-arms.
Two days had gone by since Thasus and Rudimere left, and Andemar missed them terribly. While his father struggled to keep a sane mind with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Andemar felt it was time for a visit with his grandfather. King Victor lied in his bedchamber at the top of the highest tower of Angelia, and so, during the long climb to the top, Andemar had some time to think. He thought of what would happen if something were to befall his brothers, how his father would react to the news, and how the kingdom would handle it. Either that, or how the kingdom would retaliate at the loss of two royal heirs to the East. A part of him anticipated that Thasus and Rudimere would encounter Sages along their travels; this caused him the greatest concern.
Sages, in Andemar’s eyes, were a plague on the land of Areon. He considered their abilities to be unnatural and couldn’t fathom how, or why, some people tolerated the Sages. He had seen many atrocities committed in his own city by Sages who looked to inflict chaos and disorder, and even though they were all imprisoned or killed, there was always a lingering feeling of unrest in him. My family is truly blessed to have been spared the malady of being a Sage, he would often determine.
Andemar approached the top of the staircase and took a step inside the door.
“Grandfather?” he called out to Victor. As he stepped inside with both feet, he noticed how still and frail King Victor appeared to be. The King slowly turned toward him and his eyes brightened.
“Andemar!” Victor exclaimed. Although it was little more than an actual whisper, Victor’s response made Andemar smile.
“It’s good to see you, Grandfather,” Andemar said. He sat down by the King’s bedside and looked him over. “You’re looking good. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about,” he attempted to say with a half-smile. Levity was usually a strong suit of his, which Victor seemed to remember fondly.
