Mark of the Banished

by Salandra Wolfe

  The sword was a tradition, going back to the first King of Algar. It was fashioned after the famous and magical sword Mepherius, which Ryland had never seen before. The Kings and Queens on Algar had stopped using the real Mepherius in their coronations hundreds of years ago, and Ryland didn’t know much else about Mepherius other than it had been missing from Algar for hundreds of years. Supposedly, the original sword was powerful and even more beautiful than this “cheap copy” now used in their coronations. Ryland wasn’t sure how anything could be more beautiful than the blade he beheld now, and he also wasn’t sure how Mepherius was supposed to be effective if it looked like that. Still, he wished he could see and hold it as the early kings had done before substituting this copy for the real thing.

  Rei balanced the heavy sword in both hands and brought it up over Ryland’s head. The crowd gasped as the torchlight reflected off the blade and the gems covering it, making it twinkle like a star.

  “Do you, Ryland Lyke, promise to uphold the law and act for the good of your people and not of yourself?” Rei asked, his voice quivering slightly from the strain of holding the sword.

  “I do,” Ryland replied, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his back. He was nervous and wanted this to be done and over with.

  “Do you, Ryland Lyke, promise to make your decisions as King of Algar without bias and with no malice?”

  “I do,” he promised.

  “Do you, Ryland Lyke, promise to put the good of the people above the good of yourself or loved ones?”

  Ryland bit his lip and closed his eyes. “I do.” His response was so quiet that Rei had to lean in to hear him, which almost toppled him over. After righting himself, Rei proclaimed,

  “Then may you carry this burden upon your shoulders with dignity, grace, kindness, equity, and goodness. Prince Ryland Lyke, I declare you King of Algar.” With these final words, Rei lowered the sword with difficulty until it barely touched each of Ryland’s shoulders, then lifted it away and gave it back to the boy.

  That part of the ceremony done with, he motioned a second boy forward, this one holding a pillow with the crown. Rei placed the crown gently upon Ryland’s head. Grabbing Ryland’s shoulder, Rei gestured for the new king to rise.

  Ryland stood and faced the crowd, who, to his relief, started cheering, yelling, and chanting his name.

  “Behold King Ryland!” Rei shouted, and the crowd roared louder in response. Some looked a bit hesitant, but all of them cheered for their new king.

  He grinned, allowing himself to be swallowed up in the moment, the pleasant weight of the crown on his head, the people cheering and bowing, all for him. The crown fit perfectly upon his head, as though it was meant to be there. He was only a few seconds in, and already he enjoyed being king.

  After a few moments, the crowd surged forward, and suddenly Ryland found himself in a sea of people shaking his hand, congratulating him, and asking him questions. Ryland put on a determined smile as he addressed his people, watching from the corner of his eye as Rei snuck out of the room. Ryland refrained from rolling his eyes at his friend’s escape and continued talking to his subjects.

  By the end of the massive flow of people, his mouth tasted like sand, his throat hurt, and he felt numb all over. As the last group of people filed out of the room, he slouched down onto his throne, put his head between his hands and tried to massage away the headache behind his eyes. This was not how he had thought this day would go. He heard the echoing boom of the massive doors to the room closing, and it jarred his eyes open. Standing there was a figure he knew well.

  “Devin, where were you?” Ryland stood up, his temper seething. “This is what we have worked toward for an entire month.” He waved his arms around, encompassing the room. “And you don’t even bother to show up?”

  Devin eyed him with an impassive expression before speaking slowly and calmly. “Everything I do is for your good, Cousin.”

  Ryland paused, then sighed. He didn’t really have an answer for that, so instead he dropped back onto his throne. “What do you want?” he asked tiredly. “I’ve only been king for a few hours, and I’m already exhausted beyond belief.”

  Devin’s lips pursed, but he didn’t say whatever he was thinking, which was fine by Ryland. “You need to deal with the prince now,” was all Devin said. “Until you do, your position is at risk.”

  Ryland’s jaw clenched, and one of his teeth made a cracking sound. “I take it that means he survived the night in the dungeons?” He scowled at the thought. “Fine,” he said curtly as he straightened on his throne. “Bring him in.”

  Devin nodded and disappeared, reappearing just as quickly. The double doors opened again, and in walked a few guards pulling the chained prince behind them.

  Ryland straightened even more, if it was possible, and stared down at Caspian as he approached his throne. To his annoyance, the young man raised his chin in defiance instead of lowering it in fear. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his clothing was disheveled and ripped. The skin surrounding one of his blue eyes was a purplish black, the bruise standing out starkly on his deathly pale skin.

  Devin came to stand at Ryland’s side and put his hands behind his back. Ryland felt reassured that his best friend was standing by his side at a time like this. Ryland licked his lips and leaned over to whisper to Devin, “What’s wrong with him?” He remembered the prince being weak and pale the night before, but he hadn’t been injured, and his clothes had been in perfect condition.

  Devin looked at the prince dispassionately. “A few . . . injuries were sustained to his person.”

  Ryland began to grow annoyed. “What does that mean?”

  Devin’s jaw clenched. “There were a few fights in the prisons, sire. Caspian is also sick with a severe fever.” Ryland nodded at the last part. He had guessed as much.

  Ryland put a hand to his head. “And did you stop the fights?” The look Devin gave him told Ryland all he needed to know. Devin had let the man get beaten, probably by the guards that had put him in the cell. Ryland felt like telling his cousin off about his actions, but he decided against it. The prince deserved punishment, and it wasn’t as if it would change the outcome of his final sentence. Ryland looked back at the prince, whose expression hadn’t changed.

  “Well, Caspian, how does it feel, seeing me on your throne, where I belong?” Ryland couldn’t resist gloating. His mind flashed to a month before, when Caspian had sat on the very same throne Ryland was now resting on, denying him the crown and sentencing Fayre to death. His fists clenched, and blood rushed to his cheeks as his hatred for the prince sparked once more.

  Caspian glared, and his stance grew even more hostile, but the gag around his mouth restricted his speech. Ryland couldn’t help but admire the strength in his defiance, seeing as the man had hardly been able to move the night before.

  “You are nothing but a nobody now,” Ryland continued. “No one cares. No one likes you. And that, my dear Caspian, is exactly what you deserve.” He spoke through clenched teeth, and he felt a lump rising in his throat as he thought of Fayre, lying all alone and dying because of the actions of this despicable man.

  An aggravating silence followed, and Ryland pushed his eyes closed for a moment before opening them. “Let him speak,” he commanded.

  “Ryland, I wouldn’t advise . . .” Devin’s voice trailed off, and he growled in frustration as one of the guards pulled off Caspian’s gag anyway.

  “You don’t belong there, Ryland,” Caspian said with surprising strength. “Not on my throne. This isn’t you, don’t you see—he’s made you do this!” Caspian jerked his head toward Devin, who stiffened.

  “I am exactly who I need to be.” Ryland stood up and scowled down at the man he loathed. “I am what this kingdom needs, not you!”

  “What did I ever do to you?” Caspian yelled, his eyes on fire.

  Ryland fell back onto his throne, anger burning hotter inside of him. The man didn’t even have the decency to remember what he had do
ne. “You sentenced the love of my life to death,” Ryland growled.

  Caspian tried to lunge forward, but the guards restrained him. Instead, he settled on shouting, “I did no such thing! He’s the one who poisoned her.” He jerked his head in Devin’s direction, his expression twisted with anger.

  “That’s ridiculous. I would do nothing to harm my cousin’s fiancé.” Devin shook his head and leaned over to whisper into Ryland’s ear, “Kill him. If we simply imprison him, he might escape and become a danger to you. Besides, he was willing to let Fayre die, and he’s obviously a lunatic. For that, he must perish.”

  Ryland looked up into Devin’s eyes, shocked to see complete and utter hatred there. Turning away, Ryland fought a miniature war against himself, trying to convince himself that he needed to kill Caspian. But he couldn’t kill the young prince in cold blood. He just couldn’t. Caspian had surrendered, and in his current state, he couldn’t duel Ryland, not fairly. Killing him outright wouldn’t be honorable.

  But he deserves to die. The thought was met by a flash of the good moments the two men had shared. But this was met by the memory of Caspian saying he wouldn’t help Fayre. Rage clouded Ryland’s mind again, only to be met by another good memory that elicited feelings of happiness, pity, or compassion.

  Ryland closed his eyes tightly, trying to stop the flow of emotions. I can’t. It was the final statement his mind made before it retreated back into darkness, leaving him with a clear head and a firm idea of what he needed to do.

  He opened his eyes again and straightened in time for the prince’s words to reach him. “Ryland, I didn’t—”

  “I don’t want to hear any of your lies!” Ryland roared at him before taking a deep breath. Devin grinned at his side and leaned forward in anticipation.

  “Ex-Prince Caspian, I sentence you to . . .” He paused and felt the soldiers’ attention on him, waiting to see what order he would give, ready to carry it out.

  “Exile. You are hereby banished from Algar, and should you return, you will be executed on sight,” Ryland declared.

  Caspian’s eyes widened with shock as the guards nearest him grabbed his arms again. He fought against them, trying to get away. “No!” he shouted as they pinned him in a kneeling position.

  “What?” Devin roared even louder. “You fool, you should have him killed!”

  Ryland ignored his cousin, his insides shaky. He knew what would happen next in the banishment process, but reconciling it with his current situation was another thing altogether.

  A guard strode over to the massive fireplace on the side of the room and grabbed a poker-like object from the stand near the fireplace. It had its own special stand away from the other fire pokers, and any idiot could see that it was different, though he might not know what it was for.

  The guard stuck the poker into the flames, pushing it up against the glowing coals.

  Ryland winced as Caspian screamed again, his face whiter than a sheet and his eyes as wide as dinner platters. He strained against the men holding him, but they were too strong. The guards, for their part, just stood there, watching with impassive expressions, even the ones holding the prince.

  “Ryland, please, don’t do this!” Caspian yelled, his eyes darting from side to side, from Ryland to the guard near the fireplace. “Please!” His voice broke on the word, and Ryland could see tears gathering in his eyes. Ryland looked away and saw Devin out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him.

  “You will regret this,” Devin growled as he paced back and forth in short, jerky steps next to the throne. “I know you will. Letting him go is a huge mistake.”

  Ryland was starting to think so too, but for different reasons. He watched with a sick feeling as the guard withdrew the poker from the fireplace, examined it, then nodded and turned to the young prince, who was screaming the entire time.

  Caspian struggled harder at the sight of the poker, and the guards pushed him closer to the ground. The man holding the poker approached, telling the men, “Hold his head.” One of the other guards complied, grabbing the prince’s skull and holding it in place. Caspian’s eyes darted around in terror before focusing on Ryland.

  Ryland felt his heart stutter and his breath leave him as the prince uttered one word so softly he almost couldn’t hear it. “Please.” The sound of it was so broken and scared that Ryland opened his mouth to tell the men to stop—but it was too late.

  The sound of the prince’s tortured screams filled the hall as the guard brought the poker to Caspian’s right cheek. The screams sounded inhuman and otherworldly, and they sent a stab of guilt through Ryland’s heart. He could hear Caspian’s flesh sizzling softly as it burned from the heat of the branding iron.

  After a few moments that felt like years, the guard pulled back the poker. The other guards released Caspian, and the prince collapsed to the ground, holding his face. Ryland’s men stepped back a few paces, ready to grab him should he try to escape.

  But the prince wouldn’t be going anywhere. His eyes were filled with tears, and his face was a mix of charred flesh and blood. He wiped his eyes and raised his face to look at Ryland, giving him a clear view of Algar’s royal seal that was now imprinted permanently on his flesh. Ryland had known about the practice and why it was done—it made it clear to everyone that the person was banished and not to be trusted—but he had never imagined the process to be so brutal.

  He swallowed, and another stab of sharp guilt hit his heart at the pitiful condition of the young man before him. It reminded him of the first time he had met with Caspian, just after his father had been murdered. He was so vulnerable, then and now. Ryland expected to see rage and hatred in his eyes, but there was only pain, sadness, and . . . guilt?

  Ryland snapped out of his thoughts when Devin cleared his throat pointedly. Everyone in the room was watching Ryland, including the prince with his ruined face. He was whimpering softly, and it seemed as if he wasn’t aware of his own sobs. Devin stood silently at Ryland’s side.

  Ryland blinked a few times and tried to look anywhere but at Caspian. “Th-throw him in the woods outside the border. He can find his way from there.” His voice broke, and he turned away as the prince’s head lowered in agony.

  The guards urged Caspian forward, but he didn’t have the energy to stand, so they pulled him roughly to his feet despite a cry of pain that escaped his lips.

  Ryland couldn’t help looking up as they left the room, dragging the still whimpering prince between them. Ryland took a deep breath and tried to erase Caspian’s face from his mind, both before and after the branding, but he failed. It kept coming back to haunt him like a bad dream. Now that he had seen it, he couldn’t unsee it. The horror he felt during the process lingered as well, making him long to flee from the room. The door closed behind the men, and Devin and Ryland were alone.

  “You should have killed him,” Devin said softly.

  Ryland shook his head. “Did you see him? He won’t last the night in that forest. He’ll be dead by morning.” He tried to sound satisfied, but instead, guilt passed through him, leaving him wondering:

  What have I done?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caspian sucked in a deep breath as the carriage tilted, sending a sharp stab of pain through his still raw flesh. He wondered briefly where Ryland’s guards were taking him, but it didn’t really matter. Without another person’s help, he would die in the forest, all alone.

  He contemplated if this was what had happened to those who were banished in the past under his father’s and grandfather’s rule. Were they also discarded like trash and left to die on the borders of the land? Or had their burns been treated before they were sent away?

  He was quickly reminded that none of those questions mattered when his whole body began to go numb, except his face, which burned like fire.

  After what seemed like days but couldn’t have been more than a few hours, the carriage came to a sudden stop, and Caspian lurched forward, his face pressing into the jacket of
the guard in front of him. He let loose an agonized scream, and the guard pushed him away with a disgusted expression. At least, Caspian thought that it looked like disgust, but he could hardly tell through the tears.

  The door opened, and the harsh sunlight sent daggers of ice through Caspian’s fog-filled brain. The guards lifted him up and carried him a distance away from the carriage, into the shade of the woods. For this, Caspian was grateful. Being away from the sun would help him think more clearly, or at least he hoped.

  The soldiers dumped him onto the leaf-covered floor, and Caspian cried out again as he hit the ground hard, not having the strength to lift his arms in time. He groaned and slowly turned himself so his mutilated face wasn’t pressing into the ground. A cool breeze caressed his cheek, and it felt almost as painful as the dirt.

  “Pathetic,” one of the men muttered as they walked away.

  “It’s just sad, seeing someone so high fall so low,” the other said with scorn.

  Caspian lifted himself up briefly and watched their backs as they walked away. The carriage driver clicked to the horses, and they turned and sped back the way they came.

  His head hit the ground again, his body not strong enough to hold it up. He lay there for a moment, thinking how tragic it was that he, a prince, was going to end this way. All alone, banished from his own kingdom by a man he had once called an ally.

  Ryland’s face flashed through his mind, and Caspian registered that he should be angry at the man for doing this to him, but he pushed the thought away. He wasn’t angry at Ryland, for he knew his current situation wasn’t his fault. This was the awful dark wizard’s doing.