Exiles of Forlorn

by Sean T. Poindexter

  “I need to speak to you,” I said to him.

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t dare look at Sharkhart as I quietly said, “Alone.”

  “That’s not going to─”

  Arn interrupted him by softly placing the back of his hand on the savage’s arm. “It’s fair. I will speak to the wall builder alone.” Sharkhart left us, though I could feel his eyes on me even from across the beach. I had no doubt if I deigned to bring any harm to Arn, the Tallfolk fighter would be on me before I could land the first blow.

  “I know who you are,” I said quietly once we were alone.

  Arn crooked a blond eyebrow. “Do you now? Then who am I?”

  “You are Arnyld Mierdean: secondson of King Gerold IV and rightful heir to the throne of Morment.”

  23.

  The ascension of Morment’s current king, Rorineld II, was a tale of intrigue and surprise. But, then again, weren’t all kings crowned in such ways?

  Eighteen years ago, Morment’s glorious fat king, Garold Mierdean IV, died, leaving the throne rather predictably to his almost as fat firstson, Garold V. He served capably for three years before being assassinated. The Illyrians were blamed for that, though other speculation fell upon some of the advisors and military leaders after rumors emerged that Garold V was considering suing for peace with the Illyrians. In any event, he died without an heir, so rightful hold of the crown fell to Garold IV’s secondson, one Arnyld Mierdean.

  Unfortunately, Arnyld wasn’t available to take the throne, having defected to the Republic of Illyr five years prior, much to the shame and dishonor of his noble family. The royal counselors and advisers convened, attempting to determine who should become king. While his defection to Illyr should have made him ineligible for the throne, the king’s spies had learned that Arnyld had left the Republic of Illyr after just four short years, and subsequently vanished. That meant the throne was legally his, but no one had any idea where he was. He was declared dead and rightful rule fell to the king’s only uncle, brother of Garold IV, Duke Rorineld Mierdean. Further complicating things, he too was dead, having been mauled by a bear during a hunting trip in Bulorwai the year I was born. Fortunately, he had a firstson of his own, Rorineld Mierdean II, who happily ascended to the throne and began ruling all of Morment.

  The mystery of the lost prince of Mierdean became a source of much speculation and debate. Witnesses of dubious reliability reported seeing him as far away as Ket. Imposters emerged claiming to be the prince, some more convincing than others. Some theorized that he’d been killed by the Illyrians to protect vital state secrets he’d uncovered while serving in their government as a defector. Others said he went mad and lived as a vagrant. A few said he found a temple to the Daevas of peace and contemplation and spent the remainder of his days as a silent monk in their service. They were all wrong, and I knew why. Because I’d found him, sixteen years after his disappearance, on the shores of the most far flung region of the empire.

  It was rather risky using his own name, but I supposed it wasn’t too controversial since Arnyld was such a common name in the empire. I began to understand why he despised the appellation of Sand King: it must have been ascribed to him by those few who knew his true identity, but for him it would be a reminder of the life he’d abandoned and the feudal system he so detested.

  “So you think I’m the lost prince?”

  “I know you are,” I said, not sure if I should kneel or something. He’d never wanted me to do so before, so it probably would have upset him if I attracted such attention to our private conversation. “The family resemblance is unmistakable. I met your cousin, the king, when my older brother was knighted.” I hoped my excitement was held in check well enough to not embarrass me, but I feared it wasn’t.

  “Lots of people could resemble the king.”

  “Indeed, but very few carry themselves with such regal poise and dignity. I saw it in you, in the way you speak, the way you talk to your subjects—”

  “I have no subjects.”

  “Sorry, poor choice of words, your highness.”

  “Don’t call me that.” He looked around quickly, lowering his voice. “Even if I am who you believe me to be, what makes you think I’d admit it to you? Who would believe you, anyway?”

  “No one, your high . . . sir. I scarcely think they’d believe it even if you declared it about yourself. You have little to fear, though. Your secret is safe with me.”

  He crooked an eyebrow. “I’ve still not conceded you’re right, Lew Standwell.”

  “You don’t have to, sir.” I stared at him, in awe. Here was a man who could have been king. Who should have been king! And he lived here, on Forlorn, in relative destitution. I found him fascinating.

  “What do you want?” he asked at length, stroking his yellow beard.

  “Want?”

  “For your silence. Assuming you’re not mad, you’re no fool. You wouldn’t reveal your knowledge of my secret identity without hope for some gain. If you’re seeking gold, you’ll find none here.”

  “No, nothing like that. I don’t want anything. Except . . . maybe you will answer some questions?”

  Arn took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at the White Road. He then looked behind me to where Gargath was tending to Uller. Uller had woken up and was complaining about the sticks they kept bringing him to use as a cane being too short. Arn gestured for me to follow him down the beach, and I did. Then he allowed me to question him.

  “Why did you defect to Illyr?”

  “That was youth and foolishness tempered with naivety. I believed then, as I do now, that democracy is a far fairer system of governance than the rule of kings, and that divine right flows from the people up, rather than from the monarch down. In my youth, I envied the democratic system of the Republic of Illyr and thought it greatly superior to ours.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  “I lived among them for four years. I was treated like royalty, even though the Illyrians claim to not recognize such things. The secondson of the king of their greatest enemy defecting to them, it was quite a win. And quite a shame, to my family at home. I fear my father died hating me. I didn’t care much about it at the time, but looking back it is the single most regretful thing about my life.”

  He took a moment, looking out at the ocean, sparkling blue under the beaming sun. He continued, “Living among the Illyrians taught me much, foremost among those lessons being that things are not always as they seem, especially from afar. Though the Illyrians have no kings or nobles, they are no less stratified by social class than Morment. Worse, in fact, because they steadfastly deny that such distinctions exist. All are equal in the Republic of Illyr.” He snorted softly.

  “But they are a democracy?”

  “In name, perhaps. They allow votes only to those men fortunate enough to own land, and in this system they apportion votes based on the amount of land owned. So, those who have greater wealth have greater power. They call this system equal because under their laws any man can purchase land, but in truth power is strictly concentrated in the hands of a wealthy few who do everything to prevent those under them from expanding their holdings. Most land is inherited, and those who do not inherit have small chance of ever buying land because its ownership is such a precious commodity that the landowners rarely sell it, preferring to let it sit unused rather than develop it for the good of the nation. As such, thousands of acres of farmland lie fallow while the poor and destitute starve.

  “Illyr controls the flux of poverty from reaching revolutionary levels by continuing this perpetual war against Morment, who controls their population the same way. In just four short years, I came to learn that the system I’d defected into was as corrupt and immoral as the one I left.

  “So I returned to Morment and lived among different people for a time. I stayed with the Tallfolk the longest, which is where I met Sharkhart. During a tribal feud I saved his life, and he became what the Tallfolk call ik’rit’tak, or
my blood-brother.”

  I understood that relationship well.

  “That’s where you met Zin?”

  He nodded. “That was thirteen years ago. She was barely five at the time, and an orphan in the care of the priests of Oralae. Some of them knew who I was, but they swore never to reveal my secret. I’m surprised she remembered me,” he said, uncorking his water skin. “I guess I made more of an impression than I thought.” He took a drink.

  “A year later, I came here. Other exiles had fled the struggle to live with the Tallfolk, but were quickly wearing down their hospitality. Bounty hunters and mercenaries harassed us constantly. The empire’s tolerance of the Tallfolk’s way of life waned as it became apparent that those fleeing punishment of the crown could live among them in relative peace. I knew of this place, and I decided I would found a new colony, in a place the empire had no interest in, where everyone could be equal and free.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “But why leave? If you believe all are truly equal, why not take the throne and implement reforms?”

  “Reforms?” He looked at me and laughed. “My brother tried to reform and look what it got him. No, the people of Morment are too far under the yoke of their oppressors. They worship nobility with religious zeal. If they rose up, perhaps then there would be change, but they will not. They cannot. The military is firmly under the control of the nobles, who all struggle for the crown’s favor. The system is mad, and it would take far more than one ideological king to change it.”

  He looked at me. “You understand this, Lew Standwell. I can tell it in the way you speak of your own family.” He took another drink. “I met your father once, you know?”

  My eyes widened. “You did?”

  “Lord Olune Standwell III.” He shook his head. “I found him as insufferably arrogant and self-important as most of the lords, dukes, and barons in my father’s court.”

  I nodded and looked out at the sea. “Well, you’ll be happy to know he hasn’t changed much.” We laughed together.

  “I like you, Lew. You remind me rather of myself at your age.”

  I took the compliment, even though it was far from the truth. I’d never have been brave enough to abandon my home for another world. I’d only done so because I had no choice. Though, we did have some things in common. We were both great disappointments to our families, and for the same reason: absconding from a responsibility foisted upon us by our birth. I suppose that was mitigated by the wealth into which we’d been born, but that was the only life I’d known until then, so I didn’t feel particularly privileged by it.

  “I know why you’re here, too, Lew Standwell. You’re seeking the treasure of Xanas Muir.” My mouth went dry and fell open. I tried to hide my surprise, but he read me as easily as he saw the sun. “You think you’re the first to come here looking for that old place?” He chuckled. “We get a new band of adventurers every two years or so who trek into the forest, never to be heard from again. You’re markedly different in that you chose to live among us for some time; even doing us a service by building that wall.”

  “How did you─?”

  “Sharkhart has light feet, despite his height. He saw you sketching that map you draw every night. Ferun recognized the symbol on Reiwyn’s hip from a design he’d seen in drawings brought by previous treasure hunters.”

  I grimaced at that. I didn’t particularly care for thinking about Ferun looking upon Reiwyn’s bare flesh so intimately.

  “When he described it, I knew you must have met Roren Fullstag himself. He was the last to hold that disc, and knew the spells necessary to imbed it in her skin. I’m glad I didn’t share that knowledge with Ferun. Knowing what I do of him now, I fear he might have carved it from her and tortured you and your friends for information before trekking off on his own.”

  “You know of Roren Fullstag?”

  “Of him? I knew the man. I would imagine he was in much better health than when you met him. I assume he died on the voyage, elsewise you wouldn’t have been entrusted with his legacy. Anyway, he lived among the Tallfolk with me for a time, though he never knew who I was. Did you know that Sharkhart’s people are originally from here? It’s true. They fled across the Great Sea in canoes just under a thousand years ago to escape the gluttons. Coming to this place with me was something of a homecoming for him.”

  I stared at him in shock.

  “You’ve perhaps a month left before winter comes and freezes the passage to the Sentinel. Once you’ve passed that, you’ll find a jungle. Sharkhart and I explored it upon our first arrival, and found it most inhospitable. If you make it that far, I wish you better luck than we had.

  “I won’t prevent you from leaving, of course. All who come to Forlorn are here of their own volition. I won’t ask more of you, either. What you’ve done for us, what you have continued to do, is more service than I ever could have expected. Your wall is a testament to your goodness, Lew Standwell.”

  I shrugged, dumbstruck. I hadn’t really thought of the wall like that. For me, it was more to prove it could be done, and to make Reiwyn happy. If she’d not come into my life, I doubt I would have ever considered it my obligation to build it. Still, it felt nice to be recognized for something I’d done of my own free will, rather than because it was expected of me from birth.

  We took a few moments of silence, staring out at the sea as it folded and rolled against the beach, turning the white sand beige beneath its foamy edges. After a time, I looked back at our fellows. Uller was practicing walking with a stick, while Gargath followed close behind in case he fell. Blackfoot ran up and made a movement as though to trip him, running away as the mage cursed in his wake. Reiwyn laughed, a songbird’s melody that carried over the crash of waves to my ears. Sharkhart stood halfway between us, watching me carefully.

  “We should get underway,” Arn said finally, cupping me on the shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me, as I trust mine is with you?” I nodded. “Then it is fair. Come, let’s get the others. We’ve lingered far too long.”

  I followed Arn down the beach, my shoulders feeling the weight of what I now knew.

  24.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “They’re ruins,” replied Front-Strider.

  I groaned. “I can see they’re ruins. But of what?”

  He shrugged as Arn and Sharkhart emerged from one of the bare stone buildings that jutted from the overgrown forest. “We’ll camp here,” said the Sand King when they rejoined us on the beach.

  “Are they safe?” asked Uller, leaning on his walking staff. I was actually a bit impressed with him. Being hobbled hadn’t slowed him much. I supposed he hadn’t wanted to show more weakness in front of Reiwyn, though she hadn’t shown him any more affection since the arrow extraction than usual. Perhaps she wasn’t the one he meant to impress? How flattered Zin would be to learn her champion had been wounded in her rescue, but refused to let that deter his spirit.

  “As safe as any other place along this road,” replied Arn.

  “But they’re uninhabited, right?”

  I laughed and patted Uller’s back. “Come on.” The sun was falling and night was creeping ever closer. We’d trekked around the eastern coast and turned north several hours ago. The chilled wind that blew from the north was stronger here, not buttressed by the mountains or cliffs. I welcomed the idea of resting beside a wall, even if it was ancient and root covered like these.

  Sharkhart built a fire in one of the larger central buildings while Blackfoot and I spent the remaining moments of daylight searching the accessible parts of the ruins. We found several sets of stone stairs leading up the side of the hill onto which the ruins had been constructed. I ran my fingers along the volcanic rocks that made up the walls of rough stone bricks mortared together with beige clay, some still standing, others toppled. I knew from my own scavenging for rocks that stones this size didn’t occur naturally close to the sea. The previous inhabitants must have brought them down from the v
olcanic slopes of the Sentinel, an impressive chore for any culture, much less a savage one.

  “Whose ruins are these?” I asked Arn during our meal.

  “I told you before that Sharkhart’s people were descended from the first human inhabitants of this place. This was one of their villages. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and gazed back at the ruins above us. I understood why Arn had chosen not to build the colony here. This place lacked the rocky wall of sharp sea rocks and cliffs that abutted the colony from the sea, making it vulnerable to attacks from pirates and other ship-borne aggressors. It was also closer to Drullcove, making it doubly unsafe.

  After we’d finished our meal of dried jerky and some roots Front-Strider had collected from the forest, Arn handed out watch assignments. Uller was excused from watch for his injury, and promptly curled up under his cloak and blanket to sleep. I got the unenviable second watch of our eight hour allotment for sleep, which meant I had to sleep two hours, stay awake for two, then struggle to sleep for four more.

  I awoke when Landis shook me. Wrapping my fleece around my shoulders, I stumbled around the fire and took up my place next to the broken wall for my watch. I passed the time sketching my map on the ground. I was halfway through it when something passed on the edges of my sight, something white that moved without a sound. I lifted my head with a start, but it was gone.

  My heart pounded as I scanned the darkness around the borders of the campfire light. I stared for I wasn’t sure how long, letting out a sigh when convinced it had just been my imagination. That was when I saw it: a glowing form, vaguely that of a man, floating gently from one dilapidated building to another. Without thinking, I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand clutched over it and pulled me back.