by C. J. Krüger
“How are you?” I ask him gently.
I see his hands tremble, and it looks as if he is about to drop my armor.
“Fi—fine, sir,” he stammers. “I had a good dinner.”
“The quality of a man’s health shouldn’t be measured by his last meal,” I say softly.
“Wise words,” the servant agrees, and then glances at the door. A well hidden flicker of passion flashes in his eyes. “Do you truly wish to know how I am, my Prince?”
My brows lift and my lips go very dry. I nod. “I do,” I say, though I dread his answer. I’m well aware of how servants are treated in my kingdom, but I don’t ever look too closely. It’s an unspoken and ugly truth that we all try to ignore.
“I am tired and weak because the soldiers get all the food. Sometimes, even when they are full, they will take more and then burn the scraps so that we cannot eat,” he explains, his voice shaking.
“I’ll have a word with the men,” I assure him without thinking. “That’s a disgusting thing to do.”
The servant shakes his head. “Do not bother,” he says through his teeth. “The soldiers will only hurt us because they think we should be grateful for what we do get.”
This is wrong. Human life means more than this, I think, trying to fight back my rage. I feel my fingers digging into my palm, and I struggle to relax my fist. “I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. “I’m ashamed I didn’t know of this sooner.”
“You’re always fighting wars or learning to rule,” the servant says, as if it were a practiced response. “How could you know?”
I don’t think the man meant to strike a nerve, but he made my heart skip a beat. How could I, the Prince of Kal-Gora, possibly know the turmoil of my people? I am so far removed from them that I cannot even comprehend their struggles, even when I do look closely.
“What is your name, my friend?” I ask, pushing my thought aside.
“I—” he hesitates, and I see him bite his lip. “Zed.”
“Jonathan,” I say, holding my hand out to shake his.
“I know who you are,” he says, looking at my hand. He shakes his head. “We are not friends.”
I pull my hand back, and nod. “True enough,” I say softly, and sigh.
His lips pull back into a small smile. “I mean no offense, Wolfe Prince.”
“I know,” I tell him, and take a deep breath. “But you are the first person to refuse my hand. Somehow, I find that refreshing.” I chuckle and lift my hand to stroke my chin. A thought occurs to me: I want to help Zed. He hasn’t put on my armor yet. “I can dress myself, Zed,” I tell him, my eyes glancing toward the entrance of the pavilion. “Go tell the quartermaster that the prince wants a full chicken, bread, and tomatoes. Bring them back here and eat your fill.”
His eyes narrow and he shakes his head firmly. “I do not want your charity,” he hisses.
I lift my hand. “It’s not charity,” I try to explain. “You did something for me just now and the least I can do is make sure you get some food. You should hurry, though, for I must leave soon. They will suspect something if you eat while I am away.”
“I—”
“Are you really going to pass up a chicken and tomatoes?” I ask him, a small smile on my lips.
His face brightens for a moment, and he looks ten years younger. “Thank you, my Prince,” Zed says, bowing low.
I watch as he departs, and I feel a bittersweet pang in my heart. Such a small kindness should not be a shock. The Lights tell us to be generous, and kind, and to love… how has my kingdom departed so far from those core ideas?
My father, I think sadly. Though he claims to be acting by Divine Right, and adamantly explains his actions as the will of our Twin Gods, I believe it to be false. My teeth sink into my cheek painfully and I feel a chill run up my spine. Deep within myself, I know this isn’t right. My father is lying. This could never be the work of Sol-Theron and his mate, I’luna. They are our Lights, the Eternal Parents whose wrath is to be feared, and whose love is to be cherished.
I have to stop my father. The thought is so sudden and violent that I feel my knees buckle under me. I fall against a table, and use all my strength to steady myself. I feel a warm trickle flow over my side and down my leg. I touch the warm liquid. Blood.
“My Prince!”
I turn around and see Rolf entering the tent, his face twisted up in concern.
“I am fine,” I assure him and stand upright. “What is it you want, my friend?”
He furrows his brows. “Just to check to see if you’re ready. The stable master sent me to inform you that your charger is ready to ride.”
I nod. “I’ll be out in a moment,” I tell him and take a seat at my desk. “I sent a servant for food just now. A small bite to eat before battle. Make sure the men are ready and their armor is inspected.”
“As you say, sir,” Rolf says, turning to take his leave.
I sit there, panting in pain. I run my fingers across my tender side and grimace. Thankfully the bleeding is only a slow trickle, but the hurt I feel is almost mind-numbing. Several moments pass where I struggle to steady my breathing. Finally, the pain begins to subside and I stand up.
I walk over to the armor rack and begin to dress myself in the armor. The task is a chore that will take almost ten minutes to complete. As I am about to put on the breastplate, Zed comes back into my tent with his food.
“You look like you could use this more than I,” he says, taking note of my labored breathing.
I shake my head. “Just in pain from my wounds,” I explain. “Once I’m on the field, I’ll hardly notice them.”
He scoffs. “And die,” he says pointedly. “Take off your tunic.”
“Why?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“Because I can tend to your wound better than your healers,” he explains, setting the tray of food down.
It’s a struggle to lift the tunic over my head, and I can feel the motion pulling on the wound again. I grunt in pain, but before it gets worse, I feel a cool and soothing sensation on the wound.
“What is that?” I ask, blinking as I watch Zed apply some kind of salve under the wound dressing.
As he works, he slowly removes the bloodied bandages, exposing my wound to the air. The soothing feeling becomes more intense, and I feel the pain evaporate like water on a scorching day.
“Secret,” he says, rubbing the medicine into the wound. “Rest for ten minutes. The wound won’t open again.”
I blink away my surprise and roll my shoulders back. “I don’t understand.”
“Herbs from Elven lands,” he says, his lips tight, as if he is unwilling to say more. “Your father thinks they are pretty…” he trails off.
“I see,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thank you, Zed. I owe you a lot more than a meal now.”
He chuckles. “You won’t remember,” he says, walking back to his food. “You’re a good man, Wolfe Prince, but when you go, you won’t remember. You do something now because you see me, but when I am not in front of your face, you will forget.”
The urge to tell him that he is wrong is overwhelming, but I manage to bite back my tongue. Zed isn’t wrong in his assumption and a baseless promise will do nothing. I look away and go back to my task of putting on my armor. The full suit is heavy and it’s difficult to move, but thanks to Zed, I am in no pain. It’s as if the medicine seeped into the wound and is spreading all over my body. Even my toes are tingling.
“Finish your meal quickly, Zed,” I tell him after the ten minutes have gone by. “I need to go. Again, thank you.”
He nods. “Thank you, Wolfe Prince,” he says softly. “Lights be with you.”
“And with you.”
* * *
“I’m going to stop this,” I say quietly. “This is wrong.”
The final Dying Star is being put into place against the base of the Terra Dam. My men stormed through earlier, killing any enemy troops they encountered. The Borlesions left
the dam mostly unguarded, thinking it impossible to attack.
And in a few moments, I will be responsible for ripping it down.
“This can’t happen,” I say again, this time with more confidence.
My father is a monster and if he takes over the Borlesion Empire, the world will enter an age of darkness. Even the mighty Elves could fall against the sheer power of my father’s endless hordes.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Rolf says, looking at me with a frown.
“We have to stop this, Rolf,” I say earnestly. “If we destroy this city, the rest of Boria will crumble.”
His face goes blank and he blinks several times. “Is that not the point, sir?” he asks, confusion and concern hanging over him.
“We don’t get to see it properly, Rolf,” I say slowly. “But my father is a monster. He’s using the Holy Lights to justify this campaign, but we both know it’s a lie.”
Horror registers on Rolf’s face, and he steps away from me. “Sir, that’s an awful thing to say about the king. Your father!”
“It’s true, Rolf,” I say, my heart beating fast, and I clench my fists. “The Holy Lights are Gods of love and respect. They would never tell my father to coldly destroy another land. To kill people that speak out against him. To bleed the people dry. He says he does it in Their name, but it’s a lie. It has to be!”
“No,” Rolf says firmly. “Your father rules with Divine Right. This sounds like talk of the enemy.”
“The enemy?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. “My father… oh… oh no.” My mind reels with the implication, and my breath becomes quick, and painful. “My father isn’t ruling with Divine Right, Rolf… he’s not even serving the Lights.”
My friend seems to understand my meaning, but his hand reaches for his sword. “What foul sorcery has taken hold of you, my Prince? First you talk of stopping your father, and now you accuse him of serving the Darkness? You are not well, Jonathan.”
“Rolf, my friend,” I say, my voice sharp and low. “Look into your heart and pray. Ask the Mighty Sun if this is right to do, and then listen to the wisdom of the Loving Moon. You will see as I do that we must stop this.”
He shakes his head and draws his blade. “I have prayed,” he says, shining droplets of water forming in the corners of his eyes. “And I know Their will. Darkness has twisted and tricked you, my Prince. I cannot let you stand in the way of your father’s holy conquest. He will unite all men and cleanse this world.”
“From what, Rolf?” I ask bitterly. “From the Darkness? My father is either being tricked that this is right, or he’s insane and willfully consorts with evil. Can you not see that?”
My oldest friend steps close to me, taking an aggressive stance. “Stand down, my Prince. I do not wish to harm you.”
My hand takes hold of the sword on my hip. I look down below and see a soldier start to light the fuse to the Dying Stars.
“Stop!” I shout down at him. “Do not ignite that fuse.”
The soldier looks up at me, the torch light revealing his confused face. “Sir?”
“Do not listen to him!” Rolf shouts. “The Darkness has addled his mind. Our prince is not well. Light the Dying Stars for our King!”
I glare at my friend and step back. “I am your prince,” I say acidly. “Your friend! Do not do this, Rolf. You know me.”
“Not anymore,” he says, lifting his blade to chest height and lunging at me.
Instinctively, I parry the strike and attempt to slash Rolf across the chest. The blade glances off his armor but sends Rolf backward. “Don’t you dare light that fuse!” I shout down at the solider as I advance on Rolf.
“Do it!” Rolf shouts. “For your King and the honor of our Holy Lights. Listen to our Prince now and doom yourself to the Dark.”
As Rolf talks, I see a shadowy aura flowing out from his back. I watch in horror as it grows larger and engulfs his arms. He lunges at me again, his movements so swift that my eyes have trouble following. I feel his blade clash against my armor, leaving a rent in it, and I am sent several feet across the ground.
“Rolf,” I gasp, my chest feeling as if an anvil smashed against me. “Rolf! Look at yourself.”
He begins to laugh. “I see it,” he says, his face twisting into a mad grin. “The Lights have blessed me with their strength! Strength to take you down and bring them glory.”
He does not see that it’s shadow surrounding him! I lift myself off the ground and ready my blade. “My dear friend,” I say, my heart aching. Lights, please grant me the strength to break him free.
My friend rushes at me again, his movements like lightning, quick and unpredictable. I manage to parry another blow, but the force of his attack leaves my arms numb. He strikes again madly, and I lift my blade to defend myself. His blows are like that of a smith against an anvil, and just as powerful.
Please! Holy Lights help me.
A surge of white light ignites my sword and flows into my body. Rolf recoils away and drops his blade. Not knowing what else to do, I point the tip of my blade at him. A beam of light erupts from the point and strikes him full in the chest.
“No!” he screams, his voice a hollow echo as a plume of dark smoke erupts from his mouth. Rolf falls to the ground, panting and writhing in pain.
I rush over to him, dropping my blade. “Rolf, Rolf. Are you alright?”
“I’m sorry, my Prince,” he says, his voice weak. “I was wrong. How could I have been so blind?”
“It’s alright, Rolf,” I say, running my armored hand across his face. “We’ll stop this.”
I glance behind me to the base of the dam. The solider is running away, and I gasp in horror. The Dying Star has been ignited.
“We have to go!” I shout, attempting to lift Rolf off the ground.
“No time,” Rolf says as he gets up slowly. “I’m too weak to run. Leave without me.”
I shake my head and try to pull him with me. “I’m not going to leave you behind.”
A loud explosion echoes in the night and I feel the ground shake under my feet. Terra Dam is crumbling.
“Go!” Rolf shouts, shoving me off him.
Another explosion erupts and more of the dam begins to chip away. The stone falls from under my feet and I feel myself smack against the ground. I look up and see the section of the dam where Rolf was standing has fallen down.
He is gone.
Frantically I try to search for him, but the groans of the breaking stone sober my thoughts. I try to get up and flee, but before I take another step my side of the dam crashes down as well. A sudden feeling of emptiness takes hold of my body as I fall. I don’t even have time to realize what’s happening before the water crushes my armor on impact.
Pain. Unimaginable pain rips through my chest and lungs. I can’t breathe even though I try. My sight leaves me and darkness envelops my mind.
All is lost. The Void is working through my father and I unknowingly handed him the one empire strong enough to stop him on a gilded platter. How could I have been so naive? Why did I think creating those Dying Stars was good? They are weapons of destruction and I thought they would earn my father’s love. Such a foolish, foolish child I am.
Lights, help me, please. I love you both with all my heart. Please forgive what I have done and give me the strength to right this terrible wrong.
Chapter Three
Birds I don’t recognize are singing around me. I am warm and dry and feel the gentle kiss of the sun on my face. Am I dead? I ask myself, but dismiss the idea as I struggle to move my finger. Pain courses through my arm, and my eyes open sharply.
I am in a white room, with sheer drapes around my bed. A window is open behind me and the sunlight streams in gently. My whole body aches, but so long as I stay still, the pain is manageable.
“You’re awake,” a gentle, feminine voice says.
I look toward the sound, and feel my breath catch in my throat. She is beyond anything I have ever seen in my life. Her long red hair is fl
owing down her back and shoulders, and she is wearing a long white robe. Piercing green eyes look over me, and there is a distinctly wild look about her.
“Who are you?” I ask, my throat parched and my voice comes out as a wheeze.
“Eldatha,” she tells me, approaching my bedside. Her hair flows as she moves, and I see the sharp point of her ears.
“An Elf!” I croak out, fighting the urge to crawl back and away from her.
This causes her to laugh. “You think you can escape me, human?” she asks in a low voice, and her pupils dilate like a cat’s.
I try to breathe but it feels stuck in my chest. “I—”
“Shh,” she says gently, laying a hand on my chest.
A strange calm passes through me and my breathing becomes easier. My heart stops pounding in my chest and even my pain lessens. “What are you doing?” I ask, curiosity gnawing at my mind. “Or rather, how are you doing it?”
“You can feel my magic?” she asks, her sharp brows furrowed. “Interesting.”
“I don’t know what I feel,” I tell her soberly. “But I know I should be afraid of you, yet I am not.” Even my voice sounds different to my own ears, as if it’s not coming from my own lips.
She pulls back her hand and tilts her head. “I did not want you to move around and pull open all your wounds. The river broke your body in several places.”
The sensation is gone when she removes her hand and I look up at her, my eyes narrowed. “Your people saved me?” I ask, trying not to sound ungrateful. “Thank you.”
Her lips pull back into a smile. “I’m not sure how much they are to blame for saving you,” she says lightly. “The scout who found you washed up on the bank wanted to put you out of your misery.”
My nose wrinkles and I try to turn my head to look at her. “What stopped them?”
“Me,” she says, leaning in close, and breathing on my ear. “I thought you were attractive… for a human. It would be a waste for you to simply be killed.” Her eyes brighten and she throws her head back, letting out a silvery laugh. “I’m jesting. I just don’t believe in giving up that easily.”
