The Falcon and The Stag

by C. J. R. Isely

  He leaned against the wall of the corridor his feet had carried him to and inhaled deeply. The smell of warm spring morning air was wafting through the windows, sweetened with the blooms of a flowering tree somewhere outside.

  The smell was familiar, comforting.

  His eyes shot open and he turned, taking in his surroundings, heart suddenly thundering in his chest. Even without thought, his feet had carried him to the King’s chambers. His chambers now. Not back to his old rooms where he still kept most of his things. Instead, he was here, the rooms his father had always lived in and, years before, his mother. His shoulders relaxed. For reasons he couldn’t begin to name, comfort was washing over him. That he had come here felt like a sign. He was ready to be a King. What he felt now was natural, it had to be. A natural fear of the unknown.

  Forcing his shoulders back, he pushed into the chambers and strode toward the wardrobe. If he was to meet the Earl of Finnwick as the soon-to-be King, then he would look the part.

  * * *

  “How good of you to join us, Prince!”

  Paradon felt a jolt as he stepped into the dinner hall, his father’s black cloak draped over his shoulders. It was empty but for two men seated at the long knights’ table, on either side of the King’s chair.

  The Earl of Finnwick, a tall man with black hair and beard, a scar running along one cheek, and heavy grey eyes, stood, holding his arms out as if to embrace him. Across from him, his face twisted with surprise and disgust, Temrod did not rise.

  “I apologize, Earl Kiva, I overslept!” Paradon barked, embracing the man briefly before waving him back to his seat and taking the ornate throne-like chair between the Earl and his brother.

  “I see you’ve found a new wardrobe,” Temrod said, his tone measured. Paradon could hear the undercurrent of anger.

  He forced a smile, hoping the Earl wouldn’t notice his brother’s attitude. “A cloak this fine shouldn’t be wasted away in a wardrobe for the moths and mice, dear brother.”

  The Earl laughed, a bark-like sound. “Indeed not, fine cloaks and fine horses are two things that no man can ever do without if he’s to survive.”

  “Which is why we’re lucky to have your horses,” Paradon agreed, reaching for the chalice of water beside his plate and gesturing with his other hand for Kiva to begin serving himself from the platters of eggs, bacon, fresh bread, cheese, and fruits.

  “We would be luckier though,” Temrod said, throwing Paradon a venomous look, “if we were the only ones you were willing to trade the fine horses with.”

  Tense silence fell between the three of them, heavy and cold. Paradon bit back the urge to tell his brother to leave, to yell at him. What was he thinking? Finnwick was a free stronghold of Alamore land, allowed to trade with whomever they wanted – including Thornten if they so desired. Why now?

  “Perhaps,” Kiva said finally, his lips pressing into a thin smile that did not reach his eyes, “Your brother will purchase more horses than your father did and at a better price, so I can continue to make sure that my people are fed, my lands tended, my soldiers paid, and my horsemen kept in warm clothing.”

  “Perhaps I shall, or we shall at least need to discuss horses for our coming squires,” Paradon said, trying to steer the conversation back to safe ground. His brother and the Earl were glowering with hatred at one another over a platter of steaming eggs. He wondered if the Earl might throw them in Temrod’s face – he half hoped he would.

  Kiva was the first to look away, laughing and running a hand over his beard. “Temrod, you are rather like your father was in his days before being crowned. He, too, thought that he could control Finnwick. Paradon, you’ve got the benefit of your father’s later years to you. A cool-head and a reasoned tongue. Perhaps you should teach your younger brother some.”

  “I think you’ve mistaken the weakness my father’s age gave him for wisdom, Earl. I feel you will see a strong difference in the running of this country come future,” Temrod’s eyes shifted, locking on Paradon’s own, and a cold chill ran down the older brother’s back.

  “Excuse me, Kiva, I need a word with my brother,” said Paradon. He didn’t give the Earl a chance to answer, pushing his chair back and jerking his head at his brother who stood – a brooding expression on his face.

  Paradon found his hands were trembling, balled into fists at his side, as he led his brother across the empty dinner hall and into the entry hall beyond. It took him a moment to realize that his muscles were jumping not with nerves but with an innate fury that was rising, high and hot, in his chest.

  In the entry hall, he spun to face Temrod and his fists clenched tighter. He wanted to punch him for making him look a fool before the Earl and for making the Earl feel threatened. His hostility wasn’t needed and was unnecessary even with wanting the crown.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Paradon snarled.

  Temrod’s eyebrows raised, a mildly surprised look crossing his almost bored expression. “What am I doing? I’m demanding loyalty from a neutral Earl in our lands.”

  “My lands,” Paradon snapped.

  Something flitted through Temrod’s eyes and Paradon took half a step back, certain for a moment that his brother would punch him. But then Temrod smiled grimly, unnaturally. Somehow the smile was worse than the strike, less like Temrod. “Of course, your lands. So, brother,” he let the word drip from his lips in a poisonous manner, “I take it you’ve made the decision to shackle yourself to the walls and be the voice of ‘reason’ for this Kingdom?”

  “I’m going to do what our father would have wanted if that’s what you mean,” said Paradon. He had to fight to keep himself from shuddering at the look on Temrod’s face. “I’m the rightful heir. This Kingdom is mine and I can’t step down because my people now need me.”

  “Bold words for a man who fled like a boy last night at the realization he can’t play at Prince anymore,” Temrod hissed.

  “Temrod,” said Paradon, hating the pleading rising in his voice, “you have to understand.”

  “What I understand is that you are too scared to do what’s right because people may realize the coward you are!” Temrod’s voice was rising and he took a step forward, his finger stabbing hard into Paradon’s chest. Paradon took another step back in surprise. When had his brother gotten to be so tall? So menacing? No longer was he the child that had played at war. Now he was the man whose eyes burned with it. “You had the chance to live the life you’ve wanted and let this country become the greatest Kingdom the world has ever seen.”

  “Through war?” Paradon straightened, planting his feet. “You were going to tear this country apart in war. Look how you’ve insulted the Earl before the day’s truly begun. Is that what you intended for Alamore? How can a country be great if you burn the bridges and kill the men, women, and children with war and famine? How?” He took a step forward, forcing Temrod to give ground this time. Temrod’s face was twisted with furious hate.

  “Very well,” his voice shook with forced calm. “Very well, very well. You rule this land, Paradon. Rule it until you’re bored with the power and something else new and shiny catches your eye. When that time comes, I’ll be ready to lead the people as they deserve to be led.”

  Paradon wasn’t given the chance to say anything. Temrod wheeled round and strode away, his cloak swaying with each step. Finally finding his voice, Paradon took a step after his brother. “Temrod, wait!”

  But Temrod was already pulling open the black double doors and striding into the bright sunshine of the courtyards beyond.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Paradon moved through the formalities of the following days without truly noticing his surroundings. He greeted powerful Lords, Dukes, Counts, Earls, Ladies, and the Kings of allied Kingdoms. At the feasts each night, he drank until he was numb, until he could pretend not to notice that his brother was missing from the halls. Until he could pretend, even, that Cavian had joined. For not only had his brother become aloof – leaving rooms
as he entered – his best friend and loyal young knight was locked away in his tower whenever not in his knightly duties, still pouring over the old documents for some reason. Not that Paradon had tried to get him to talk. Since the fight with his brother, he had felt hollow. First, he had lost his father and now his brother. His sister had sent word that she would not arrive until that night, the night that he was to finally be crowned King.

  The thought gave him the energy to at last rise from his bed, stomach writhing with nerves, and dress in a plain tunic and breeches. He would come back and change to something more formal before his coronation but, for now, this would do. Until more guests arrived for the final feast tonight, the largest and finest of the celebrations, he needed a distraction. A ride on the horse his father had gifted him before his death would do well. The freedom of galloping through the valley always brought him some comfort.

  He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, despite the warmth of the sun when he slipped from the King’s chamber. With the castle growing ever busier with visitors, he wanted more than ever to be ambiguous.

  “Your Majesty!”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a string of silent oaths before turning to the voice. It was the head mason, wringing his hands and looking nervous, sweat beading his forehead.

  “Hello, Graso, isn’t it?” Paradon silently cursed the alcohol and exhaustion for his poor memory.

  The man stooped into a low bow. “Yes, your Majesty.”

  “No need to grovel, Graso. I am not King until tonight,” Paradon smiled but could feel the expression stop before reaching his eyes.

  The man straightened, his cheek twitching in an attempt at a grin. “An honor, yes, your Majesty. It will be great to have such a fine King as you upon the throne.”

  “Are you here because the passage is done then?” asked Paradon. He didn’t want to think of himself on the throne. There would be years of experiencing it after today.

  Graso nodded. “Very nearly, your Majesty. And I know you’d wanted to see them with your brother, sir, and–”

  A pang shot through Paradon and he shook his head. “I’m not sure Temrod will be joining us.”

  The man’s brow furrowed. “Temrod sent me, your Majesty. He said he wanted a chance to speak, something about he needed to make amends with his brother before entering this next chapter of history.”

  For the first time in days, a thrill ran through Paradon, his heart jumping. “Really? He said that? Graso, where did you see him?”

  “He was already heading down to the passage, with my second – Wimser. Said he’d be meeting you there, yer Majesty.”

  “Lead the way then!” Paradon waved a hand forward. The man looked taken aback but turned, shuffling along the hall toward the stairwell. They had just reached it when Cavian, red-faced and panting, appeared. He looked between Graso and Paradon, wide-eyed.

  “Cavian?” asked Paradon.

  “Paradon, I need a word. Immediately. This is urgent,” Cavian said, ignoring Paradon’s concern.

  “Cavian, can’t it wait? I was going to speak with my brother,” said Paradon.

  “Your brother?” something washed over Cavian’s face. He shook his head frantically. “I need to speak with you before then.”

  “His brother’s waiting, Sir,” Graso said pointedly.

  Cavian threw Graso an annoyed look. “His brother can wait and so can you. I need a word with the high Prince of Alamore.”

  “Your Majesty, shall I tell your brother that he should try to speak with you later then?” asked Graso, wringing his hands again. “Think he’ll be disappointed but –”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Paradon shook his head. “Cavian, just tell me as we walk?”

  “Your Majesty, I’m afraid he shouldn’t come with us,” Graso said, his tone apologetic. “The passage is meant for royals only!”

  Cavian threw Graso a mistrusting look that the older man returned. “Where are you going? Where’s this passage?”

  “It’s a secret,” Graso insisted.

  “Look, you common mule,” Cavian snarled, his face flushing with fury.

  “Cavian! That’s enough!” Paradon barked. Had his whole court gone mad? “Cavian, if you don’t wish to tell me now, then you’ll have to wait.”

  “Paradon, I need to talk to you!”

  Graso grunted, pushing past Cavian and down the steps. Paradon hesitated then started to follow.

  “Temrod is going to betray you!” Cavian yelled and Paradon froze, turning on the step to stare up at his most trusted knight. The young man’s face was taut with distress, his eyes overly bright. “He’s going to try to take the throne, Paradon.”

  The mason had fallen silent behind him on the stairs. The whole world, in fact, had gone silent. It was as if it were only the Prince and Cavian, staring at one another, that existed anymore. “What do you mean?” Paradon asked slowly.

  “You’re not safe with him, Paradon,” Cavian’s voice had become a plea. “He’s going to try to take your throne. You know he wants the throne and if he were to challenge you to Right of Blood, then he could take the crown without question. He’s going to challenge you to Right of Blood – a duel to the death before the court – to see who is a better fit for King…”

  Paradon realized he was shaking his head. He didn’t know how long he had been, but Cavian’s voice had drifted to silence. “No,” Paradon said at last. “No. He’s my brother. You don’t understand because you haven’t any brother of your own.”

  “But Paradon –”

  “Enough!” Paradon yelled. Cavian fell silent. The Prince had had enough. He couldn’t look at the young knight’s pained face so he turned, passing the mason and taking the steps two at a time. He would speak to his brother, prove Cavian wrong.

  “Your Majesty,” Graso was panting as he tried to keep up with the tall man’s strides. “Do you believe he was right?”

  “Not for an instant,” Paradon said firmly. The nagging doubt in his mind was shoved back again. “My brother and I having a disagreement does not mean he intends to kill me for power before the court. Even if he wants power, this is the chance for he and I to discuss it. Now; where is this passage?”

  “This way,” the man took the lead again and the Prince followed, his hood still lowered to hide his face from the visiting dignitaries. They crossed the dinner hall where servants were setting long tables with deep blue cloths and silver cutlery and passed through a door. Paradon’s heart sank as, for a terrible moment, he thought they were entering the room where he’d last seen his father’s body – the Final Farewell – but Graso continued past it and through a different door. It led down a flight of stairs that Paradon didn’t know. He slowed, his hand automatically drifting to his sword hilt for comfort as they descended into the dark corridor. Few torches were lit and, despite Graso’s insistence that this passage had been worked on, the air was cool and stale. It felt untouched for some time, perhaps even years.

  “Where is it?”

  “Not much further now. Right about…yes,” Graso stooped, running his fingers over the flagstone floor. Paradon had to squint in the dim light to make out the small grooves in the stone that the man slipped his fingers under. He lifted and the large rock moved with surprising ease, opening to reveal a black hole in the floor. Paradon’s heart clenched. “Down there?”

  “Yes, your Majesty, down here,” Graso reached for the nearest torch, grabbing it before leaping into the dark below. He didn’t seem to notice the Prince’s apprehension. “It’s not a far drop, your Majesty!”

  Paradon took an uneasy step forward, heart rattling his ribs with an uneasy rhythm. The man was smiling up from below, his bearded face welcoming. Paradon considered refusing, waiting to speak to Temrod until after the coronation after all, then remembered his brother’s look of furious hate. He had caused that. Taking a deep breath, he sat on the floor and lowered himself into the dark.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Where is
Temrod?” Paradon demanded as soon as he straightened. The tunnel had surprisingly high ceilings and, like the passage above, a feeling of old neglect. “How long has this been here?”

  “This is the first wing we worked on,” Graso explained. “We’ll be meeting your brother further in, in the stable passage. He is there to see what the masons are working on today.”

  “Then why didn’t we go there?” asked Paradon slowly.

  “Because,” Graso explained, starting ahead, torch aloft, “I had to show you the escape route. It wouldn’t do for the King to not know how to reach the horses in his own tunnel system. This is killing two birds with one stone.”

  Paradon furrowed his brow. The man’s voice had changed slightly, becoming almost laughing for a moment opposed to the sniveling and subservient scared tone. He shook himself. He was being ridiculous, paranoid even.

  They moved down the hall in relative silence, only broken when the mason would point out an off branch and explain that there were other passages under the castle in different directions. A few times, Paradon shivered, feeling sure he could hear voices echoing off the walls. Then he would berate himself. There were no voices, no people under the castle.

  “I feel like this is centuries of work, not just some design of my father,” Paradon said, at last, breaking his silence.

  “Yes, it is,” Graso agreed. “First builders put some passages under the castle for your ancestors.”

  “To escape?” Paradon furrowed his brow. He hadn’t heard of such a thing.

  “In a way,” Graso said cryptically. “Now, just round this bend, and…yes…”

  Torches were lit around the corner, lighting the red dirt walls, floors, and ceilings of the passage ahead. Someone had strung a ladder reaching from a square in the ceiling to the floor ahead. Paradon stopped, staring at the lines of torches. Someone had taken the time to light all of them. “So, where are we?”