Summer was drawing to a close. The sky over Mount Lisseon was black, darkened by the pregnant clouds that sheered off its peak on a whim. Those white caps, which had inspired many a bard, disappeared under the heavy shadows of that mountain storm. The wind was bearing down out of the northwest and by mid afternoon the clouds that battered the mountaintop would descend upon them with whatever was left.
From the time he was eight years old he walked the battlements of the castle with Lord Engle, listening to his stories. Though the king may claim him as heir, there was no one Daven looked up to more than Engle. The walls of Traimiss castle had stood for more then one thousand years and had not been breached since the Duessite War more than three hundred years ago. During that civil war Duessite warriors had used their knowledge of the underground springs to erode the ground under the southeast corner and collapsed a portion of the wall. After the war, they built a tower to seal the gap, the Queen’s Tower. The same architects who engineered its collapse were responsible for its restoration.
By the time he was twelve, Daven had traveled to each of the original four kingdoms, including Duessa. Drake was the furthest south. It boasted of green rolling hills, knitting together a patchwork of crops producing hundred-fold what its people could consume. Daven liked their lord-king, Faircastor. Even though he essentially was a farmer at heart, the older man had a wealth of stories from the many battles he had waged.
Ogalon was beautiful for all its seascapes but it was Daven’s least favorite place to visit. Ratheborne, second cousin to Daven’s father, ruled it. Daven hated him for his limp manners and gaudy attire. Ogalon occupied a narrow strip of peninsula along the west. It was blessed with a sheltering harbor and close ties to the wealthy merchants of Weldon.
Duessa, dominating the eastern coast, was a hard and wild land protected by a vast forest and a labyrinth of trails and meadows that only a Duessite guide could navigate. Little was understood about Duessa and her people. Those who survived the war raised a generation as untamed as the forests they occupied. Their knowledge of nature and the curative properties of the land had been deemed dangerous and heretical by the priests and leaders of the church.
Traimiss, the fourth and final kingdom, was home. Military might was what raised that early king over the others. It boasted the king’s capital, a town less than five miles from the castle’s outer wall. The rest of Traimiss was a vast grazing land shielded by the Lisseon Mountains to the north, the great river Eurene to the west and the dense forests of Duessa to the east.
Daven stopped at the northwest tower and descended a narrow ramp into a damp corridor. The light dwindled to a smoky haze of flickering torches. He had an audience before his father this morning and had delayed long enough.
The air inside was stagnant with the sweat of fearful old men too feeble to raise sword. Some once a part of his father’s inner circle, men who had fought to secure his throne when Gilchrist tried to usurp him. As a boy Daven looked up to these men as heroes but now he saw them as a cancer needing to be cut out. The only man capable of providing a cure his father had sent away.
Daven marched through the corridor brushing past some of them as the walls narrowed and widened. Many raised their brows and bowed their heads as he passed. Some tried to speak, under the mistaken impression they could offer counsel. Daven was in no mood to listen to their explanations or platitudes.
Daven knew how many clung to Engle’s cloak plying for his aid when Engle was in favor. They were absent when he stood accused and now they would eagerly to realign themselves to Daven if he let them. Stephen warned him to expect it. The very notion of needing and creating alliances for the express purpose of furthering one’s own interest was repellent. So much so that he came to hate the very idea of every attaining the crown. He was very pleased to leave off such ambitions for his brother.
Weeks had passed since Engle’s exile and Daven had not spoken to his father in nearly as long. He arrived at the chamber door. His chest tightened so he could hardly breathe. His stomach felt as thought he carried the weight of a smithy’s block. The sensation was so vivid his legs started to go numb under the weight so that he feared they might give out before the door opened. He took several deliberate breaths to clear his head. The weight lifted but he broke out in a cold sweat. He wiped his hands on his tunic leaving greasy stains on the linen that grew larger as he tried to blot at them with his sleeve.
Naturally the door to the antechamber was situated in the busiest causeway. The passage narrowed forcing any who needed to get through to press against him. Their proximity added to his nerves and he felt his jaw starting to twitch. The last thing he wanted to be was agitated or nervous. He slapped the errant muscle, leaving a perfect red handprint on his cheek. At times like these he hated his brother. He knew if their situations were reversed he knew Stephen would be self-possessed, not feeling a thing. He could press against the stones without crushing his linens or being crushed by the people who passed.
Not that it would make much of a difference to his father whether he had Stephen’s self-possession or not. Little enough was counted upon in a second son. The least Daven could offer was a true opinion, even if his father did not want to hear it. Engle was innocent. Of that Daven was certain.
Daven heard that his father was keeping to one subject- his plans for the upcoming millennial celebration. Daven understood the significance of that event. One thousand years had passed since their dynasty began to rule the amalgam that was Lisseon. The expectation was that he would announce his successor. It was customary for the king to choose his elder son but not required.
It was taking a long time. Daven worried he may have changed his mind about seeing him. Being sent away was a humiliation he was not ready to endure. He preferred a repeat of their last disastrous meeting, to being dismissed after standing in the corridor in full view of so many and for so long. Finally the doors opened flooding the passage with midday sun. Daven’s eyes had adjusted to the torchlight so he was temporarily blinded. He barely set foot over the threshold before his father started barking.
“As you may have guessed, I summoned you here to go over the details of your role in preparing for the celebration. If you broach that other topic with me I shall have you banished from all festivities.” William grumbled at him, without looking up from his breakfast.
“As you wish.”
“No new arguments?” The disheveled hair and red puffy eyes indicated his father had another sleepless night with his wine and his conscience.
“I am here to wait upon your command.” Daven returned, his voice a little louder than he intended
“Indeed. Your face speaks for you. But there is nothing that I haven’t already heard or told myself.”
His father picked up the bowl, slurping the porridge as he labored to swallow it. Daven remembered how his father used to have the stomach for a hearty breakfast of bread and cheese, veal and eggs. It was not so long ago that he was the first to rise in the palace, chiding the rooster for his tardiness. Daven hardly recognized him now. He tried not to watch. “Perhaps if you lingered less with your wine, Engle may not have become a victim.” He muttered.
William looked up sharply. He heard what Daven had said. “You do not let an opportunity go by if you can use it to defy me.”
“I came at your summons to hear what orders you would give me.”
“Word of your purpose to acquit your friend has spread throughout Traimiss and far beyond. It must come to an end.” His father slammed the bowl onto the table, slopping porridge slopped over his hand.
“If your verdict is infallible, why should it anger you if I ask questions?”
“Your opinion of me must not be presented in this matter! The celebration is fast approaching and I deserve your obedience. You cannot be fueling question and doubt before the allies we so desperately need.”
William pushed away his food and rose. Daven sucked in a quick breath and did not waver, no matter how his hands shook. It was still a natural thing for him to fear his father’s displeasure. His father was a large man. Age had lowered him enough to stand at eye level with Daven.
“In a time when we applaud our peace and justice, how can I keep silent?”
“No. You will not keep your tongue still for anything.” He spoke in a low tone, tightly controlled, a quietness Daven had come to dread. “No shred of evidence to supports your demands and still you persist! Do not think you are the only one to have called Engle friend. He would not speak to defend himself.” He hesitated and almost sneered. “How is it I should have defended him?”
“You are the king. Who else should defend him?”
William shoulders rolled forward and his voice softened. “Engle’s sins are his own. Best to leave them be. My generosity is greater than you know.”
There was ache in his father’s voice. Daven did not understand why, but it called to mind something he had overheard with a new meaning. His stomach twisted. Wild tales always circulated about the family and Engle. All of it born from imaginings of the malicious and thwarted, but what if there were some of truth in it.
“I want to believe the lies I have heard whispered within these walls.” Daven blurted. His words ahead of his reason again. He did not want to go down this path with his father.
“Whispers? Have you been skulking behind doorways, panting for gossip like a lonely woman knowing that’s the only pleasure she will receive?” The silence grew thick between them. “Have you nothing better to occupy yourself?” His father prompted again.
“I have heard things.” Daven lowered his voice, suddenly aware that his father’s attendants were still in the room. “Abominable things that certainly would have to be answered for were they true. I did not make note of them till now, when it occurred to me that you might have been rash enough to believe them.”
William looked past him and jerked his chin. Daven heard the shuffle of their boots as they filed out of the room. His father waited for the door to shut before he spoke.
“How is it I am rash because of the gossip of old women?”
Daven faltered. The back of his neck prickled, the bile too revolting to repeat. His father’s gaze never wavered. “I just want the truth to be known.”
“You refuse to repeat the lies you heard. Yet you stand here impugning me for having been swayed by them. Any man not my son would hang from the gallows for such insolence, both for the insult to Engle’s name and for abusing my authority. For the last time there was nothing more to Engle’s trial than what was read.” His tone firm if weary. He paused then continued: “I called you here to tell you that you will be joining your brother and the regiment he is taking to escort King Waldhar safely to Traimiss. I am determined to have Androna as an ally so imitate your brother’s graciousness and we should do well.”
“I will obey. Milord.” Daven choked on his tongue to sound composed. The door opened. “Ah yes!” Daven observed as Stephen came through it. “What a relief that you should arrange for my brother to arrive before I might say something irrational.”
William ignored his flippant comment and walked over to the window.
“Our mother is eager to see us before we leave. Our journey starts day after tomorrow. Should take us less than a fortnight to reach the southern border and meet King Waldhar at the crossing.”
It was such an obvious ploy to relieve their father of his embarrassing presence. Daven saw red. He grabbed the table and turned it over with such violence it slid half way across the room. Bowls and cups went crashing onto the floor. His father’s goblet bounced onto his foot. He kicked up into his hand and threw across the room. It felt like one motion. He saw it fly past his father’s head spraying its contents before Daven was aware what he had done. The goblet hit the wall with a loud thwack. His anger swiftly changed to remorse. His father rushed at him with his hands raised. Daven braced for the blows. They did not fall.
The king stopped, his breath a burst of sharp exhales. Daven slowly looked up. The hatred blazing out of his father’s eyes hurt him more than any blow could have done. Not even Stephen could find words. They stood there for a long while.
“Strike!” Daven challenged. “Strike!”
“I would if you had any idea what you are doing. You’re just a boy, foolish and idealistic. Forgive me. I have no ideals left.” William slowly dropped his arms to his side and stepped back.
“I am exactly what Engle raised me to be.”
“I doubt he would find that a compliment right now. I am afraid you are my son now more than ever.”
“If that was a regret I could fix.”
“Another word and I’ll not know you again.”
Stephen placed his hands on Daven’s shoulders.
“Remove your hands.” Daven hissed.
King William drew back swiftly and landed a blow hard against his cheek sending Daven sprawling to the floor. He pointed his finger at him and thundered: “You are not to speak to your brother in such a manner again! There may be cowards and fools enough deserving of your disdain. He is not one of them.”
Daven stood, then straightened his tunic and walked out. He had never remembered seeing his father strike anyone. The pale expression on Stephen’s indicated he had not either. The door slammed behind him but not before Stephen’s footsteps came charging after him.
“I will ride under your command.” Daven shouted back. “I’ll give you no trouble. It is not you, it is him.”
Stephen caught up and tried to put his hand on his shoulder. Daven shook his head and walked faster.
“Why should we quarrel when we want the same thing?” Stephen reasoned.
“Indeed? I would sacrifice my future for just one shred of justice? Are you willing to do the same? It seems to me that your hunger for the throne killed your appetite for anything else.”
“I only see that there is more to justice than the life of only one man who willingly sacrificed himself.”
“It’s true isn’t it? You know Engle is innocent and yet do nothing.”
“I honor what he honored.”
“Indeed? And I suppose the vicious beatings he received awaiting trial was to honor what he honored.”
“He suffered for what he honored. His sacrifice was for our family, that we might be better and fix greater wrongs.”
“I am not a fool or a child. I am entitled to know.”
“No one can speak to the king’s reasons except the king.” Stephen said.
“He may yet answer to a higher judgment. But that’s not what I asked you.” Daven lowered his voice and his next words held a tone of appeal. “What do you know?”
“The king has made his decision. The more you make a spectacle of it the worse it gets.”
“Go,” Daven returned. “Collect your crown. He waits for you.”
“Nothing is fixed my brother.”
“I would not take it if he offered. I will not risk becoming anything of what he is.”
Stephen shook his head. Daven turned away and continued down the passage. What he said he meant. He just never meant to say it.
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