The Lost Country

By Brian Bakos

Crown Prince Rupert struggles against ignorance and superstition to rally his countrymen against a dire threat coming from the mysterious East Lands. When disaster finally strikes, it's up to Rupert and his band of often questionable allies to win through or face destruction of the kingdom and everything they hold dear. Clyde, a 'dark lad' from the east and Talbot, a former bandit leader, play key roles in the battle.

Young adult action/adventure fantasy fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Bakos
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301721573

Brian Bakos

I like to write and travel. I'm from the Detroit area originally and try to see other places as often as possible. My most recent travels have been to China, Ecuador, and Belize. Am thinking of my next destination. It's wonderful how travel inspires the writing process. Attended Michigan State University and Alma College.Not much more than that. Anything else I have to say comes out in my books. If you really want to know more, please contact me through my website, https://www.theb2.net/. May life bring you many blessings!

Book preview

One: Kingdom of Make Believe

1. The Pit-Eyed Thing

The Pit-Eyed Thing laughs at me.

The awful creature hovers above the mountain pass. An evil smirk attends its face, and vacant eyes pulse with mockery.

Despite the heat, a chill runs through my veins. I draw my cloak about myself and fight a powerful urge to flee. My mind snarls defiance:

You don’t exist. You’re only my imagination!

The specter fades to nothingness, leaving just the wall of mountains – twelve miles and a whole universe away. I pull my hat down over my eyes so I can no longer see the distant peaks.

My horse stands patiently, awaiting a command. My mental ravings have no effect on her.

Let’s go!

I dig my heals into Vádora’s flanks. We move down the East Road at a trot.

All is normal for a time while our familiar countryside drifts past – golden fields and bright woodlands, the thatched roofs of villages. Wagons loaded with produce rumble by on their way to the capital city. I maneuver through a herd of swine bound for slaughter. Hopefully, they are not bringers of ill omen.

I’ve just passed the eighth milestone when the world changes. The atmosphere blurs and thickens, as if it is more substantial than air. I seem to be looking up from a murky pond bottom. I splash canteen water on my face, but it does not improve my vision.

Try as I might, I cannot stop the reins from trembling in my hands. I twist around in the saddle. Behind me is nothing but empty road shining with heat mirage. The route ahead appears the same.

A wind gust blows off my hat, so I can see the frozen summits ahead. They stand dangerously close, monsters aching to devour me with frozen teeth. The sun becomes impossibly large and descends to block my way. A flock of dark birds explodes skyward. The air wavers, and the Pit-Eyed Thing takes shape before me.

Y-you’re not real. You’re only in my mind!

But there it is hovering over the road, almost invisible against the sun glare. I jab a finger at it.

Be gone!

The wraith smirks. My mind boils. How dare that apparition defy me! I am Crown Prince Rupert of Sopronia. I lower my head and grit my teeth. I force myself onward . . .

When I look up, I am back home.

2. Banner Madness

Humiliation still gnaws at me days later. I’d say I feel unmanned by my failure, were I a man yet and not a lad beginning my 14th year.

The anguish is intense, just the same. Since my defeat on the East Road, I’ve not been out riding again. I’ve scarcely left my chambers, except to take meals and to evade Gaspar.

A festival celebrating the 20th anniversary of Father’s reign will be held in a few days, and there is much redecorating in progress. I dread the whole thing, as I must ride in the parade and give a speech to our people.

Besides, other matters are tormenting me – like that cursed Pit-Eyed Thing. The wraith is haunting my dreams now. What am I to do?

I need a target for my outrage, and I find one in the castle main corridor – an ape of a work crew boss. He stands arrogantly, hands on hips, barking orders at his cringing men as they prepare to replace a musty old tapestry with a large, billowy Sopronian flag.

The man is a bully. I hate bullies. The knowledge that I am also a bully, at times, only makes matters worse.

Our royal crest shows amidst the flag’s red, white, and green stripes. It consists of a crown flanked by a bear and a large water creature of some sort. A bird hovers above all. Pride surges in my heart at the sight, but my ill temper soon returns.

The flying dust makes me cough, and the crew leader turns an annoyed face my direction. When he sees who I am, he jerks to attention, as if somebody has poked his rear end with a dagger.

Good morning, Your Lordship, he says with a deep bow.

Everyone else pays respect as well. I acknowledge them with a nod.

Carry on, I say.

The crew boss turns back toward his workers. Quit idling!

Yes... this gentleman sorely needs a comeuppance. I approach one of the ladders where a worker is just about to climb up.

Step aside, please, I say.

The workman looks astonished but complies soon enough. Yes, my lord.

He moves away. The crew leader steps toward me, a worried frown creasing his face.

Please stand back, Your Lordship, he says. This is a hazardous area.

Really?

I shove past him and scramble up the ladder until I am towering twenty feet above the floor.

Be careful! the crew leader wails.

He grasps the ladder as if his life depends on it. He looks like a complete fool. I’m really enjoying this! The view of the long drop tempers my pleasure somewhat as I’m not overly fond of heights.

Lift the banner up here, I say.

The workers look toward their boss, who shakes his head frantically. Nooo!

Obey me!

Workmen reluctantly hoist up the flag on poles. I and a man on another ladder opposite me grasp it and mount it on the wall hooks. My arm isn’t quite long enough, so I have to lean far over. Just for fun, I pretend to be losing my balance.

Ohhhhhh! the crew boss howls.

Then I’m not pretending any longer. One foot slips off the rung, and my empty hand flails the air.

Ahhhhh! everyone cries.

I can barely keep from screaming along with them. People rush forward, their arms outstretched to catch me. I steady myself at last.

My knees tremble, but my heart is soaring. The crew boss’s face is ashen.

Please come down, he croaks. The King will have my head if you fall.

Excellent! I’m having the time of my life. Then a maid servant appears with depressing news.

Gaspar approaches!

Of course. The old chief steward always shows up just as the fun is starting.

I slide down the ladder and retreat to a doorway recess. Moments later, Gaspar’s tall, bony figure clomps into view. Sun rays from the high windows ricochet off his bald head.

Gaspar isn’t a bad sort, really – nothing like Duke Wiltone, for sure – but he’s very gruff and bossy. His word is law for the entire castle. Even I have to obey him.

What’s all the racket? he demands.

Uh, w-we had some difficulty hanging the banner, Chief Steward... sir, the crew boss says.

Gaspar cocks an eyebrow. So it would seem.

The crew leader shrinks under Gaspar’s scowl, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Maybe he’s learned not to act so puffed up. And if he hasn’t, maybe I’ll teach him another lesson some day.

Has anyone seen the Crown Prince? Gaspar says.

I slither back against the cool stone. The workmen look at their feet, some glance toward me. I place a finger to my lips. The maid servant steps forward, all sweet and innocent.

I saw His Lordship heading for the Great Hall, she says.

Gaspar’s mouth twists. Very well.

He walks away, right past my hiding place. Where is that boy? he mutters. Playing some foolish game, I suppose. How un-Sopronian!

If he’d only looked over, he would have seen me. He’s got good eyes for an old fellow.

Doubtless, he has some tiresome task for me to perform; therefore, I must escape. Here is something to relieve my boredom.

I emerge from my hiding place and blow a kiss to the blushing girl. I shall do her a good turn when I can. Such loyalty should be rewarded. Besides, she is quite pretty.

There are so few young people around. My days blend one into another. I sometimes feel like I’ve been ‘Poofed!’ into existence like a magician’s trick, with no history and nowhere to go into the future.

Gripping an imaginary dagger inside my tunic, I creep along the walls like an assassin stalking an enemy. Thus equipped, I move into the castle’s remote regions.

3. The Dark Lad

My plan is to climb the back tower and escape to the ramparts, but I lose my way in the disused corridors. Dusty light jabs through a high window. Dust lies heavy on the floor, dank air licks my skin.

Lost in my own home? Absurd!

But I can’t get my bearings. The light shaft dims, as if something is blocking the window. A presence seems to lurk in the gloom behind me, though I dare not look back. Panic nips at me.

Be strong, Rupert!

I wish I’d been stronger the other day when the Pit-Eyed Thing foiled me on the East Road. The Pit-Eyed Thing has no mercy, and it mocks our weakness.

We Sopronians can scarcely imagine any reality beyond our frontiers. We never venture abroad, and no outsiders visit. Mountains constrain us on all sides. My failed effort to scale the mountain pass speaks to our isolation.

Everyone says Sopronia is a perfect land that no one in their right mind would ever care to leave. But for me it’s a hothouse in which I can scarcely breathe. I can scarcely breathe now.

One… two… three… I count my paces so as to focus my mind.

By step fifty I’ve turned a corner. Beyond it is a tiny back exit. I dash through it into bright early morning. I breathe in the fresh air and raise grateful arms toward the sky.

Forget the ramparts; this is a day for riding.

* * *

The Royal stables are immaculate, but they still bear the unmistakable odor of horse, the scent of freedom. Before me stretches a long row of stalls, each with an excellent mount looking proudly over the low door.

I scoop up carrots from a hamper and feed one to the nearest horse. His whiskers and rubbery lips tickle my palm. Jonathan, the head stableman, approaches.

Good morning, he says heartily. Your Lordship will be riding today?

I nod.

He waddles off with surprising speed for such a large man.

I stroll behind, offering carrots to various horses until my supply is gone. By the time I reach Vádora, Jonathan has nearly finished putting on her saddle. My beautiful white mare whinnies with joy. She’s hasn’t seen me for several days now, ever since my failed attempt to reach our eastern border.

I pat her neck. Hello, girl.

Jonathan applies the finishing touches to the saddle. Something peculiar catches my attention. It’s just a boy, about my age, cleaning a nearby stall… but he seems extraordinary, somehow.

Unease grips my heart.

You there, I say, what’s your name?

The boy shrinks back. He is broad-shouldered but unnaturally thin, as if he’s been starved. People going hungry in Sopronia? Father would have a fit if he knew.

This is not the most startling thing, however. The lad is dark. His face has a dusky hue, as if someone has rubbed charcoal into it. His complexion is quite different from that of our ruddy people, and especially myself with a skin so pale I can hardly endure the sunshine upon it.

He don’t talk, Your Lordship, Jonathan says. Must be simple-minded, I reckon.

When did he come here?

Two days ago. I’m thinking he wandered away from home and couldn’t take care of himself. I’ve been trying to fatten him up.

The boy moves off, but I block his way.

Look at me when I am addressing you.

A head covered in dark, curly hair swivels up from between hunched shoulders. He has a broad face with a rather hard look to it. Intelligence shows in the eyes. This is no simple-minded person.

I motion him toward the door.

Stop playing dumb, I say once we are outside. Who are you?

He still does not reply. My face begins turning hot.

Answer or I’ll have you flogged!

Actually, I have no authority to do that, but I like the sound of it. The lad doesn’t seem frightened, though.

Do you know who I am?

The lad nods, but still refuses to speak. The insolent…! I cock a fist, and he braces himself for the punch.

Then I pause. What would the King say if he found out? I recall the time he caught me shoving around a servant boy who had failed in his duties. Father cuffed me alongside the head saying:

Use kindness, Rupert. A future king must love his people.

The blow hadn’t hurt much, but the shame of disappointing Father was almost unbearable. My anger drains away; I lower my fist.

Tell me who you are and where you’re from, lad. I promise you’ll not be harmed.

Suddenly, I realize our whole world hangs on the boy’s reply. I feel an urgent desire to snatch back my questions, but it is too late.

My name’s Clyde. I’m from the Eastlands, beyond the mountains.

My chest recoils as if a horse has kicked me. My mouth turns dry, and I reach for the wall to steady myself. The stones feel mushy under my hand.

My name is Clyde, he repeats. I came over Demon’s Maw pass three days ago.

He speaks with a barbarous, sing-song accent, but I understand him well enough. Before I can gather my wits, reckless words tumble out of my mouth:

Take me there.

Alarm shoots across the lad’s broad face. No, Your Lordship, it’s too dangerous.

His distress emboldens me, and I push myself off the wall. I stand firmly now, ashamed that I let myself be seen in a moment of weakness.

Why do you say that, boy?

Bandits, my lord. Don’t venture there without your army goes with you.

Right. I think of our strutting parade ground ‘soldiers.’ They would be a great help.

These ‘bandits,’ I say,