Brother Betrayed

By D. M. Raver

What would you give to protect your brother? Would you sacrifice all you cherish and desire to save his life?

And what would you do if he betrayed you?

Full of loyalty and courage, vengeance and loss, Brother Betrayed is an engaging tale of brotherhood, set in the fantastical world of Miscia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. M. Raver
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301045273

D. M. Raver

Fantasy author for over twenty years, D. M. has a passion for writing and literature. Her first novel, Brother Betrayed, is the prequel to the Flight Moon series, published 11/11/11. Fire Born and Fate of Fire are the first books in the series. Upcoming books are Converging Flames and Wild Fire. Other works include: City of Silver - a dystopian fantasy about a young girl with the power to save a dying city. The Enchantress - an arabian fantasy about a woman, some toys, and an intelligent white tiger. Deep Dark Waters - a collection of poetry Dying to Live Again - a contemporary fantasy

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Syah strolled the outer walls of the capital city, keeping vigil of the fields and forests surrounding Anteria. Though his thin, humble form was a familiar sight on the city’s walls, the soldiers on watch still bowed to him. He passed with a nod and continued his leisured pace.

Farmers had begun preparing the soil for spring planting. The brisk breeze brought up sounds from the city, creaking carts transporting goods, city dwellers waking and conducting their business.

Syah spotted a cluster of riders crossing the freshly tilled field to the north. He leaned on the parapets and watched them approach. He found his brother among the group, close to the front, his long wavy black hair set wild by what must have been a difficult journey.

The reason for the group’s labored approach was apparent. A flash of black erupted amongst the gathered riders, tousling them. It was a captive horse, with a coat that gleamed like crow’s feathers. Syah knew it was not a steed of Anteria.

Guards! the prince called as he hurried for the stairs. Send for Oman! Inform him Fasime has returned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oman examined the rows of weapons positioned precisely upon the tables, his tall, muscular form commanding the room. Each blade and handle shone without blemish in the morning light.

These represent the work of the finest craftsmen in Arnith, a late-aged adviser told him. He was one of three advisers in the room, along with two squires who had arranged the display. The prince smiled inwardly, knowing none of them had ever truly wielded a weapon.

Oman found a two-handed sword with a thick guard and a grooved, hexagonal pommel. The fuller was simple and extended almost the length of the blade. Its leather and metal bore no intricate designs, as the other swords did. The prince traced the grooves of the pommel thoughtfully.

Who made this sword?

I believe it was Reddock of Anteria, the same smith who constructed your current sword, sire.

Tell us the design you desire, another adviser added, and we will start him working on it right away.

Oman turned to a faint call echoing against the castle’s stone hallways. Prince Oman! It was repeated closer. A servant entered and bowed, catching his breath. Prince Fasime has returned.

Oman’s gaze went to the window, though it only offered a view of the empty courtyard before the castle.

So, we will see if the rumors of a wild stallion roaming the Arnithian countryside were true, he chuckled and lifted the heavy blade.

Sire, do you wish Reddock to create your new sword? the adviser asked in a hurried tone, seeing Oman start to leave.

This one will do, Oman stated and left, heading towards the back entrance of the castle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rope dug into Fasime’s sweaty palms, but he tightened his fists. The closer they drew to the city the more agitated the stallion became. Five other riders surrounded the beast with ropes lashed around its neck, struggling to keep it subdued. Perhaps he remembers this place, Fasime mused.

Without warning the stallion reared up, striking out with its hooves. The ropes stretched taut, ripping through the other riders’ hands. The bindings gave way and the steed broke from its bonds. The heavy beast bucked and then slammed against Fasime, nearly knocking him off his mount. The ropes were jerked back before the stallion could rear up again.

Sir, are you all right? a soldier inquired.

Fasime ran his hand down his leg, feeling it ache from the impact. He checked the restrained, rasping stallion. The black beast neighed with fury, stomping its hooves in the ground as the tight ropes pulled him forward again. The stallion turned its eye towards him with purpose. Fasime wrapped the rope around his hand a second time.

Let’s get him to the paddock before he tries that again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The riders escorted the stallion into the fenced area outside the city’s outer wall. They were relieved by soldiers on the ground. The steed still tried the ropes, wrenching its head and body with such force it lifted some of its captors off the ground.

Fasime dismounted unsteadily. He noticed Oman and Syah observing the scene from outside the fence.

Fasime, you fool! Oman called as their usually agile brother limped towards them.

Fasime leaned on the wooden fence and drank from a canteen. He turned around to gaze at the stallion, snorting and shaking its head.

It’s true, Oman, he is the colt we lost three summers ago.

How do you know that? Syah asked.

Most horses become used to their fences within a moon. He has never known one.

The soldiers shouted as the stallion reared up, knocking several of them onto the ground. They scattered to avoid the steed’s pummeling hooves. When their ropes had it subdued, one of them approached the princes.

Was anyone injured? Oman asked.

No, my lords, the soldier answered then turned to Fasime. Perhaps we should put the beast down, sir. He is untamable.

I did not track the stallion for half a moon to have him be slaughtered as cattle are for their skin.

Fasime, the horse is mad. There is no use trying to tame it, Oman told him.

Just look at him. His coat matches father’s stallion. He belongs to the Anteria. He is destined to be a horse of kings.

A grim expression came over Syah’s face. The colt you speak of lost its mother during a storm. If this stallion was that colt, it is not just wild, it is insane. He will break your bones!

And that will be a worthy end, a prince struck down by such a noble steed.

Fasime pushed himself off the support of the fence, but Oman grabbed his arm. It’s not worth it, brother.

Fasmine’s clean-shaven face regarded Oman with amusement. I can tame him.

And what will we tell Mother and Father if he kills you? Oman demanded.

Tell them I gave my life with pride. Don’t punish him if he kills me. Release him back into the wild, and my spirit will ride him into the mist.

Fasime broke free from Oman.

Fasime! Oman cried.

You cannot bring a wild thing into civilization. It won’t conform to our existence, Syah pressed.

You had better stand back from the fence, little brother, Fasime replied, turning his back to them and facing the struggling steed.

Let us quarter the steed in the stables, a soldier urged when they noticed Fasime returning, until it calms.

He has sensed our fear, Fasime spoke in even tones, approaching the steed straight on. The stallion’s labored breaths matched his measured footsteps. My fear equals his own. The prince reached out his hand.

Caution, Prince, a soldier warned, not raising his voice for fear of spooking the steed.

When Fasime was close, the stallion snorted and tossed its head. Though Fasime winced, he forced himself not to withdraw. You know I am afraid, he told the beast. The horse gnashed its teeth and pawed at the ground. Fasime stood his ground. For three cycles you have wandered Arnith’s forests, free from any enclosure or binding, but you will remember what you are. Fasime reached out and grabbed the ropes an arm’s length from the stallion’s head. Release the ropes on my command, the prince stated to the surrounding soldiers. Release him and remove yourselves from the paddock.

You don’t mean to ride the steed bareback! Oman shouted.

It is not the saddle that will tame him.

Before the soldiers or the stallion knew what he was doing, Fasime ducked below the ropes. He grabbed the coil of ropes around the horse’s neck and used it to propel himself onto its back. The stallion’s muscles rippled beneath him. Release him!

Prince Fasime, no! It's too dangerous!

All the soldiers tightened their holds as the stallion shook its head and tried to back out of the ropes.

The prince tightened his grip on the knots and drew his sword.

Fasime, don’t! Oman cried.

Fasime swung his blade, severing several of the ropes. The stallion trampled the ground, almost able to break free.

You had all better run! Fasime yelled. Amidst cries on all sides, he aimed his sword for the ropes on his right. Though only two ropes snapped at the impact, the remaining ropes were unable to contain the stallion’s force. It pushed four sturdy legs into the earth, and its gallop was instantaneous. It tore around the paddock, narrowly missing soldiers as they fled the flying hooves. Fasime dropped his sword and gripped the ropes with both hands to avoid being thrown. The stallion seemed to sense him, but focused on speed rather than bucking him off. It galloped for the fence, leaping it with ease, barely jolting Fasime as it hit the ground, and maintained its momentum as it entered the field.

Fasime’s brothers watched him lean forward, grasping the fugitive steed with all his strength.

Without a bridle Fasime will be unable to steer him, Syah remarked.

Oman shook his head. The beast won’t slow until it has tossed him onto the forest floor, and the stubborn fool won’t let go while he still draws breath.

Soldiers mounted in an attempt to follow, but the stallion and crouching prince disappeared into the forest before they could set off in pursuit.

Chapter One

Celebrations

Well, I’ve committed. I’ve stained the first words onto these bound pages. What was empty possibility is now destined to fulfill a purpose my pen has decided. The words are permanent records of consciousness transcending through time and changing histories.

What confession would be worth the space these words now inhabit? What variance of sounds and letters would justify the effort to write, read, and remember them? What could I possibly write, other than that which occupies my heart?

I am here in the eastern tower, on the stairs overlooking the city. The smoke of Anteria’s hearths rises into the dusk. No one will come up here today. They are all too occupied with planning Mother’s birth celebration. For a quiet interval I am allowed some time alone.

Fasime is still missing. The stallion probably carried him to the reaches of our kingdom. It could be half a moon before he returns, hiking back to Anteria on foot.

With Fasime missing it has been difficult to plan our journey. Oman and I have been mapping our route, but we may never be allowed to leave the capital if Fasime returns injured.

It was Oman’s idea to explore the kingdom that will be ours. Of course our parents would never let the three of us travel alone. They will believe escorts accompany us. With how often my brothers have been leaving the castle, the king and queen have grown accustomed to Oman and Fasime arranging accompaniment for their ventures.

Oman said we should wander and see where the roads take us, but I told him that could be dangerous. We could end up anywhere – lost in the elven woods, in the cave of a giant, or trespassing in the Black Mountains. I told him I would plan the journey. He will see the White Cane does have some useful things to teach us.

It will all be for naught if Fasime doesn’t return soon. I hear the trumpets calling. I must continue this later.

For the three brothers,

Syah, Prince of Arnith

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ignoring the summons to join the celebrations in the great hall, Syah decided to take advantage of the solitude the empty castle provided. The hallways and rooms were void of guards and servants. He made his way to the library and found it lit with the setting sun’s final glow. The four walls of the library were lined floor to ceiling with thick volumes, most of which contained Arnith’s history and economical logs.

Syah approached the shelf near the windows that housed a disheveled collection of scrolls. He rarely perused this section while the White Cane tutored him. The scrolls and the seclusion of the library enticed Syah and he ran his fingers over the wrapped parchment. Pulling one free, he saw the parchment was dirtied with age and neglect.

Syah sat on the windowsill and unrolled the scroll. He had the feeling that the last time the scroll had been opened was when it was written. The author was ambiguous, but the text was a plainspoken account of a scout’s patrol of the eastern border. Syah wondered why this account had been chronicled, until he removed the front parchment. The scout had visited the Dikartian tribe before they had become aggressive with Arnith.

Syah leaned forward, lifting the scroll to read it in the final ambiance of sunlight. Syah’s gaze flitted over tedious facts, such as the typical rates of trade and the common wares the Dikartians offered. He squinted, trying to read the scroll in the failing light. The next page was a large sketch of a road and trees, but he was unable to make out the inscription at the bottom.

A column of moonlight emerged from the corner of the window and cast upon the picture, revealing a grizzly depiction of a creature in the thick forest. A face materialized from the shaded branches. A gaping mouth and two solid eyes turned towards the prince. The mouth opened…

Syah dropped the scroll and backed away. He clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking, and stared at the mess of parchment on the floor. Don’t be foolish… there was nothing on the page. Syah knelt by the rolls of parchment and found the sketch. Examining it in the moonlight, Syah realized the trees and branches had evoked the impression of a creature. He read the writing at the bottom explaining that this was a common meeting place for the Dikartians. He checked the spot where the apparition had appeared. Though there was no trace of a creature, the feeling still lingered.

The surrounding silence lost its comfort and intrigue. He replaced the scroll and turned for the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Syah touched the handle, feeling music vibrate through the door to the great hall. He hesitated, knowing noise would inundate him if he entered. He imagined the guests awaiting him inside and wondered what the consequences would be if he ignored the summons to join the celebration.

Oman will discuss our plans tonight. The lure of adventure doused his fear. He turned the handle and entered the hall.

Syah held his breath as the torrent of greetings, music, and commotion flooded him. The visitors respectfully let him pass through the fervor. His calm demeanor showed through his actions, his hand he respectfully offered to others, and his bow he returned to a few.

The commotion eased as he made his way to a less crowded corner near one of the casements. He sat at a table and gazed across the immense room, crowded with nobles, soldiers, and the royal court. The guests gave him little heed, as if he were one of the noble stone statues that lined the perimeter of the hall. They were decorations too, he realized, necessary but overlooked guests.

The music lured his attention with its melody and rhythm. The piping and strumming notes swayed his thoughts. He imagined the music was a warm aroma, a smoke filling and intoxicating the hall. His mind saw the fumes enticing subjects of his kingdom to cross legs, turn arms, and change direction as the smoke shifted.

A single amused breath shook Syah’s form, proving his body had more life than the stone carvings. The dancers moved as if the fingers of the musicians strummed them flesh to flesh. The melody penetrated deeper into the prince’s mind as he watched them, seeing the guests as actors in a grand charade.

Syah imagined a tall man growing sleek, long hair down his back. His brown hat became a jeweled crown and his garment transformed into intricate cloth. Slightly bending his form to greet the interesting but barbaric humans around him.

A group of children, laughing with locked arms twirling in a circle, grew limbs that hardened, darkened into living branches, their hair full of leaves and flowers. Their voices were the playful wind through a meadow, the chirping of birds, and the chatter of mice and squirrels.

The laughter of a group of men at the other end of the hall became the deep laughter of mountain voices. They slammed their mugs heartily upon the table and their drinks splashed on their beards.

Then a young man emerged through the smoke. Syah knew who he was, but imagined him as someone else. He became a knight clad in armor, with an elaborate helm and a sword at his waist. The figure moved closer, his armor glinting link by link in the glowing light. The crowd parted as if he were the ghost of one of Arnith’s fallen kings.

Fasime! Syah cried, shaking the illusion from his sight. Fasime smiled, joining Syah at the table. How did you make it back so quickly? I thought it would take you another half moon to walk back to the castle. Syah examined Fasime’s neatly drawn black hair, his clean clothing. And I see you had time to change.

I didn’t walk, Fasime responded with laughter.

Hitch a ride with a traveling merchant? was asked from behind him. Oman approached the table and placed his hand on Fasime’s shoulder.

No, the middle brother answered.

You don’t appear to be injured, how in the skies did you get back to Anteria? Oman asked.

The stallion, of course.

Come, Oman said with laughter, this is a story Mother and Father will want to hear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fasime stood before the court, the king and queen seated upon the throne. He paced before them, commanding the attention of the multitude.

"The stallion and I struggled. He galloped relentlessly deeper into the woods. I knew he would eventually become tired, but I swear I’ve never seen a horse ride so long without rest. He bucked and reared to drop me, but I held fast, wrapping the ropes around my arms. We galloped for so long, his pace never slackening, until the forest was a whirlwind of trees. As the night fell upon us, I felt myself slipping. The strain of the ride wore on me, though my mind was refusing to let the beast win.

"Then a thought occurred to me. The stallion was afraid, though he had no reason to fear men. He had lived most of his life without the company of man or horse. He was afraid because he did not understand what had happened to him. I knew he could remember his purpose. Together, we would face his fear.

"The night air renewed me. I leaned forward and took fistfuls of mane in my hands. Balancing myself on his middle, I pressed my heels on his abdomen. I called out to him, urging him onward. He snorted, but started to obey me. We galloped through the night. I embraced his freedom, his sheer strength. I began to lean, not as a command, but as a suggestion. The stallion began to turn. I spoke to him, telling him of great purebreds of Anteria, of a horse’s duty to its master, of the king’s horse and his bloodline.

"My being was stripped away by the cold night wind. The stallion could not rid himself of me, so he accepted me. We became one, racing through the dark forest lit only by the stars’ glow. I knew then he trusted me, and I allowed him to slow.

"He soon collapsed, with me still atop him. We landed in the brush. With my remaining strength I pulled myself out from under him, but fell into darkness before I could free my arms from the ropes.

When we woke, the stallion was calm. I untied the ropes from round his neck and he rose. I told him he was free, that if he wanted to return to the forest he may. He came forward and nudged my hand. He allowed me to remount and he carried me south until we found a merchant’s road. I followed it to Anteria.

What did you do with him? the queen asked.

He is in the stables, for now, Fasime answered.

Syah, listening from the edge of the crowd, bowed his head. Cheers and congratulations were offered for Fasime, and the musicians resumed their interlude. He retreated to avoid the dancers spreading across the hall.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fasime and Oman found Syah brooding at his private table.

Celebrations are underway and you behave like a shadow of the silent walls. Syah, why do you sit here alone? Fasime asked as they sat before him.

Syah didn’t answer, watching his two older brothers stare at him. Oman, with is regal expression and diligent eyes, and Fasime with his boastful, charismatic look.

There’s more to celebrations than just sitting here watching them, Fasime pressed.

Syah shook his head, knowing what was coming. Fasime, no.

I’ll show you the steps. It’s not difficult once you get started.

Syah glanced at Oman, but he leaned back and crossed his arms with a smile.

I can’t believe our younger brother would pass an opportunity to learn something he didn’t yet know, Fasime went on. Dancing is much like swordplay. Would you let the rest of us become proficient in this skill and you not?

Prancing and twirling hold no interest for me, Syah responded.

Fasime turned to Oman. We can’t just allow him to sit in the corner all evening. He needs to join the festivities, and stop behaving like an outsider.

Don’t we have more important things to discuss? Syah stated, his face reddening.

All right, Fasime, let’s leave him alone, Oman said

Fasime grunted. Standing up for him again, are you, Oman?

Oman’s eyes flashed a warning, but he knew Fasime meant nothing by it. Fasime was mostly jesting, they all were. Fasime’s posture loosened as Oman kept his commanding gaze on him, and then so did Syah’s.

The king and queen were wondering about you, Oman told Syah.

Because you were hiding in the shadows, Fasime added.

Tell us about your plan, Oman, Syah requested, acting as if Fasime hadn’t spoken.

Oman glanced behind to gauge if any of the guests were close enough to hear. Turning back, he lowered his tone, I am planning on asking Father to consider the military training tonight.

Of course, Syah said musingly. He won’t want to bother Mother with it during the celebration.

How will you bring it up to him? Fasime asked. He has been protective since the Rognoth and Marrians raided towns near Anteria.

Oman seemed indignant. He has to start treating me like a man someday.

Getting them to allow Syah to leave with me is another matter, Fasime stated.

The eldest focused on Syah. Oman’s countenance darkened, as if he imagined his youngest brother struggle, hurt, alone, and afraid. Syah’s limbs began to shake by the way his brother looked at him. Oman seemed to be witnessing some ill fate meet Syah, though he sat safe before him.

Syah clenched his fists when Oman began to speak. Although terrible things were reflected in his eyes, Oman’s voice was level and calm, Are you sure you want to come with us?

Syah knew Oman’s thoughts. Oman didn’t see him as an able-bodied young man. He saw the sickly child fighting to live. Bedridden and crippled by mysterious ailments, it had taken Syah cycles to have the strength to participate with his brothers.

I am, Syah answered, locking Oman’s gaze with his. He hoped he could bring Oman back to the present, away from images of the past and fears of the future.

Oman paused a breath, then submitted with a nod.

And how will we get out of the city? Fasime asked, trying to break the tension between Oman and Syah.

Syah motioned for silence when a soldier approached their table. The feast will begin soon, the soldier informed them and bowed.

Very well, Oman stated, nodding.

Watching him leave, the princes leaned closer and lowered their conversation to a whisper.

We disguise ourselves, Syah answered.

But they will recognize the king’s sons. I think we should try to sneak through the guard at night, Fasime stated.

If they are not looking for us, we can misdirect them, make them see three common boys instead of three princes.

That will take gathering disguises, and coordinating our departures so that the guards believe we have left with escorts. Oman asked.

I’ve already acquired commoner clothing, Syah stated. Oman and Fasime chuckled.

Then we need supplies, Oman said to Fasime. You will gather them for your hunting trip.

Fasime nodded. I will start tomorrow.

Oman stood and looked to Syah. Celebrations won’t be so tedious if you allow yourself a little more enjoyment from them.

You will ask Father during the feast? Fasime asked and rose.

Oman nodded, but his air of confidence waned with the thought of deceiving their father.

I’ll save you a seat, Fasime told Syah then turned to leave.

Syah felt a sense of loss as his brothers left him, but he took in a steadying breath, seeing the knight’s armor cover Fasime’s shoulders again. His gaze shifted to his eldest brother. He saw Oman as he always did, a young but powerful king.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Syah pulled in his chair beside Fasime. The guests were taking their seats at the mighty table. They had settled, the music had faded, and they were all awaiting the coming feast. Syah was aware of the buzz of noise and conversation around him, but heeding none of their words. He traced the stem of his cup, feeling the cool condensation collect on his fingers.

Syah’s eyes were transfixed on the table until the king’s voice caught his attention. His father was just speaking to those around him, but the table seemed to quiet at the powerful sound. Syah felt humility as he looked upon the king’s face, his broad and strong shoulders, and his vigilant eyes. The king turned to the queen, sitting poised beside him. They were discussing some small thing, laughing about it, and Syah wondered what it was. They were clearly finding a private enjoyment in it.

Servants stepped next to Syah and disrupted his thoughts. They began to set flames to candles placed on the table. Syah was distracted by the colorful, bountiful food and drink before him. He placed some on his plate, not knowing if he could eat it. But he pretended he could, idly cutting it into small pieces and methodically chewing it. The chatter dwindled as the guests began to eat, their conversation interrupted by juicy meat, sweet fruit, and warm bread.

Syah felt Fasime’s elbow on his arm, and he lifted his gaze to the king. Oman was seated beside him, discussing something. Oman appeared half-interested in the conversation, but the king was growing more and more intent on him. Neither Syah nor Fasime could hear their words, but they could see the king asked Oman something, and Oman responded casually.

Do you think he’ll reject it? Syah whispered.

I don’t know yet, Fasime answered and resumed his meal.

The king was nodding, and Oman seemed to be ending the conversation. Syah set down his glass, contentment on his face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Syah found himself standing and with cold apprehension he realized he had finished his meal and drink, the candles had melted to a soft glow, and he hadn’t been aware of it. He tried to think back, but time was lost to his memory. He had been thinking about their journey. He had imagined leaving the great hall, going down the stairs and out the door of the castle, through the streets of the city and far away, to unknown places of the world. He felt chilled, finding he had still gone on with the motions of living, even though his mind had left him completely.

He let the feeling subside when the guests took to the dance floor again. There were gifts to be given, and more dancing, and more food, Syah knew, but his sentence had been served. He had been a silent statue of the great hall long enough. He turned and started for the door.

As Syah passed the open doorway of the hall, something grabbed his arm. Oman and Fasime were waiting for him.

Well? Syah asked.

Father will approve the military training, Oman answered.

And the hunting trip has already been planned, so all that’s left is to let them know I intend to go with Fasime, Syah stated.

It is time you start joining us on our excursions anyway, Fasime said.

Syah heard movement behind him, and assumed, correctly, it was someone searching for them. He stepped aside and let the children to Oman and Fasime, who laughed as they grabbed his brothers’ arms, begging for them to return to the dance. Fasime and Oman met Syah’s complacent smile as they turned to follow the children back to the festivities.

Syah sensed the quiet of the hallway, again, and released a breath he felt he’d been holding since he had entered the great hall. The silence was like a cool, cleansing breeze through his body and mind. He started down the hallway, back towards his books.

Chapter Two

Preparations

Syah closed the book he had on his lap when he heard the door open. He leaned over, picking up a piece of twisted wood layered with fine, tight strings.

Syah? the queen asked when she noticed him. What is it, my son?

The queen’s concern was distracted by her interest in what Syah held.

What is this?

A gift for you. Fasime charmed it from a tribesman’s daughter from near the elven forest, Syah told her. She touched the fine, smooth wood and pressed the tight metal strings.

It’s wonderful, she said, but I don’t know what I’d do with it.

Syah acknowledged her confusion with a nod. It is not truly your gift, he answered, I am to play a song for you.

The queen’s face softened. A song from you would be a very fine gift.

Syah motioned to the empty seat beside him. He placed the end of the instrument on his shoulder and lifted his hands to the strings. His fingers found their places but paused, his mind listening to how the melody would play. Then his hands obeyed and a strange, lingering, deep sound drifted from them. The song was slow; each note a cautious footstep towards a great love that was never reached.

Syah closed his eyes. The song didn’t quicken, the notes stayed meticulous, but the melody intensified. The journey still continued slowly but the emotions and loss strengthened. Syah imagined himself seated on the edge of a precipice with great winds rushing by him, preludes to the onset of a storm. Then, as the storm was about to engulf him, his fingers rested, the song fading. The last notes hummed around them a moment, then were silent.

Syah heard a quick intake of breath from beside him. His gaze went to his mother; her eyes were wet. Syah lowered the instrument.

Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.

The queen shook her head, wiping away the tears. No, my son.

Your mood was so joyful, Syah lamented, I should have played something more appropriate.

No, she said more firmly and placed her hand on his arm. It was magnificent. She smiled. It was a wonderful gift.

Syah nodded, grasping her hand, and watched her calming eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was early the next morning when Syah entered the library. He searched the room by the morning sun beginning to shine through the windows. He had come early and was pleased that he was the first to arrive. The room was his.

He went to a table placed in the light of the window, set down his paper and ink and began to look through the books along the walls. Pulling out several of them, he took them back to the table and sat down, finding the pages easily and starting to write notes as he read. Histories, places and people, names. He wondered if the current histories of Miscia would ever be read later on. Somehow he was doing his part to protect the purpose of the future by absorbing the knowledge from these dusty pages.

He was deep inside a history of Arnith’s military when the door opened. It was their teacher. The others would be late, as usual. Gray eyes beneath the thick white eyebrows didn’t look up, but Syah knew his tutor had seen him. The old man entered the room, leaning on a gnarly white cane, his namesake.

Syah continued reading. His tutor gave a thoughtful mumble as he selected a book from the shelf. Placing it on the table, he began to read aloud. The planting of crops, the distribution of resources to civilians, taxation to replenish the treasury: all these subjects spun together in one intricate narrative describing how to establish a community. Syah paused at his teacher’s voice, as it made him think of a dying man’s last gasp. But somehow the old man continued, taking deep breaths at odd places through his reading.

Syah’s pen stopped when he heard loud talking in the hallway. The old man used that moment to take another deep breath. The door opened and Fasime came in with Oman behind him. Their entrance seemed to bring disturbing noises into the quiet room, even though they had stopped talking. The old man started reading again before they were seated. They glanced at each other, then at Syah, who shook his head at them.

A community is a collective of men of minds, and men of work. The men with access have more influence. Access to history, access to records, and the ability to interpret them. The mentor breathed again, his eyes straying off the paper, gazing down, but truly seeing his pupils in the room above. We are fire begot from sky. Lightning begets fire, fire begets smoke, and smoke joins the clouds and rain to put out the fire. One single action leads to creation and destruction. Their mentor paused at his last word before continuing to read aloud from the text.

Syah looked up at the White Cane, then cast an accusing glance towards his brothers, who shrugged innocently. The youngest blinked a long moment, his jaw tightening, then pushed his chair back as he stood. Stepping up to the library and briefly searching, he found one book and then another. With the same ease, he opened them and set them before his brothers. Oman’s book was turned to the first page of a history of a military expedition, detailing the planning of supplies and men. And for Fasime: a description of caring for beasts when traveling. The three, amused, looked up to the White Cane, who continued to read aloud and seemed to pay no attention whatsoever to them. Syah resumed his seat and began his work again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Syah grasped the hilt. His hands tightened around it. He felt no strength from it, as he had anticipated, but a flush of dread. What would he need it for, anyway? He would have no reason to use a sword. The hunting would be with arrows, and cleaning the meat with a knife. He would only need a sword for… he stopped his mind from the thought. Solemnly, he fastened the sword to his waist.

What are you doing here? a rough voice startled Syah. His insides cramped, but he realized whom it was before his body or lungs could react. He turned around.

Oh, Prince Syah, the voice said, but in the same tone. The prince recognized the large, thickly bearded man approaching him from a dark corner of the room. It was their weapons master, Malgar. He had been there when Syah had entered, and had been watching him the entire time.

I was just getting my sword, Syah answered finally, motioning to the table where numerous other swords and weapons still lay.

Malgar stopped before Syah. You have been practicing a little, he said, but are you ready to carry it?

I don’t know. Syah shook his head. I’m considering going on a hunting trip with Fasime. I thought it would be wise to bring it with me. The young prince heard his voice shaking and cursed his nervousness.

If you carry a sword, you need to know how to wield it properly, the weapon’s master said. Moving to the window, he opened the shutters and let more light into the large room. Let’s practice another time before you leave.

Syah wanted to refuse, but before he