The King's Son: Volume 1

By Stephen Peeples

A spear and sorcery fantasy about power, secrets, and betrayal.

A prophecy declares the king's son will bring peace to the land. He will remove the yoke from the people's shoulders and the fear from their hearts.

The night the boy is born, Faelan receives orders that threaten the child's life. He must choose to either follow his assignment or secure a brighter future for the people.

Alliances will be tested, secrets may or may not be kept, and the future of Minnland will hang in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Peeples
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798784804068

Book preview

THE DAECCA

Drustan waited in the shadows of an oak tree, just outside of the moonlight’s touch. His mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, swept over the lush meadow before him and focused on a single mud hut no further than a stone’s throw away.

The hut was round, with a thatched roof and a low, uncovered entrance. It was surrounded by a knee-high reed fence that enclosed a small courtyard paved with hard, polished earth.

When the moon dipped behind a cloud, Drustan glanced over his shoulder and nodded to his traveling companion. Without saying a word, they trudged through the tall grass, hopped over the fence, and hurried across the courtyard. The two men reached the entrance, then paused to turn and scan the area for any signs of movement.

What do you see? Drustan asked.

Kane’s gaze swept over the landscape.

I see nothing, he replied.

As it should be.

Turning to face the hut, Drustan ran his hand along the apotropaic markings carved into the crossbeam above the threshold. Etched in the middle of those markings was a triangle inside of another triangle, the symbol of the daeccas.

He spat on it.

Curse every last one of them, he growled beneath his breath, before bending down and entering the hut.

Inside, a short, wrinkly old woman named Tenille sat on a tree stump as she crouched in the shadows, a greasy and tattered blanket wrapped around her huddled shape. A thin layer of mud coated her face, and a crown of mistletoe rested upon her head. She remained quite still, her head bowed, her eyes closed, and her breathing barely detectable.

Is she dead? Kane asked.

Ignoring the man at his side, Drustan studied the room. 

A small fire smoldered at the woman’s feet. Arranged around the fire in a semi-circle were human skulls, placed in pairs, one male and one female, and facing each other as if in conversation. 

Off to the side, a golden sickle leaned against the smooth mud wall, and there was a bench with pots and bowls full of herbs, berries, soil, different venoms, and the bones of small animals.

Drustan untied and removed his cloak. He was nineteen and powerfully built, with a strong, muscular frame. He had spiked hair that was a shade between white and blonde, making him appear older than his actual age. His chest was bare, and he wore brown woolen pants and a leather belt.

He stared at the woman beyond the fire, but she did not stare back; her eyes were still closed.

Kane, the other traveler, was a year younger than Drustan but more muscular and an inch taller. His head was shaved, and a string of human teeth rested around his neck. Besides the belt around his waist, there was a metal chain with a sheath attached, where his dagger rested. A leather pauldron covered his left shoulder, and he wore bracers on both arms.

Drustan glanced over at Kane and nodded. Kane returned the nod and loudly cleared his throat. Nothing happened. If the woman heard the noise, she failed to acknowledge it.

Kane cleared his throat once more, this time a little louder. Still, her eyes remained closed, and her breath shallow.

Drustan’s nostrils flared. 

Daughter of Danann, open your eyes, Kane commanded. You have visitors.

Silence.

Kane’s face flushed red with anger, and he opened his mouth to speak once more when Tenille’s head tilted slightly, but still, her eyes did not open.

Visitors, you say? I don’t like visitors, she replied.

Kane’s hand flashed to the dagger at his hip.

You won’t like...

The sound of steel scraping against steel echoed in the dim light as the blade brushed against the inside of the sheath. The knife was halfway free when a look from Drustan immediately stopped it. Kane’s muscles relaxed, allowing the blade to slide back into its prison.

He composed himself.

We have important matters to discuss. Open your eyes and look upon your guests.

I am old, and my eyes are tired. I don’t see so good, especially at night.

Open your eyes and see who stands before you and why he’s here!

I don’t need to open my eyes to know who stands before me and what brought him here, she replied.

The two travelers shared a look of ignorance.

And what brought me here, witch? Drustan demanded.

Out of nowhere, the fire’s dormant flames flared, and a wind rushed past the two men as it sought freedom from the hut. The woman’s eyes opened, and she stared deeply into Drustan’s. A corner of her mouth curled up, and she answered.

Your feet.

An evil cackle escaped her lips, filling the whole room and piercing the men’s ears. 

Kane unsheathed his dagger and stepped towards her, but Drustan quickly reached out and stopped him.

She’s wild, Kane protested. Nothing useful will come of this.

Wait outside, Drustan ordered. I’ll speak to her alone.

The general glanced once more at Tenille, and Drustan followed his gaze.

You fear a helpless old woman?

No matter her appearance, she’s still a daughter of Danaan. It’s unnatural, and we should always fear the unnatural.

If I need you, I’ll signal.

Kane nodded and ducked through the exit, disappearing into the night. Drustan stepped further into the hut.

Daughter of Danann, I have questions only you can answer, he told her. Share your wisdom with me.

Nature is the source of wisdom. If you teach yourself to listen, everything you need to know can be learned outside.

Drustan stepped another foot closer to the fire.

I’ve come to you. You’ll interpret the wind for me, daughter of Danann.

Tenille sighed.

Sons and daughters of Danann. A title that hasn’t been bestowed upon me for many years. Another name was used to describe those like me, but it was cut from the people’s mouths and banned from their thoughts, all because it angered the king.

Drustan scowled, his brow narrowed.

That king is running out of patience, daughter of Danann. I’m not here about the past. I remember it well. Can you say the same?

She casually stared at the fire, her voice calm and steady.

My mind may lack certain youthful benefits, but my mind’s eye sees all.

And what do you see?

I see before me a young man wearing the colors of a peasant. Did the king run out of murex to dye his pants? If that was the case, why didn’t the king just use blueberries to dye them the color of his village?

I didn’t come to this stench of a dwelling to discuss what I’m wearing, he growled.

King Drustan the Unshakable, the Thunderer, the Bird That Preys on Other Birds, you come to me when the moon is past its highest point, dressed below your status, with worry in your heart. Left your village like a thief in the night. Should I feel honored or ashamed?

"You should feel cautious. Your