After the impossible waves from the dream had washed him away, Prince Morne awoke suddenly. Sweat drenched the sheets in his bed, needing some fresh air. He got up, quickly walking over to the balcony, dragging his feet on the red rug below him. He pushed through the thick red window curtains to reveal the sleeping city. All was quiet in Stornval, none of the lanterns were lit along the main roads. Some lights could be seen through windows of random homes. Vague notions of people were all Morne could make out, just shadows in the night; wandering in the darkness below. The valley beyond the high stone walls was still. Once dawn had hit, though, the farmers would scatter among the landscape beyond the gates. Tomorrow was the beginning of the harvest, the most important time of the year.
He let the curtains fall back to their natural positions, stepping back into the room fully, looking for something warmer to adorn before he left the bedroom. The keep was perfectly still at this hour as well, lanterns lit the hallways in dim, red light. The prince would walk past royal guards as they stood by doors that had royalty within them. The armored guards would stand to attention, lightly sliding their right hand across their chest in a fist as he walked by, loud enough to acknowledge the prince's presence; but not enough to awaken anybody who was still asleep. They had so much armor on you couldn’t even see their faces, nobody has ever seen the face of one, not even their eyes could be seen within the helmets they wore. That privilege only went to the king, and the king alone. The prince nodded at the ironclad soldiers as he made his way to Hermail’s library. At this hour, he could almost guarantee the wizard was awake, throwing himself into his studies as always. The second-tallest spire in the Stags dominion was where Hermail resided, filled with thousands upon thousands of books along its walls. Potions and random items lined shelves as well. The entire tower itself had been put under a spell hundreds of years ago, within its walls, gravity did not exist unless your feet were planted on the ground. If you walked normally, or sat down on one of the chairs; you were fine. If you wanted to get to one of the higher areas quicker than the steps that lined the inner wall like the shelves, you could just jump and float to it.
Another of the royal guards saluted the prince with a familiar gesture.
“Is the wizard in?” The prince said to the guard, standing up straight with his chin higher than usual. Strands of Mornes’ long, black hair weren’t cooperating like the rest and stuck to his face. No doubt from how much he had sweat from the nightmare. The thicker robes he put on before the journey to the spire were blacker than his hair. Made of an almost reflective, fine silk that had not a single wrinkle or sign of ware on it. The antler symbol of the family was sewn in fine red lace just over where his heart would be. Somehow, even in the dimness of the keep, it would reflect red slivers of light as the prince moved about. The guard just nodded, then pointed to a floating platform that was above them. It was surrounded by light green and blue rivers of dim light, flowing freely around the platform itself, wherever they saw fit. “Mind if I got a boost?” Morne said with a grin across his face. The guard just nodded again, letting go of the spear that had been resting against his shoulder. The spear barely moved an inch as the guard walked to the prince, affected by the spire's gravity as well. “On the count of three.” He said, looking in the direction he assumed the guard's eyes would be within its armor. Once more, he nodded. Then, he looked at the platform he had pointed at earlier; waiting for the countdown. “One” he felt the guard lightly press his hands against his back. One on the lower part, the other one between his shoulder blades. “Two.” The guard's armor shuffled as he planted his feet and leaned back to get some force behind the push. “Three!” The guard firmly pushed the prince upwards, with the lack of gravity; he flew quickly towards the platform. Morne floated through the trails of blue and green light, making them swirl behind him in his wake as he got to the edge of his destination. He then spread out his arms, palms facing the ground; making him fall slowly towards its floorboards. What looked to be old, scuffed up wood made most of the floor. Some stones, books, and empty potion vials floated varying heights above it.
Hermails back faced him as he sat at a stone slab that had been repurposed to an eloquent table. Symbols glowed the same blues and green along its surface. Smoke had come out of multiple beakers of varied sizes on the slab, fluids bubbled and shifted unnaturally within the glass of them. A dark blue fire was lit in the middle of a small pit, covered by a large, blackened metal grate that came out of the floor in a half circle. The wizard sprinkled something into one of the potions that bubbled in a beaker closest to him, causing an instant flash, smoke came out of it shortly after. Closer and closer the prince walked towards the seeted man. He spoke without even towards him.
“Hello, Morne. Having trouble sleeping again?” The chair drifted along the side of the table, so the wizard could grab a potion at the far end. “This would help you sleep for the night upcoming.” He held it out to the side of the chair, so the prince could see. “But, I think I already know the answer you’re about to give me.” He then sat it on the table, but still where the prince could see it.
“I’m alright, Hermail. Thank you, though. I like being awake at this hour anyways.” Said the Prince, pushing a little stone out of his way while he went to the wizard's side. “When was the last time you slept, wizard?” He reached for a piece of paper at the top of a pile on the stone's surface once he got to it. The wizard then lightly slapped his hand away from the stack, making the prince chuckle.
“It’s been many moons since I last slept, I have too much to do. Especially with the harvest beginning tomorrow, I need to make a couple more potions, so the farmers can stay awake for a few days in a row.” The wizard glanced at a potion, it finally stopped bubbling in a beaker and had turned into a solid, dark purple liquid. He then grabbed it, logged it in another book that sat next to him. “Any reason why you can’t sleep? Or is this just a casual visit as you roam the manor's halls?” The wizard just looked at Morne after he said that curiosity could be seen on his aging face. Dark blue eyes stared, the gray, well trimmed beard stayed as still as stone as he waited for a response.
“It’s nothing, just wanted to see how things were coming along. You’ve been at this for weeks now.”
“Six weeks, four days and seven hours.” The wizard said as he threw the now logged potion in a wooden crate that sat across the far side of the platform. It floated the whole way there, then gently fell perfectly into its predetermined spot.
“Yes.”
“Don’t lie to me, prince. Your father did the same thing at your age. I can tell by the tone of your voice you have something you want to tell me.”
“It’s nothing, I swear.”
“Dreams?”
“What?” The prince took a step back after he said that.
“Are you having dreams?” The wizard said as the chair that floated under him turned towards Morne. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, or will in the future. The life that surrounds you is a stressful one. Please, prince. Tell me what ails you.”
“I saw something. I was in the middle of a storm on an endless bridge of black stone that I’ve never seen before. A red ocean crashed below my feet and I saw the symbol of our house. A giant stag, but it had been burnt alive. Soon after I saw that, I was swept up by a giant wave.”
The wizard looked away from him, thinking to himself, squinting his eyes as he looked into the blue fire on the platform. “Could it be an omen?” He said in a whisper. Now he got up and walked over to the prince, who just stood like a statue, grabbing his hand. “Have the dreams ever occurred before tonight?” He now had his hand pressed on his forehead, he then opened the prince's eyelids slightly, seeing if anything seemed irregular about them. The prince was still silent. The wizard stood up straight, becoming very stern with the young prince. “Speak, now.”
“They h-.” He began to fall over his own words, saying nonsense for a second before he controlled himself once more. “They have not. I haven't had a dream in a long time before tonight.” The prince became concerned, seeing the wizard like this worried him. “Is something wrong, Hermi?” Morne walked over to the fire, the blue flames reflecting off his black robes. “The dream, does it mean something you're not telling me?” He stood up straight, lifting his head; like when talking to the guard before. “I have a right to know.”
“That you do.” He rubbed his chin, then scratched his beard. “That you do, Morne.” The wizard went back to the table, organizing papers in neat piles; looking over the brewing potions. “At the moment, though, I do not know what it means. The land you explained is not in any of our history books.” Another one of the potions that brewed became still. He grabbed it, logged it, then tossed it like before in the crate. “I will look for anything about it, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Before my father?”
“Of course, besides. I need to start getting on your good side now. Considering you’re an adult and I will need to keep my standing when you become king.” The wizard laughed, walking back over to the prince then putting his hands on his shoulders. Both were considered taller than average, but they matched height still with each other. The wizards' dark blue robe with green accents being a stark contrast to the prince's attire.
“You’ll be dead by then, Hermi.”
“I’m over one hundred years old already, dear prince. Wizards live much longer than normal people, you know that.” He looked like he was in his mid-fifties at the most. “I’m not going anywhere, so if you need anything or want to talk to me about more dreams if you have them. Please do, alright?” The wizard looked into the prince's light blue and green eyes. “Don’t speak of this to your father. He has much on his mind, I don’t want him being stressed about his heir as well. Don’t tell anybody else for that matter. At least until I know more. Alright?”
“Alright. Do you know when he will return from his hunting trip? Wasn’t expecting him to be gone for so long.”
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“I do agree, it has been longer than usual for these annual trips he embarks on. I’ll give it a few more days, then I will go myself to find him.”
“Alright, Hermi. Thanks for talking to me while you’re so busy.” The prince began to walk away to leave the keep, feeling something press against his back. He turned around to face the wizard, curious what it was. It was a small vial, filled with a dark blue potion floating before him; a small cork kept it sealed.
“Tonight, you will drink that to sleep. You’re going to be much busier soon, tasks a plenty, young prince.” He held the quill in his hand as he waved to the prince goodbye. “It would be an honor for the farmers if you visited them later today during the harvest.”
The prince just nodded, grabbing the potion and putting it in a hidden pocket inside his robe. He walked off the edge of the platform and began to fall, back down to where the guard stood below. The guard saluted him as he landed. The prince tapped his shoulder then strolled down the hallway once more, seeing what else he could do at this early hour.
*
Morne was lucky, he caught the kitchen right as dawn was about to reveal itself over the mountainous treeline. To make up for the king's lack of eccentricity he needed to have, he would hire some people who were the opposite. That was shown in spades from the cooks and the kitchen in general. Always outgoing, sliding plates around and singing one of many, many songs. The prince knew some, but he knew nobody could be alive long enough to learn them all. Well, besides wizards. The extravagant kitchen walls were entirely covered by shelves. Ladders and stairs on wheels were among them, some were currently in use as some cooks were at varied heights all around. Ingredients of all varieties filled the spaces, the smell of sweet honey overwhelmed the princes’ senses. Many people walked about too and fro, or they were at their designated stations. Flashes of flame could be seen on a multitude of pans as their contents seared against the heat on the stoves. A teenager of twelve or thirteen had pushed a cart around the room, it was filled with chopped pieces of light brown logs. He would check the stoves through the window that exposed the fiery pit within them close to the brick floor. If the pusher saw one had become low, he would tap a cook so they could move for a moment so he could stoke and fuel the flames within. The high ceiling was made of large beams of dark, ancient wood, set in supportive patterns; thick smoke lingered among them.
“Sweet prince!” Said the lead cook. A bigger man with a long, wild beard and a bald head. His apron was covered in a multitude of ingredients and grains, and that beard had some bits and pieces of things as well. “You honor us with your presence!” Not even a second after the cook uttered that sentence, a perfectly synced loud thud came from the rest of them. To acknowledge said presence, but so they can keep working at the same pace. He participated in the slam with a big meat cutter knife, planting it in a raw, plucked chicken that laid before him. Then, he began to sing as he spun around the large, well-used table in the middle of the room; around the other cooks who were focused on their tasks. “What is it you need? So me, or one of us, can supply. That is our duty, is your stomach empty? Is your throat dry? What is it that you require, sweet prince. For there is nothing, we cannot supply!”
“Hmm, let me think!” He pondered over the question for a moment, for dramatic effect, of course. “The options are almost infinite! What do you recommend, cook of cooks?” The prince always tried to match his energy, even with much effort, though, it was hard to keep up.
The eccentric man stopped in his tracks, now on the same side of the table as Morne. He crossed his arms, putting a hand on his chin. The cook tapped his foot, thinking over the question his dearest prince just gave him. “I would say!” Dramatic pauses were one of his specialties. “Juice of the grape variety, and!” He paused once more, smiling from ear to ear. “A dense, beef soup of the finest ingredients!” The cook held out his hands to his sides and closed his eyes, humming to himself and still tapping his foot on the red brick floor as he waited. After a moment, one cook came over and put an adorned metal cup into his left hand. It had a silhouette of a stag's head imprinted on its surface. After another, a bowl had been put into his right, the soup was steaming out of the top. It was as well-designed as the cup, with a forest filled with wildlife of many kinds drawn on the outside of it. The cook, after getting his order in a timely fashion. Started to walk towards the one that the fine meal was made for. “The greatest of food for you, young prince!” He handed them to him, then backed away as he bowed. “Please, if there is anything else you need.” He began to dance and spin around the table, back to where he was when the prince first entered his domain. “Do not hesitate, for we are here to serve thee!”
“Thank you, cook of cooks!” The prince then walked out of the room through the large, double wooden doors he entered the room from earlier. He strolled through the halls while he ate, heading back to his chambers so he could change to something more fitting before he went out to the farmland.
Morne finished his food right as he got back to his chambers, finishing off the delicious grape juice while walking through the doorway. He then set them on a table that was placed next to his bed. A servant had entered his room while he was out. If the door was open at this hour, they were allowed to do so. She had opened the curtains prior to his arrival, now in the process of making the large bed. He thanked her, walking to the now opened curtains. Dawn had now revealed itself over the treeline far in the distance. Bright yellow and reddish beams gleamed through the exposed gaps between the large trees, basking the almost endless farms below, and all who had now occupied them. The city was now awake in full, thousands of people could be seen rushing about. Carriages pulled by different kinds of horses or mules made their way through the crowds. Most went out to the farms to begin to export goods to the port of Juron on the coast of the Dead Sea. Mainly to ship to the kingdom of Kirolak on the far side of it. They depended on the harvest more so than anyone else, for the tropical but harsh land it occupied could not grow most of the food the Stags could. On the other hand, though, it had much more raw materials and more exotic plant life than the Stags had. The trade routes helped both sides. It was also where the Yerna Mining Company had originated from, having mines in most areas on the continent at this point in both kingdoms.
Even though the sun was out, it was still quite cold at this hour. So, the prince's attire was chosen accordingly. He decided to wear something a bit more militaristic in nature. A simple black colored shirt with simple black pants as well. Shined black boots, with a black leather belt, and a sheath for his sword to match. The collar of the black shirt, and the cuffs, had a design of stag antlers that would wrap all the way around the three spots; stitched in gold colored twine. The sheath for the sword had a similar design on it. The sword itself was made of the finest of steel, the hilt, and grip were of simple design. Besides the quality of the steel itself, the only way you could tell it even belonged to royalty was the large, round red jewel that had been placed in the pommel. Morne put a large, simple silver ring on his middle finger on his right hand. It wasn’t the ring of the stags that his father had at all times, but it would do. Morne threw back his long hair, tucking it behind his ears and left the room for the main door out of the keep.
Two royal guards stood at each side on the inside and outside the main, double wooden doors that led out. The two inside saluted him as they slid the doors open that were on tracks, sliding into the walls to disappear almost entirely as he walked through them. The two on the outside saluted as well, and a group of guards had been waiting for him. With them as well was the leader of the royal guard, Sawd; his uncle. In full armor, somehow made of finer metals than the guards normal attire, and polished to perfection. He held his helmet on his hip. A thin, red sash hung straight down over the left side of his chest, ending at his waist. The crest of the stags was there, a side view of a deer but with a huge rack of antlers. The rack was bigger than the animal's head, almost taking up double the space than the head itself on it.
Sawd’s armor clanged with each step as he walked on the gravel towards Morne. “Hello, fawn.” He put his hands upon the prince's shoulders, looking over his attire, wiping off some non-existent dust. This was the first time the prince was in the public since his eighteenth birthday. Sawd then stepped back, “My apologies, m’lord. You’re now a man.” He looked around the courtyard, soldiers bustled about it. Most of them had been loading the boxes of potions the wizard had worked on for so long prior. “Considering, King Gurret is not back from his hunting trip. Would the prince take his stead for this morning's festivities?” He bowed, then stood up perfectly straight. “Prince Morne!” The other men followed suit in the entire courtyard, becoming almost completely silent, standing with perfect posture. The business of the common people could be heard past the high, stone walls of the keep in the distance. Periodic chirps of birds among the well trimmed trees in the courtyard were audible as well.
Morne put his hands behind his back and walked with perfect form towards his uncle. Filled with bravado that something like this would need, which he now had in spades. “I think!” He took from the cook's playbook for this moment, even the birds stopped chirping; like they too were even waiting for what he said next. “I shall!”
The whole courtyard saluted him in perfect sequence and yelled. “Prince!” They saluted once more, dragging their right hand while it was in a fist across their chest from left to right. “Morne!”
The prince was now at his uncle's side, they both nodded at each other as they began to walk towards the exit of the courtyard. The entire entourage got on horseback, now they began to walk through the city. Most people had barely acknowledged the group as they passed through the busy streets. Much to do today for them. Even though the farmers had predetermined plots of farmland out in the fields. They still raced to their section as fast as they could because people would bet on whoever was done the quickest. Even though it took a long time to harvest all the land. The bets would accrue over the days to come very, very heavily. Wherever said bets were being held that year, the king would station troops to guard the building at all hours of the day.
They were now upon the city's gates. The two doors themselves were three stories tall, made of black stone slabs, having ornate carvings on their giant surfaces. Patterns of battles long since concluded or of wildlife would catch the eye. The defenses had been open since the sun first rose that morning, so not many soldiers had been stationed besides a few. The common soldier's faces could be seen while they stood to attention in their mostly thick leather uniforms, the cloth areas of the armor were dark red or black. They held pikes or long swords, some would have a sword and shield; it all depended on their preference really. Even though it was much rarer, some preferred holding two short swords. They all gave the salute as Morne passed through the gate. Once the crowds cleared as they passed through, more citizens would bow to his presence.
Just as the group had gone through the archway. “The King! The king has returned!” Yelled a random citizen that ran down the main dirt path outside the castle in front of them. He pointed straight back the way he came, into the treeline at the edge of the farmland. A large dust cloud had formed now in that direction. Sawd looked at the prince, the prince in kind pointed at the dust cloud.
“Shall we?” Prince Morne said.
Sawds’ neutral face had been replaced with a slight grin for a moment. “To the king!” He yelled, now they all began to gallop as the crowd cleared in front of them. They, too, started to create a large dust cloud in their wake as they made their way to the edge of the farmland. A few men were on horseback in front of them in the distance. Large red banners with the family's crest could be seen as they came into clearer view. After a few more moments, the king and his guards weren’t too far out now. Both of the parties slowed down, now the king, Morne and Sawd all got off their horses in a timely fashion.
“My son!” Gurret said, hugging him even though he was in full armor with a smile across his face. It was a beautiful scarlet red, the stag crest was on his chest and thick tree vine designs were on the shoulder plates. His hair was black as well but mostly gray at this point. A thick scar went over his right eye, going down to his jawline in a straight line. He now looked at Sawd. “Brother!” Sawd and the guards among Mornes' group saluted their king. After that, the king also hugged Sawd.
The leader of the royal guard looked at the other horses behind Gurret, a deer of any kind could not be seen. “No game this year, m’lord?”
“No, sadly not.” The king looked back at his party. “I need to speak with Hermail at once.” He looked back at Morne now, he just stared for a moment, then gave a faint smile. His son could sense something was wrong.
“Of course, brother, let’s be on our way.”
They all galloped back to the keep at a brisk pace, leaving the farmers to themselves, as the harvest was now in full swing. Gurret hopped off his horse, looking at the tower that the wizard was residing in, now walking quickly up the stairs into the keep.
“For we became bereft of change.”- Irazan