Dast wasn’t sure what it was about the katana held in Ryker’s hand, but it broke him out of the stupor he had felt after seeing Khrom’s blood. Though unadorned, something about it radiated an ancient aura that bespoke masterwork quality, and yet, at the same time, it was a simple katana, not unlike the one his uncle kept stocked around the forge and used when they sparred.
For reasons unknown to Dast, Ryker urged him to use a two-handed longsword for the better part of his training, although on occasion, he would use different types of blades. Early on, he had bucked against the forced blade choice, wanting to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and also use a katana, but Ryker had simply told him that the longsword was his destiny and as a 12 year old, he had accepted the explanation.
Ryker’s head snapped towards the sound of his voice as if surprised by his presence. “It’s nothing. Just a family heirloom that I don’t want to leave behind. Did you get your things?”
Dast raised the small cloth bag in answer.
“Good. Go out to the barn and start saddling the horses, I’ll be there shortly.”
The lack of explanation and somewhat abruptness of the command served as a reminder to Dast that his relationship with his uncle was still strained despite the severity of the circumstances. All at once, thoughts of Khrom’s lifeless body came crashing back to the forefront of his mind and he forced himself to follow the order he had been given. In hindsight, he may have wished to take one last look at the only place he had ever called home before leaving it behind, but that was too concealed in the murkiness of his thoughts to be considered.
Entering their small barn, he began saddling the two cart horses. Stout and strong, he could only remember these horses being used for anything other than pulling carts on a handful of occasions–most of which were when Ryker had taken him outside the town to learn how to ride properly. Usually his interactions with the two beasts consisted of hitching them to their old wooden cart and driving some goods slowly through the town to make a delivery, and his hands fumbled with the unfamiliar straps in conjunction with his fraying nerves.
He had barely managed to get one horse saddled before Ryker walked in, carrying two large saddlebags. Without showing a trace of anger at his slowness, his uncle took the still unsaddled horse from his shaking hands and quickly finished the task.
“Mount up. Stay close to me. We ride straight for the gates. No stopping to talk to anyone. Try not to look anyone in the face. At the same time, don’t be suspicious or overly hasty.”
A thought that had been building for a while was finally given voice, “Uncle why are we leaving? I know that Mayor Orville will be mad, but it was a legal duel and also an accident. Is this really necessary?”
Ryker looked on the verge of responding, but then seemed to think better of it. “We’ll talk later, Dast. Right now we need to get you to safety.”
With those words, his uncle vaulted easily into the saddle and began riding out of the courtyard. Rushing to keep up, Dast failed to catch a final glance of his childhood home.
For five very tense minutes, they rode quickly through the streets. Several times, Ryker plowed through small congestions that normally they would have waited for, causing townsfolk he had known his entire life to curse them loudly and giving Dast a clue as to how serious Ryker found the situation. He had never seen his uncle do anything impolite or that would draw untoward attention, and now he was willing to nearly knock over old Cooper Thomas as he made his way across the street. It was hard for Dast to follow the direction to not look at anyone under such circumstances, but he did his best.
Customarily, his uncle would chat briefly with the guards at the town wall on their entering or exiting–not because it was required, they were known by name to everyone local to the community, but because that was how his uncle was. Today, however, they simply rode through without so much as a glance in either direction.
Once outside the walls, they picked up speed to a fast cantour, Dast’s least favorite speed. He had only spent a few hours training to ride, and he had found that anything faster than a walk and much slower than a gallop resulted in extra jarring, which made it impossible for him to focus on anything other than the road in front of him and the bruises building on his backside.
After an hour or so, when the horses began working up a lather, Ryker pulled up short and began dismounting.
“Thank goodness!” Dast exclaimed, hating that he sounded slightly petulant, “That was killing me.”
A small smirk to show he had been heard was the only response given as his uncle peered back the way they had come, his eyes roving the landscape as he searched.
“Do you really think they will follow us?”
“I do. We need to keep going.”
With that, he turned and began walking down the trail, one arm holding the reins so his horse would follow. The road was too narrow for them to walk two abreast with horses, so he settled into following behind once again. After a quarter-span, they once again mounted and began to ride at the same punishing pace. Over and over this pattern continued, until at last, night fell.
I’m so tired, I can’t wait to sleep. He thought to himself as they dismounted in the darkness. But instead of setting up camp, Ryker handed him a small block of cheese and an apple and continued walking–one hand shoving food into his mouth while the other kept a hold of the reins. Dast noted that his uncle didn’t seem tired at all, if anything, he seemed as adjusted to riding a horse for hours straight as he did at wielding a hammer. His mind went back to the many sparring sessions they had and how much better his uncle was compared to Khrom. We both are so much better. For the first time, he began to truly wonder what secrets his uncle had hidden in his past.
After another two iterations of riding through the darkness without any respite, Dast almost thought of giving voice to the aches in his backside, but thought better of it. They were in this mess because of him. Plus, he had never seen his uncle so serious–it was unnerving. Instead, he did his best to remain awake, which got harder and harder as the dark hours passed, despite the uncomfortable bouncing of his horse.
A few spans before the sun rose, as best as Dast could tell, the horses were done. Ryker’s mount crashed to the ground with a pained whinny and when Dast pulled his own horse to a stop it crashed next to its companion. Looking at the overworked animals, he got the feeling he wouldn’t be able to get either going again. Were lucky neither got hurt sooner. He thought to himself. He didn’t know a ton about horses, but he at least knew the basics–never ride on unlit paths. A horse was as likely to become lame as it was to reach a destination.
Despite feeling sorry for the horse, he felt relieved that they would finally stop and rest–or so he thought. Fastening their loose bags to a sturdy branch and giving it to Dast to carry, his uncle unloaded the saddlebags, draping them over his own broad shoulders. Dast almost protested when he was also handed a longsword, but a look from his uncle silenced him before it could be given voice. Then, drawing his sword, Ryker gave a flick to the downed horse, causing it to rear up and run down the road, its companion close behind. Before the horses had rounded the first bend, Ryker was already walking into the bushes and off the path.
“Come!” his gruff voice called.
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Ryker knew the prince didn’t have much left in him, but he also knew that they needed to keep going. He knew enough about the pride of small town mayors and lords to know that they would be pursued–their pride demanded it. They’d made more progress than he anticipated, which was good, but they still needed to get a few leagues off of the road before he would feel safe allowing Dast to stop and rest.
Despite the gap since his public service as a soldier, he found his old skills flowing easily, his eyes constantly checked their surroundings and his ears were alert for any sounds that something was amiss. Finally, as the sun began to rise, he found a hollow between some rocks and large pines.
Dropping his pack and retrieving one of the traveling blankets, he called softly. “We’ll rest here until nightfall. Get some sleep.”
After accepting the proffered bedding, Dast crumpled to the ground, not even bothering to figure out where he would be the most shaded, and fell asleep.
While his charge slept, he found a hidden vantage point from nearby and began keeping watch. He couldn’t keep going at this pace forever, but he could go a little longer. To help himself remain alert, he thought of all the things he needed to teach Dast over the coming days. His own woodcraft was mediocre at best, but he could help him learn how to stay hidden, how to leave false trails, and how to navigate in a steady direction even when surrounded by trees.
There was a seemingly endless list of topics that a king should know, and he only had time to focus on the basics–that, and he truly only knew the basics. He would have taught Dast everything he could about politics, court intrigue, economics, history, literature, and mathematics, but his own knowledge was rudimentary at most of those. Most blade bearers had time to learn some of these in court, but he had never had that chance.
If only Okagwe were here. After all of these years, he still wondered if Okagwe had fallen by King Angar’s hand or one of the other blade bearers. Okagwe had always seemed loyal, but then, so had Earl Kan and Baron Bren.
Being away from Winbreak and heading back towards Crimea for the first time in 14 years seemed to bring all of the problems he had left behind back to the forefront of his mind. He had done his best to put it off in the past, but he finally allowed it–partially because it felt pertinent, but mostly because he was avoiding something heavier: his fight with Dast.
After a few hours without unlocking any new truths in Duke Ovid’s usurpation of the throne, his heart could no longer be denied and his eyes found his foster son and he brain whirled with all of the thoughts he had denied for almost an entire day.
Did he somehow provoke Khrom? He was so angry about the situation, did he go looking for a fight? How would this impact his future as a king? To spill blood so early in life did not leave a man unscathed.
He would have to talk to him about all of this eventually, but he didn’t feel ready. He was a man of action who led by example. Long talks were not his way of doing things, and he was nervous at the prospect. I’ll wait til he comes to me.
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Dast awoke sometime in the early afternoon feeling like the cart horses had ridden him for a dozen leagues rather than the other way around. Not wanting to move and aggravate the pain, he looked around with only his eyes and saw Ryker looking about the way they had come.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
There was a tiredness to his uncle’s eyes that assured Dast that he had stood vigil for the entire morning–the knowledge made him nervous. Ryker wasn’t the type of man to worry needlessly, nor was he the type of man to act like he knew something if he didn’t. We are being followed. It was the only plausible conclusion.
Wanting to give his uncle a chance for a break, he began to rise to his feet, which elicited a loud moan as his whole body protested.
“You think working in the forge is hard work until you spend a day riding in the saddle, eh?” Ryker asked with a chuckle.
“Aye. I knew my backside was going to hurt, but I don’t understand why my shoulders and wrists do as well.” he responded in kind. Though the laughter was more subdued than it usually would have been, Dast took its presence as a sign of possible reconciliation.
“That just means you were too tense while riding–holding the reins too tightly and leaning forward rather than moving with the motion of the horse.” His uncle explained. “A few more days like that and you would have gotten the hang of it right enough.”
Dast didn’t know how to respond with anything meaningful. After a moment of awkwardness, he offered to take a turn standing watch.
“Oh, no need for that, I am doing just fine. Besides, I’d like to get some more distance between us and the road. Let’s go through the Samsara and your forms to stretch out your muscles and then we will keep going.”
Dast managed to mostly stifle the groan that bubbled up at the thought of doing the very difficult exercises in his present condition, enough so that the only chastisement he received a raised eyebrow rather than a sermon on the importance of sword forms–he had experienced too many of those already in his fifteen years of life.
His arms, legs and back cramp during the first and most basic of Samsara positions–forms he hadn’t struggled with in years. But as he continued, he found his taut muscles relaxing until his aches dulled to barely a whisper of their former raucous–unfortunately, that didn’t make the sword forms any easier. The already difficult movements were so much harder than normal. Despite the extra difficulty, he persevered, and after a brief rest and some food, they set off once more.
If the travel had been hard on horseback, it was even worse on foot and off trail. Large roots, divots in the earth, streams, and tangles of bushes forced him to constantly look at where he was going. He was used to this from hunting, but he had never traveled for so long without respite before, and the knowledge that the next day would be just as bad made it all seem worse. Still, it was good to have his thoughts focused on something–he was scared of where they would go if he allowed them to wander.
Despite everything he was feeling, he kept his discomfort to himself, refusing to complain or ask for rests or breaks–in part because it felt childish, but more importantly, because he wanted to ease the difficult situation for Ryker. His uncle had been dragged into this mess by Dast’s poor choices, and he recognized that. He wished he could make it right and struggled for most of the day to think of what he could do.
At last, as light fell and the took a break near a stream, he voiced the apology he had been working on for the majority of the day.
“Uncle, I am sorry that I caused all of this. I should have listened to you when you told me not to join the tournament, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, and I shouldn’t have stormed out after you confronted me about it.”
Ryker was silent for a long moment, long enough that Dast worried his apology was going to be ignored. When the reply came, it was with a somber voice. “It hurts me that you went behind my back, but you are not the only one to blame, Dast. I could have been more understanding about your desire to enter the tournament–or at the very least, I could have explained myself better.
“You see, swordsmanship shouldn’t be a means to vaunt your own greatness–rather it should be a tool to protect those you love. That’s where real confidence comes from–not from being better than someone else or showing off in front of a crowd, but in having the skills necessary to defend those who can’t defend themselves.”
A piece clicked into place for Dast that he had tried filling numerous times without success–Ryker didn’t avoid fighting because he was scared for himself. Instead, he was scared of hurting someone else without reason.
“Is that why you never enter, Uncle? You always play down your swordsmanship, but especially after my encounter with Khrom, I can say with certainty that you are much better than you let on.” He asked.
“It is.” Ryker said with a nod. “But it took me time to get to this point. At your age, I would have wanted to enter the Summertide Festival as well.”
“Have you ever entered a tournament before?”
“A time or two.” Ryker said with a faraway look in his eyes.
Dast ached to know what experiences his uncle was reliving in that moment, but he got the sense that the response was intentionally left vague. Though uncharacteristic of himself, he let that line of conversation die out, it wasn’t worth damaging the relationship that felt like it was coming back together. Deciding on a safer topic for the time being, he instead asked about the plans for the evening.
“We’ll go for a couple more hours and then we will make camp for the night. I’ll need you to take the first watch so that I can catch up on sleep.”
After agreeing with the plan, the pair rose to continue on their journey. Before they started moving, he felt Ryker’s hand fall on his shoulder.
“When you are ready to talk about it, I am here.” his uncle said before moving down the small game trail.
Though they had been talking about tournaments, he knew without asking that Ryker was referring to Khrom’s death and the words filled his heart with gratitude.
When I’m ready. He assured himself.
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The next two days moved much more quickly than the first–even if nothing much different transpired. In the early morning hours, Dast would train his strength and flexibility. When he asked about sparring, Ryker told him that though it felt that they were isolated, they couldn’t be sure who would be patrolling the area as they neared the pass and it was better to not draw attention to themselves.
Mention of the upcoming pass made Dast realize that he hadn’t had time to wonder where they were going. His thoughts had been so consumed with avoiding Khrom’s death and fixing his relationship with his uncle, that he had paid little attention to their direction, other than that they were headed south. Though not particularly adept at geography, he did know that Cremea was to the south of them.
“Uncle, are we still going to visit Grandma and Aunt Priscilla?” It seemed to mundane a destination given the seemingly life and death nature of their flight from Winbreak.
“I figure it is as good a destination as any.” Ryker replied. “At a minimum, it is a different country and Mayor Orville won’t be able to command his soldiers to follow us, even if he does.”
A thought occurred to him. “But Uncle, if we are going to Cremea, doesn’t that mean that we’ll have to go through the pass? Won’t Mayor Orville be watching that?”
“I’m hopeful he won’t track us that far. It is certainly out of his jurisdiction.” He said, “But it is a possibility.”
“Well what will we do if he is waiting for us?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s just focus on the road we can see.”
As they continued, Dast found his mind turning towards their destination, Cremea, the land of his heritage. Having never been there before, he wasn’t sure what to expect. A part of him wondered if he would feel a connection to his parents and if he would find answers to the many questions that Ryker would never answer fully. He knew only that his father had been a soldier in the King’s army and that both his mother and father had died protecting him–although from what, he had never been able to find out.
With anticipation for the future came a release from the boundaries he had erected in his mind to avoid reliving the trauma of the last few days and he allowed them to wander for the first time since leaving Winbreak. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Khrom he thought of first, but Ava.
Had it really only been two days ago that she had kissed him? Just thinking about the moment made his lips tingle as if they could still feel her touch. He wondered what she was doing now. Was she safe? Had anyone blamed her for the incident? Was her father’s shop going to be ok? Most importantly, was she thinking of him the way he was thinking of her?
Eventually his thoughts turned to Khrom. He found that he held little remorse for the situation. He hadn’t instigated the fight, he had only sought to defend himself. If anything, he felt anger towards his childhood tormentor for forcing this series of events on his life. He wondered if he and Ava would have kissed again if he hadn’t had to leave.
Thinking of Ava often started the same cycle of thoughts all over again, and over the next few days, as he trekked through the low foothills, he found himself daydreaming: both of how things might have been and how things could still be. A plethora of less and less plausible scenarios streamed through his head that somehow aligned his and Ava’s paths further down the road.
When he wasn’t daydreaming, he was talking with Ryker. After he had processed the events, he told his uncle everything. Ryker was more understanding that he would have guessed, simply listening to what Dast had to say without interrupting or unnecessary probing. Recounting the tale aloud had been difficult, but he found after that it had somehow triggered healing. And it wasn’t just Dast that healed; with that final secret out of their relationship, he and his uncle seemed to be on better terms than he could ever remember. It was as if their fights, trauma, and finally, honesty, had enabled Ryker to see him as a young man and not as a boy anymore. And Dast, in turn, no longer saw his uncle as an enforcer, but a guide to get through the hardships of youth.
It was with some reluctance that, on the third day since their departure from Winbreak, the fort at the base of the mountain pass came into view. Situated in a small valley between two mountains, the rough wood and stone city took up the entire space, making it impossible for invading armies to enter uncontested, as well as inhibiting fleeing fugitives from simply walking out of the kingdom.
From their vantage point a few leagues away, it was impossible to make out any details of who was in the fort, but that didn’t stop Dast from trying. As they descended downwards from the sides of the valley and towards the road that ran directly through the iron gate, he strained his eyes for any signs of Mayor Orville. Ryker also seemed to be scanning the area, though Dast noted that he did so in a way that seemed to take in and archive the actions of everything at once.
When there were still 300 spans from the gate, Ryker stopped and issued instructions in a low voice. “Keep your head down. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t reach for your sword hilt unless you see me do it. If anyone asks you directly, we are Cremean villagers returning from visiting family. Your name is Rion. Do you understand?”
After a nod of confirmation, Ryker stepped in front of him and made his way to the military base.
“State your names and business!” the guard challenged as they approached the gate.
“Veret and Rion. We are just returning from visiting my sister in Feldar.”
“Very well.” The guard said, opening the gate to admit them, then looked directly at Dast, “Don’t cause trouble here or else Captain Arington will have you set in the stocks, understand?”
Dast nodded vigorously, hoping to distance himself from the conversation as soon as possible.
“Say, that’s a nice sword you got there, where’d you get it?”
Dast looked to Ryker for help, only for the guard to cut in, “No, I asked you boy. What’s the matter, can’t speak for yourself?”
Not wanting to give away anything, Dast lied the best he could. “I won it in a competition back home.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had said the wrong thing.
“Oh-ho! So you’re good with a blade then. Care to wager it another bout?” the guard said, causing his anxiety to rise.
“That won’t be happening!” Ryker cut the guard off roughly, causing the guard to look at him in warning.
“Erh, what I mean is, that won’t be necessary, since I have this very nice blade I was going to give you already.” Ryker corrected smoothly, pulling a dagger from the saddlebags on his shoulders.
The guard inspected it for a second before looking up and smirking at them. Without another word, he pushed the gate open wider and they went into the fort. Dast released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“Sorry uncle–” He began to apologize, only for Ryker to wave him to silence.
A slight nod from his uncle assured him that the matter was forgotten and they made their way through the town–both of them straining to see everyone around them at all times. In other circumstances, Dast would have marveled at the unique construction of the fortress and the variety of goods on display, but given the few thousand soldiers and merchants who occupied this border station, his mind could only take in the smallest of details.
The walk through the small settlement seemed to last much longer, but within a half-span, they were exiting out of the gates on the opposite side of the fortress and into the narrow valley that stretched beyond.
The slot canyon was windy and barely wide enough for one cart in most places, with small areas where they could pass each other if needed. After only a quarter span of walking, the small settlement was completely lost from view and Dast relaxed slightly. They had done it. After this pass, they would officially be in Cremea.
Only a few heartbeats after that thought, as through a particularly sharp and narrow corner, ten men stepped out from the surroundings, Mayor Orville in their lead.
Dast looked around frantically for an escape from the much larger force, but five additional men, two of which held crossbows trained at them, had filled in the narrow path behind them, stepping from behind small overhangs and blocking off their escape.