Dast had to pry his eyes open, despite the sun already being a span in the sky. Glancing around, he saw Ventre softly stirring their fire back to life–the lateness of the hour was evidence that even his workhorse of an uncle thought that he deserved a little more rest after the previous day.
It only took me learning of my parents assassination and thwarting an attempt on my own life to deserve it. He thought with a macabre chuckle.
It had been his experience that the morning sunshine and promise of a new day often dulled the pains and lessened the worry associated with life’s greatest challenges, and that was true on this morning, if only barely. He had tossed and turned even after his turn on watch had ended, unable to come to terms with his new identity.
Me, the prince? It still seemed far fetched, but what was even more troubling was the lack of direction in life. Should I feel responsible to avenge my father’s death or reclaim the throne? Would it even be best for the people if I ruled–I am just a village boy with little training in anything other than blacksmithing…
The weight of such large decisions was heavier than he felt capable of bearing, and he had finally fallen asleep with the assurance that at least he wasn’t alone. Uncle will know what to do.
Rising from his bedding, he made his way over to the glowing embers, where the last of their provisions were cooking in an iron skillet. Rabbit, hard bread, stale cheese. It wasn’t what he was used to, but it looked appetizing given their exertions.
He was slightly apprehensive that an awkwardness would permeate their relationship, but the warm smile from Ventre as he sat across from him put his mind at ease. For a brief while, neither said anything, each sitting comfortably in their own thoughts, the sizzle and pop of the meat cooking the only sound to their companionable silence. Eventually, he gave voice to the question plaguing him most.
“What do we do now, Uncle?” Up until this moment, life had always seemed so certain. He would learn to be a blacksmith, meet a wife, have children, and live a normal life–even after having to flee from Winbreak, he still believed that that plan would be enacted, just in a different country.
Ventre studied him carefully for a moment, as if piecing together the true intention of his words. “Well, that’s up to you Dast. What do you want to do?”
The question made him pause. What do I want? It took a few moments, but eventually he began voicing his concerns with becoming king, which turned into a torrent of thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t hold back. Ventre, for his part, just listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to influence his feelings. In fact, it wasn’t until Dast had expressed himself so fully that he felt empty of words that Ventre said anything at all.
“You know, Dast, you don’t have to decide what you want to do right now.” Dast’s gaze, which had lost itself in the fire’s dying embers sometime during his prolonged venting, snapped up at the words, causing his Uncle to chuckle. “We can still go see my mother and sister and then find somewhere else to settle down for a few years until you feel ready to make a decision.”
Dast grasped at the extended lifeline, his only chance at remaining in a world where things were known and familiar. “And what if, after a few years, I decide to just stay a blacksmith?”
“Then I’d be honored to spend the rest of my days working beside you. But just remember, Dast, that bravery has a lot more to do with how we confront and overcome our fears, than it has to do with the feeling of fear.”
The remaining dregs of his worry, the part that said that Ventre would either leave him if he didn’t want to be king or worse, force him to honor his birthright, vanished at the words.
“Let’s go see Grandma and Aunt Priscillia.” he declared.
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The following days were some of the happiest Dast could remember. Each morning they rose before the sun and practiced their forms as well as continued sparring. After seeing Ventre in action, Dast had a newfound respect for the teachings of his Uncle and was quicker to incorporate them. Ventre, in turn, seemed to hone in on his increased capacity to follow direction and increased both the complexity and duration of his training. In a matter of five days, weight was added to his sword twice in order to make the newest sets of forms as challenging as possible.
Sparring had taken on a new realness as well. Having fought for his life on two separate occasions, he was quicker to understand what his uncle meant when he said, “There is no honor in combat, so don’t feel like you are limited to only using your sword–It is merely a single tool of many that you have available to you.” This message was driven home over and over again as Ventre used his fists, elbows, and feet to disable him. As if that wasn’t a good enough way to teach him the lesson, an additional half-span of grappling was appended to their sparring sessions.
Dast noticed minute changes in himself, but no matter how much he improved, Ventre was always faster, stronger, and more prepared. It was always a battle of how long he could last, not how close he could come to actually winning.
While he enjoyed sparring, his favorite thing about the mornings were the few occasions where Ventre practiced with the Katana of Speed. The way his uncle was able to move was mind-bending and he had a hard time keeping track of the named sword as it flashed through the air. Despite his enjoyment watching, Ventre wouldn’t let him try out the sword. According to him, it was dangerous to do so before you had mastered a normal blade. He pushed back slightly, but when he learned that that was a tradition of the Blade Bearers, he let the matter drop.
During the daylight hours, they walked along the dusty road, which gradually grew wider as they moved away from the border. When they weren’t within earshot of other travelers, Dast used the time to pepper Ventre with questions about the kingdom and its history. Was there really so much unused farmland? How many days of travel was it from one side of the kingdom to the other? How deep was the cold in winter? How hot was summer? Most of his questions were mundane, things he would have known simply by growing up within the kingdom, but to him, each question not only felt relevant, but important.
Even though they were only a few days' ride away from where he had been raised, the mountain range that separated the two countries and the different geographical features made them feel like two different worlds. Apparently, winter was much more mild outside of the mountains, and good farming land was so abundant that not all of it needed to be used.
It wasn’t until they passed through the first town, Iselhold, that he began to ask questions of more substance. Why were so many of the fields fallow? Why did there seem to be far more women than men? Why did everyone seem so suspicious of outsiders?
By all accounts, Iselhold should have felt link Winbreak, as many of the towns’ bones were similar: small outlying farms surrounding a town with a small town wall, streets composed of cobblestones, small stores where villagers could procure essential goods, but little else. But rather than a happy, tight-knit community, the atmosphere felt oppressive. Gauging looks from the locals that bordered on outright hostility made them pass through the town without stopping in the inn for dinner, something he had been looking forward to for days.
Where before, Ventre had been quick to respond to all of Dast’s prior questions, he was more withdrawn in answering the questions about Iselhold–his replies usually consisted of “I am not sure” or “It didn’t used to be this way.” Dast got the feeling that he suspected something, but wasn’t going to relay those suspicions aloud until he knew more.
Night time was Dast’s favorite part of each day. Without the threat of being followed, they always took the time to start a fire and cook up whatever meal they had scrounged during the day–most days, that meal was from small game they managed to snare the night prior or catch during the day, with rabbits and small birds being the main sources of food. Sometimes they came across vegetables or fruit trees as they walked, and they would munch happily while they walked.
On two occasions, they received food from local farmers who pleaded for their assistance as they passed by on the road. Ventre was always quick on both occasions to accept the food and to help out, but he turned down the invitation to stay in the farmers’ barns. According to him, helping out for a span or two was one thing, but the risk of someone remembering them or asking too many questions grew too large if they were to spend the night.
While not overabundant, the food was hot, and it was always followed by the true feast of each day, stories. Dast’s imagination ran wild as Ventre told him in greater depth about his past, how he had met Palantire, been trained by Ithius, and even worked with King Angar. He didn’t ask for details about the night when his parents had been killed, and Ventre never ventured there either, but anything else was fair game, and he reveled in every word that was spoken.
It was with some reluctance that they approached Riverick, fourteen days after entering Cremea. Dast guessed, to Ventre’s agreement, that the town was about three times the size of Winbreak, which to Dast, seemed massive. Suddenly feeling like had more context for many of the things he had learned in school as a child, he asked if it was a city. This caused his uncle to chuckle–apparently, cities were many times larger than Riverick, some, like the capital city of High Uthral, stretched as far as the eye could see.
As they entered through the gate, the guards asked them where they were headed, to Dast’s surprise, Ventre said they were coming to sell some blacksmith goods and perhaps to offer his services. After showing the few samples he had on his person, they were permitted to pass, with a warning to not cause any trouble.
Ventre seemed to know what Dast was thinking from just his curious look, because he gave an answer without a question being answered.
“Best not to announce ourselves to the guard–they will be the first people questioned should anyone come looking for us. It is better to get directions from someone in the streets that won’t be as easy to track down.”
While the sentiment made sense, it turned out to be a much harder task than they expected. The first thing Dast noticed upon entering the city was the same oppressive feeling permeating the air around them, as if all hope and joy had been taken from the populace. And that proved true when they approached the first person they could find for directions, a woman carrying a load of laundry in a basket at her hip.
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“Good morning, madam!” Ventre called in an approachable voice.
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” She hawked back, moving down the road without pausing.
“We were actually just looking for directions–” Ventre tried to call her back, only to be told very clear directions on where she thought they should go. Dast had a hard time not laughing, but he managed to hold it in until the woman was out of earshot.
After asking a few more people on the street, they decided to go into some of the local shops. Initially, the shopkeepers seemed much more congenial to talking, until they learned that they weren’t actually there to buy anything.
It seemed they were going to get their first break from a young woman who was tending the shop in front of the tannery. As soon as they walked in the door, her eyes landed on Dast, not leaving his face even as Ventre asked his questions.
“Good day, miss. We were hoping you could help us with some directions.”
“I’d be happy to help you.” She replied, her soft, unwavering eyes making Dast blush. She was pretty–prettier than most girls even, and he felt flustered.
“We were looking for the family of Priscilla and Lothe.”
All at once, the woman’s demure demeanor shattered. “S–s-sorry, I can’t help you. Please leave.”
She seemed so frightened that Dast felt bad for disturbing her and followed Ventre out the door, feeling downcast at their continued lack of success.
Ventre’s laughter took him by surprise.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
After a moment to contain his laughter, Ventre nudged him. “Don’t think I didn’t see that in there–You may be learning with the sword, but we are going to need to give you more exposure to women.”
“What do you mean?”
“One pretty smile and you’d practically betray an entire kingdom.” His uncle continued chuckling. “I saw the way you were looking at her.”
“Whatever.” Dast said embarrassed. “If anything, she just reminded me of Ava.”
The comment made Ventre pause for a moment before replying in a serious voice. “Well just remember, Dast, whoever you end up with, she may end up running the kingdom. Your mother was an extraordinary woman, and you shouldn’t settle for anything less.”
“But how do you know Ava or that girl wasn’t extraordinary? They aren’t so different from me? Isn’t it presumptuous to judge them?” Dast asked, feeling suddenly defensive.
“I’m not saying they aren’t wonderful or capable. I am simply saying that you don’t have the luxury of simply falling in love. You need to guard your heart so you only fall in love with the right woman.”
The comment stuck with him for a short while as they found there way to the next person to ask, but it slowly faded into the background as one individual after another denied talking to them. Eventually, Ventre was able to coax the information from a group of local youth, though at the cost of one of his five remaining knives.
It wasn’t until a few spans after midday, that they finally found themselves on the street where Priscilla’s house should have been, only it wasn’t there. Rather than the house they had heard about in letters and been told about when his cousins had visited, there was only a smoldering heap.
A blur moved by his side as Ventre sprinted forward, his hand on the hilt of his katana lending him unmatchable speed as he closed the distance to what remained of the home. By the time Dast had caught up to him, he was already digging through the rubble.
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Ventre heaved the piece of rubble to the side, where it crashed to the ground, expelling a plume of dry ash. It was only the third such object he had moved aside, and already the air was thick with the dust, making him cough slightly as he bent to lift the next beam.
He had never been to the house before, but based on what little remained of the house and the other houses on the street, he guessed that these beams had once supported the roof for the porch. He could have skipped uncovering the front door and simply climbed over the rubble, but his lack of knowledge dragged him forward, as if understanding what had made up this house would help him understand what had happened.
Another loud crash sounded as Dast moved a beam to his side. Brief gratitude for the boy broke through his desperation long enough for him to give him a nod, before he stooped down to pick up the next piece.
They continued to work side by side, neither saying a word as they pieced through the rubble while the sun made its daily pilgrimage downwards to the horizon. It was slow going work, an entire house, even so charred to ruin, represented a significant amount of debris. Slowly, a crowd formed. They didn’t approach them or even talk to them, but they talked amongst themselves, clearly apprehensive about why the two men would be digging through the ruin.
Two spans before the sun set, both so covered in soot that their clothes and exposed flesh was blackened, they came across the first body. Little remained other than bones, but based on the size, it was enough to indicate that it was Lothe, Priscilla’s husband. He was positioned near a doorway, as if his body could shield the rest of the room from the flames. Together, he and Dast extracted the remains so they could be buried later.
A few feet away, they found the small skeletons of his three nieces and nephews. Harold, the oldest, would only have been ten years old, while Penny, the youngest, was no older than four. Tears leaked through his eyes, struggling to make their way through the muck that coated his face, but only succeeding in blackening his visage even further.
Carefully, he moved the three bodies next to their father, his anger building with every moment. Who had done this? It clearly wasn’t the work of natural occurrence. Loathe had been a large man, plenty big enough to break down a door or window to help his family escape. No, this had to have been an intentional execution, but who could be so heartless as to sentence young children to such a death?
“What happened, Uncle?” the words broke through his thoughts, they were the first words the usually talkative prince had uttered in several spans.
“I don’t know, Dast. But it wasn’t an accident, of that I am sure.”
The prince tensed at the words, clearly itching to exact vengeance just as he himself was. “Who could do such a thing? Little, Penny? What could she possibly have done?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He replied, before continuing, “But first, let’s find your aunt and grandma so we can bury them together. Better for them to be put to rest before we face their demons.”
He expected that they would find the bodies quickly, but they didn’t. After another span, with the light almost completely faded, they extricated themselves from the rubble with the intention of finding some torches, only to find that a small crowd had grown and now numbered over two dozen, among their number were some of the town watch.
He paid them no mind and made his way to pass by them so he could find a torch when one of the guards bared his sword and commanded him to halt and surrender. Normally, he might have felt some apprehension at an impending confrontation, but instead he felt a resigned sense of satisfaction. Looks like I will get some answers here and now.
The katana was out of his hand in a blink, its strains singing him forward to victory as he jumped at the group of seven guards. His sword easily turned a blade to the side before he spun around and rammed his elbow into the head of another guard–he had enough presence of mind to refrain from killing any of them, afterall, couldn’t be sure they were responsible, but that didn’t stop him from knocking them unconscious.
Two more fell quickly as he danced between them, forcing them to pull their strikes or risk hitting one another. With their hesitation came his opening, and bashed his hilt into one of the soldiers, removing his helmet from his falling body so he could smash the armament into the nose of the other. Bones broke and blood welled from the screaming face, but Ventre was already onto his next victim.
The crowd scrambled away from the unexpected violence with cries of “demons” coming from their lips. Some ran all the way from the street while others only got far enough away that they deemed it safe to continue watching.
Without the risk of injuring any innocents, Ventre allowed himself to attack with even greater ferocity. Running towards another soldier, he leapt off of the body of a man he had already knocked-out, flying through the air like a piece of heaven-sent brimstone as he brought the hilt of his sword forward and into the man’s head. Though helmeted, the man crumpled like a puppet without strings as he lost all of senses at once.
He turned to find the next nearest soldier was the one who had tried to stop him and he sprinted at him, kicking his sword out of the way before striking the side of his neck with the end of his hand and causing him to tumble to the ground. Dast followed the falling body, placing the bare edge of his Katana on the man’s neck with just enough pressure that a hair's-width line of blood formed.
“Who did this to them!?” He said menacingly.
The man’s eyes glanced everywhere in fear as he struggled to make sense of everything that had just happened to him.
“I.. I.. I d-d-don’t know” he managed to get out.
“Don’t lie to me!” Ventre screamed as he increased the pressure on the man’s neck with the flat of his sword.
The man struggled briefly to breath before his eyes showed defeat and he tapped the ground to indicate his compliance.
“Duke Kan with a contingent of his blade bearers.” the man wheezed out from behind the crushing metal. “Two weeks ago. They came for Martha and Priscilla.”
Ventre quietly noted Kan’s promotion in rank before as the world seemed to fade away–one of his greatest fears was coming to pass. He glanced around and saw Dast standing over the remaining soldier's body.
He’s getting good at this. He thought with a measure of chagrin and pride.
“What happened?” He realized the question was vague, but he couldn’t seem to bring his emotions under control enough to form a longer sentence.
“The Duke questioned them in the town square.” The man hesitated, as if wondering if he needed to go into more details, but Ventre had no delusions what questioning would involve and simply nodded.
“When he didn’t get the information he wanted, he had his men put Lothe and the kids in the house and burned it to the ground, forcing them to remain inside.” The man’s voice turned hoarse at the mention of the atrocity. “The girls were screaming, begging them to stop, promising them that they would give them the information they wanted but the Duke only laughed at them.
“Once they had been forced to watch, the Duke took them away towards the capital. He commanded us to not touch the house on pain of death.” The soldier concluded, his voice more relaxed as the katana’s edge had slowly retracted.
Ventre stood and began walking away, Dast following close behind him. He had little time to spare if he wanted to catch up to the Kan before he reached High Uthral, but soldiers and captives made for slower marching, so it should be possible.
A thought struck him, causing him to turn back towards the still downed soldier. “What was the question?” he asked.
“Pardon?” the man asked as he struggled to sit up.
“You said Duke Kan questioned them. What question was he asking?”
“He wanted to know where Ventre, wielder of the Katana of Speed, and Prince Dasterion, two known traitors, were hiding.” The soldier said, giving Ventre and Dast a knowing look.
Ice filled his veins as his eyes met Dast’s. He saw fear and worry mirrored in their depths before he began scanning the crowd around them. Anyone of them could be a spy, waiting to report back to Kan. They needed to get out of Riverick immediately.
He turned to leave once again, but a voice stopped him. “For what it is worth, there are many who would see King Ovid removed from the throne.”
It was a watching villager who said the words. He was a short man with close cropped hair. “Many of us can still remember the days before that murderer took the throne and the conscription started.”
Some nodded in agreement at the words, while others started moving away, more scared of the spoken treason than they had been of Ventre in full bloodlust. Ventre grabbed Dast's trembling shoulder and pulled him away into the darkness while his thoughts tried to find a solution to his current predicament. He had to go after Priscilla and his mother, but he couldn’t take the prince into that kind of danger.
What am I to do? He wondered helplessly.