Vendel’s mind warned him that something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. However, he paid that little heed and focused all his senses on the feast that was laid out before him, launching himself into the villagers’ rear. Most hadn’t even time to scream as they fell to the prince’s lightning quick swordplay. Soon, eighteen lay dead at his feet, and the immense hunger he felt was somewhat sated.

“You there, identify yourself in the name of the prince!” a familiar voice demanded from outside the windmill.

Vendel looked to see at least three dozen men standing in disciplined formations. The light from the torches they carried danced off their steel armour, and the prince broke into a grin. Though he no longer felt consumed by the peculiar hunger, he was eager to test himself against a proper foe, and these familiar looking soldiers looked as though they could provide him with a degree of challenge.

The prince hefted the sword in his hand before darting towards the man who was standing at the head of the men. There was something familiar about the silhouette of his armour, which caused Vendel to hesitate. He then saw that the man’s armour was jet black and stopped in his tracks.

“It’s me, brother!” Vendel gasped.

“Hold!” he heard his brother roar from behind his visor, which was forged in the shape of a snarling bear.

In the corner of his eye, Vendel saw that one of his brother’s men had heard the order too late. An arrow flew towards him on a straight path, but he plucked it out of the air with his hand as though it were an apple someone had lobbed underhand at him.

His brother raised the visor of his helmet and studied Vendel with a pair of hard slate eyes. Then, his eyes went to the sword in his hand, which Vendel tried to hide behind his back like a child who was caught holding something he had been told not to touch.

“Look at the state of you, little brother,” Vengian Setranium sighed. He was six years older than Vendel and towered over his younger brother. The disappointment in his voice was palpable. “I now understand why father was so furious when he discovered that I allowed you to go in my stead.”

Vendel felt a surge of anger as he came to a realization. “Father intended for you to take possession of this sword and its power, didn’t he?”

Vengian shook his head sadly and clapped a hand around his younger brother’s shoulder. The eldest of the Setranium princes stood almost a foot taller than Vendel and had to stoop so that he could look him in the eye.

“Yes, this power was meant to be entrusted to me, but not for the reason you think,” Vengian began.

“So tell me the reason then, brother,” Vendel snapped when his brother’s voice trailed off. The younger prince felt tears of fury well in his eyes and willed them away. His eldest brother already had so much, and more was being heaped at his feet. It just wasn’t fair.

Vengian opened his mouth and was about to say something when he thought better of it and shook his head. “I have already angered father once by disobeying him. I will bring you back to Maeburn and leave it to him to tell you.”

The older prince then straightened himself and walked past Vendel towards the windmill. After taking a look inside, he turned around to face his brother. His face was as white as a sheet.

“Where are your companions?” he gasped.

“Still making their way up the stairs,” Vendel replied. “Do you think so little of me that you assumed I did them in?”

Vengian glanced over his shoulder at the bodies in the windmill before turning back. His eyes went to the sword again before going to Vendel’s face. “I don’t know what to think of you at the moment, brother.”

“Well, I’m not one to kill his own people,” Vendel snapped as he stalked towards the windmill.

He felt a shaft of satisfaction when his brother stepped aside hurriedly to let him pass. His mighty brother, who had been declared the best duellist in the kingdom after winning the summer tourney handily now feared him. That was how powerful he had become. Soon, his father would recognize his power as well. Perhaps he would then be unleashed upon the Entavian Empire, who had been making probes against the kingdom’s defences at Karth Pass of late.

Many in the royal court feared that war with the great empire was inevitable. With his new found power, Vendel was sure he could lead their kingdom’s armies to a victory so overwhelming that the Entavian Empire would never dare to pick a fight with Meninfel and House Setranium again. Then, Vendel could return triumphant, to the hero’s welcome he so richly deserved.

Vendel smiled to himself as he walked over to the shattered millstone and peered down the pit. Orla and Carla had overtaken Arlen and were now halfway up the stairs, while the heavyset man was scarcely a quarter of the way up.

“My Prince, what’s the situation up there?” Arlen panted as he came to a stop and bent over, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“I’ve taken care of things,” he replied. “Also, my brother is here.”

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There was a long silence. Then, Orla spoke. “Your father knows.”

The dread in the conjurer’s voice caused Vendel to finally feel the full weight of the predicament they were in. The one small consolation they had was that Vendel had successfully retrieved the sword.

“Is it possible to change your master?” he asked in his mind.

“Yes,” came the reply, and Vendel felt a wave of relief.

His father’s plan, whatever it was could still be put into motion. However, relinquishing the sword would cause him to slip back into irrelevance. Perhaps that would be his saving grace. Vendel turned to see that his brother was still keeping a healthy distance, staying close to the entrance of the windmill. His men were still waiting in their disciplined formation outside. They were crack soldiers and too disciplined to enter uninvited.

“How deep is the hole I’m in, brother?” Vendel asked.

“I’d say you’re in up to your neck,” Vengian replied, without taking his eyes off the sword in Vendel’s hand. “Your bringing that sword back should help mollify father somewhat.”

Vendel raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ll let me do that?”

His brother nodded and sighed. “You are my little brother. If I don’t stick my neck out for you, who will?”

Vendel smirked. His brother had everything handed to him on a silver platter from the day he was born. Vendel wouldn’t be mollified by being tossed a few scraps. Then, a thought occurred to him.

“I’m sure you think my brother is a far more fitting master than I am,” he sniffed quietly.

“We have a covenant,” the sword replied simply. “You are my Master, and for as long as that is the case, I will serve your interests.”

Vendel grunted audibly.

“How do you feel?” he heard his brother ask.

He looked up to see that his brother had approached within ten paces of him and was examining the bodies on the ground. Watching the figure clad from head to toe in his imposing black armour reminded Vendel that he had forgotten to wear his helmet yet again. He’d have to remember to wear it if his father ever let him take the sword into the field. Then, the Crimson Prince would surely eclipse the Black Prince.

“Is there anything you can tell me about father’s plan for this sword?” Vendel asked quietly.

Vengian looked up at his younger brother for a moment before shaking his head. “All I can tell you is that his plans for it aren’t what you think and that you’ve caused us a fair bit of trouble by taking ownership of it.”

“Are you sure the two of you aren’t overthinking things?” Vendel ventured. “This sword is a powerful weapon in my hands. If you could help me convince Father to unleash me upon the Entavians, I’m sure I could tip things there in our favour.”

Vengian let off a deep sigh. “I’m sure you have caught a glimpse of the sword’s power, but you should know that you can still be killed while wielding it.”

“You think too poorly of me, brother,” Vendel scoffed.

“The Entavian army dwarfs our own,” Vengian reminded his brother. “It would be all too easy for you to be isolated and overrun, and if that were to happen, the sword would fall into their hands.”

Vengian’s eyes bored into his brothers’ to see if the impulsive young prince saw his point. At length, the younger of the brothers scowled and nodded. “I understand.”

Vendel paused before sighing. “When can we leave for Maeburn? I’d like to get this conversation with father over with as quickly as possible.”

Vengian nodded. “We can leave at dawn. It’s not ideal, but I’ll leave a dozen men behind to investigate things here.”

“Can your men be trusted?” Orla gasped as she clambered through the hole in the millstone. “There could be other secrets hidden below.”

“His Majesty’s orders to me were explicit,” Vengian said tersely. “He would have come himself, but the Entavians are advancing on the Pass, and his presence is needed in the east.”

Orla’s eyebrows shot up. “Are things that bad?”

“Our spies reported an army numbering twenty thousand marching on the Pass,” Vengian replied. He sighed before glancing at his brother. “Our indiscretion could hardly have come at a worse time.”

“If we’d done as father said, you’d be here anyway,” Vendel pointed out. “And father doesn’t consider me at all when planning military operations.”

“That isn’t true,” Vengian objected. “In fact, your talents would have been useful in the war to come even if you hadn’t taken possession of the sword.”

The younger prince felt the ends of his lips curl up in a smile and turned away. His eldest brother had always thought highly of Vendel, which made it difficult for the younger prince to hate him for the favour he received from their father.

Orla, who had just caught her breath rushed over to Vengian and curtseyed politely. “My Prince, if the situation is as dire as you say, we should leave for Maeburn at once! The presence of the Black Prince could well be the difference between victory and defeat.”

“I’m afraid my men and I have ridden hard over the last three days to get here,” Vengian replied.

The conjurer’s eyes went wide with surprise. It had taken them almost a week to get to the Southern Cliffs from Maeburn.

“My men and our horses are spent,” Vengian continued. “We will have to rest the night at the very least to have any hope of getting back to Maeburn.”

“Our horses should be well rested,” Orla pointed out. “Though there are only two of them.”

“That’s right, the villagers took one of our horses to warn their co-conspirators!” Orla gasped.

“They could be back and in greater numbers,” Carla warned as she climbed out of the hole in the ground. “You can stay if you like, but I won’t.”

“And who is this?” Vengian demanded.

“She is one of the villagers, My Prince,” Orla explained. Her tone was deferential, and she kept her gaze low, which infuriated Vendel. “She was kidnapped from the Three Lakes and forced to assist them here. She helped us in exchange for her freedom.”

“Do you and Arlen trust her?” Vengian asked as he studied the girl, who had fallen silent upon seeing the older prince’s imposing figure.

Orla shook her head. “My Prince, we have only just met her, but what he discovered here does indicate that the Church could be plotting against our king, and if nothing else, this girl could prove useful as evidence.”

Vengian nodded thoughtfully. “You make a good point. We will take her back with us to Maeburn.”

Carla opened her mouth as though to object but thought better of it and shrank away. She began inching towards the windmill’s door but stopped when she saw the soldiers arrayed outside. Vendel was about to make a snide comment when he heard the sound of hooves approaching in the distance.

“Someone’s coming,” he warned.

Moments later, a soldier appeared at the doorway. His armour was decorated in gold trim, identifying him as an officer.

"My Prince, apologies, but a messenger approaches travelling under a white and silver banner,” he said sheepishly.

“I thought you rushed over here as quickly as you could,” Orla blurted. “How could a royal messenger have caught up with you so quickly?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Vengian muttered as he stalked out of the windmill.

Vendel too was curious to hear what this messenger had to say. For him to travel under a white and silver banner meant that he bore an urgent message from the king himself. To not assist or impede someone travelling under such a banner was punishable by death.