Semnian

Dunstan tore down the cavernous hallway, tears and sweat pouring down his flushed face. His eyes were wide with fear and he pushed himself faster, hoping that if he arrived soon enough, it would not be true.

He skittered around a corner and narrowly avoided a collision with a chambermaid. Without uttering an apology, he continued to careen around corners and burst through hallways until he arrived at a closed door.

Dunstan halted to compose himself with deep breaths. After his heart stopped beating in his throat and the flushed had eased, he opened to door.

King Wisre Valerik was standing at a large table surrounded by bustling men in stately attire and detailed maps of Auranosis. The noise in the room abruptly turned to silence as all eyes hostilely turned toward the king’s youngest son.

“Did I disturb you?” Dunstan innocently asked, pasting on a smile that refused to reach his silvery eyes.

The king laughed heartily but the boy could still see the flash of anger brush past his sunken eyes. “Of course not my dear boy. Come in and see what wonderful plans are being concocted by these brilliant masterminds.”

Dunstan stepped in amongst disapproving whispers and disgruntled glares.

“As I was saying,” King Wisre turned around the face the enormous map behind him. “If we lead our battalion here and capture Gledonius, a chain effect will explode into existence.” He tapped places with a wooden pointer while grinning to himself. “All the other kingdoms will fall into surrounding chaos and fear, as peace has been kept for hundreds of summers. Our thousands of Chiroe warriors will then capture the others lands and after that…”

The men clapped and turned to each other, talking excitedly with wildly gesticulating hands. One highbred noble stopped by the king and tentatively asked a question.

“What do your warriors entail Your Highness?”

Dunstan shivered as a crazed look twisted his father’s features before being chased away by a purely political smile. “Have you not heard of the infamous Chiroe?”

With a grimace, the boy brought up memories.

The Chiroe warriors were a race of savages grown deep within the ground, past spindly tree roots, amid the darkness and moist soil, touched by blood magic. When they were ‘harvested,’ the viscous shells of slime they had been cocooned in were ripped apart to reveal hideous monsters.

The distorted, leathery skin was clammy to the touch and beady eyes stared out of hollow sockets. In some, their features had melted together to form a black, coriaceous puddle. In others, pairs had sprouted with horrifying results. Double noses to smell better, extra arms to wield another weapon and an additional pair of ears to hear its victim with twice the results.

Dunstan recalled their putrid stench and earsplitting roars that reeked of pain to come, a promise not long forgotten.

So it is true, the boy thought, trying to hold back the building tears. For once, Rowland was right. The world as we know it will be at war.

He turned to a large window and stared out the glass, to the hazy, snow-capped mountains of purple majesty. The gray sky was thick with dreary clouds sinking lower and lower to their death.

And I cannot do anything about it.

“Savage beasts of violence and pain,” King Wisre Valerik simply replied.

Grunts of approval rolled around the room, combining with gleeful whispers of resources and wealth gained.

“When does this army depart,” asked an eager lord near Dunstan.

The boy didn’t hear the answer because he had departed himself, nausea boiling up in his empty stomach. He shoved past the male aristos and bolted out the door, tears already leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He ran until he was outside and collapsing onto the ground, dry heaved, violently retching up air.

Minutes passed before he sat back on his knees, trembling and exhausted. The salty tears continued to pour down his pallid face as his lips moved to utter curses. His whole body shook as fear wormed its way into his head and down through his limbs.

“Better watch your language, little brother,” came a silky voice.

Dunstan jumped up from his knees and whirled around, fists up, coming face to face with his older brother. The muscular man caught his arms in a vise-like grip before pushing him backwards.

“What do you want Rowland?” Dunstan tried to collect himself but his body refused to obey the silent commands.

“I just decided to take a walk and,” he laughed cruelly. “Are you crying?”

The younger boy turned around and began to walk down a pebbled path bordered by fragrant flowers, secretly wiping away the tears.

Why would I not be crying? My father, the King of Death, the Bloodthirsty King, is going to wipe out multitudes of innocent souls only to acquire power. Our beautiful lands will perish under his iron reign and his people will suffer from fear and the resources squandered by his selfish needs, Dunstan shouted inside his head. And you are just like father: power-hungry, arrogant and mindless toward other’s needs.

“Of course I’m not crying. You are seeing things brother.”

Rowland grunted skeptically but followed behind his sibling, talking all the while.

“Is this not wonderful news? We will finally amass the riches, supplies, land and ranking we deserve. Princess Arwen’s refusal for a betrothal was only a minor setback.”

“Hm?” Dunstan absentmindedly asked, paying more attention to the haunting melody sung by the far-away birds and his thoughts than to the honeyed, vehement voice behind him.

“Oh yes. I did not tell you about that, did I?” Marrying the Princess of Meldonian would have been a much easier way to capture the wealthiest kingdom in Auranosis. We could have held her for a high ransom and if King Edikiah did not meet our demands, we could have just killed the obnoxious brat. Damn, she has quiet the temper. Anyway, since her father refused to the political match, more people will have to die. What a dreadful shame!” Rowland cackled madly and Dunstan’s senses urged him toward flight, not fight.

The heir silenced his crazed laughter before clutching his brother’s wrist and spinning him round.

“Dunstan, can I trust you?”

“Yes.”

No.

“I have a plan, for me and you. Would you like to hear it?” Rowland’s unnaturally blue eyes nervously darter around the courtyard and Dunstan was struck by his brother’s sudden change in demeanor.

“Not really but I know you will tell me anyway.”

The man leaned into Dunstan and began to whisper into his ear. “Will you help me kill father?” Imagine all the wealth and power we could have! Just picture it,” he waved his hand in an arc and stared at the horizon dreamily. “Me on the throne, golden crown perched atop my revered head. You as my most respected advisor. With father’s army, we could do anything such as sail past the Silver Sea and capture other kingdoms. Can’t you see all the possibilities my dear brother?”

“Yes but…”

“But what? But what?!”

“What exactly do you mean by killing father?”’

Rowland grinned to reveal white teeth glittering in the overcast sky. “Just what I said. In two days’ time, we shall commit this act of treason. I have acquired a deadly yet untraceable poison that must be given to him. You may do the honors and-”

“No,” Dunstan interrupted the prince in midsentence. “I will not kill our father no matter what he deserves. He is still our elder parent and I must respect him for that.” He stepped away. “Besides, I am not so dumb as to kill him. Then I will take the brute of the blame.”

Rowland’s features darkened like the ominous cloud building across the sun. “Fine,” he hissed. “But you better not tell father. No one is to hear of our�"my�"plans.” He stalked away.

Rowland didn’t notice but Dunstan had. Ever since his older brother had entered the garden, a bodyguard had silently trailed along. His shadowy presence went unseen by the man and was still, even after he began to dodge behind Rowland.

Dunstan turned away but not before he saw the darkly clad guard mouth three words, sending a chill down his spine. He disappeared next to Rowland’s retreating form.

You better run.

♦ • ♦ • ♦

Dunstan walked into his room, dismissed his preening maid and slammed the heavy door shut. He lowered his quavering form onto a cushioned chair and numbly stared into the fireplace. The black ashes from the previous fire had not been cleaned and dejectedly lay beneath the grate. Illusions of undulating flames flickered across Dunstan’s vision and a cold draft wafted around his bedroom.

Auranosis would be no more. His father would annihilate hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent beings while rapacious man languished on his throne.

Suddenly, the maid burst into Dunstan’s room, gaping and rosy.

“What is it Zerah?” he wearily asked.

“His Royal Highness has prepared a celebratory banquet and requires your attendance my Prince. You are to be ready by quarter past.”

Dunstan glared at his personal nursemaid and growled deep within his throat. “I refuse to accept his invitation. I wish to have no responsibility in his business affairs.”

Zerah looked uncomfortable. Her small jaw twitched and he wise, aged eyes began to flutter anxiously. After nervously swallowing multiple times, she managed to squeak out, “He said he would not take no for an answer.”

“Thank you Zerah. You are excused. I need not your help in preparing myself.”

The old lady waddled over to Dunstan and gave him a warm hug before waddling out of the room and leaving him in silence.

Soon after, Dunstan quickly sprang into action. He grabbed a canvas sack and stuffed it with drab clothes, hiding copper and gold coins deep within. After this had been accomplished, he swiftly shoved it beneath the canopied bed so his maid would not find it and began to get ready.

For ten minutes, Dunstan tidied himself into a princely silhouette. His rich mahogany hair had been slicked back and the crimson tunic he wore was fringed in gold. The fabric felt sublimely soft against his skin and with chagrin, he realized he would possibly never feel the sumptuous material again.

Walking out the door, he thought about how much he would miss his chambermaid and only companion. Zerah had been the only existing person to ever reveal true affection for the boy and to become his best friend and closest confidant.

In truth, Dunstan was plagued with loneliness even though he was constantly surrounded by people. He secluded himself from the nobles because of their pompousness, selfishness and judgmental traits which left the assiduous servants. Even then, these men and women had either been too busy or too afraid to befriend the quiet, little boy.

His father was not a good one for company. Prone to unforeseen tempers of violent rage, the tiny Dunstan had been frightened. He knew that the king already disapproved of his yielding and kind ways and wished a different son had been born.

Their mother, Queen Nylora, was only seen at political functions worthy of her elegant attendance. He refused to allot her the title of loving and sacrificial parent.

And then the elderly lady had been assigned to him and their friendship began to steadily evolve over the numerous summers they had spent together. For seven years, he had been friendless and alone but for the past ten, he had found a safe haven which he now had to leave.

He ran to Zerah when his feelings had been stomped upon. He had received his first hug and kiss from the shriveled nurse. He confessed to her his numerous secrets and fears, knowing she was willingly listening.

Yes, he would miss her dearly

♦ • ♦ • ♦

Dunstan stomped his way to the banquet hall, deep in thought and bitter with the demand. A solid wall of strength halted him and with a frown, he looked up into Rowland’s leering gaze.

“Where are you going little brother?”

“Oh you know, I just decided to take a walk big brother.”

Rowland towered over the shorter boy and menacingly closed in on him. “Does anyone know you are on this…walk?”

Run.

Dunstan obeyed his inner voice, rapidly ducking under the threatening man’s arm and racing away, spurred on by angry curses. Rowland did not follow and Dunstan silently thanked him for that one, small blessing.

When he arrived at the banquet hall, his face was once again a crimson hue and sweat had begun to work its way from his pores. A richly clad servant ushered him in and showed him to the designated seat.

He was bordered by an archaic lady and a stiff man with greasy hair. All around him, aristos chatted gaily, gifting other’s with news about the oncoming war.

“Why are you so red?” asked the creaking, whiney voice to his right.

He faced the lady’s watery scrutiny and glared at her. She stared back and Dunstan noticed the ancient crust gathering in the corners of her pale eyes which looked like skinned grapes. Her thin lips twitched and a little, pointy tongue peeked out to moisten them, before retreating back into the mothball smelling cave.

Disturbing.

He turned away, ignoring the parched flakes of skin gathering on the table around her quivering form.

As the first course of brazed mutton spiced with saffron was served, King Wisre Valerik stood up with ornate wine glass in hand. The sloshing, red liquid reminded Dunstan of blood.

“You all know the plans, plans of war and destruction,” Wisre began his speech. “Many of you approve yet some remain stubbornly opposed. Why that is, I know not.”

Snickers rolled around the room and Dunstan sunk down into his seat. His father was staring right at him.

Wisre sat his wine glass down before raising his arms high, hands outstretched. “My beloved friends,” he boomingly declared. “A new age is in the making. Dominance is the law of the land and dominance we shall achieve. My army is finally ready to accomplish my bidding and with this vast battalion of Chiroe fighters, history will be created! No longer will our lands remain below observation; no longer will we lounge in the backwoods while wealthier kingdoms tower over us. We will be The Ones. You will be The Ones!” He punctuated each word with a pointed finger angled toward the grinning noblemen. “This war will happen and we shall prepare for victory. We shall have whatever our greedy heart’s desire. Land. Resources. Women. Riches. Power.”

As he spoke each word, the applause intensified until it was a deafening roar. Cheers and whistles combined with the clapping and all but Dunstan was left standing.

He stared at his father with disgust before shoving back his chair and trudging out, unafraid of his father’s wrath which would later be inflicted upon him.

The vociferous ovation rang in his ears, spurring him forward and pushing him into a frenzied sprint.

Dunstan tore down the dark hallway as anger welled up within him.

His father was a monster. The names bequeathed to him were just in their cruelty. Wisre’s greed would ruin Auranosis until the beautiful land would cease to exist. Devastation and poverty would ensue.

Dunstan breathlessly entered his room, plopped onto his bed and glanced out the window.

The sky had turned a deep charcoal and tiny stars danced across the night. The moon appeared from behind a cloud and glared at the boy, eerily casting the ghostly light onto his body.

You better run.

The white orb was hidden from view as Dunstan stood up and untied the golden rope, unfurling the velvet curtains and blocking out the night sky. He then crouched down and pulled out the sack, a frown on his handsome face. After quickly tossing in a couple more items and changing his clothes, he wrote a note to Zerah, thanking her for the time they had spent together and sorry that he couldn’t tell her where he was going.

I don’t even know where I am going.

He set the note atop the gilded mantle, took one last glance around his childhood room and stepped out of it, softly closing the door behind him and closing the door to his past life.

With a quick glance around the dark hall, Dunstan began to jog toward the kitchens, pulling the patched hood over his rich hair. His heart was thudding in his chest, lurching with each step forward. I have to do this. I have to go.

Deep within his mind, he knew he would never regret leaving his father, his brother, the castle but it would be difficult stepping away from the only world he knew. Memories filled his mind as he slowed into a walk.

A seven year old boy walked into the sunlight, smiling as the rays warmed his skin. The blue sky tenderly embraced him and a breeze caressed his hair, swirling it around his shoulders. He ran through the grass, the tips of the feathery strands brushing against his fingers.

His brother was in front of him, leading his friends in a game of fildof.

“Can I play?” he asked Rowland, a smile still gracing his lips.

Rowland stopped kicking the ball and the others turned to glare at the little boy, their young brows scowling angrily.

“Never,” his brother spat. “You are too small and too weak.” The other boys nodded their approval.

“Please,” Dunstan pleaded. Tears began to well up in his gray eyes but he pushed them down, afraid to show the weakness. “I’m not weak. I’m a big boy like you all.”

They laughed at that and began closing in on him. Murmurs whirled around Dunstan, muttered words of ‘prove it’ and ‘liar’ while their eyes betrayed wild ideas.

The image changed, flashing to the king.

“Who did this to you?”

Dunstan looked down, afraid to look into his father’s flashing eyes. “No one father. I slipped down the stairs.”

Half of his face had been bruised, swollen and purple. Blood was still caked beneath his nose and blood had dried in his split lip.

“You better not be lying to me boy!”

“No father.”

King Wisre glared down at the trembling boy, his teeth clenching. “Why do you protect his a*s? Why do you just stand there like a spineless coward?”

Because, Dunstan thought, maybe he will be my friend if I stand there. Maybe he will be my brother.

Dunstan looked up at his towering father, his innocent eyes wide. “Because that is what I am.” His lips trembled. “I am just a spineless coward.”

King Wisre Valerik raised his hand and Dunstan braced himself for the blow but it never came.

“Nylora, clean him up.”

Wordlessly, his mother appeared from the shadows, grasped the boys shoulder and led him away.

Dunstan shivered as he remembered the only time his mother had touched him. The empty hallway echoed with his breath and he tried to push the memories away, unable to conjure any good ones.

When he had reached the kitchens, anger began to whip its red-hot tendrils around him, squeezing tighter and tighter. He recalled all the times he had bent his head submissively, all the times he had been beaten, all the times he had been alone.

He passed by a servant but was ignored. He reached into the cupboards and finished filling his sack with provisions and no one questioned his presence. With a start, he realized why.

They don’t recognize me, he gleefully thought. All they see is a person like them. Without my rich clothes, I am virtually invisible. He was then gripped with mild sadness. No one knows me for who I am. All they see is royalty in the clothes I wear and the walls I am surrounded by.

He quickly walked out, tripped up a stair case and finally outside.

The crisp air cleansed his lungs from the stifling heat in the servant’s quarters and it filled him with purpose, telling him where he must go. As he joined the crowd of people exiting the castle, he tipped his head away from the guards, hoping to go unrecognized.

Sometimes wishes do come true.

He left the thick walls and hope began to combine with the anger, creating a mass of emotions Dunstan never thought to exist. He was free, finally free. He would travel for thousands of miles to warn the other kingdoms of Wisre’s deadly plans. He now had a purpose worth living for, worth dying for and for the first time in weeks, a smile lifted his face.

But I must stay hidden, he thought. It won’t take them long to realize I have disappeared.

The smile abruptly died.

♦ • ♦ • ♦

Zerah entered her master’s room to begin a fire for his return. She headed over to the huge fireplace before a piece of creased parchment caught her eyes. She apprehensively walked over, knowing her master would never be so careless as to leave his writing about.

Opening it, dread began to fill her.

Summers ago, Dunstan had gifted her in teaching her to read and write. Servants were forbidden to have this skill so the two had kept it hidden.

She read the note.

It thanked her for the time they had spent together and exclaimed that he was sorry for this but he had to do it. Zerah stared on with confusion until the little writing found her gaze.

The bird has been set free to find the others, it said.

“So little Dunstan,” her weathered voice creaked into the silence. “You are finally free of this horrid place.” She opened the velvet curtain and stared out at the night sky, a tired and sad smile curving her lips. “Be free my darling child. You do not deserve entrapment. Go save Auranosis.”

Despite her brave words though, tears began to fill her pale eyes and her thin lips began to tremble. You will never make it in this selfish world, Zerah miserably thought.

She did not realize, for the first time in her life, that she had been wrong.

♦ • ♦ • ♦

Hours after the banquet, when everyone had been asleep, two black figures crept around in the darkness. Their demonic shadows traced the walls and slithered across the floor, cloaked in the night’s fingers. They quietly knocked against a door but the tap seemed loud in the utter silence.

Minutes passed before it opened and a handsome man stood in a white nightgown. It swirled around his feet as a breeze blew in from the window, carrying the vague stench of rancid meat.

“Well?” he growled deep within his throat.

“He…he has disappeared Your Highness…”

“Clever boy,” came the hissed whisper between gritted teeth. “I will deal with this tomorrow. But for now, come in to receive your pay.”

The faceless silhouettes glanced at each other before silently stepping in, falling into line behind the angelic prince.

His back was to them as he rummaged around a drawer. The last thing they saw was the glint of metal in the moon as he spun around and impaled the two on the same sword. Blood gurgled from both of their concealed mouths, staining the black fabric. They died without a word.

♦ • ♦ • ♦

Rowland calmly changed out of his bloody gown and into a fresh one before stepping over the phantoms and into his comfortable bed.

I have much to deal with tomorrow, he thought as he stared down at the puddle of growing blood. It steamed as it expanded over the cold cobblestones.

He lay down and grinned up at the painted ceiling. “Oh Dunstan, you will never make it. You should know by now, no one can hide from me.”

The silently spreading blood hit a bed post and Rowland closed his eyes, enjoying the metallic smell which filled his nose.

His whispered words echoed around the dark chamber.

“If you can’t do your job, you may as well die trying.”

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