Spears of Ladis

by RG Long

  But then his steps slowed. There wasn’t anyone in the halls at all. No priests, guards, or anyone. That was strange. Jerius looked up and down the long corridor. Even the guards who were always standing by the high priest’s door were gone. He had never seen that door unmanned.

  A sense of dread came over Jerius and he truly had no idea where it had come from, but now that it was here it clung to him like a mist. Taking his strides in more measured steps now, he continued his way toward the large doors of the high priest’s study. Along the wall there was a spear, left by some guard who had apparently thought she had something better to do with her hands.

  Jerius grabbed it in one hand as he shuffled the book of Decolos in the other. He cursed himself for leaving his whip down in his study. He always felt much more secure with that at his side.

  “Lord Regis?” he asked as he came to the door. It remained as closed as it normally was. It had always been the guards who had opened the door for him up to this point. He was sure it would be locked, or secured in some manner.

  Then again, the high priest hadn’t been too far ahead of him. Maybe he had been in a rush, like Jerius had been?

  Resting the spear against his shoulder, he put a hand on the latch and it turned effortlessly. The heavy door, however, was a bit more difficult to manage. While still holding onto the books and balancing the spear, he pulled open the door and looked inside the large room.

  Immediately, he lifted up the spear and shouted.

  “Take your hands off the priest!”

  Two figures in robes were at his desk. One had his hands around the high priest’s neck. The other stood at his partner’s side. Jerius didn’t take the time to think. He knew he had to act. Taking up the spear in his hand, he threw it at the one who held the throat of the high priest. Flying true, the spear just barely missed the chest of the attacker. He expertly dodged the projectile.

  And instead it went straight into the heart of High Priest Regis.

  “Gaa!” the old man exclaimed. He looked down at his chest for just long enough to put a hand on the spear shaft. With a moan, he fell lifeless to the floor.

  And the would be assailant screamed a horrible, piercing scream and ran at Jerius. But it wasn’t the yell of a hard worn man. It was the screech of a woman. In her haste, her hood fell down and Jerius gasped.

  “You!” he shouted at the white haired woman he had arrested on the island off the coast of Ladis.

  “High Priest!” came a shout from behind Jerius. Seven of eight temple guards rushed in through the doors and towards the assailant. She killed one with a swift thrust of a blade Jerius hadn’t even seen until just now. Her friend stepped forward and knocked another guard to the ground, before grabbing her companion and yanking her towards the window.

  With one last tug, the white haired woman sniffed and ran towards it, throwing herself out of a pane that was missing and onto the ledge beyond. Her companion followed her and the two disappeared from sight.

  “They’ve... They’ve murdered the high priest!” Jerius shouted, pointing a shaky finger at the pair. “Get them!”

  “Yes, My priest!” said a few guards, who walked towards the window, spears drawn and pointed outward. They began to crawl out of the window cautiously, following whatever route the two had taken to get in.

  Jerius was still breathing heavily. Looking at the high priest, dead on the floor with a spear in his heart, he felt a sudden rush of both fear and exultation.

  He had witnesses of a pair of assassins attacking the high priest. They had seen them attacking him and would pursue them from the temple. A small part of him wished they would capture them. He hated that woman with the white hair more than he would ever admit to anyone.

  But a much larger part of him hoped they would get away.

  Because if they did, he would have his next change in station.

  22: The Dark Prince

  The howling winds scoured the landscape and the army that was marching south through it. The land had become much colder as of late, even for the changing seasons. Prince Dram gave it little thought. The only thing he cared for was claiming the throne he had been denied and trying to figure out how to outsmart a god among demons.

  He rode up on his horse, surveying the countryside that he had ruled over since coming of age. It depressed him. Even his wrappings did little to keep him warm. He had always hated the cold. It had been a small bit of luck then, that he had kept his skin concealed from everyone who had ever encountered him. He had even refused attendants to help him dress and bathe, a luxury most of the lords and ladies in his small kingdom wouldn’t have gone without.

  Dram was different.

  Prince Dram had a secret to hide. And unless he was careful, it would be a secret known all over the Theocracy. Once he came to power, it wouldn’t matter. He would rule in such a way that would crush any opposition to his throne. None would stand against him. Not with his growing power.

  The only thing that stood between him and total domination of the land of Ladis was the prince he had heard was dead riding in front of him.

  Farnus had changed.

  His hair was still as white as the snow that swirled around them, but other than that he had taken on a new demeanor. At least it was different from the man who had visited every realm as a younger man, Dram’s included.

  He remembered that visit vividly. It had been only after he had come of age and was given the authority to rule the wasted kingdom of the north. Striding through his palace, he had felt different. The stones hadn’t seemed so bleak and dreary that day. He had been forced to live here with a single steward as his guide, mentor, and guardian.

  Dram had hated that man.

  But on the day he had turned eighteen, he was rid of him. His first official act had been to send the old fool back to Prommus to tell the king that his services were no longer needed. Dram would make his own decisions now. He would raise up the lords he felt had been loyal to him and tear down the ones who had pledged their allegiance to his frail steward.

  Juttis was his kingdom. He would rule it as he saw fit.

  So on that day when he had gone to the window to look down onto his court, the ones he now could command, and saw a carriage covered in the green and gold of the King he thought that his steward had forgotten something.

  Or foolishly returned to the castle he had been banished from only hours before.

  Walking down the stairs and into the halls of the front door, Dram felt powerful. He would handle this daring act of defiance with an iron fist. Servants bowed to him as he passed. Guards stood at attention. He would show them all.

  He was a man worthy to be a prince.

  The guards opened the door for him to exit and as his feet touched the gravel outside, he stopped in mid stride.

  It wasn’t an old foolish guardian who had come out of the carriage surrounded by guards. It was the King’s Son. The White Prince.

  Dram had never seen the man before, but there could be no mistaking it now. Wearing the King’s golden crown on his chest and pushing his long white hair out of his face, Dram knew that this man was the king’s son, the high priest’s nephew, and the brother he must never admit to having.

  “His Holiness and the King of Ladis introduces the prince of Ladis, Farnus, son of Gravis,” cried a guard who had opened the carriage door and allowed the prince to exit. The prince rolled his eyes before placing his hands on his hips and looking down at Dram.

  All of a sudden, he felt much more like a boy, than a prince of a kingdom.

  He shook himself and stood, rather defiantly, and stared into the eyes of Prince Farnus.

  “So you are the wrapped one I’ve heard so much about,” he said. Prince Farnus kept his eyes on the young man, not turning them away or even blinking when the guards came out to join Dram in the courtyard.

  Dram stood himself up to his full height.

  “Welcome to Juttis,” he said with a snarl. He was sure the prince could see his displeasu
re. A part of him wanted to dare the first prince of Ladis to accuse him of disloyalty. To tell him that he was a bastard and would never ascend to any throne.

  He wanted Farnus to say that he knew who the prince standing in front of him was.

  But there was no act of recognition, nor threat. No sign of any protest came from Farnus. He merely flicked his white hair over his shoulder and began to walk towards the door of Dram’s castle.

  “Pardon my unannounced visit, but the king thought it would be prudent for me to see the kingdoms of Ladis before I get much older. I doubt he thinks he’ll ever die, but in case he does, I’ll inherit the throne and it’ll be best if I know the land I would rule.”

  Fanus said these words without looking at Dram at all. He had turned his eyes up to the castle of Juttis and its accompanying temple. Dram could tell by the look on the prince’s face that he thought Juttis was not a land worth visiting. That he was only doing so because his father, the king, had suggested it.

  “I accept your hospitality and the graces of this chilly kingdom.”

  There wasn’t another word spoken between them for the entirety of his week long stay. Farnus moved about the kingdom as he wished and never made himself known to Dram, other than a cursory declaration of his intent for his day at the first meal and a snide report during the last.

  Dram felt on edge the entire time. He could barely sleep, had no appetite, and felt increasingly paranoid. What was the prince really doing in his new kingdom? Was his visit just at the time of his ascension pure coincidence or was there something else that had motivated him to come?

  On the day of his parting, they shared breakfast at the long table of the castle’s main dining hall. There was nothing to show of the grandeur of the kingdom. There was very little grand about Juttis, other than its belonging to Dram.

  Prince Farnus left the table after having eaten his fill of deer meat, eggs and bread. Dram had contented himself to sit and enjoy the food, knowing that it would be the last meal he would have to share with the Prince. Hopefully ever.

  His meal complete, he threw a napkin at the first servant who walked by and demanded his horse. He would ride fast and far today, in an attempt to get himself away from the Prince as soon as he had left. Dram needed to breathe. He needed to feel the wind blow through his wrappings. It was a time when he felt like he was not the dark skinned prince none could know of.

  Rounding the corner of the stables, he saw that his horse had been prepped for him. He spared no moments to pet the animal. He needed escape. Dram untied the rope that held his steed in place and moved to the side of it. Grabbing the reins and lifting his foot, he nearly tasted his freedom when a voice called from behind him.

  “Prince Dram.”

  He stopped cold.

  It was Farnus.

  Dram wanted to reach for his dagger that was by his side. The prince had not threatened him once on his trip, nor had he given any indication that Dram should be fearful around him. Still. There was a sense of dread that Dram felt in his core.

  “Yes?” he said, turning slowly and looking to see that Farnus had come alone. None of his guards accompanied him. He had spoken curtly. If Farnus had been looking for any reason to lash out, this could very well be all he needed. He was the high prince, after all. First in line to inherit the Theocracy of Ladis. This he had made plain. Dram stretched his fingers, remembering his dagger.

  “The king wished me to deliver a message to you,” he said, his face blank as he spoke words Dram had not expected to hear.

  He blinked. For all the responses he had thought of to Farnus being in the stables alone with him, stunned silence had not been near the top of his thinking.

  Farnus nodded.

  “He wishes to convey his congratulations to you on your coming of age and inheritance of the kingdom of Juttis.”

  Dram held fast to his horse’s rope. The beast kicked its back leg, impatient to get riding. Dram felt as if his legs had turned to solid stone.

  “The king also wished me to tell you,” Farnus said as he turned to the side. “That you are to stay in Juttis. There is no need for you to come south to Prommus in order to pay homage to the King for festivals or new years, nor for you to worship at the temple of Ladis found there. Juttis is your kingdom to rule as you see fit. But it is to be the kingdom where you stay.”

  Dram narrowed his eyes.

  This was not a congratulatory message. It was a warning. A sentence of his term. He would rule a kingdom, but it would be his prison. Farnus looked back to him. His icy blue eyes stared right into Dram’s. Dram felt a chill he could not attribute to the lack of warm clothes.

  But Farnus’ next word cut to his bones.

  “Have I made the king’s wishes clear, brother?”

  He knew. The king had told him.

  Farnus knew.

  Those were the last words Dram had ever heard from prince Farnus until he had arrived on his doorstep a few weeks ago. No official message from the king had ever come save for that one. Dram sent the yearly taxes south to Prommus by delegates and officials. He ensured that Juttis was represented whenever it was necessary. He even kept the temple funded, though he despised it and all of the Theocracy’s hold of the empire.

  But it was that moment that Dram had sworn that he would not only leave Juttis one day.

  He would conquer Ladis as his own.

  Thus had begun his years of research and studies. He knew of one thing and one thing only that the Theocracy loathed and that his lineage had helped eradicate. And therefore he would know everything he could about the subject.

  He would be a Speaker of immense power.

  “Halt!”

  The command had come from the man who rode in front of him. It looked every bit as if it were Farnus, the High Prince of Ladis. Only he was now covered in plates of metal armor and he carried a sword he had never seen his half-brother wield. Dram knew this man was more than his family. He was changed. Different.

  There was a power about him that had nothing to do with his parentage. Farnus turned to look at Dram and gave a wicked smile.

  “This is where we will camp tonight,” he said, his voice still distorted and rough. “And it is where I will make all things plain to you.”

  Dram gave no response, other than to raise a wrapped hand to slow his own troops. The men who had come with him called out their own command to stop their marching. In front of them, the horizon stretched out wide. Dram could see the road that went south, further and further along it until it reached the capital that all roads in Ladis led to: Prommus.

  He had dreamed of this moment. Thought it might never come at times and been consumed with anger and fear. And never in his wildest imagination would he have thought that Farnus would be riding beside him as he sought the throne of his father.

  “This is a great moment, brother,” Farnus said. “Father has ruled long enough. It is time the empire was led by a powerful king. The Theocracy will fall and from its ashes will be reborn an empire that will conquer not just Ladis, but Ruyn, Redact, Irradan and Gallin.”

  His eyes narrowed as he turned back to survey the road. Dram followed his gaze. Farnus was looking towards Prommus. He clutched his reigns tightly and felt the power of his rimstones coursing through him. He had seen what this new Farnus was capable of.

  And he wasn’t sure he could match it. Not yet, at least. So he could little more than nod at his half-brother’s next words.

  “This will be an empire that will conquer the world.”

  23: Revenged

  A wind whipped around the temple complex as Silverwolf and Serinde made their way down the same path they had come up. It had not been easy to find the route from the walls of the temple, to the spiraling tower, to the last window pane that had let them into the high priest’s study.

  Serinde knew that Silverwolf had a personal vendetta with the priest. Not least of all because she knew he was her father.

  But she also knew that was not the outcome
she had desired.

  Her fingers ached as she moved across the sheer face of the temple walls. Climbing up had been much easier. Now it was perilous for them to climb down as each foothold and grip was below them, not above.

  The guards who had come to the window had barely even tried to climb down the winding path of stone and iron. Serinde didn’t blame them. The only reason she had come was to see what Silverwolf had planned for her father.

  They had climbed the tower and broken into the high priest’s study. Silverwolf had taken three steps into the chamber, turned to face Serinde as she made her way inside, and then grabbed her by the shoulder to shove her behind a long draping curtain. The elf had barely taken any time to observe her surroundings. What she had been able to see, however, told her that the position of High Priest was one that allowed several comforts and many opportunities for study. Books lined the walls, and there were several areas where one could sit and read in a comfortable chair or couch.

  But the only thing she had been able to observe from her curtain was the desk of the high priest and the back of Silverwolf’s head. Her ears were able to take in much more. Footsteps were approaching from outside the door that was opposite the desk. A bit of talking came through the wood, but it was barely distinguishable, even to her keen ears.

  The door was pushed open, and a flurry of people came in.

  “Yes I’ll be arranging the guards myself,” said a voice that sounded familiar to her. “And make sure the priests who are here in the castle know that they are not to make any rash decisions while I am gone.”

  “Gone, my Lord?” came a female reply. “Surely you don’t mean to...”

  “I mean to march with the troops at my brother’s side, yes,” the high priest replied curtly. “Now go and see that you’ve assembled the guards out on the lawn. I want to inspect them as soon as I can, but there is a matter I must attend to before that occurs. Go!”