With too many aspects to consider, Honroth growled but then turned back to his advisors. “Pithel.” He locked eyes with the youngest of them all. “Fetch the Jechorian ambassador. Have him meet me in the council hall immediately. I have come to my decision.” With that, he turned back to Heldon and motioned for him to follow. “I pray all goes according to Theran's plan.”
“Vixen is with him. She can handle the entire company on her own,” Heldon reminded him as he walked alongside Honroth, but then he recalled something. “Also, Theran requested you send the Jechorian home by way of the southern road.”
Recalling the treacherousness and the narrowness of that road, engulfed by shadows of the woods, Honroth already envisioned what Theran had planned, and he shook his head. “Very well. I won't hinder his effort, but I won't allow this incident to go unnoticed.”
Heldon trailed his brother but hesitated. “What do you intend to do?”
“Theran wishes for the Jechorian entourage to take the southern road, and so they shall, but we will watch from afar.”
Leery of his brother agreeing so quickly, Heldon fell into step with him. Of all the people in the castle and in close counsel to the king, only Heldon could rein in his twin's impulsive decisions when Honroth was angered—especially by Theran. Most knew Honroth as a calm and wise king who never acted rashly, yet many years had passed since Honroth and Theran had crossed paths. Between the older brothers, contention grew, and Heldon knew it was only a matter of time before disaster came upon them. He simply wondered how it would all unfold, and what pieces would be left for him to gather once the dust had settled.
Aware of what the near future might hold, Heldon remained silent as he followed his brother into the council hall—to watch and determine how events would unfold.
<~>~<~>~<~>
Later that day, as dusk fell upon the land and shadows crept out of the woods and across the fields, a flash lit up the darkness of the forest then quickly faded away.
Stumbling to find their balance, Aradin and Dustal grumbled as they grabbed their heads and squeezed their eyes shut. “Ugh...why? ‘Let's magick—it'd be fun,’ he said. ‘It'd be an unforgettable experience,’ he said! Ugh!” Dustal bent over and heaved while Aradin whacked him on the back.
Vixen sank to her knees as soon as they magicked into the woods. The world around her spun, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to take deep breaths. She had magicked before, but that had been a long time ago.
Behind her, she heard Theran—who remained standing, unaffected by the magical teleportation they just experienced—speaking with the mage from Athorim he had bribed into healing his wounds and magicking them here in Cuskelom. “Thank you, my friend. Here is your pay—just as I promised. No need to return for us.”
Vixen felt a flash of light and knew the sorcerer had left, and she finally opened her eyes.
“Wait...why doesn't magicking bother Theran?” Dustal asked as he straightened from vomiting. He stared at Theran in disgust and envy, and the eldest prince of Cuskelom smirked at him.
“It helps to have a brother who was a sorcerer.” He spoke of Lorrek. “He’d magick us out of tough situations when he felt like it.” He motioned for them to follow him up the wooded hill toward the road.
Groaning, Dustal followed. “Are we going to have to do that again? Magick, I mean. I'd really rather walk, thank you very much.”
Theran clasped Dustal's shoulder as the thief approached him at the top of the slight hill, and the prince gave him a grin. “I guarantee we will do it again. Why else do you think we're here?” He gestured to the road.
“I was hoping we'd have something to steal.” Grumbling under his breath, Dustal lowered himself to the ground as the others did the same.
Theran indicated to the narrow, shadowed road. “Oh, we'll get to do that as well. A Jechorian caravan will pass through here soon. You may take whatever you want, but when I say we leave, we leave—no arguments.” He glanced at each of them. “Understood?”
They bobbed their heads, but then Aradin realized something he had said. “Wait—a Jechorian caravan? But they have technology—weapons far more advanced than our own.” He patted the bow he had in his hand. “What makes you think we can stop them?”
“Isn't their transportation also more advanced?” Dustal raised a brow. “I hear they don't use horses but rather self-powered...wagons that float.” As soon as he said this, he twisted his face in confusion then shook his head. “That makes no sense. How is that even possible?”
Still looking down upon the road and contemplating the best strategy, Theran explained, “They are called hover vehicles, and they are powered by electricity, but on occasion, they need to be...recharged.” He hoped that was the right term, but he had never paid much attention to how things in Jechorm worked. Still, he went on, “Their hover vehicles can only fly so long, and even when they are downed, they still need paved road to travel. Our roads are not suitable for their vehicles, and there is no power source for them. They have to take horses just like everyone else until they reach the border of Jechorm.”
“Electricity?” Dustal furrowed his brows. “What's that?” But then Aradin whacked him on the back of the head, and Dustal gave a shout, rubbed his head, and glared at his brother. “What was that for?”
“For asking too many questions.” Aradin gave him a dull stare.
Vixen smiled as she watched the exchange. “Electricity is like their form of magic.”
Dustal slid her a quizzical look. “How do you know that?”
“Because...” she smirked, “I've been there.” Then she nodded to Theran. “So, what's the plan?”
“Follow me.” At Theran's gesture, they moved down the hill and got into position behind trees.
The ambassador of Jechorm and his entourage halted outside the wooded part of the road. “Is this the right way, Sir?” One of his guards shot him a look.
He nodded. “Beyond the woods is Jechorm. It is the shortest route. Let us go, but guard the pouch.” He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the small leather pouch on his saddle.
Everyone shared a look but then nodded and headed toward the woods. Several of the guards stepped closer to the mounted ambassador with guns in hand while others scouted ahead.
“It's a perfect place for an ambush,” the captain of the guard noted as he wrapped the reins of his horse around one hand and gripped his gun with the other. “Be on alert. The King of Cuskelom may have sent us here to kill us.”
The ambassador raised his brows then scoffed. “That would be a declaration of war.”
“But thieves are known to roam these woods. Stay alert.” The captain looked back at the ambassador. “And do exactly what I say when I say it. It might save your life.”
With no arguments, they continued onward at a slow pace—each man watching the shadows, each one ready for action.
An arrow pierced the air and shot the captain in the back of his shoulder. Crying out, he hunched forward, gripping his wounded shoulder, but did not fall off his horse. Grounding his teeth, he lifted his gaze and watched his men scatter in chaos as arrows rained upon them, and he saw a small figure weaving between each man, striking them down with knives—moving like a ghost.
“Guard the ambassador!” But when the captain looked back, he saw a large man had already dragged the ambassador off his horse and threw him to the ground. The man reached for the pouch.
Ignoring the pain pulsing in his back and shoulder, the captain tightened his grip on his gun and pointed it at Theran as soon as he reached into the pouch. “Stop where you are!”
“No.” Vixen’s voice sounded in the captain’s ear as he felt the blade of a knife against his throat. “You stay where you are. Drop the gun.”
When he hesitated, Aradin and Dustal stepped into view with their arrows trained on the captain. “Do what she said,” Aradin warned.
When he obeyed, Vixen kicked it away from him. “Very good.” She nodded her thanks to the thiev
es then looked at Theran.
Theran’s fingers brushed against the metal of his handblade in the pouch. Lifting his gaze to the wounded captain, he smiled. “I believe this is mine. Thank you for retrieving it for me, Captain.” He then nodded to the herald on the ground, who stared up at him. “Ambassador.” With that, he slipped his hand further into the handblade and felt it snap over his wrist.
Withdrawing his hand—bracelet on wrist—he smirked at the captain. “Now I will take my leave. We're off!” Then he touched the runes on the bracelet and vanished in a gust of wind, only to reappear behind the captain, snatch Vixen, and in another whirlwind, they disappeared along with the thieves.
Everything silenced—except for the groans of the wounded.
They reappeared far away from the caravan but still within the woods. Aradin and Dustal leaned on each other as they tried not to vomit from sickness caused by teleporting.
“I never want to teleport again!” Dustal hacked a dry cough and pounded his chest with his fist. “I swear every fiber of my being is torn to shreds when that happens! What's the difference between magicking and teleporting? They feel the same!” Though still hunched over with his hands on his knees, he shot Theran a glare.
Theran rubbed the bracelet on his wrist—an old and familiar feeling—but then shrugged at Dustal. “One is magic. The other technology—with an element of magic.”
Vixen fared better this time, wavering on her feet, but she stepped forward to catch her balance. Sheathing her blades into her vest, she shot Theran a look but then noticed something behind him. When Theran caught her gaze, she gave a slow nod with her eyes fixed on the shadows.
The prince hesitated then turned around. “Honroth.” He had yet to set eyes on his brother but knew he was the only person who would know where to find him.
Honroth emerged from the shadows, and Theran considered him—knowing Heldon was also nearby. The last time Theran saw his younger brother had been several years ago when Honroth's men dragged him out of a tavern, through the muddy roads, and into Honroth's presence in the council hall of Cuskelom. At that time, Theran had been too enraged to even acknowledge his brother as the rightful king of Cuskelom, and instead he shouted at him and demanded that Honroth leave him alone on his search for Lorrek. In that moment Honroth kept his resolve as king and required one thing: Theran's handblade. Theran—still fuming—never bothered to argue, but took it off his wrist and cast it at Honroth's feet before turning on his heel and storming away.
That was the last encounter Theran recalled with Honroth. Now, he took the opportunity to consider his brother, whose face resembled Heldon's. However, Honroth bore an ancient responsibility—as if the crown on his head drained him of youth and joy, molding him into a vessel of the kings of ages. Honroth looked more aged than Theran and Heldon, with heavy lines across his face from frequent frowns, furrowing of his brow, and narrowing of his eyes. Yet he possessed a calm and confidence Theran could not combat, so the eldest prince of Cuskelom floundered about for a greeting.
“Honroth, you're looking well. Come to take back this?” Theran lifted his arm to show the handblade on his wrist. “And to take me back to your council? Or perhaps the dungeon this time?”
While Theran spoke, Honroth shook his head. All these petty arguments drained him. “Nay, my brother. None of those are my intentions.”
“So you came to chat?” Theran raised his brows but then lowered them into a glower. “How flattering, but you really must excuse me.” He moved to brush past Honroth, but his brother seized his arm, forcing Theran to halt beside him.
Both brothers locked glares.
From behind Theran, Vixen sent Heldon—who stood to the side of Honroth—a worried look, but Heldon shrugged. Both stood ready to physically separate the older brothers.
Theran glared at his brother—his silence demanding he release his arm but also daring Honroth to cross him.
Honroth shifted his jaw as he tried to contain his frustration toward his older brother. He encountered many people on a daily basis as he worked negotiations, settled trades, and resolved issues. Only Theran could disturb his calm merely by being present. Honroth didn't understand it, but he knew he had to be responsible and remain calm, so he focused on the real problem at hand and kept his voice measured. “Did anyone see you back there?” He nodded to the area where the skirmish had taken place.
Glancing over his shoulder in the general direction of the fight, Theran shook his head. “Nay...” But then recalled the look of the captain when they locked eyes. He grimaced. “Well, perhaps the captain, yet he was wounded and could die before identifying me.”
“Want me to finish the job?” Vixen stepped forward, hand on her vest ready to unsheathe a blade and go back to kill the survivors.
Honroth shook his head. “Nay—let them live.” He released Theran's arm but gave him a stern look. “I hope you realize that your actions have declared war between Cuskelom and Jechorm.”
“You know war has been inevitable between our two kingdoms since before Father was even king. Might as well let it happen and be done with it.” Theran brushed his arm as if to wipe off the lingering feel of Honroth's grip.
Ignoring his brother's indifference for the well-being of Cuskelom, Honroth settled a stare on Theran—trying not to glare at him. Still, he weighed his words as he spoke. “You should have come to me first. I would have given you the handblade if you had requested it.”
Theran cast him a smirk. “Truly? I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of...” He paused, lifting his gaze as if trying to remember the exact words. Once he remembered, he snapped his eyes back down to Honroth and smiled with enmity. “Oh yes, you said you would sooner throw me into the dungeon than return the handblade to such an irresponsible fool. However, unlike you—and Heldon,” he shot his other brother a glare then looked back at Honroth, “I believe Lorrek is still alive, and he is only waiting for a passage from the abyss he fell into. You might be willing to gamble about his fate, but I am not. That is why I did not come to you. If you knew I planned this attack, then why are you here? You could have remained in the palace and pled ignorance when Jechorm sends more ambassadors. You could have painted me the fool and directed them to my path, away from Cuskelom. Yet, here you are. For all your wisdom, you can be foolish at times as well, Honroth.” Theran tilted his head to the side considering his brother. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I suppose that is merely a trait in our family.”
Closing his eyes, Honroth allowed Theran to walk past him, but then he half turned back to look at him. “You are still my brother.”
Theran scoffed a laugh and spread out his hands as he spun around to face Honroth but kept walking backwards. “Of course! All the more reason for you to see me hung for all the disgrace I have wrought upon our family’s name.” His words dripped with sarcasm, and his smile narrowed into a frown.
Honroth remained where he stood—his hands curling into fists at his side. “You are my brother.”
This reaffirmation caused Theran to pause and stare at his younger brother—the one who had taken everything Theran had thrown away and crafted a legend out of it. No envy stirred in him, for he recognized all the burdens Honroth carried on his behalf. Yet here he stood—the king of Cuskelom—on the brink of war with a neighboring kingdom because he refused to disown his brother.
Theran's mocking smile faltered then fell into a frown as he lowered his arms to his sides and stared with bewilderment at Honroth. His gaze shifted back to Vixen and the thieves, who hung back away from the royal brothers. Then he looked back at Honroth—puzzlement swirling in his eyes. “Why?”
Shaking his head, Honroth strolled up to Theran and placed a hand on his shoulder. He met his gaze. “We have already lost one brother. And at times I feel as though I have lost you as well. Only Heldon remains steadfast and loyal.” He looked over his shoulder to his twin, who lingered close enough to intervene if necessary but far enough away to give his
older brothers space.
Then Honroth turned his gaze back upon Theran. “Heldon believes in you—he always has. I used to reprimand him for believing that you would ever come to your senses.” Carefully now, Honroth lifted his hand from his brother's shoulder and nodded. “But I realize now I was the fool. You only seek to learn the truth behind all the horrible accusations pointed at Lorrek. As king of Cuskelom, I cannot afford the time for such investigations. However, you—in your freedom from royal duties—have that luxury.” He gestured at the handblade on Theran's wrist. “And you will need that to speed along your travels. I simply wish you had come to me first.”
Theran reached over to his wrist to rub the bracelet. He furrowed his brows. “But why did you come here? To observe?”
Honroth shrugged and turned to leave, but he halted and glanced back. “Because...I had hoped to see you again for myself.” He opened his mouth to continue but hesitated and lowered his gaze with a sigh. Lifting his eyes once more, he pressed his lips into a thin line then offered him a small smile. “I suppose I miss having an older brother at times.” With that, he reached over to his own handblade on his wrist and vanished from the woods in a gust of wind.
Heldon locked eyes with his eldest brother but found he had nothing to say. Thinning his lips, he nodded—to Theran and to Vixen—then disappeared as well by means of his handblade.
The thieves watched the king and prince of Cuskelom leave, and then Aradin raised his brows as he looked back at Theran. “I suppose they won't arrest us then?”
Shaking his head, Theran lifted his hand to inspect the bracelet on his wrist. He muttered something and glanced over to Aradin with a smirk. “Not yet, at least.” Unclamping the bracelet from his wrist, he motioned for all of them to follow.
Walking past Vixen, he seized her wrist so abruptly she almost stabbed him with a blade instinctively. Yet just as quickly, he released her hand then grinned, and she noticed the handblade bracelet now on her wrist.
Someday I'll Be Redeemed Page 5