Brandt found himself again staring into Quinn’s eyes, the look within them firm…resolute.
“Now that we are through the introduction, let’s get started.” Master Alridge again moved to the black wall and began drawing a rune. “We have little time, and you have much to learn.”
15
Prince
With his right arm extended, Broland Talenz held his longsword with the point toward his imaginary enemy, the blade unwavering until he lowered it, spun and whipped it around with an upswing. Sweat beaded on his forehead and tracked down his temple. The sunlight streaming through the high windows of the circular room created bright rectangular beams filled with specks of swirling dust. Shifting from one stance to another, he spun through one such beam and his sword sent a flash of reflected light streaking across the wall. In his mind, he pictured an imaginary enemy and countered a pretend strike before flowing into the next form. In times past, he would have been performing these steps with a wooden weapon against an actual dueling partner. That person was no longer at the castle, and the vacancy left Broland alone in more ways than one. The thought rekindled memories of the week prior.
Brandt and Cassilyn stood beside a waiting carriage. On the ground beside them was a trunk filled with the possessions that would join them on their journey. Broland’s father hugged the twins and told them he was proud of them. His mother’s tearful goodbye left Broland uncomfortable, and he found himself looking at the carriage wheels rather than his family. When his parents had finished their farewells, Broland hugged Cassie and wished her well before clasping his brother’s arm and giving him a nod. After a close brotherly bond during their younger years, their relationship had become a rivalry as the two boys aged. Being a year older had given Broland an edge over Brandt until recently. Over the past two years, their interactions, whether dueling or otherwise, had become tainted by an unspoken bitterness.
When the siblings climbed into the carriage and the porters had loaded the trunk in the back, the driver coaxed the horses into motion, and the carriage rolled toward the citadel gate. Brock put his arm about Ashland, the two watching their children depart without knowing when they might see them again. Ashland wiped her eyes dry and put her head on Brock’s shoulder. Broland had anticipated his mother crying during Brandt and Cassie departure.
When the carriage rolled through the gate and disappeared, Broland stewed about his sibling’s departure. Rather than feeling sad, the acrid taste of jealousy twisted Broland’s mouth when he found himself wishing he had their independence. His role of heir prince left little room for the freedom he so desired. Neither Brandt nor Cassie understood what it was like to be shackled in that manner.
With a sigh, Broland lowered his sword and shook the memory from his head.
“I am encouraged to see you practicing, even if you are without a sparring partner.”
Broland turned to find Wharton standing in the doorway. “Sword practice is part of my daily routine. Besides, I have worked for years to get to this point, and I would hate to lose what I have trained so hard to attain.”
A grin crossed Wharton’s face. “Good response, my Prince.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Wharton shifted aside, gesturing toward the door. “I was sent to retrieve you. Your father requested your presence.”
Broland slid the sword into the scabbard at his hip. He had been wearing it often for the past year, trying to get used to having a weapon at his side. Moving past Wharton, he exited the sparring room and walked down a long corridor with the captain of the guard trailing him. At the far end, he went through a doorway, ran up a flight of stairs, and rounded a corner that connected to another corridor.
“Your father is in his office.” Wharton said from behind.
Broland approached the door and knocked.
“Come in,” Brock’s voice called from inside.
When he opened the door, Broland found General Budakis seated in a chair that faced the king’s desk. From behind the desk, Brock nodded to Broland as he entered.
“Thank you for joining us, Son.”
“Yes, Father.”
Wharton stepped inside and closed the door. “I found him in the sparring room, practicing his forms.”
Brock gave Broland a nod, his eyes focused on him. “I am glad that you remain serious about your training.”
“Yes. However, I now lack a sparring partner.”
“That is part of why I called you here.” The king sat back in his chair. “When I decided to send your brother and sister to Fallbrandt, I realized you would be losing not only a sparring partner, but also the only real peers you have in the castle.
“I took the opportunity to have a few private discussions with the other royals before they departed Kantar following Libra Te. It turns out that Chadwick’s cousin, Baron Rhone of Hipoint, has an adopted son who is your age and is apparently quite skilled with the sword and shield.
“Baron Rhone agreed to send Kony to live here for a year, perhaps longer. He will train with you as your new sparring partner. I ask that you do your best to get along with him. I promised Rhone that Kony would gain valuable experience from his stay at the capital. After all, Kantar is the largest city in the Kingdom, while Hipoint just a seaside village built on a cliffside.”
Broland considered the idea and found himself hopeful. Having someone his age around would be even more welcome than having a sparring partner. “I will do my best, Father.”
“Good,” Brock said with a slow nod.
“You said there was more than one reason you called me here.”
“Yes.” Brock gestured toward Budakis.
The man looked up at Broland. “With the Empire looming as a threat and their borders running to Yarth, we have decided to reinstate the old Holy Army garrison at Hipoint. It will require some rebuilding, but having a foothold there will discourage them from expanding toward Wayport. The village of Hipoint has no wall and is not particularly defensible, but the garrison is another story. If we also position catapults atop the cliffside, we can discourage naval attacks with the height advantage providing extended launch range. Two full ranks of soldiers are already in route to the garrison.”
Broland’s brow furrowed. “I understand. May I ask why you are explaining this to me?”
Brock stood. “If anything should happen to me, you must be aware of the political situation and our military strategy. Addressing these types of issues would become your job, and the lives of our citizens would be in your hands.”
The king circled the desk and stood before Broland, locking eyes with him. “You have always been the responsible one when compared to Brandt and Cassie. Your mother and I saw this, yet we encouraged you to enjoy your youth because it will only come once. I’ll not tell you that you must stop enjoying life, but you are now an adult and you must embrace your obligations. Things will change for you, just as they have changed for your brother and sister. We must be ready for anything that might occur.”
Following his guards, Lorna and Burke, Broland emerged from the steam carriage and squinted at the brightness of the afternoon sun. Workers milled about the docks below, busy as they loaded and unloaded wagons that ran from the city to the warehouses along the shoreline. Carts ran up and down the three major piers, along with sailors and passengers who had recently docked or were preparing to depart. Two ships were docked on the north and center pier, while a single vessel was moored at the south pier. With his hand shading his eyes from the sun, Broland searched for the teen he was to greet, but sunlight mixing with the milky sea spray over the harbor made it difficult to discern one person from another.
A young man with black hair, a sword at his hip, and a pack over his shoulder emerged from between two warehouses. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed well enough to belong in Upper Kantar without appearing as if he were headed to a formal dinner. As the teen drew nearer, it became clear that he had the muscular build, yet lacked the bulk that might negate hi
s flexibility or quickness. Above his amber eyes and dark eyebrows, a rune marked his forehead – the rune of Order.
The teen called out as he approached the carriage. “Are you here to bring me to the citadel?”
Broland replied, “That depends on your name.”
“I’m Kony Kearns,” he said with a smile. “Are you my escort?”
“I suppose I am. Do you have additional items that need to be loaded into the carriage?”
“No.” He swung the pack over his shoulder and held it toward Broland. “This is it. Do you mind loading it for me?”
Kony shoved the bag into Broland’s hands, nodded toward the two guards, and climbed into the steam carriage. With an arched brow, Broland turned toward the guards. Lorna chuckled while Burke stepped forward, took the pack, and stuffed it into an external storage compartment.
Broland climbed onto the step, ducked into the carriage, and sat on the bench opposite from Kony. The two guards climbed inside with Lorna sitting beside Broland and Burke beside Kony. The driver, standing behind Kony’s seat with his head sticking up over the boiler at the front, opened the firebox door and dumped a bucket of coal into it. The man opened the flue and spun a crank that sent a whistle from the steam engine. Moments later, he pushed a lever forward and the machine began to rotate. Once it faced the road that lead back to the city, he pushed the other lever forward and it lurched into motion, puffing steam from the stack at top. The white exhaust mixed with the black smoke of the fire that billowed from the other pipe.
Knowing the rarity of steam carriages, Broland examined Kony throughout this process, curious to see his reaction. He found himself disappointed when the newcomer acted as if it were nothing of note. Kony just stared at the passing palm trees, their green fronds swaying in the breeze.
Kony leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as he pointed out the window. “I assume that’s Southgate Bridge?”
Broland peered to the south and found the bridge coming into view as the carriage crested the hill that led down to the docks. Shaped like a shallow arch, a quarter mile in length, the blue stone bridge was an engineering marvel.
“Yes. That bridge crosses the Alitus River, with a two-hundred-foot drop.”
“I heard that magic was used to build it.”
Broland nodded. “Yes. At least, that is what scholars believe. Since the records were destroyed centuries ago, we can only guess.”
The carriage rolled on, the wheels rumbling as it approached the city gate.
“Have you been to Kantar before?” Broland asked.
“No. I haven’t been west of Wayport. My aunt is Duchess Illiri, and she has had me at the castle a number of times.”
“So, you are important?”
“That depends on your definition. I live in Hipoint Manor. I know important people. I’m related to important people. In fact, I was brought here as a companion for Prince Broland.”
Lorna covered her mouth and turned away from Kony, attempting to hide her grin. Somehow, Broland buried his urge to smile and remained stoic. When his glance landed on Kony’s scabbard, a longsword much like his own, he altered the course of the conversation.
“Are you good with a blade?”
Kony replied, “I don’t like to sound like a braggart, but there are few who can best me. None in Hipoint nor anyone at my aunt’s court.”
“For not wishing to sound like a braggart,” Lorna noted, “You did an excellent job of doing so.”
Kony turned toward her and frowned. “Aren’t you a guard?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Members of the king’s guard are not just guards. Only the best and most trustworthy are offered such a position.”
“They sent the king’s guard to the docks just for me? I do feel special now.” Kony said.
Lorna rolled her eyes and turned toward the window. The carriage slowed for the thickening traffic when they entered the city. People gave way to the noisy steam carriage as it rolled up Center Street. They passed inns, shops, carts filled with produce, a street musician plucking a lute, and a baker with two baskets of bread. Foot traffic included city guards, merchants, sailors, officials, shoppers, and beggars. An occasional horse or horse-drawn carriage slid past them, but those were few compared to the people on foot. All the while, they rode uphill, through Lower Kantar, until they rolled past another gate.
While the traffic volume remained, the road widened and created the illusion of it being less busy. The buildings that lined the street were more impressive than those in Lower Kantar, often three stories tall and well maintained. Here, rich marble or alabaster pillars replaced the rough stone or wooden posts in the lower portion of the city. The storefronts displayed fine fabrics, well-crafted weapons, jewelry, and works of art.
Kony leaned out the window and gaped, commenting. “This area of the city is much nicer than the rest.”
“Upper Kantar,” Broland noted. “This is where the wealthier merchants and minor aristocrats live.”
They crossed a small plaza encircled by carts selling handcrafted wares, passed a fountain, and headed through another gate. Broland waved to the guards on duty as the steam carriage – painted in the black, red, and gold of Kantar and marked on the side with the king’s sigil – rolled past.
They crossed the edge of the open square that lay before the palace. Kony stared at the towering black sculpture at the center, featuring a giant dog and a thin man, pointing toward the horizon.
“What’s the sculpture about?”
“It represents the hero within each of us. The intent is to inspire the people of Kantaria to be the best person they can be.”
Broland had heard the story from his father numerous times, along with the stories of the dog and man that the sculpture was meant to represent. There was a time when Broland was young that he had a giant imaginary dog named Wraith, inspired by his father’s stories. She would follow him through the castle and often hide from him, only to pounce when young Broland found her. A smile crossed Broland’s face at the memory.
The statue faded from view as the carriage rounded the building and entered a courtyard. A cobblestone loop encircled an ancient oak. A flower-filled garden filled the space between the drive and the western wall. When the carriage stopped, Burke opened the door and climbed out with Lorna a step behind. Broland gestured for Kony to exit and then climbed out behind him.
As he turned from the steam carriage, Broland found Burtles and two porters waiting. The porters ran to the wagon and opened the storage compartment to collect Kony’s belongings. Burtles shuffled forward and gave a shallow bow.
“Welcome back, my Prince,” Burtles intoned before turning toward Kony. “Welcome, Master Kearns. I have prepared a room for you on the fourth floor. If you please, follow me.”
The silver-haired man turned and walked toward the palace door, moving in his stiff, formal manner.
Kony turned toward Broland with a pained look on his face. “Prince Broland?”
Broland smirked. “That’s me.”
“Oh, no,” Kony cringed. “I’ve made a complete fool of myself.”
“Well, not a complete fool. You made a valiant effort, and you display serious potential. However, you have work to do before you achieve full fool status.” Broland grinned at his own humor. “If you apply yourself, I’m sure you’ll get there. Now, come along. Burtles despises it when people dally.”
16
An Angry Pig
Quinn held the Impending Thunder pose, balancing on one foot, her core tight, her form perfect. Nalah, Wyck, Thiron, Chuli, Kirk, and Bilchard also maintained their forms as instructed, but the new boy didn’t fully extend his leg, and he held his arm in the wrong position. While Quinn hadn’t yet interacted with Brandt or his sister, she had discovered that they were Kantarian royalty. Other than a slight arrogance, she hadn’t discovered anything royal about either of them. She stared at Brandt as his leg trembled, trying to decide what she thought of him.
With his athletic build, sh
ort brown hair, and intense green eyes, she had to admit that she found him attractive. However, dressed in a black-padded sparring vest and gray breeches like Quinn and the others, he didn’t appear very princely.
Kwai-Lan moved to the next pose, and the students mirrored his action without thought – all but Brandt, who wobbled and lost his balance.
“You must maintain balance, Brandt.” Kwai-Lan said without affecting his pose. “Focus on your core. The position of your arms will act as a counterweight to your leg.”
“Why are we doing this? I already know how to fight.”
Kwai-Lan frowned, his thin black mustache bending with his mouth. “No. You know how to brawl. This is Singa Chi.”
“Well, I think it’s a waste of time. For three days, you’ve had us posing as if we were performing a dance. When do we fight?”
Kwai-Lan lowered his leg to stand, his face a grimace. He strode up to Brandt while the others maintained their poses. Although the Singa Chi master stood two inches shorter than Brandt and a full foot shorter than Bilchard, the man’s presence loomed much larger than his stature. Kwai-Lan’s compact build matched Quinn in height and consisted of nothing but muscle – toned, and lean.
Despite the way Brandt set his jaw, he backed a step when Kwai-Lan drew close.
“You think you know all there is to know about fighting?” Kwai-Lan asked.
“I was trained by the captain of my father’s elite guard, a trained military man with combat experience. He told me I had learned all he had to offer. He’s much bigger than you, and I’m sure he could beat you soundly.” Brandt glared at the man with challenge in his eyes.
Kwai-Lan’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Since you are so sure of yourself, and you seem to think that size and strength are so important, I’m sure you won’t mind sparring against Quinn.”
Quinn blinked and turned toward Brandt, still holding her pose. Their eyes met.
The Arcane Ward (Wardens of Issalia Book 2) Page 10