Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  “Denire, don’t do this,” Syah said shakily. Hot tears blinked from his eyes.

  “It’s going to be all right, Syah,” Denire’s voice sent a swell of anger and numbness through him. The knight did not look down to him. He stepped forward and laid Syah down on a mat of folded blankets near a group of soldiers setting up a tent.

  “Please, please Denire. It’s not worth it. Arnith can’t lose you.”

  Denire looked down to him sorrowfully. “Rest, Prince.” Denire let him go, but then Syah felt him pressing on his neck. Suddenly he was in a memory… of being alone in the woods with a stranger and numbness darkened his mind, again.

  Syah opened his eyes to a soldier holding his head up. The soldier had been feeding him warm broth. Syah could feel that his stomach no longer had the churning, sinking feeling of emptiness. And though it angered him, he felt relief that a little of his pain was eased.

  “Denire,” Syah said. As he did, the sound of the voice sent waves of dizziness through his head and he closed his eyes a long moment.

  “He is near,” the soldier replied.

  Syah looked down to his chest and could see that the wound was freshly bandaged. He sensed they had washed and cared for it.

  “I did not want this,” Syah said in a low tone. He sat himself up fully, and the soldier let him go. “Why?” Syah demanded. “Why continue it? Why prolong my torture?” Syah’s hot eyes moved up to the soldier. “Let me die.”

  The soldier’s brows tightened. “Prince Syah…”

  “No.”

  He leaned towards him. “Prince…”

  “No,” Syah said, “I forbid you, or anyone, to interfere. This is my dark destiny. This is my hardship.” Syah began to shift in order to stand. The soldier’s arms returned to him. Syah’s gaze shot warningly, angrily back to the soldier. “What right do you have…”

  “You do not deserve to die,” a voice said that made Syah’s insides turn. He looked to the entrance of the tent to Denire standing, watching him.

  “You will not touch me again!” Syah ordered as he pushed the soldier’s hands off of him. “It curses you, it brands you! Leave me here. Let me find my own fate.”

  “No, Syah, we will not desert you.”

  “No oath holds you to me. I am not your leader, your captain. I am a traitor. A mur…”

  “No!” Denire said forcibly, coming towards Syah and kneeling down next to him, locking Syah’s gaze sternly with his own. “You deserve no punishment.” Syah was wordless, shaking his head. “You do not deserve this sentence. You do not deserve to be banished,” Denire said as he placed his hand on Syah’s shoulder. “I know your loyalty towards your brothers and the king.”

  “No,” Syah replied, the tears flowing freely down his face. “No. Don’t touch me!” Syah yelled as he threw Denire’s arm off of him. Denire stayed still, studying him. “You will not touch me again.”

  Denire’s demeanor softened. “My prince,” he began, “you need to rest.” Syah’s eyes widened, seeing something familiar on Denire’s face.

  “Leave me,” Syah begged. “Whether you stay or no, I still will be alone.”

  Denire’s hand took Syah’s arm and the soldier took his other. He tried to twist away. “Don’t do this, Denire. Don’t!” Syah demanded. But he was silenced when Denire pressed a glass against his lips. Syah fought to free himself, but was held. A bitter sting filled his mouth. Denire placed his hand over his mouth. Syah twisted angrily and they let go of his arms. He reached for Denire’s hand, but didn’t have the strength to pull it away. He felt the liquid starting to numb the tongue and throat, but he held it, breathing heavy through his nose.

  “Let the thoughts inside you sleep for a while, young prince,” Denire’s voice told him smoothly. “Trust me.” Syah shook his head, blinking more tears from his eyes. He cringed as Denire forced his head back and his throat reacted, swallowing the stinging liquid.

  “No,” Syah said when Denire removed his hand. “Don’t heal me. My body is not meant to continue.”

  “Be still now,” Denire said as they laid him back.

  “Please,” Syah said, finding Denire’s face, “let me die.” A long, solemn voice trailed away from Syah and then was silent.

  Syah woke, warm and alone in the large tent. A fire was burning, and he could tell it was day by the light coming through the still fabric of the large tent around him. He sighed, feeling his body was stiff and sore. He turned and gathered the strength to stand. He found his clothes and his armor in a chair nearby and he dressed himself, wondering how long he had been lying there with his thoughts lost to him.

  He walked out of the tent and observed the camp of soldiers surrounding it. The soldiers noticed him and paused their conversations and workings. Syah did not acknowledge their attention and searched for the horses. The soldiers all stood, wordless, beginning to collect their things around their camp and take down the many tents around them. Syah noticed one of the soldiers bringing his mare to him.

  “I am happy to see you are healing,” the soldier said and held out the reins. Syah didn’t respond as he reached for the girdle. The soldier steadied him, but Syah pulled himself up. Relieved as he was on the saddle, he caught the soldier’s eyes. The soldier bowed his head to Syah and left him, readying other horses for departure.

  Syah looked around, trying to recall the road, but not finding any path. Then he realized there was none. The road from Anteria had faded, and they had crossed into the lands beyond Arnith’s border, where few traveled and no road was worn upon the land. He studied the sun and trees, but they gave him no indication of his direction. His hand angrily tightened on the reins. If they hadn’t drugged him, he wouldn’t be disoriented. He realized that the soldiers, as they mounted, all started in a single direction. So there lies his path. Syah turned the mare and resumed his final journey.

  The endless road. The ceaseless noise of horses and wagons tormented him. He rode apart from them, but they were still following. Syah’s dark thoughts were silenced by a sound in the distance. He pulled back the reins swiftly and the mare jerked her head in annoyance as she stopped. A rider quickly approached through the woods. Syah realized with relief that it was an Arnithian soldier. He had not noticed any riders leave to scout ahead of them. The soldier slowed as he came close to them. Syah and the rest of the soldiers stiffened at the scout’s expression.

  “My lord,” the soldier said, bowing before Syah in his saddle. The soldier straightened, his terrified eyes set on Syah and his open mouth hesitating to speak his thoughts.

  Syah read his face. “It’s the Gorusk soldiers, isn’t it?”

  The soldier gave one reluctant nod of his head.

  “How many?” a soldier asked from beside Syah.

  Then the scout started to tremble. “Beyond count. A thousand, at least,” the soldier said, his gaze dropping from Syah’s watchful eyes. “They are ready for battle,” he continued in a strained voice.

  “For battle,” Syah repeated his words. “They are ready for a massacre.” Syah turned his horse, looking back at the soldiers around him. “There will be no survivors.” Syah took a moment, collecting his thoughts, hearing his words before he said them.

  “You have served me well,” Syah finally said. “You are loyal servants of Arnith. As stories are told by campfires, your names will be remembered with honor.” Syah pressed his lips together, turning his horse around fully. “There are no more great deeds that await you. There are no more battles to be won,” he said, pressing each word. “Your lives cannot be wasted on such a foolish thing… as standing with a fallen prince. Where I go, I go alone. It is a twisted fate. It is a dishonorable end, and I cannot allow any of you to face it. Any who follow me now are foolhardy and do it simply and solely because they desire to die.” Syah raised his head, seeing that none of the soldiers had an argument for him. He found Denire, and Syah sternly met the knight’s gaze. “Go home.”

  Syah quickly turned the mare around, and as the sight o
f silent soldiers left him, the ache returned. He tried to blink it away, holding his eyes shut, but it only deepened. He let out a long, shaky breath. So this is how it will end.

  Then a sound came to Syah’s ears that made him cower as if knives stabbed his back. The sound of horses followed him. He didn’t have to turn around. Now he heard more. His head drooped from a swell of pain and his ribs seemed about to collapse. The soldiers were following him. They were going to die, and it was his fault. Tears blurred his vision and he tried to shake the feelings away.

  A thought tried to cut through the swell of pain in his head. You could go back. Syah noted the trees and the unmarked path that he continued on. Find another road, the voice said. Somewhere safe. And then, deliberately, intentionally, his conscience realized the wound, deep in his chest, the dull ache of it awakening to the piercing throb. Syah’s hand lifted to it. And, as deliberately, his mind brought up Oman’s face. He saw again the anger and accusing sadness in his brother’s eyes, the hatred. I banish you forever, the words echoed again. He clutched his chest to try to keep his breath steady.

  Then we can fight, the voice said now. Perhaps the soldiers could fight valiantly, fierce enough, to scare the Gorusk into submission. But one thousand soldiers… Syah shook his head. What could he do to stop it? What could he do to save them? As his breath wasted into gasps, his body fell forward, but his tight arms kept him on the saddle, his horse dutifully leading him to the doom he now faced.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  KING OF GORUSK

  Every sound of the horses and soldiers behind him was an echo of his brother’s words, was a reminder of his failure, was a stab, a wound into his soul. He knew that he would be the cause of their death. He struggled for breath as he struggled for silence in his mind. He sensed the danger drawing nearer. The stillness of the forest exasperated his tension.

  Distant thundering sounds, a strange mixture of metal and men’s voices, sounded a warning ahead of them. Syah knew he should heed it.

  Denire led his horse next to Syah. The knight was calm, but his eyes shadowed dark thoughts within. Syah swallowed, wondering why Denire had approached him. Would he try to convince him to turn back? Syah kept his horse moving, and Denire stayed with him, wordlessly watching him. Then Syah looked down; Denire was holding his sword.

  Syah bowed his head a long moment, wondering if it would change anything. He held his hand out for it, feeling no emotion, no dread or strength as he grasped it. Denire didn’t let it go right away, and Syah’s gaze returned to him.

  Denire said nothing, just nodding to the young prince as he let it go. Syah looked away, laying the sword on his lap before his hand began to shake.

  Syah and his soldiers came in view of their awaiting danger as they approached the summit of a hill at the edge of the forest. What first caught their attention was not the clusters upon clusters of soldiers forming a broad arch below them, but massive, gray, sharp mountains in the distance.

  Syah steadied himself, staring upon the enemy army, knowing every set of dark eyes was set on him. Syah studied them, trying to see through the dizzying pain. The warriors were roughly clustered in separate groups, led by mounted men heavily covered in furs.

  Be strong, for them. He patted the mare gently and she started down the hill, walking carefully across the loose stones, unaware of the danger before them. As they drew closer, Syah observed the barbarians' skin was smeared with black and their bodies were layered with thick hides and dark fabrics. Their weapons, raised, gleamed and shined, though the sun was blocked behind thick clouds.

  What was left of the army’s rumbling quieted as Syah approached with his soldiers following behind him. Syah stopped when he came to the center of the half circle. The riders behind him formed ranks. The five leaders and their men did not advance, watching him. Perhaps he could make this end quickly, and the soldiers and knights following him, without a leader, would sound the retreat. Syah gave the signal with his left arm for the line to hold. He started forward steadily. The mare gave out quick, anticipating breathes as she started forward, shaking her head so her brown mane flipped around her.

  Syah led the mare out further and four knights from the line pushed their horses forward, escorting Syah towards the arch of warriors. Murmurs went through the army as he drew towards their line. Were they deciding whether to shoot him down or send the signal for their soldiers to run him through? There is no other way, the voice now told him. Syah stopped his horse and the army was silenced again.

  What were they waiting for? He would draw them out to fight. Did they think he was going to surrender? Syah reached down and his fingers clenched the hilt of his sword. Turn back, the voice whispered. Syah tightened his chest and drew his sword swiftly, holding it brandished over his head. He heard the unison reaction from the army, but they did not cry out in anger and charge. The warriors, intent on him, perhaps saw some of their own suffering and anguish on his face. Years of hunger and wasting gazed upon a grief almost too great for his young body to contain. The five leaders moved their horses forward, and the knights behind Syah started closer to him.

  One of the older, more worn and thickly covered leaders came towards Syah, then looked back to the men behind him. In a deep and echoing voice, he shouted, “Hail King Syah!”

  The rough army responded in unison, “Hail, King Syah!”

  Syah’s grip faltered. The sword lowered quickly, almost dropping. Disbelief, then disgust, and then despair flushed through him. How could they?

  The five leaders shouted it together, turning their horses around towards their warriors? “Hail King Syah!”

  And the army answered, “Hail, King Syah!”

  The sound of the words made Syah’s stomach churn and his body swelled with anger and horror. His hand caught himself. No, hold. The insult! His mind answered. You must maintain it. Syah pushed himself up and looked back to the army before him. You mustn’t falter now, for their sake. Syah turned around in the saddle, to the knights and soldiers behind him staring wide eyed at the army of ruffians cheering with their weapons thrusting to the sky, moving closer to their prince. Be steady, for it could save them.

  Syah turned around, seeing that the five leaders were closer to him. How can I play this facade? You must, Syah told himself as he watched each of the rough, strong warriors before him bow in their saddles to him. Syah bowed his head to them, but did not take his eyes off them. He lifted his head and a sinking grief flooded it, numbing his hands and body. “Three kings born from one.”

  “It is a glorious day,” the eldest of them said loudly as he moved his horse forward, “when all five tribes unite together with common purpose, to fight an enemy of Gorusk. But more glorious still, that we will stay united to fight for him!” The five leaders all grunted their approval, saluting Syah by slamming their fists into their chests. “We have waited for a leader who could heal this troubled land and unite us to victory!” At the word, the other leaders and warriors behind them cheered. “To glory!” They cheered again. “Victory against those who oppressed us!” The leader shouted to the cheering army around him, moving his horse in his circle as he thrust his hand to the sky. Then he faced Syah again. “You have united us again.”

  The warrior moved his horse closer to Syah. The knights behind him shifted nervously but held. The warrior, glancing back to the knights, returned his gaze to Syah’s face. “I am Estone, leader of the Harcon tribe,” the warrior said and laid his hand, heavy, on Syah’s shoulder, locking his gaze. The feel of it sent chills and pain through Syah’s body. He tried to hide his body’s reaction and placed his own hand on the warrior’s shoulder. There was another cheer from the warriors around them. Estone withdrew his hand, smiling, and turned his horse. The other leaders moved beside Syah and in turn did the same, pledging their people, their land, and their allegiance to him. Whether they could feel Syah begin to shake, they did not show it. As the last one withdrew his arm and guided his horse back to the line, Syah struggled to ho
ld himself up in the saddle.

  “If you desire, Great King, we have made a temporary lodging for you and it is nearby.” Syah managed a steady nod. “Come,” a younger warrior said, “we will discuss matters of leadership there, in my village, by a raging fire.”

  The warriors turned their horses and Syah followed without thought, passing through the valley between the two great mountains. With no thoughts and no memory of the journey, he found himself passing through a large village of crude stone dwellings. What does it matter anyway? He saw a large stone structure, set away from the rest of the buildings around the village. That was where the leaders led them and Syah stopped his horse beside theirs. Using much of the strength he had left, Syah held himself up, pulled one leg over the saddle and lowered himself to the ground. One of his knights came to him. Syah knew why the knight was there; his fatigue was apparent. But the knight did not touch him. Syah gave out a long breath and let go of the saddle. Just a little longer now. He passed by the leaders, waiting for him to enter.

  Inside, the young Gorusk warrior came to Syah and motioned for him to sit at the head of a large, long table. Syah sat down gratefully and met the gazes of the warriors as they sat around him. Even keeping his eyelids open strained him, but he blinked and clenched his jaw. The warriors gave the several knights that followed him a place to sit at the end of the table. It was a good sign, a very peaceful gesture, and Syah nodded in thanks to his host.

  “You have had a long journey here,” one of the warriors said.

  “How did you know of our coming?” Syah questioned.

  “We are very watchful of our lands,” the youngest answered, all eyes studying Syah closely.

  One of the warriors had a comment, but Syah knew he didn’t have to respond. Soon the conversation turned to the army and their travel, and the knights answered many of the questions. Syah’s mind drifted. Guiltily, he knew he should hold each word of the conversation, but its importance weakened. The voices of the room becoming fainter, indistinguishable. Gradually, Syah didn’t care about them at all.