Most of Bandara was fertile farm ground. There were other cities in Bandara, to be sure. Most were small and very rural compared to the Bandaran capital of Turill. The city was the life’s blood of the kingdom, and thousands were proud to call it their home. Here they lived in the shadow of the great walls the Phoenix Queen had constructed around the city. Like a great blanket, the walls made the people feel safe and protected. Safely behind the fortifications created by the famed queen, they believed nothing could harm them. The people of Turill were healthy, happy, and prosperous.
There was another reason that the city was a hotbed of trade and the citizens flourished: his father King Aaron had lowered taxes until they were almost nonexistent. Commoners did very well in Bandara; the taxes on goods coming in and out of Bandara were very slight. So was what came out of the merchants, farmers, and stockmen’s pockets in taxes. The crown reaped little of the good fortune of the masses. The herdsmen and farmers lined their pockets with gold, being paid more than fair prices for their livestock and crops. Yes, the people loved their king. Good King Aaron always smiling, always happy, waving from the royal balcony. He wanted to give the peasants better lives than they ever could have dreamed of. He had told the council he wanted none of his subjects to ever have to live in poverty. Cain knew what he really wanted was to be flattered and cajoled and hear the peasants tell him how wondrous it was to live under his rule. So ten years ago, the king decided he had amassed enough wealth and lowered taxes throughout the realm to feed his vanity.
There were problems, though. He seemed not to care that the aristocracy loathed him. They hated the fact that the peasantry did so well on the lands owned by the nobles and paid so little for the privilege. It caused the lords' coffers to grow leaner every year. Their families had helped to build and defend the kingdom since Bandara’s founding, now they felt cheated by their monarch. The noble landholders had come to despise the king’s policies, the commoners, and the king himself. Now the sad fact was his father had almost bankrupted the country so he could revel in the gratitude of his people. Only an incompetent ruler could’ve done that with so much gold flowing through the streets of his city. Cain had come to hate his father and the shame he had brought to their house. When the prince had tried to talk to him about it a few years ago, King Aaron had laughed and told him what the nobility could do with their complaints.
Cain had only taken two of the Royal Guard with him today. He had little to fear in Turill, he was the son of good King Aaron—no one would dare assault good Prince Cain. He hated when the peasants called him that. The women smiled at him from the street as he rode along. The prince was young and attractive—not the looks his sister had, but he was fair. His dark brown hair was cut short, he had his father’s aquiline nose, his mother’s blue eyes, and he sported the same goatee as the Knights of Tyro. He knew they gawked and waved because he was a prince, not because his looks were so arresting; the commoners had forgotten their place in Bandara. He was starting to hate the people as much as he did his father. How dare they look at him the same way they would an ordinary man. When he became king, he would change that. They would learn how they should treat their betters.
His guards were dressed in their traditional red and gold uniforms, the colors of the Bandaran phoenix. Cain had chosen not to dress in any finery. He wore a simple deep burgundy gambeson and breeches. After all, he was going to be sparring with Talorn today, and the brute would most likely ruin any clothing he wore anyway. It would be good to see his old friend again. He had wanted Talorn to go with him to study in Asqutania, the capital of the great Kingdom of Tyro, but Talorn’s father Lord Blackthorn had not allowed it. He said Talorn could learn more from him than any school his son could ever attend. So Cain had to leave his friend behind.
He had been away for four years, only visiting on the few occasions that his father had sent for him, like Raygan’s birthdays. Raygan would be fifteen now, five years his junior. His little sister had grown into one of the most beautiful women Bandara had ever known. Nobles and commoners alike adored her. From the day of her birth, she had come between Cain and his father.
The king showered his little daughter with love and, to Cain’s knowledge, had never denied her anything she had ever asked for. Raygan acted like the kingdom was her personal playground. The people of Turill said on the day she was born, the sun grew brighter and the air smelled sweeter.
It made him sick to think about how the people fawned over her, their father most of all. As Raygan grew older, Cain felt the king pushing him aside, spending more and more time with his beautiful daughter.
The damn gardens, that was the worst. The palace was known to have some of the most beautiful gardens and grounds in the entire world. People came from afar just to gaze on the beauty of the royal gardens of Bandara. That was Raygan and his father’s handiwork. It began when she was a small child and had asked King Aaron for an enchanted land to play in. The two of them had worked on their garden to the point of obsession. Cain had to confess that it was beautiful, though he would never admit that to his sister or father. The cherry trees they had planted years ago were blooming, and every spring, Raygan had the royal gardeners cut the hedges in the shapes of animals and beasts, even the Old Gods. When Bishop Lyfair protested and said that the hedges were disrespectful to God, the king had ignored him and let Raygan have her way. They had filled the palace grounds with birdbaths and small ponds. The place had become a haven for small woodland creatures and all kinds of birds. The king loved it and of course had it opened to his beloved people so they could share in its beauty.
Every commoner in Bandara knew that Raygan was the king’s favorite. Cain knew it too, he always had. That was okay, though. Raygan could have their father’s adoration and the stupid garden, he would have the throne in the end. That was all he wanted from his father now anyway. He had given up on winning his father’s love long ago. Cain felt ignored and inferior because of the way King Aaron flaunted his affection for his little princess. Cain had even gone so far as to begin intentionally irritating the king every chance he got—most times, by hurting his sister’s delicate feelings. The prince began a campaign to distance himself from his father, so when he was overshadowed by Raygan, it would not hurt as much.
When he finally grew so annoying that the king politely suggested he attend school in Asqutania, Cain jumped at the chance. Asqutania was also the home of the Grand Cathedral of Tyro and home to the Holy Father of the Church, Pope Ammiel. He had learned a great deal about ruling a country there, more than he would have ever learned from his father. Cain felt his father had little to teach him about being a ruler, unless he wanted to learn to build gardens or throw parties. He had been happy to be away from his father and especially Raygan. In the great city of Asqutania, he would not have to feel inadequate and unwanted.
It had been different when Cain was younger; he had wanted nothing more than to win his father’s attention. He had excelled at everything: his studies, the hunt, and his skills on the tournament field were second only to his friend Talorn. It had all done him no good. Every time he tried, he had failed to get King Aaron to see what a good son he was. At best he got a pat on the head and was told, “Well done, son.” Never the pride and love he showed Raygan.
When Cain was older, he thought that his father favored her because their mother, Queen Elisabeth, had died giving birth to his sister. Cain had only been five years old when his mother died, and he remembered little of her. All he did remember was that it took his father years to get over her death. Raygan greatly favored their mother in her looks; perhaps the reason for his father’s over-inflated love for her was as simple as she reminded him of the woman he had loved. It didn’t matter what the reason was now. The prince knew it would be his time soon enough.
King Aaron Albana was dying. Cain had received word from the royal healer, Finn Selmac, that his father had little time left and he should return home immediately. Cain had seen his father twice since he had been
back, and he believed Selmac’s judgment was sound. The visits had been brief. He did not like to be around the sick and dying; his father was both. He would wait for his father’s death and when the time came, he would change Bandara and make it strong again. He would fill the royal treasury with the commoner’s undeserved wealth and show the peasantry that having noble blood was a thing that should be revered and respected. Show them that gardens and balls were for fools. He would bring an end to the decadence infecting his country. The bards would sing again about the glory of the Phoenix Throne. Sing the song of King Cain. He might even have those damn gardens burned to the ground just for spite. The thought of it made him grin.
The day was warm for spring and the sun bright. It was a perfect day for a little exercise. It had been a while since Cain had held a sword or lance in his hand. He had gone to Asqutania to train his mind, not his sword arm, and he had found little time to spar with the many young knights that resided in the great city. It had caused him to become a bit rusty. It would be good to have a joust or two with Talorn. The young Sir Blackthorn was unmatched in martial skills, but Cain knew he was the smarter of the two. Talorn had never been one for studying.
At twenty, Cain felt like he was already more educated and worldly than most of the nobles of his father’s court. Most of royal council was made up of mindless idiots his father had appointed because they were friends of his or they agreed with the king’s absurd policies. He had been told when he returned that since the king had fallen ill, it was Bishop Lyfair and Lord William Blackthorn, Talorn’s father, who were truly running the country. Cain thought of all the royal council, those two would be the men he would have chosen to run the country while the king lay dying. Neither of them were one of his father’s lackeys.
Bishop Lyfair had been in Bandara since the death of King Alfred Albana, Cain’s grandfather. He had been appointed as a young priest to serve Bishop Rails, the former Bishop of Bandara. A few years into his father’s reign, Rails had fallen ill and died of natural causes, and Lyfair had been appointed the new bishop to Bandara. The appointment had come from the great Church itself.
King Aaron loved his new bishop. Lyfair helped his king with all the drudgeries that came with the crown. His father hated the day-to-day responsibilities that a king must handle. Lyfair took care of most of the mundane responsibilities of running the kingdom for his sovereign, giving King Aaron more time to indulge in eating, drinking, and revelry—the things his father truly loved. He had to admit that Lyfair did a fine job with the bureaucracy of the kingdom.
The Lord of Braxton Bluff, William Blackthorn, was a true noble. His family had been landholders in Bandara since its founding. He was descended from the mighty Braxton Blackthorn, who fought alongside the Phoenix Queen five hundred years before. It was said he had also proven himself a fine warrior years ago in a brief war with Abberdon right after King Aaron took the throne. William was intelligent and decisive. It was more than likely that Lyfair and Blackthorn were the only reason Cain had a kingdom to inherit. Without their help, his father would have most likely lost it by now. He owed them both his gratitude.
Cain rode into the tournament grounds with his chest out and a stern look on his face. The grooms and pages who worked in the stables all began running to and fro, seeing to any needs the prince might have. The place looked impressive. A few new canopies had been added to keep the sun and rain off the spectators. His father loved to watch jousting but had never participated in a tilt in his life. The sight of blood had always made the king uncomfortable, and he had never been very athletic. What King Aaron did love was the fanfare that came along with the joust. There were several tournaments a year in Bandara and almost all the nobles took part. They had become quite the big social events. The lords and ladies attended, all wearing their finest clothing. The participants themselves were clad in their best armor and rode the finest horses they owned. Everyone feasted for days before the tournaments even started. Some said the events even rivaled those in the Grand Stadium of Asqutania. His father, if nothing else, had a knack for planning splendid events with great extravagance and pageantry.
As he approached, Cain could see Talorn already armored and on his horse, riding the rings. The prince was a little jealous of his friend’s horsemanship abilities. The big white stallion Talorn rode followed his commands like he could read the knight’s mind. The rings were a test of accuracy; Lord Blackthorn the younger was a master at it, very seldom failing to put his lance through the ring. Talorn was the best knight in Bandara; he had won tournament after tournament. King Aaron had always said Talorn had been born to be a knight. His friend’s skill was something he and his father agreed on.
Talorn saw the prince and dismounted. His armor shining in the sun, polished to a high sheen just like the Knights of Tyro. Talorn took off his great helm and handed it to his squire. The young lord shook out his long, blonde curly locks and walked over, clasping his prince’s hand. Cain smiled at his friend’s famous golden hair and good looks, which made many of the women in Bandara swoon. They all wanted the handsome and strong Lord Blackthorn to favor them with his attention. He could easily have his pick of any woman in Bandara. The problem was that, as proficient and skilled with arms and horses as Talorn was, he was equally awkward and uncomfortable with women. It was a secret Talorn had only shared with Cain.
“Highness, you have finally arrived. I thought sure your fear of my abilities had kept you at the palace.”
The young knight stood tall, grinning at his prince with that well-known smile.
Cain gave him a friendly push.
“We will see who’s afraid of whom when the day is done, you arrogant ass.”
“It’s not arrogance, Highness, when one speaks the truth.”
Both men laughed.
“Let us begin. Get my armor off the horse and help me get ready, Verkan, you will act as my squire today,” Cain yelled to one of his bodyguards.
“I will be waiting for you in the lists, Highness.”
“Damn you, Talorn. It's Cain here, stop with the ‘Your Highness’ foolishness. We’ve known each other since we were children.”
“I was practicing for when you’re king,” Talon said, grinning as he walked back to his horse. “Besides, I haven’t seen you for a long time. I didn’t know how big your ego had gotten,” the knight called over his shoulder.
Sweat ran down Cain’s face, making him look like he had been out in the rain. His hair was wet with it, and he was hot. The day had grown warmer, and the great helmet he wore had been suffocating. Talorn and the prince had made ten passes. Cain had lost all of them, and Talorn had unhorsed him four times. Cain wanted to be angry with his friend, but he couldn’t be. He had to admire the knight’s uncanny skill. Talorn was unbeatable; it was as simple as that. Trying to defeat him was like trying to defeat a storm.
Talorn came out of one of the tournament grounds' out-buildings carrying two large goblets of wine. He was trying not to smile as he handed one to the prince.
Cain drained half of it in one swallow.
“I needed that,” Cain said.
“You’re getting better every time we joust, my prince. I fear before long it will be my ass that is lying in the dust.”
Cain shook his head. “No, my friend, you are a true wonder. You are too good to ever be beaten by anyone, myself included. When I take the throne, there will be no doubt that I will choose you as my champion. That is, if you will accept.”
Talorn squatted down and took a drink of his wine. “I would like that very much, if I have the time.”
“What do you mean, if you have the time?” Cain said, almost insulted.
“There are some things I would like to talk to you about…along those lines, Cain.”
“Along what lines… What do you mean?”
Talorn finished off his goblet and stood up. “Things that need to be done after you are crowned.”
Cain wondered what Talorn had to say that made the knight lo
se his usual jocularity and become so serious.
“Tell me now, damn it,” Cain said, feigning outrage. “You know I hate waiting for anything.”
Talorn turned to the prince. “I will after you try to best me with a sword.”
Cain smiled and threw up his hands. “Okay, if you want me to wait, I’ll wait.”
Talorn put his arm around the prince and started walking him back out to the tournament field.
Cain stopped and looked at his friend. “Now, I don’t want to be to beaten up. I have important meetings with several of the council members later today, so take it easy on me.”
“I will make sure you can walk into the council chamber, Highness—but as far as taking it easy on you, I don’t think that would be prudent…a King of Bandara should be as good a warrior as he is a statesman.”
Cain smiled.
“Very true, my friend, but the king should also not be so battered that he can’t attend his meetings.”
Talorn rubbed his hands together and looked at his prince. “I will see what I can do, Highness.”
Cain was pleased with the sword practice. He didn’t ever defeat Talorn, but he held his own this time and managed to get in a few strikes. The two men had removed their armor and now sat on one of the public benches in their shirts and breeches, cooling off in the spring breeze.
The stadium looked even bigger when empty, Cain thought. The king had built large sets of benches all around the field for his people to watch the tournaments. It was similar to the design of the Grand Stadium in Tyro, but not quite as large or ornate.
“You fought well today, Cain,” Talon said.
Cain rubbed his shoulder where one of Talorn’s harder blows had landed. “I spent too much of my time reading books in Tyro, I have gotten a little slower with my defense.”
Talorn gazed out to the empty field. “I know it’s wrong, but sometimes I wish for war. It’s the only way to test a man’s true skill and courage.”
DAWN OF THE PHOENIX Page 3