Prince Kristian's Honor

by Tod Langley

Chapter 2

  Erinia

  The storm that hit Worndale finally pushed its way east out of the mountains and into the plains that surrounded the seas of central Erinia. Heavy gusts of wind forced the dark waters of the Utwan Sea to crash against the harbor walls of Belarna, threatening to destroy the city’s small fishing boats. Rain flew sideways as it slammed into buildings and homes, frightening the occupants. Only the towering, black stone walls protecting the city seemed capable of withstanding the fierce onslaught.

  The old citadel was a mighty fortress, ringed by strong walls and massive, round turrets. The black stones used for the walls were native to the craggy beaches along the Utwan Sea. People passing under the massive gates and into the city never forgot the horrible stories of their ancestors. How could they when every stone surrounding them was black?

  The guards on top of the bulwarks huddled down behind the stone, trying to hide from the wind and rain. Several guards looked behind them fearfully at the palace, cursing their bad luck. They could see a single dim light through the rain and the mist coming from the house of their king. Then the guards turned away to hide behind the stone again as the wailing wind and rain almost blew them off the wall.

  “The sorcerer has unleashed the fury of the Mercies,” one of the guards moaned.

  “He meddles with things that are best left alone,” another Belarnian added.

  “Maybe he unleashed some of the magic that was supposed to protect the treasures of the spirit folk,” the first man suggested. “Now they’re pissed off and we’re feeling their anger.”

  “The spirit folk are far to the south, and they’ve never meddled in our affairs,” their sergeant said, shaking water from his soaked coat.

  “They say they’ve been around a thousand years and they’ve never come out of their woods.” The older guard gave up on the futile attempt with his coat, cursing and only half listening to the superstitious men.

  “Maybe they never had a reason to until now,” one of them suggested.

  “I think our prince is an evil man. The whole world will soon turn their attention on us,” the other complained.

  The sergeant came over quickly and slapped the man hard across the face. The younger guard fell back, shocked by his leader’s sudden anger.

  “Prince Ferral has done more to give us back our pride than anyone has in the last five hundred years. We were great once. We controlled magic and Belatarn showed us favor. Then the Erandians with their superior attitudes and cavalry thought they could put us in our place. They thought they could bring us into line and rule us like they ruled all the other kingdoms. We defeated them once, using the same magic that Ferral now possesses. We took control, and we dominated Erinia,” the sergeant spat out the last word.

  “But we were overconfident and boastful. We lost our magic, and the Erandians defeated us. We lost everything we had, but we will reclaim what was ours … with Ferral’s powers and leadership,” the sergeant said with reverence in his voice.

  The soldiers were unsure of what to say or do. They simply nodded and tried to huddle even closer to the wall.

  The sound of heart-wrenching sobs reverberated through the dark halls of the palace. Two guards that wore the blood insignia of their prince were dragging an old, whimpering man out of the audience chamber. The sound of his feet skidding along the floor echoed off the high arched ceiling and columns that lined the way to the throne.

  “You committed treason, old priest. You accused me of heresy and witchcraft in front of your pathetic congregation. Well, I accuse you of worshipping a weak god!”

  “I have done nothing! Nothing! Please, I beg you, please don’t!” the old man pleaded.

  “Cut out his tongue so that no one will have to listen to his treasonous words again,” the angry voice called out.

  The priest’s urgent cries could still be heard even after he was taken from the room. The sound of harsh laughter quickly drowned out the condemned man’s wailing. The laughter rang out shrilly, continuing on past reason.

  A man and woman lounged on the top of a small dais enjoying their cruel game. They had just gotten rid of the last priest that opposed the return of Belatarn. The two sat in the oversized, royal chairs languidly, not caring about the craftsmanship that went into making them. The man dressed in black satin clothes trimmed with gold and green casually draped a leg over one of the armrests. He was in his thirties but somehow looked older. His black hair and mustache hung limply from his scalp and lip. He was too thin and looked too weak to hold the huge silver goblet that was in his hand.

  As if by the direction of an unseen master, he stopped laughing and took a long gulp from the cup. He stared into oblivion for just a moment as if to remember what was so funny, and then, in a rage his body did not seem capable of, he threw the goblet across the room to smash against the mantle of the fireplace. The dripping wine seemed to add new life to the smoldering embers and large gouts of orange and red flame quickly erupted.

  The action amused the man, and he began to laugh again pointing at the fireplace. This time, the woman next to him joined in his amusement.

  “Very nice, my love,” the woman purred.

  The witch was stunning and seemed an odd match to her weak-looking lover. Dark red hair and a pale, smooth complexion highlighted the sharp features of her face. Her lips were a dark red color, almost the color of blood. Rebenna smiled and then laughed. She seemed to cackle rather than give way to true laughter as she reached over and began kissing him on the neck.

  The Prince of Belarn quickly grabbed her long hair and pushed her face toward his. He forcefully kissed her as if there was little time left in the world. And it seemed as though he would quickly move to take more than kisses when he was interrupted by a voice.

  “Are you that anxious to take my place, Ferral?” an old, frail man asked as he entered the room from a side door. He was too old to walk on his own anymore and had to be carried in a chair by servants. Ferral was annoyed by his father’s unexpected presence.

  “Aren’t you dead yet,” the prince muttered in obvious contempt. He kissed the woman again ignoring his father.

  “I am still King of Belarn, Ferral, and while I am king, no bitch of yours will sit in your mother’s chair!” Loyal servants cautiously approached the dais to ensure the woman stepped down. They looked up to Ferral for approval before taking a final step forward. The prince smiled and signaled for the guards and his lover to leave him and his father alone.

  Rebenna stepped down from her lofty place and bowed deeply to the old king; she acted hurt by the man’s harsh words but moved with a seductive saunter that ensured all their attention was focused on her. She gave a tight-lipped smile to her lover and then turned and walked out in grand style. Rebenna threw her arms around the servants escorting her and laughed as if she were going to a party. The closing door echoed with a dull thud as they left the father and son alone.

  Ferral smiled and said, “Isn’t she beautiful? She reminds me so much of Mother.”

  King Farras looked at his son in bitter despair. “Of all my sons, Ferral, you are the one I least wanted to succeed me.”

  “Father, I’m hurt by your words. Haven’t I always tried to bring glory to our house?”

  “Your glory is not what this kingdom needs or wants! Why do you openly strive to turn all of our neighbors against us? Do you not see that this will ruin Belarn? We have struggled for almost three hundred years to regain some of the power we lost.”

  “Five hundred years ago our empire rivaled any in the world. The people of Erinia knew and feared us and soon they shall again,” Ferral declared.

  “Your mind is as weak as your body,” his father said, dismissively. “Go ahead, play your little power games. Amuse yourself with your witch and your foolish cult. Your zealots won’t help you change anything.”

  “Father,” Ferral replied, “why are you so cruel to your only son? Every cunning thing that I’ve learned was from you … by the blessing of o
ur god, Belatarn, of course.”

  “Belatarn is dead. The magi lost their powers five hundred years ago,” the king replied. “Instead of wasting time reviving a dead religion, you could have been helping me against the Erandians.”

  “Do you really think that a few border wars will accomplish anything substantial? The only thing you will accomplish is wasting more resources. The Erandians may be arrogant, but they are strong. Only with the help of Belatarn will we be able to create an empire capable of dominating the world.” Ferral’s dark eyes lit up as he spoke.

  The king shook his head. “Religious fanatics don’t win wars, Ferral. I thought you would at least have learned that much from me. If you want to have a kingdom to rule after I am gone, you will follow my lead. Politics can be as threatening as any war and can do as much harm as any army. We shall defeat the Erandians through intrigue and sabotage, not by rushing them with a thousand suicidal idiots.”

  “There are the loyal followers of Belatarn, and then there are those that deserve to die. The Erandians especially deserve death. Those meddling fools have influenced our world for too long. It’s time they realized we don’t want or need them. It’s Belatarn’s will that all non-believers die, and I’ll be his messenger.”

  The king sighed in disgust. “Were your brothers here to see you throwing away…” The prince jumped out of the chair and leaped off the dais to stand in front of his father.

  “My poor brothers,” the drunken prince said as he reached down to pat his father’s hand, “are dead.” His lower lip curled out in a mocking pout. “I grieved over their tragic deaths for a long time. What are the odds that two sons of a great king would die such horrible deaths? Aron drowned in the sea by his own nursemaid when he was only three years old. And Dael, your eldest and heir to this great kingdom, killed in a terrible hunting accident just a few years ago. Would you have thought Fate could ever be so cruel? I assure you, Father, I exacted a terrible revenge upon Aron’s nurse as well as those that hid her from us! Now if I could just find where that evil boar is hiding.”

  For the first time, the king seemed to realize what his last remaining son was responsible for and what had happened to his family. His shock turned to grief as he lowered his head in despair.

  “I am still the king,” he repeated firmly, “and while there is still breath left in me, you will not lead Belarn back down the road to destruction. You must be stopped!”

  The prince was surprised by his father’s vow. He weighed the odds of killing his father right there, but decided to wait a little longer. Ferral yawned and stretched, “Oh, Father, our conversation has bored me to the point that I can hardly stay awake.”

  “It’s more likely you have been in the cellars again and are drunk,” Farras snapped.

  “Yes, more likely at that. Wine!” Ferral ordered.

  In response, a small, frail woman stepped out from behind a column. Farras was so startled by her presence that he almost jumped out of his chair. The beautiful girl, dressed in a simple light blue gown, slowly crossed the floor carrying a pitcher of wine and a goblet. She was slim and wraithlike. Her long black curls shined and reflected the light like a raven’s wing. The servant’s beauty was rare. Her eyes were a dull gray, like melting ice, the king thought, but her face held no expression at all. In fact, upon closer examination the king realized her skin was too pale. Her arms and hands were the same color as her eyes. Even her lips held a tint of blue.

  “What kind of abomination is this,” the king demanded as he stared wide-eyed at her.

  “She is beautiful isn’t she? She is my greatest achievement. Do you know how long it took me to transform this poor, little peasant girl into a proper lady of the court? Not to mention bring her back from the dead,” Ferral snickered, patting his father on the shoulder. The prince liked to keep her close by as a constant reminder of his early victories over those that might stand against him. He had kept her hidden from his father, though. Ferral had decided to reveal the extent of his powers now because it was too late for any of them to stop him.

  “My God, what have you done?” Farras asked. A deep foreboding filled him as he looked in horror at the dark hair, slender figure, delicate features, and complete lack of life within her.

  “Not your God, my god … Belatarn has rewarded me many times for my devotion,” he snapped. Ferral paced around his father as he stroked his beard smiling. “I have been studying hard over ancient documents for the last ten years, and I have made several discoveries. I have gained much power, Father.”

  “Evil power, Ferral. Power that will destroy you and everyone else along with you. I told you nothing good would come of your experiments,” Farras countered still looking at the dead slave girl.

  Ferral smiled. “These powers will help Belarn influence the rest of the world. Those that might have stronger armies will be afraid to use them out of fear of what I can and will do to their people. They will surrender to me or they will watch helplessly as their kingdoms are destroyed.”

  The girl’s monotone voice interrupted their argument, “Kill…me.” The prince looked in amazement at the girl and then burst into laughter. “She does that from time to time. I have no idea how she manages it.”

  “I knew you were experimenting with dark magic, but I never thought you would go this far, Ferral. You’re evil. You are truly evil, and you must be stopped.” The old king seemed to gain new strength from his determination. He looked straight into Ferral’s eyes and added, “I will stop you.”

  “Good night, Father. I hope you sleep well,” Ferral said as he turned away from Farras. To himself he added, “I hope you sleep very well.”

  Farras impatiently waited for his servants to return as he sat uncomfortably next to the young woman.

  “Kill … me,” she said again. There was no emotion in her voice, no inclination of expression on her face. Yet, the king realized these were not the most terrifying things about her. He looked into her eyes again and saw how dull and lifeless they were and wondered if there was a soul inside that beautiful body. “Kill…me.”