The Blind King (8 page)

P
rince Ivor
stood proudly, observing the village his troops had taken in the night. Most of
the citizens had fled into the woods in terror, making the conquest an easy
one. As a result, most of the buildings stood perfectly intact, meaning there
was one less town to be repaired before Na’zoran citizens could occupy it. Of
course, the war was far from over. There were still many other villages to be
taken, and the major cities of Ra’jhou had yet to be touched.

The prince’s troops
gathered near him in the center of town, awaiting further orders. A single
rider approached, his horse running with all speed. Ivor regarded it carefully,
wondering if it bore a message from his father. No doubt, the king had some new
plan and would demand he return home at once to hear it.

The messenger slowed
as he approached the prince. Dismounting and bowing, he presented a sealed
letter. “For your eyes only, Your Highness,” he said.

Ivor took the
paper, rolling his eyes. It bore the king’s seal, so he knew what it would say.
As he began to read, he realized this was not at all what he had expected. This
was not a command to return home. Instead, this message contained fantastic
news.

With a laugh, the
prince announced. “King Gannon of Ra’jhou has been killed. The kingdom now lies
in the hands of a useless blind man with no education or experience in war!”

The soldiers
cheered, raising their arms high in the air. The war was sure to come to a
swift end, thanks to the death of Gannon. All that remained was for Na’zora to
march to the castle and dispose of the new king. There was a good chance that many
of Ra’jhou’s nobles would reject a blind man as their sovereign, and others
would step forward to claim the throne. This division among the upper class would
provide even more of an advantage to the Na’zorans.

“Ra’jhou’s citizens
will be in mourning, and the government will be in disarray,” Ivor announced.
Once he gained control of the kingdom’s lands, his father would surely place
him in charge of Ra’jhou. Tyrol would never consider leaving his comfortable
palace in Na’zora for a cold, drafty castle at the base of a mountain. Ivor, on
the other hand, would be more than happy to take charge of the land. He would
be far enough from his father to make decisions of his own. Perhaps, in time,
he would lead forces into the mountains to conquer the dwarves. There were
great riches to be found in those mountains, and Ivor was looking forward to
obtaining them. A peaceful life without fighting was not something he desired.
This war had only heightened his desire to fight, and he intended to do it for
the rest of his life.

The men continued
to celebrate, some of them dancing and singing. One man held a hand over his
eyes, stumbling blindly around to mock the new king of Ra’jhou. While most of
the soldiers laughed, one of them approached the “blind” man from behind,
grabbing his leg. As the blind soldier toppled to the ground, he shouted,
“Mercy for the blind!” His words were followed by thunderous applause and
laughter.

Ivor shook his
head, a grin on his face. “The blind king shall find no mercy from Na’zora! Let
us make sure the citizens of Ra’jhou don’t expect the war to end with the death
of their king. We wouldn’t want them becoming complacent. We shall take the
large city to the north!”

The men shouted
their approval and hurried to their mounts. The prince hopped onto his horse,
raising his sword high in the air. “We ride!” he shouted, pointing his sword to
the north.

For several hours,
the company rode north until they came within sight of Ra’jhou’s central market
district. If it fell, this would be the biggest loss for Ra’jhou so far.
Hundreds of men, women, and children lived in this city, which was also home to
the majority of the kingdom’s olive trees.

Prince Ivor
commanded, “Form the line!”

His troops readied
themselves for the charge. They would ride into the city, trampling all citizens
in their path. Mages took their places in the center, which gave them
protection from most attacks, though it was unlikely anyone would fight back.
There were a few city guards to contend with, but no standing militia was
present in this area.

“Charge!” Ivor
screamed as they spurred their horses forward into the city

As the thunder of
hooves bore down on their city, the citizens began to scream and panic. Women
grabbed at their children, husbands reached for their wives. In the chaos,
dozens of people were trampled, while others managed to flee to the safety of a
large storehouse.

Prince Ivor
shouted, “Hold!” The riders came to a stop, gathering near the edge of town.
“Mages,” he commanded, “burn the storehouse!”

The mages rode
forward, approaching the building with caution. It was a simple wooden
structure that would burn easily under their fire spells. Together, they began
conjuring the flames, focusing their energy into their hands. One after the
other, they unleashed fire upon the building, which quickly became engulfed in
flames.

With a smirk, Ivor
rode forward, followed by his troops. “Nowhere to hide now,” he said. “There
shall be no survivors to carry word.”

As he approached
the storehouse, he could hear the frightened cries of the people inside. He
found it strange that they were not running out to escape the smoke and flame
inside. Coming down from his horse, he approached the door. As he pushed it
open, he beheld a grim sight. The people inside were already burning, their
shrieks piercing the air. The extreme heat of the magefire had ignited vast
stores of olive oil within the storehouse.

Glass containers burst,
spraying oil onto the dozens of wooden crates as well as onto the burning
citizens. The flames continued to spread more rapidly, ascending the oil-soaked
walls to the roof. The weakened structure could no longer stand. In an instant,
it crumpled, crushing the people inside.

As Ivor stood
enjoying the grim spectacle before him, a heavy beam crashed down from aloft.
It tumbled heavily to the ground, crushing him beneath it. His eyes stared up
at the sky as his men rushed to his aid. It was too late. His eyes no longer
beheld any sight.

W
ord of the
prince’s death reached King Tyrol four days later. As Ivor’s troops returned,
they were not hailed as the victors they had hoped to be. They were greeted
with silence and uncertainty.

Lieutenant Jak, who had served as right hand to
the prince, stepped forward to command the troops and lead them back home. He
stood before the king to deliver the grim news, his dark eyes full of sadness.
“It was the magefire, Your Majesty, which brought down the storehouse. The
flames were simply too hot.” He held his head low as he spoke, refusing to make
eye contact with the king.

Tyrol sighed and looked off into the distance at
no particular spot. He clasped his hands behind his back and tapped a finger.
“I cannot hold the mages responsible,” he said. “They are far too valuable to
condemn over this.” How would he achieve glory without the mages? Dismissing
them was out of the question, nor could he punish any of them. He had spent a
fortune to have them trained, and they were the key to his victory. There was
no other choice than to forgive the mages this error and move on. His son was
gone, and he needed the mages if he was to succeed. “Young Prince Rayne is all
that remains of my bloodline now,” he announced. “You are dismissed until I am
ready to make my next move.”

Jak bowed low and backed away before turning to
leave. Tyrol sat heavily upon his throne, contemplating the future. His
takeover of Ra’jhou was going as planned, and soon he would control both
kingdoms. Without Ivor, he would name his grandson as sovereign over the new
territory. Ivor would have met with far more opposition from the nobles. Rayne
was sure to be accepted more readily since his mother was a Ra’jhouan princess.
Though Tyrol would be the one in true control, the citizens he planned to rule
would accept and come to love the young prince. He was certain of it.

The question now remained of what to do with
Aubriana. She had served her purpose as the “damsel in distress” and brought
her brother riding to her aid. Now that he was out of the picture and Ivor was
gone, there was no need to keep her.

Tyrol motioned a servant to his side. “Take a
message to Princess Aubriana. Tell her she is forthwith banished from the
kingdom of Na’zora. She has until nightfall to vacate the premises or she shall
be executed.”

“Right away, Your Majesty,” the servant said
before hurrying away.

Arriving at Aubriana’s chambers, he shoved open
the door without knocking. Startled by the servant’s sudden appearance,
Aubriana jumped to her feet. Shala approached the servant impatiently, her eyes
scolding.

“How dare you come in here without asking
permission? The princess is not accepting visitors.”

“The princess has been banished. She is to leave
by nightfall on pain of execution. The king has issued this command and expects
her to follow it.”

“My son,” Aubriana said, her eyes pleading. “Did
he give me leave to take my son?”

The servant shifted uneasily. “He made no mention
of the child.” With those words, he quickly exited the room.

“I can’t leave without Rayne, Shala,” she said, reaching
for the maid’s arms.

Shala looked to each side, searching for the right
words to comfort her mistress. Finding none, she hugged the shaking princess
close to her heart.

“I must speak to the king,” Aubriana said, pulling
away from Shala. Quickly, she turned and ran down the corridor to the throne
room. Two guards stood at the ready, barring her entrance.

“Please,” she said. “I must speak with King Tyrol.”

Glancing at each other, the men slowly stepped
aside. Aubriana swallowed hard as she opened the door and stepped inside. Shala
followed a few steps behind.

“I did not request an audience with you,” Tyrol
declared upon seeing her.

“Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider this
banishment. Do not separate me from my son!” Aubriana fell to her knees at the
king’s feet. “I beg you,” she repeated.

“Your husband is dead!” he screamed. “Rayne is my
heir, and you have no purpose here. Now get out of here before I reconsider
banishment and have you burned!” He kicked with his boot, shoving the princess
roughly to the side. “If I suspect for a moment you have betrayed me to
Ra’jhou, I will not hesitate to execute your son. Remember that when you are
considering giving away any secrets you might know. I can always produce
another heir.”

Shala rushed to help the princess back to her
feet. “Please, come with me,” she whispered. “You mustn’t provoke the king.”

Aubriana sobbed. The king turned his head,
refusing to look upon the grieving mother. Barely able to walk, Shala supported
the princess’s weight as they walked together back to her chambers. Gently
helping her onto the bed, Shala busied herself packing the princess’s
belongings as quickly as she could.

A second girl arrived to help, but Shala said, “I
need you to see that a carriage is prepared to take us back to Ra’jhou.” With a
curtsy, the girl hurried away.

“My son,” Aubriana whispered. “My son.” She wept
into her pillows, her body quaking slightly.

Lady Bartin, who had become a close friend to
Aubriana over the years, quietly entered the princess’s chambers. She sat on
the bed and leaned in toward the grieving mother. “I will do whatever I can to
help you. I’ll keep an eye on Rayne and write to you when I can.” Rubbing
Aubriana’s shoulder, she added, “He will be safe. I swear it.”

Aubriana sat up slowly and looked upon her friend.
“Thank you,” she said. Wrapping her arms around her, she squeezed her tightly.
“I wish I could say goodbye to him,” she said.

Shala paused in her packing to look at Lady
Bartin, who shook her head. It would be impossible to bring Rayne here. The
king would interpret it as an attempted kidnapping and have them all hanged.

“I shall give him your love,” Lady Bartin
promised. “If your brother proves victorious in this war, then you will be able
to return and collect little Rayne.”

“Gannon is a brave man, but there are no mages in
Ra’jhou. There is no hope of victory.”

Lady Bartin’s heart sank. Aubriana had not been
informed of Gannon’s death. The grim news would have to come from her. “My dear
Aubriana,” she began, “your brother King Gannon was killed in battle about a
week ago.”

Aubriana pulled away from her, staring into her
gray eyes. “Gannon is dead? Why has no one told me?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

Covering her face with her hands, Aubriana cried
softly. Not only had she lost her son this day, but she had also lost her
brother. She wept not for her fallen husband, whom she had grown to despise.
His passing meant nothing. With a heavy sigh, she tried to focus her thoughts
toward home, where Efren and Ryshel would welcome her. Efren had always been a
clever boy, but even he wouldn’t be capable of ending this war. Ra’jhou was far
too weak. She would have to find her own way. Whatever the price, she would
find a way to reunite with her child.

I
t was early
afternoon, and the sun was shining high overhead. In a rare moment of leisure,
Efren and Ryshel walked arm in arm throughout the castle grounds. The air
smelled of smoke as they passed by the smithy, where weapons of war were being
prepared. The scent of ash and the sound of hammers served as constant
reminders that the kingdom’s fate was still uncertain.

As the pair approached the front courtyard, the wheels
of a carriage echoed against the stone. Ryshel peered curiously ahead,
wondering if her father had finally arrived to act as advisor to Efren. To her
surprise, Aubriana stepped out of the carriage and quickly ascended the castle
steps.

“Aubriana is here,” she said to her husband.
“She’s returned from Na’zora.”

“This can’t be a good sign,” Efren replied. “Take
me to her.”

They headed for the entrance, their hurried
footsteps echoing on the stone path. When they reached the top of the stairs, Aubriana
stood before them, her eyes full of sadness. Her appearance was disheveled, and
she was plainly exhausted.

“My Brother King,” she said, her hand against her
heart. “My husband has been slain in battle, and I am sent away.”

“You will always have a home here,” he replied,
reaching out to comfort her.

“Where is Rayne?” Ryshel asked, hoping the young
child had not come to harm. She peered into the open carriage but saw only
Shala inside, tending to the luggage.

No longer able to contain it, Aubriana began to weep.
“They have taken him from me,” she said through her tears. “They accused me of
sending secret messages and would not allow me to see him. Once word arrived
that my husband was killed, the king sent me away.”

Ryshel rushed to her side, holding her tightly as
she wept. There were few words that could be of comfort to a mother who had
been separated from her child. Ryshel could hardly imagine such pain.

“I know not if I shall ever see him again,” Aubriana
sobbed.

Ryshel gently stroked the distraught mother’s
golden hair. “It will be all right,” she promised. “We’ll do whatever we can to
help you.”

Leaving the king in the safety of his servants,
Ryshel escorted Aubriana to the bedchamber she formerly inhabited. The princess
was distraught, and her tears continued to flow.

“We’ll figure
something out,” Ryshel reassured her. “Efren is in charge of the war now. He’ll
do whatever he can to end it.”

Aubriana laid down
on the bed and curled herself into a ball. “They’ll never let me see him
again,” she said. “They think I’m a traitor.”

“Why would they
think that?” Ryshel asked, taking a seat on the bed.

“They said if they
found evidence of my betrayal, they would kill him.” She continued to weep into
the soft blankets.

“Aubriana,” Ryshel
said, “tell me why they would accuse you of such an act.”

“My husband, Prince
Ivor, and I never got along,” she admitted. “I never told you, but he hated me.
I was confined to my chambers on suspicion of treason, thanks to him.” A wave
of sorrow overcame her, and she buried her face deep into a velvet pillow.

Ryshel gently rubbed
her back. “Efren will find a way. Give it time.”

Her words fell on
deaf ears. Aubriana was too distraught to believe the situation could ever
improve. Her son was lost to her, and her world was in shambles. Eventually,
her tears gave way to a fitful sleep.

Turning to Shala,
Ryshel said, “You should go to the court healer and ask for some medicines to
help her sleep easier. The poor girl needs her rest.”

Shala immediately
dropped the items she had pulled from one of the princess’s bags and curtsied
to the queen. Without a word, she hurried away in search of the medicine.

Ryshel let Aubriana
rest while she took her position at Efren’s side. A group of citizens living
along the northern border had arrived requesting an audience with the new king.
They bowed awkwardly before him, their common clothing standing out among the
riches of the court.

One among them
stepped forward to address the king. He was a tall man with dark hair who spoke
eloquently despite his low birth. “Your Majesty, our village is under threat
from dwarves. They have descended the mountains and taken up residence near our
border. These are not merchants as we have seen before. These are miscreants
who were exiled from their own homeland.”

“If they have been
exiled, then perhaps they have nowhere else to go,” the king stated. There were
far more threatening invaders to his south. A small band of dwarves to his
north was hardly cause for alarm.

The tall man looked
at the floor before saying, “Majesty, we fear they mean us harm. Every man
among them is armed.”

Efren sat silently
a moment, contemplating the situation. Finally, he said, “Let us hope they have
come in peace. I shall dispatch an emissary to converse with them and determine
their purpose. If they are not inviting conflict, I hope you will welcome them
as your new neighbors. Perhaps our two peoples could work together.”

The man bowed
again, not daring to argue with the king. With the matter settled, Efren moved
on to the next concern. There were several small issues that required his
attention: the treasury was quickly being depleted, the master of horse was not
performing his duties properly, and several other petty complaints still needed
to be heard. After several hours, each matter had been presented and discussed.
When business was finally concluded, Efren rose to leave, followed by Ryshel.
The sun had already disappeared from the sky, and Efren was weary from the
day’s work. Ryshel gently rubbed his shoulders as he sat on the edge of their
bed.

“I tire of this
war,” he said.

Ryshel looked at
him sympathetically. “Perhaps this new plan of yours will succeed and bring an
end to it.”

“Even if it
succeeds, the fighting will not be over. We have already lost too much land,
and we will have to fight to take it back.” His voice sounded defeated,
revealing his reluctance to continue the fight. “If only they would negotiate.”

“Once you have them
in a position of weakness, they may,” she replied.

“One can only
hope,” he said, settling down onto the bed. Sleep overcame him almost
instantly, his overworked mind insisting on much-needed rest.

Kissing her
husband’s cheek, Ryshel settled in next to him. Sleep did not come quickly for
her. In her mind, Aubriana’s plight played again and again. She could see
herself in a worse position, should Na’zora succeed in taking Ra’jhou. Would
they kill her and her children? What would they do to Efren? None of them would
be needed; and all of them would be considered a threat. The people would be
divided under Na’zoran rule if the old king and queen were still alive. All she
could do was hope that Efren would find a way to defeat the invaders.
Otherwise, she feared witnessing the deaths of her own children.