Chapter 1
“After we rest, can I ride?” asked Calum looking up at the mound of hair and flesh that was his escort.
“Did you bring a horse with you?” asked Roland, flatly, as he always did.
“No.”
“Then you walk.”
Silence descended on the pair, again.
The draught horse that Roland used as his mount lumbered down the dirt track. Calum, small in its shadow, walked with a hurried pace trying to keep at its side, his legs had started to stiffen from hours of travel. He wondered, not for the first time, whether his body would carry him through the day.
“Will it be soon?” asked Calum.
“What?”
“The rest.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We can take a short break at the trees,” said Roland, “but we cannot stay long.”
Calum looked up the dirt road, far in the distance on a lump of dirt which the inhabitants of the plains would call a hill sat three lone trees that had somehow been spared from the farmer’s relentless hunger for land.
“That’s not on the road.”
“We leave the road ahead and then cut across these fields. There’s a stream beyond that we follow to The Grey Wash,” explained Roland and then added, “no more questions.”
Calum had not known Roland for long but knew that it was the end of the matter. Calum looked for something to occupy his young mind and divert his attention from the dull burning in his muscles.
The lands of the western plains were vast and empty. A patchwork made of the soft oranges of grain crops and the dark greens of the pastures. The wheat that grew on either side of the road swayed in the soft breeze that swept across land. The colours were dotted by the occasional splotch of dark brown where a farmer had thrown up a house, shack or stables.
Calum looked behind, the crossroads where he had met Roland in the half light of dawn had vanished and all that he could see now was a long, straight dirt road that they had travelled all morning.
Calum cursed himself for not having taken a horse from the stables. He had been so focused on getting out of the wayhouse without being noticed that the thought had not occurred to him. It was for the best, he decided, a trip to the stables at that time of morning would have raised the suspicion of the watchmen who had patrolled the yard.
Also, how would he have taken the beast through the tight shrub behind the wayhouse that he used to mask his escape. The beams of the guardsmen lanterns had almost caught Calum as he had pushed through the brush trying to escape taking a horse as well would have been the end of his adventure right there.
Roland simply did not realise how difficult Calum’s escape had been. Calum knew he could explain it to Roland at the trees while they rested, once Roland understood he would certainly let Calum ride the horse for the afternoon.
The thought brought a smile to Calum’s face and the burning in his thighs became bearable.
The pair travelled further down the road until Roland’s horse cut to the left, heading down a small pathway made by the men who worked the fields. The path was decorated with clumps of weeds that broke through the soil, it had been a few months since the fields had been sown and there had been little traffic to stomp the weeds back. The ground became increasing loose under foot and Calum struggled even more to keep up with the rider as his boots lost their footing in the loose ground.
Roland was first to reach the trees, Calum joined him a short while after. When he arrived Roland had already dismounted and was leaning against a tree, draped in his bearskin cloak as he stared out across the fields.
“You have a few minutes to catch your breath and eat,” said Roland.
The sun was reaching its zenith as Calum rummaged through his bag for the piece of bread that he had taken from the wayhouse kitchen.
“I was thinking about the horse while we were crossing the field,” said Calum before taking a mouthful.
Roland turned his gaze to the boy.
“It was very difficult to get out of the wayhouse without being noticed but I managed to do it,” munched Calum, “getting a horse though would have been impossible with the watchmen posted around the stables. There was absolutely no way for me to take a horse.”
Calum stopped and studied Roland, waiting for a response, but none came.
“So, I was hoping that you would understand my circumstances and seeing how tired my legs are you would allow me to ride on your horse for the afternoon?” Calum smiled warmly.
Roland turned back to the look at the plains.
“Eat your bread and rest your legs.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Eat your bread and rest your legs.”
The emptiness of the statement was what infuriated Calum the most, the audacity that he would simply ignore a simple question.
“It was a simple question,” said Calum hiding the anger that was building in him.
Roland continued to ignore him.
“Do you think you can simply ignore a simple request? You could offer a simple answer to a simple question?”
Roland continued to study the gentle slope of the plains in the distance.
Calum hated being ignored. No one dared to ignore him in the castle, his father would not stand for such arrogance but his father was not here to fight his battle. On top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere, stood a brute with the strength of seven and a boy of fifteen with sore legs.
Calum’s anger gave way quickly to a feeling of dread.
“This was a mistake, wasn’t it?” he said to himself.
“Perhaps,” replied Roland.
“Take me back to my father, then.”
“Very well and then you will give me what I am owed.”
“What?”
“The land you promised as payment is still due. I have risked much to help you and I demand payment.”
“It was a half day ride,” yelled Calum.
“My time is valuable.”
The situation laid itself out in front of Calum. The humiliation as he approached his father, forced to admit to all his plan to escape The First Kingdom and abandon his station, but not only that, he had also given away his only land holding to a wanderer from another land. But what else was there to do? Move forward with a man who seemed to be delighting in his misery?
“It’s time we go,” interrupted Roland, “which way are we headed?”
Calum stood, quietly, his mind racing as Roland found his horse.
Fur whipped through the air as Roland swung his huge legs up and over the mount, his cloak catching on the horse’s hindquarters. Roland took longer than needed to straighten the cloak and then wrapped himself in it, fully, as though in defiance of the strong heat of the summer sun that washed over the land.
“Well?”
The voice cut through Calum confused thoughts.
“This isn’t fair, you’re making this hard for me so you can get your land sooner.”
Roland sighed as the boy’s eyes became wet.
“Come, I’ll take you back to your father.”
“No,” yelled Calum as he wiped at the tears that had started to gather, “I am paying for you to take me to the White Spire, so you are going to take me there.”
“Then we had best get moving,” replied Roland without a moment of hesitation and kicked his mount forward and the beast started to lumber down the hill.
Calum shook himself, stunned by but proud of the surge of defiance that had taken him from somewhere inside, then he realised he was alone on the hill. He scrambled to gather his discarded bag and ran after the horse that had already descended down the other side of the hill.
Thoughts were racing with doubt, anger, sadness and panic. They were too quick to grab at and as soon as one came it was pushed aside by another. Though one thing was true within the whirlpool of anxiety. The only path left for him now was the one in front.
Ahead of the pair, a corridor of trees marched across the plain, it was the river Roland had promised. The deep green of the leaves looked dense and cool against the orange of the fields.
The two continued on and soon the horse had passed through the tree line and splashed into the water beyond.
The stream, only a few yards wide, ran swift and shallow across the smooth, grey stone of the river bed. The world beneath the trees were dark and grey covered almost fully by the branches and leaves above.
Roland swung off the horse and lowered himself into the stream.
“If they send hounds after you this will hold them back,” said Roland as he started down the stream.
Calum stepped into the water, cautiously, and felt the tug of the soft current against his boot. He steadied himself against the flow and followed after Roland.
The rocks were solid underneath, though slightly slick. His boots clung firm to them with their rough finish and for the first time Calum felt prepared for the journey and cheered to himself in triumph. He had taken his finest boots from his closet before leaving his home of Kabrace, the boots a gift from his mother when he had started his military training a few years earlier.
The river was a marvel to Calum. The water ran clear like the water from the deep wells in the castle. It was much more beautiful than the flows of the King’s Way which ran through Kabrace that was always thick with the brown muck of the Northern Lands.
Calum took a breath of the cool, moist air and realised the maddening thoughts that had exhausted him just moments earlier had vanished, subdued by the rushing sounds of the water that cooled his feet and playfully tugged at his feet.
“Where are we headed now?” asked Calum.
“There is a wayhouse we can reach by dusk, off the river, though it will add a league to our journey,” said Roland, “or we can hold to the river and put another league between us and your men though we will need to camp by the river. Which would suit?”
“I have camped in the wilds with the finest rangers, they trained me extensively in hunting and woodsmanship,” said Calum defiantly feeling as though Roland was trying to insult him.
“Then we will hold to the river, how long do you need to hunt?”
“How is the game in this area?” asked Calum his voice had regained the authority he usual spoke with to the servants at home.
“Easy and slow. The farmers have claimed the rest of the land as theirs, so there are plenty of small animals trapped along the river. You will likely trip over a rabbit during your hunt.”
“Then an hour will be enough.”
“Good.”
The journey continued downstream until Roland announced it was time to make camp.
Calum dug through his bag for some rope and then disappear into the shrub. He returned not long after, triumphant, holding a dead hare. Its neck had been snapped clean and quick by his own hands. By that time, Roland had built a small fire while Calum was away and now Roland sat away from it watching the river, still wrapped in his cloak.
“Do you want some?” laughed Calum still high from the victory of the hunt, “there’s enough for both of us,”
“No, you eat it. You’ll need it.”
Calum fished around for the knife in his bag before producing a sheathed blade.
“I wasn’t good at skinning,” started Calum, “my brother Damon could make a fews cuts here and there and then rip the skin off with a single motion.”
Calum started to hack at the animal as the sun went down, the fire creating a halo of light around them. Eventually, Calum produced a butchered carcass with tacks of fur still clinging to the places that were to hard to get at. With another flick of the blade, the animal was gutted, the organs spilt out across to the ground. Calum used his water bladder to wash the gore from the meat, then skewed the hare on a stick and placed it over the fire.
The tattered remains of the animal’s hide sent a thick, choking smoke into the air which caused Calum to cough while the meat began to brown.
“Feels good to hunt your own meal,” Roland’s voice cut through the night from beyond the light of fire.
Calum was startled, this was the first time Roland had started a conversation.
“It does,” said Calum with face a light with a wide smile.
Calum listened to the sounds of the stream for awhile.
“It’s been a strange day,” he sighed.
“If your lucky, there are stranger ones to come.”
“Did you think I would make it to the end of the day?” asked Calum and immediately wondered why he had not asked that very question to himself before leaving his bed that morning.
“As a prince I know you’ve come accustomed to every man and woman thinking on you,” said Roland looking into the darkness, “but beyond the walls of The First Keep very few man care about the fate of Prince Calum and when we reach the forest, even less.”
“That’s want I want,” said Calum, “my father cannot reach me in the Spire.”
“I wouldn’t fear your father’s reach. His enemies are the ones I would watch for,”
“My father has no enemies, we live in peaceful time. The Saquaari keep our enemies at bay.”
Roland shuffled in the darkness.
“They teach royals strangely these days,” sighed Roland, “lessons on how to hunt game in the woods and evade the guards in the shadows but then whispers fantasies of peace in their ears. Most surprising is you believe it.”
“No war has come to The First Kingdom since the pact. Peace is ours now and my people will not be giving it up easily.”
“What is your father’s name among the nobles that chatter in the halls?”
Calum paused for a moment.
“King Wren the Old.”
“And how do you think a man of just thirty five years is given such a name?”
Calum sat quietly.
“A title, a joke and a warning all in one. The nobles of the First Kingdom have always been as fickle with their kings as they have been with their dogs, a pact will not change that,” said Roland shaking his head, “your father may have had a chance at a real peace handed to him by your Grandfather but he threw it away out of either arrogance or ignorance, only he knows that. All I know is the peace your Grandfather died for will not last and the fault lies firmly at the feet of King Wren.”
Calum sat in the firelight, his face neutral, his mind working. The things Roland said had a treacherous truth to them that Calum had considered himself from time to time, but he always dismissed such thoughts because he knew better than that.
His father held the authority of the western realms. His mother sat beside him with the authority of the east. And his brother Damon sat before them as the first Low King with both lands of the Kaborn at his back.
It was only the commoners who talked of Damon’s low blood but the men of power saw and respected only the Blood the Ka and that royal blood was just as strong in Damon’s veins as any other who had worn the stone crown before.
Damon would take that crown when Father went to his grave many years from now. These were the real truths that Calum knew and truths a wanderer like Roland could never know.
“The kingdom is stronger then you can know and it is united behind my father,” said Calum, firmly as he returned to the the world of the camp fire.
“As you say,” replied Roland.
Calum ate the remains of his prey and then felt the fatigue take him. He pushed dirt over the fire, the night air was enough to keep him warm and Roland did not seem to be making us of the flames. Calum then took up his thin travelling cloak, wrapped himself in it, found a comfortable spot between the buttress roots of a tree and let the exhaustion of the day take him.