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Title: King and Country
Author: Sam Pigg
Genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy
Chapter 1 - The Crown and Blade
Eerion
A harsh wind blew against the windows of the royal bedchamber, strong enough to shake the glass. Brief flashes of lighting from outside illuminated bookshelves filled with theories on military tactics and strategy as well as instructions on riding and swordplay. Somewhere mixed in were books on royal etiquette, diplomacy, and other less interesting subjects. All had been read and mastered.
An especially bright flash briefly illuminated the entire room as the twenty-four-year-old prince tossed in his bed, trying to hide from the light and rest a little longer in the warm darkness. A rapid tapping at the door finally ended any hope he had of extended slumber.
“Prince Eerion?” a young, male voice called timidly.
“What?” Eerion responded harshly with a groan. He corrected himself, though still spoke curtly. “What is it?”
“Uh, His Majesty needs to see you immediately at the Tower of Salvation.”
Eerion’s blood ran cold at those words. He sat up and looked at the birthmark on the back of his hand in the shape of a crown and blade. The Crown and Blade. Recently, it had started to glow a deep, golden orange reminiscent of dying embers. As he dragged himself out of bed, Eerion thought back to the first time he’d heard a real explanation of the mark’s power. In this very room, in fact.
* * *
“You know that you have a gift, right, Eerion?” his mother, Queen Klira, asked, sitting at his bedside.
“I do?” six-year-old Eerion asked eagerly, despite how tired he was. He couldn’t imagine what it could be. Maybe a horse?
His mother gently lifted his right hand and pointed to the crown and sword shape on the back of it. “Do you know what this is?”
“The crown and sword. I mean blade. The crown and blade.”
She nodded. “One day, years in the future, this will start to glow.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And you know the tower in the courtyard?”
“The Tower of Saturation?”
“Salvation,” she corrected with a chuckle. “But yes. You’ll go up there, and then you’ll put your hand on this rock at the top of it. And when you do, fire and light and lightning will come down, and you will receive great, magical power.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Enough power to do almost anything you want.”
“Can I get a horse with it?”
“Well, yes, but you will have plenty of horses.”
“But can I make one that’s bright red and can fly and can breathe fire and can magically appear whenever I call it by its name, Flame Flyer?”
She smiled. “Yes, probably, but this power you have is important. As the king, there will be many possible uses for it, but you can only use it once.”
“I’m gonna make a horse,” he said with a smile, already fantasizing about riding a flying, bright red horse that could breathe fire.
“Do you know what I would use it for?” his mother asked.
He shook his head.
“If I had the power, I would use it to help people. I would use it to make sure that the people of Nalg, everyone I was responsible for, were safe and happy.”
Eerion liked that idea. Maybe he could give them flying horses. “Yeah, that’s good. Can I do that?”
His mother nodded and smiled. “Of course, you can. Can you promise me now, Eerion, that that is what you’ll use it for?”
“Sure,” he said happily. “I promise.”
She smiled again, then hugged him. “Wonderful. Good night, my son.”
* * *
That had been a long time ago.
The mark supposedly dated back a hundred and fifty years, coming from a mysterious era known as the Eclipse Period, when darkness invaded all of Irindius, though what that darkness was exactly, none could say. Whatever had transpired had long since been forgotten or never fully known. The king at the time, Talvion, had a magician cast a spell that created a mark on the backs of the hands of Talvion and all his descendants. For the firstborn descendants, at a certain “coming of age,” the mark would start to glow, always between the ages of fifteen and thirty.
One exception to the magic that Eerion had learned from his father in later years was that there was a possibility the mark would come out scorched, meaning the bearer would have failed
and received no power, though that had only happened once, with Talvion’s grandson, who was also Eerion’s grandfather. Deceased grandfather.
Talvion had used the power to banish the darkness from Irindius, and his son chose to use the power to rectify a crippling famine.
“Right,” Eerion finally responded, wincing as his warm toes made contact with the frigid, stone floor. “I’ll be right there.”
Eerion’s specific situation was complex, to say the least.
* * *
“So, let me get this straight,” nineteen-year-old Eerion said with clear annoyance, rhythmically tapping the arm of his chair with all four of his fingers, one after another. “When I finally receive my power, my birthright, you want me to just give it to you.”
“Zide has looked into this,” Nyflon, his father, said. “It is possible.”
“Okay, well maybe I’m missing something, but don’t you still have your own power that you’ve never used? Why would I ever give you mine?”
Nyflon sighed and looked at the floor.
“Your father has already used his power,” Klira said.
Eerion laughed in derision. “What?”
“It’s true,” Nyflon said. “The war six years ago, I used it then.”
Eerion didn’t understand. “What are you talking about? Felagspar and Syrkios won that war.”
“I know. I used the mark to pick them. I used it to gain the knowledge of how to win the war, not to actually win it.”
“But… why?”
“You should be able to figure this out. Ziioke and Ramkin were both attacking. Alotroce could easily have joined them. So, if I had used the power to say, cause a sickness to run through the ranks of one or maybe even both of their armies, Alotroce would have little reason not to join them in the war. But by doing this, by picking two soldiers out of obscurity and promoting them to generals, I made it seem like I still had one more card I could play against anyone, including Alotroce.”
“Huh. You sure you didn’t just do this ‘cause you wanted to look like you won with your own strength and your own generals?”
“That was part of it, of course.”
“Whatever. I have a hard time seeing what the problem is or why I have to give up my power. I mean, the way I see it, you still have that threat you can use against Ziioke or anyone else.”
“There have been murmurings among the people,” Klira said grimly. “They are wondering why he hasn’t used his power or why he didn’t use it in the war. They’re getting skeptical.”
“Who cares what a few peasants think?”
“People are beginning to question if I even have the power,” Nyflon said, hardly answering his question. “So as soon as you receive yours, you need to give it to me, so I can do something with it, or else.”
“Or else. Or else what?”
“The nobles and officers are trying to subdue the unrest, but we could be looking at uprisings in all three cities.”
“Do a bunch of commoners covered in crap and mud really care whether or not you have the power of the mark? I mean, worst case, they think your mark was scorched and you lied about it, right? Why would they possibly care?”
Nyflon shook his head. “Do you know how the nobles took so much power from your grandfather? By saying that his scorched mark made him unfit to rule, that it was a sign that he was weak in mind and body. I used that against them when I came to the throne and took back the power from them, letting them see that my mark was no longer glowing and unscorched!” He pounded his fist into the arm of his chair, startling Klira. “I made a mistake, taking credit for Felagspar and Syrkios, a mistake that cannot be undone. This is the only way.”
Eerion considered his father’s words for a moment then scoffed. “So what? Even if all you say is true, are our soldiers so weak that they can’t handle a few peasants with sickles?”
“No, they will win, of course. But it would deal a serious blow to our production, and it could give an opening for Ziioke to attack again. And that’s assuming the officers don’t side with them!”
“This plan still makes no sense! What are people going to think when I never receive the power?”
“I have a plan for that. A few years after you receive the power and give it to me, we will say that your hand got cut off in a battle. But thankfully, through arcane, ancient magics, we were able to restore the hand completely. Tragically, however, the power of the mark will be lost.”
Eerion nearly fell out of his chair laughing. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
“People will believe it because they want to. The majority of the people will be looking for any excuse not to risk their lives and livelihoods and continue as they are. The few would-be instigators can be dealt with then, with the people supporting us against them.”
“All right, that makes sense, I guess. One problem, though. I’m not doing it.”
“Yes, I imagined you would say that. Which is why I think we can make a deal.” Klira looked troubled.
* * *
To ensure Eerion’s cooperation, Nyflon promised and gave him what had fulfilled his darkest and most depraved desires. Eerion didn’t want these vices anymore, or rather he didn’t want to want them, because of a special book in his room, the one hidden under a loose stone under the bed.
It was the forbidden book. It was the Book of the Light, the story of The Light’s plan to save mankind. For a few years, Eerion had been a secret, devout follower of The Light.
Eerion had no intention whatsoever of going along with Nyflon’s plan… anymore. He was simply going to take the power and use it against Nyflon. He would have already climbed the tower and taken it, but the tower was well-guarded and locked due to Nyflon’s own paranoia and the dreaded incident from years ago. Even though Eerion could likely take the few elite soldiers guarding the tower, there was just no reason to risk it when Nyflon was going to let him up there anyway.
Nyflon was an evil king. The laws he created showed no mercy to citizens. Almost all money or any form of currency was forbidden and only to be hoarded by the king. This left people with no choice but to solely rely on him. He had essentially turned the people into slaves.
He had restructured the entire nation, forcing almost every citizen of Nalg into the densely populated cities of Nyrex, Faeos, and Prelm, all for his benefit. Population control and thought control were his aims. Of course, there were a few towns and villages outside of the cities, left alone out of pure productive necessity or political stability, the last remnants of the old Nalg.
Any whiff of rebellion was stamped out immediately and mercilessly. People would “disappear” never to be heard from again. Citizens were forbidden from owning any kind of weapon, which constantly put them at the mercy of bandits outside the cities and criminals and wicked soldiers inside. In addition, all magic was extremely forbidden. Worst of all, though, he forbade the belief and worship of The Light or any other type of belief in a power higher than the king, labeling all religion treason.
Eerion quickly got ready, dressing in clothes passably fancy yet practical enough to fight in if it came to it. He didn’t wear any armor, not that he had any in his room. Armor would be too suspicious.
He looked down at the bracelet on his right wrist, which had been there for a long, long time. It was made of iron with four gems embedded in it: a ruby, a sapphire, an emerald, and a white diamond, all tight against each other in a square. He took it off and switched it to his left wrist to protect it.
Once he was dressed, he exited his room entering the cold, dark halls of the castle, lit and warmed only by the sparsely placed torches and lanterns. Much like the rest of the castle, the halls were wide with high ceilings. If Eerion stretched his arm up as high as he could over his head, he could just barely scrape the tip of his middle finger against the ceiling.
Despite the gravity of the situation and the anxiety he had to get it over with, Eerion took a longer route than necessary, passing his mother’s former room. That was the other reason why Eerion was going against Nyflon. It was the reason he had decided to do any of this in the first place.
* * *
“She just disappeared?” twenty-one-year-old Eerion asked, unable to fathom it. “I’m afraid so,” Nyflon said gravely.
“But why?”
Nyflon shook his head, his face full of sorrow. “I don’t know. She was unhappy about the way some of the rebels were being treated, but I didn’t think it was enough for her to leave.”
“Well, where’d she go? Ramkin? Alotroce? How’d she even get out of the city?” “I don’t think she did.”
“You mean she’s still here? In the city? Then find her!”
“I’ve already told Syrkios and the commanders, but it’s not that simple. If we make it known to the entire city and someone finds her, maybe even a soldier, and doesn’t report it, they could do anything to her, just for ransom.”
Eerion cursed. “Just get her back!” he yelled before storming out of the throne room.
The next day, Eerion went to his mother’s desk, looking for any letters she may have received or had yet to send, anything to give him a clue as to what happened. He pulled the drawers open and rifled through papers and jars of ink.
In one drawer, he found a small, hidden compartment that had been concealed by all the papers. Eagerly, he pulled it open.
With horror, he staggered back and nearly collapsed to the floor. In the compartment was a necklace, and not just any necklace, it was her favorite necklace: a thin golden chain with spherical emerald encompassed by strands of gold. She would never have gone anywhere without it, ever. Which left only two possibilities. She had been kidnapped, or…
He closed the compartment and shoved the papers back where they’d been, then sprinted to the throne room. He struggled past the guards in front of it, proceeding to throw the doors open, interrupting a meeting with Nyflon, Chancellor Zide, and the nobles.
“All of you out, now!” he yelled, trying to catch his breath.
“Eerion, what are you doing!” Nyflon yelled with rage.
“This is important, so all of you out, right now!”
“Oh, just go! This will only take a moment.”
The nobles shuffled out of the throne room and closed the door.
Eerion glared at Zide. “You too.”
Zide responded with a faint, closed-mouth smile. He stood still for a moment, then began walking out, slowly and stiffly, not breaking eye contact with Eerion. Finally, he slipped out and closed the door.
Nyflon was livid. “What is it?” he growled.
“What if she was kidnapped? You said it yourself that it made no sense for her to leave on her own, so what if somehow someone took her? Yorve, maybe? He could be trying to lure you into a war with Ziioke!”
“Eerion, this is the castle of Nyrex! If Yorve or anyone else were even able to get people in here, they would have had to kill the guards to get to her. We would have known about it.”
Eerion’s world was coming down around him, the foundations of everything he’d believed starting to crumble.
“I know it’s hard to accept that she left. I miss her, too. But she wasn’t kidnapped.”
Eerion nodded, exercising every ounce of restraint he had, biting back all his venom and rage. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He turned and threw the doors open, not breathing a word to anyone, until he made it to his room and fell upon his bed, crying his eyes out, fighting the urge to scream.
A few hours later, he pulled out the book that he had stumbled upon and kept out of curiosity. The book he’d kept a secret, the book he knew his father hated.
* * *
Nyflon had killed his mother. He’d said it himself: she didn’t like the way he was handling uprisings.
And that was it. That was the point when everything changed. Eerion finally saw the truth. Nyflon was just a power-hungry monster who couldn’t see the value of human life. And he had to be stopped.
Eerion walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. It looked like it was completely untouched since Eerion had looked through it. Nyflon had probably left it alone to give Eerion false hope that Klira might eventually come back, and he would want everything to be left the same for her.
He moved the papers and opened the hidden compartment. There it was. The same beautiful necklace. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
After that, he walked toward the palace courtyard.
“Be careful out there, prince,” a voice from behind said calmly followed by a crash of thunder. Eerion slowly turned around to see Zide. With an ominous smile, the chancellor stood
motionless about twenty feet away from Eerion just staring at him. Eerion kept a blank expression.
Chancellor Zide Kolyiok was a few inches shorter than Eerion. He had his long, dark brown hair tied together in the back. He wore an ornate robe, black with strange purple markings on it. The only weapon on his belt was a long, slender dagger. His eyes were a dark, dark brown, almost black. If Eerion just casually glanced at them, they looked like two hollow, void spheres. Eerion didn’t know exactly how old Zide was; he’d never heard it discussed, either. His face was free of wrinkles, but his bones practically creaked as he moved. He’d been Nyflon’s advisor for about as long as Nyflon had been king.
Zide made Eerion uneasy. Eerion didn’t know if everything that Nyflon had alluded to about Zide was true, but if it was… no. No, magic wasn’t really real anymore. Some things still had magic in them, yes, but there was no new magic. That was just a myth. There were no more magicians, no more wizards. It wasn’t that Eerion didn’t believe that they could be real, it was just that there was no real evidence of any kind to back up the claims. Things like the madmen in the mountains or the so-called “Plague of Darkness” were just exaggerated rumors.
“It’s storming,” Zide continued. “Watch out for lightning.”
Eerion watched him for a moment, fists involuntarily clenched. He turned back and opened the door to the courtyard without breathing a word.
Rain was pouring, so Eerion put up the hood of his dark red cloak. Nyflon had been waiting for a stormy day to do this so that the ritual would simply appear to be a bolt of lightning to anyone who saw it from a distance.
Guards clad in thick chainmail and plate stood around the base of the tower. As Eerion walked past them, they knelt before him.
“His Majesty is waiting for you at the top of the tower, Prince Eerion,” one said.
Eerion nodded, feigning haughty arrogance. Why would he, the prince, speak to a guard when it wasn’t absolutely necessary?
The inside of the tower was about the same as the palace halls, dark with only a few torches. It was a surprisingly tall tower, taking almost five minutes to get to the top.
With every step, Eerion was reminded of the last time he was in this tower. His footsteps then were frantic and desperate as he sprinted up the steps. When he’d finally reached the top, all those years ago, he’d seen the most horrific sight ever to cross his eyes. It stayed in his dreams, tormenting him just when he thought he’d forgotten it. And now, back in the tower, his memories were even clearer, more vivid. He couldn’t not see it, eyes opened or closed. He stopped, leaning into the wall while taking slow, deep breaths, forcing the image from his mind. After a minute, he recovered and kept walking and soon reached the top.
From this high, the world stretched before Eerion, far beyond the walls of the castle and all the way to the walls of Nyrex, immense feats of architecture, unmatched anywhere else in
Irindius. Vast plains to the west and south rolled endlessly, only interrupted by the intermittent forest here and there. To the east, the ocean rolled gently as Nalgic, Ramkinese, and Ziiian merchant ships sailed in and out of the ports of Nyrex. Far to the north, the snow-capped peaks of the Uninhabitable Mountains pierced the sky, taller than any other mountains in the world.
A quiet wind howled across the roof of the tower, blowing Eerion’s hood into his face. The roof had no walls or ropes to protect one from falling off. Four swordsmen with shields lined the corners of the tower. Nyflon Talvios stood at the center, looking anxious and angry.
The physical resemblance between Nyflon and Eerion was striking. Both were just over six feet tall, strong, and had pitch-black hair like a starless night sky. Nyflon kept his cut incredibly short while Eerion had let his grow a little to partially cover his forehead. Nyflon also had grown a thick beard while Eerion stayed clean-shaven. Aside from that, their only physical differences were age and eye color. Nyflon’s eyes were a sickly light green, while Eerion’s eyes were a golden brown like his mother’s had been.
Nyflon, despite being evil, was an interesting man. For the most part, he was cold and unemotional like a stone, but could easily be thrown into fits of rage, like that of a child. He was prideful and haughty, though not without claim. His skill with the sword and his knowledge of strategy was matched only by his own generals or Eerion. Eerion had to admit that the stories he’d heard about how Nyflon wrestled complete control of Nalg from the vast legions of nobles and eliminated most of them entirely, all within the first few years of his reign, were incredible, to say the least. Evil and detrimental to the kingdom, but incredible.
“What took you so long?” Nyflon asked anxiously.
“Sorry,” Eerion said with a facade of respect. I had to walk past my dead mother’s room then relive one of the worst days of my life on the way up here.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Just hurry up and place your hand on the pedestal.”
“Sure.” He walked up to the pedestal next to Nyflon. His mother had described it as a rock because he wouldn’t have understood the word. It was a simple piece of cut stone, cylindrical in shape, about three feet high and one wide, with the insignia of the crown and blade etched into the top.
The guards around him seemed anxious as if they were just realizing the danger and possible consequences of seeing this. Eerion placed his hand on the pedestal without breaking eye contact with Nyflon.
He’d heard a description of what was coming, but there was still nothing to prepare him for it. Fire, light, and lightning came pouring from the sky and crashed into his hand. It was like a waterfall of flame. Eerion barely knew what was happening; the pain was unbearable! Instinctively, he tried to pull his hand back, to no avail. The magic held it in place. As he screamed uncontrollably, he actually considered cutting his hand off. And it was so loud! He couldn’t hear anything else over the sound of the power cascading down.
But finally, it ended. Eerion collapsed into the pedestal, whole body shaking, gasping for breath. A few moments passed, and his strength returned. He regained control of his legs and stood up. It was over, but he didn’t feel any different. He turned his hand to view the mark, his birthright, his power, only to see that the mark was scorched, no longer glowing.
For a moment, no one moved. An entire eternity seemed to pass in those few seconds. The guards were stunned. Eerion turned to face Nyflon, both their mouths gaping wide open in shock. Eerion racked his brain for something to say. Anything to say. He knew what was about to happen.
Nyflon cursed in rage. “Kill him!” he yelled while drawing his own sword.
All four guards and Eerion went for their swords. Eerion turned to the guard closest to the stairway. He attacked with a quick cut which the guard blocked then finished him with a thrust to the neck through the gap in the armor. As the blade went through, Eerion felt that small, sick twinge of happiness and satisfaction that he’d missed so much. It was enough to put a smile on his face as the guard plummeted off the roof.
Eerion sprinted down the stairway while sheathing his sword. He would have stayed and fought the rest, if not for a few reasons. One, the terrain. He was on the very top of a fairly narrow tower, during a thunderstorm. Two, the guards were on all sides of him, and he didn’t have any armor. No matter how good he was, he was probably going to get hit at some point. And three, Nyflon. He and Nyflon had sparred before, and there was never a clear answer as to who was better. It just would have been foolish to stay. He needed to live.
The frantic, raging shouts from Nyflon were getting closer. Eerion jumped over the last few steps and ran out of the tower, turning to the guards.
“Prince Eerion, what just happened?” one of the guards said shocked. “Who killed… him?” He pointed to the splattered mess of the guard who had fallen.
“It was King Nyflon!” Eerion said frantically with mock emotion. “That lightning bolt sent him into shock, and he killed a guard! You need to subdue him until he calms down! I’ll go get more help!” Eerion dashed off without waiting for a response. His exit from the courtyard was followed by frantic yelling and the crashing of steel behind him. He dashed through the palace halls to his room. On the way, he literally bumped into the servant who had woken him up earlier.
“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” he said flustered.
It occurred to Eerion that this child would most definitely be killed by Nyflon since he knew Eerion was headed to the Tower of Salvation.
“It’s fine,” Eerion said quickly. “Listen, you need to get out of here. Get out of the castle. Don’t come back.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask why; just go. I’m ordering you to go!”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty!” He sprinted off.
“Eerion!” Nyflon’s voice screamed from down the hall.
All at once, Eerion realized he could end it here. He could fight Nyflon and kill him then still become king. Unless he lost. Unless Nyflon had enough guards with him and Eerion was instantly and unceremoniously killed, ending all hope of freedom. No, he had to live.
Eerion dashed into his room then locked and barred the door. He grabbed a bag and threw a dagger, a map of Nalg, the Book of The Light, his mother’s necklace, and some clothes into it. Then he quickly switched his bracelet back to his right wrist. After a minute, someone banged hard on the door.
“Eerion!” Nyflon yelled. “Open the door!”
“Oh, you don’t know how lucky you are,” Eerion said in a relaxed tone of voice. “See, I wasn’t going to go along with your plan. I was going to destroy you with the power I would have received!” The tip of a sword pierced through the door.
Nyflon screamed out curses as he struck the door with his sword again and again. “You failure! You treacherous child! I’m going to kill you!”
Eerion laughed. “We’ll see about that.”
He threw one of the books about royal etiquette through the window, shattering the glass. Then he chipped off the remaining glass with his dagger. Carefully, he jumped out the window with his bag. There was only a twenty-foot drop between his window and the ground, so he was able to land safely by rolling at the end of his fall.
After that, he dashed to the royal stable. It was a long run, taking him a good five minutes, but thankfully he didn’t get caught by any soldiers. He ran inside, not saying anything to the stableboys other than that it was an emergency and there was no time to explain. He went to his horse, Avalanche, and he rode out of the stable, then headed toward the southern gate of the city. He didn’t know for sure where he was going, but he knew that this was his only option besides death. Lightning crashed around him as he rode for his life.
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