The Borderlands of Brokea
Four riders on four horses move through a town. It is not a familiar town. Myrah swallows hard. Her eyes dart from scowl to scowl. The townsfolk stop their walking or working to stare at the four. It is a deliberate stare, and it is not a friendly one. Not a child frolics. Not a word is spoken. Not a dog barks. Only the slow clomping of the horses and their occasional snort is the only sound in this border town.
Myrah dares a subtle glance at the king. He continues to look forward, but she notices his eyes swivel at the flagpoles. They fly dark red banners that bare the mark of an iron god. The king's eyes glance back at her. Myrah knows his silent message: This is not right.
The four riders continue to the large gate that straddles the road. It is shut tight. The guards along the top of the thick-timbered wall train their crossbows at the group.
The king looks up and sits as tall in his saddle as possible. He calls up to the guard most prominent on the wall, obviously a captain or something since he stands looking down with crossed arms instead of a crossbow. "The lord of Kiofthotre wishes to speak to the lord of Brokea."
The captain says nothing, but continues to glower down at the visitors. Myrah swallows hard and makes a subtle gesture with her fingers. They are not going to open that gate.
"Brother!" shouts an unseen voice. A man strides proudly from behind cover to stand next to the captain. "I didn't expect you. What brings you to Brokea?"
Myrah notices that none of the guards alter their posture. Crossbows remain aimed at their heads. The captain continues to stand rigid. She makes another subtle gesture with her fingers. There is a fifty-fifty chance they might be killed.
The king makes a slow and equally barely perceptible nod. He projects his voice upwards. "Your declaration... brother."
Now the lord of Brokea folds his arms. "Aye. What of it?"
"I only come to make sure your words are your own. It is rare for declarations of fealty such as yours to come across the mountains. I did not want to fall for a ruse."
Myrah heard the creak of leather and the long pause. She repeats the finger gesture with a hint of greater urgency.
The silence is punctured by a boisterous laugh. "HA! Brother! Of course. The Empire presses us with its tyranny, and I resist. The freedom of my lands is sacred. For such a thing, there is no debate." He gestures at the guards, who slowly lower their weapons.
Myrah exhales, but continues to keep her reigns tight in her grasp.
"Of course," the king nods. "I have only come to hear the words directly from you. And now, we have and can leave you to your peace."
The lord of Brokea smiles down at his brother, arms crossed next to the captain. The other guards keep their crossbows lowered, but not put away. Somewhere, a throat clears to convey impatience. The king pulls his reigns and his horse turns. Myrah and the others turn to follow. She holds her breath again, very conscious of her exposed back. But the riders retrace their steps and pass beyond the village at the borderlands.
"That was weird," mumbles Brin. The king doesn't turn around to regard the young captain of Kiofthotre. Myrah maneuvers her horse to ride up next to the king. She looks right at him, studying his expressions and posture. Her perception is keen. She frowns. "How are you doing, my lord? Is there something I can help you with?" The king doesn't answer for a while, but rides in silence. The only sound is the clop-clop of a slow trot. Finally, he draws a deep breath. "That my brother... by the Seven Demon Circles, that all my siblings and parents have fallen under the sway of the cult is not of great surprise to me." He sighs. "That my brother would refuse to take the elixirs that keep the wraiths away... it makes me very sad. I might as well give him up for dead this day." The quartet continued along in more silence for a while. "My lord," Brin finally spoke with a obvious hesitation. "May I be so bold as to ask why you did not show him the error of his ways? He is your brother after all." "When word came from him to our kingdom, he clearly stated that he wished no debate in the matter. He had made up his mind, and that was that." "But his life is..." "His life is his own, captain." The edge in the king's voice made Brin snap his mouth shut. "When a person has made up their mind, no argument or persuasion will make them change it, even when presented with facts otherwise...even to the point of death. It is a strange quirk of the human mind, I'm afraid." "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to question you. I...just don't understand." The king let out another pained sigh. "You saw the tension. I'm sure you felt how exposed your back was when we turned to leave. If I were to press even a hint more than I already did, our bodies would now be lining their thick and impenetrable walls." "I have a feeling that if you would have sent only Quill, me, and Myrah, we would be lining those walls. It seems that you were more protection than I was, sire. I am humbly grateful." The king silently nods. He kicks the horse's side and it trots ahead. Brin knows better than to keep up at this time. Myrah, on the other hand, also urges her steed forward. When she catches up, she allows a few breath spans before talking. "I am sorry, my lord. This must be very painful for you." She takes the king's silence as affirmation in this case. "What my brother implies is true," he finally says, keeping his eye forward. "When the so-called Supreme Leader ascended to the imperial throne, my parents—and therefore, my sisters and brothers—threw their support behind the new regime. I thought that when he was finally deposed by the Old Guard for trying to dismantle the empire that they would see him as the cult leader he is." He shakes his head. "But he is their savior, promising to rise again." Myrah nods. "How does that make you feel?" "When they all gave him their loyalty, I certainly felt like that whole part of my life was cut off. I felt isolated and alone." "That sounds awful. I'm sorry that happened." The king continues to look forward. "I was ready to just 'live and let live' until my mother sent her armies against me." He lets out a long, slow breath from his pursed lips. "It was a surprise attack. We were routed. All I had left were the knights of the kingdom. They barely stood up against the Hoch invasion. I thought I could survive and barricade myself so long as the queen was by my side." He sighs again. "And now the lich has taken everything else from me. I have had to deal with an increasing sense of loneliness for years now." "That does sound awfully lonely. What do you do to deal with that?" "I take it one day at a time. I try to breathe and let it go." "Have you mourned any of this?" The king looks into the early evening sky. It has turned a few shades darker. "I don't know. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't know how. Sometimes I cry. Or just sit with it. Sometimes I pray. Many times I occupy and distract myself. I find myself closing off a lot and lean into the loneliness. And then there is self-pity. Pity is a strong drink." The two horses continue for a while longer, while the two trailing riders maintain a respectful yet watchful distance. Somewhere in the in-between places without claim, the four of them come together again to make camp. Soon a fire cooks a couple of coneys. A wine-skin is produced. Someone sings a song. And there is laughter again.
"That was weird," mumbles Brin. The king doesn't turn around to regard the young captain of Kiofthotre. Myrah maneuvers her horse to ride up next to the king. She looks right at him, studying his expressions and posture. Her perception is keen. She frowns. "How are you doing, my lord? Is there something I can help you with?" The king doesn't answer for a while, but rides in silence. The only sound is the clop-clop of a slow trot. Finally, he draws a deep breath. "That my brother... by the Seven Demon Circles, that all my siblings and parents have fallen under the sway of the cult is not of great surprise to me." He sighs. "That my brother would refuse to take the elixirs that keep the wraiths away... it makes me very sad. I might as well give him up for dead this day." The quartet continued along in more silence for a while. "My lord," Brin finally spoke with a obvious hesitation. "May I be so bold as to ask why you did not show him the error of his ways? He is your brother after all." "When word came from him to our kingdom, he clearly stated that he wished no debate in the matter. He had made up his mind, and that was that." "But his life is..." "His life is his own, captain." The edge in the king's voice made Brin snap his mouth shut. "When a person has made up their mind, no argument or persuasion will make them change it, even when presented with facts otherwise...even to the point of death. It is a strange quirk of the human mind, I'm afraid." "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to question you. I...just don't understand." The king let out another pained sigh. "You saw the tension. I'm sure you felt how exposed your back was when we turned to leave. If I were to press even a hint more than I already did, our bodies would now be lining their thick and impenetrable walls." "I have a feeling that if you would have sent only Quill, me, and Myrah, we would be lining those walls. It seems that you were more protection than I was, sire. I am humbly grateful." The king silently nods. He kicks the horse's side and it trots ahead. Brin knows better than to keep up at this time. Myrah, on the other hand, also urges her steed forward. When she catches up, she allows a few breath spans before talking. "I am sorry, my lord. This must be very painful for you." She takes the king's silence as affirmation in this case. "What my brother implies is true," he finally says, keeping his eye forward. "When the so-called Supreme Leader ascended to the imperial throne, my parents—and therefore, my sisters and brothers—threw their support behind the new regime. I thought that when he was finally deposed by the Old Guard for trying to dismantle the empire that they would see him as the cult leader he is." He shakes his head. "But he is their savior, promising to rise again." Myrah nods. "How does that make you feel?" "When they all gave him their loyalty, I certainly felt like that whole part of my life was cut off. I felt isolated and alone." "That sounds awful. I'm sorry that happened." The king continues to look forward. "I was ready to just 'live and let live' until my mother sent her armies against me." He lets out a long, slow breath from his pursed lips. "It was a surprise attack. We were routed. All I had left were the knights of the kingdom. They barely stood up against the Hoch invasion. I thought I could survive and barricade myself so long as the queen was by my side." He sighs again. "And now the lich has taken everything else from me. I have had to deal with an increasing sense of loneliness for years now." "That does sound awfully lonely. What do you do to deal with that?" "I take it one day at a time. I try to breathe and let it go." "Have you mourned any of this?" The king looks into the early evening sky. It has turned a few shades darker. "I don't know. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't know how. Sometimes I cry. Or just sit with it. Sometimes I pray. Many times I occupy and distract myself. I find myself closing off a lot and lean into the loneliness. And then there is self-pity. Pity is a strong drink." The two horses continue for a while longer, while the two trailing riders maintain a respectful yet watchful distance. Somewhere in the in-between places without claim, the four of them come together again to make camp. Soon a fire cooks a couple of coneys. A wine-skin is produced. Someone sings a song. And there is laughter again.
Comments