The Blind King Read online

  “Are you preparing to leave?” Ryshel asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “My son has seen fit to send me away. I am only too happy to oblige.”

  “Where will you go?” Efren asked with concern. He had never been close to his mother, but he cared for her well-being.

  “To an estate in the east near the coast,” she replied. “I might do some traveling at some point.” Turning her attention back to her servants, her face became visibly annoyed. “Can’t you do anything right?” she shouted. The girls scattered, attempting to avoid the queen’s wrath.

  “Will you stay for the coronation?” Efren asked.

  “No,” she replied. “It is to be a small affair, and my presence is not needed.” With those words, the queen collapsed onto her bed.

  Ryshel rushed to her, followed by the servants who had witnessed the spectacle.

  “What’s happened?” Efren asked. He heard the commotion but was unaware of his mother’s condition.

  “She’s fainted,” Ryshel responded.

  “Should I fetch a doctor?”

  “No, she’s coming around.”

  The queen sat up and stared into the distance unspeaking. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

  Ryshel approached her husband and quietly said, “I’ll stay and tend to her. Why don’t you go and speak with Gannon? Your mother will be all right. She just needs rest.” Looking over her shoulder at the queen, she added, “In time, her wounds will heal.”

  Efren nodded slowly. He kissed Ryshel’s forehead before stepping out into the hallway. There was nothing he could do for the queen now. Alone he walked along the corridor to his brother’s chambers. It was easy to follow the stone corridors of the castle in which he had lived all his life. Though this was his first unaccompanied walk through the castle, he had no trouble finding his way. Casually, he touched his fingers to the stone walls as he continued through the hallway.

  Gannon saw his elder brother approaching and rushed to his side. To Efren’s surprise, he grabbed him and squeezed him tightly.

  “It’s good to see you,” Gannon said. “I wish it were on a happier occasion.” His father’s sudden death had shaken him, but he had been groomed for command his entire life. He felt prepared to ascend the throne.

  “I have missed you these past months,” Efren replied. After a pause, he added, “Your Majesty.”

  “Not for a few moments yet,” he replied. “The ceremony will be small, with only a few dozen witnesses present. I have no desire to overshadow the mourning period for our father.” He paused and stared at the ground for a moment. “Do you regret being overlooked for the throne?” he asked in a serious tone. It had bothered him over the years to know how easily their father had dismissed Efren’s abilities. His blindness had not impeded his intelligence in any way, and Efren had been the one responsible for most of Gannon’s political knowledge. His tutors bored him, but his brother had a way of explaining things that made it interesting to a young boy. In a way, he had been a more devoted teacher than the king. Though Gannon had spent the past few years involved in the King’s Council, it was Efren who had a clever mind for matters of state. Gannon preferred military training and strategy.

  “I have no desire for the throne,” Efren said. “You are my king.”

  Gannon nodded, staring at his brother. “I will need you at my side,” he declared. “You and Ryshel will come back to court and remain here. I shall name you my First Advisor.”

  Efren could not refuse the position, even though it would cost him the freedom he had recently won. His brother was king, and his word was law. Though his only desire was to live a quiet life in the country, he would now be forced to reside at court. Until his brother gave him leave, he would remain at his side. Once again he was trapped within the cold stone walls of the castle.

  Chapter 9

  “There couldn’t be a more perfect time to strike!” King Tyrol didn’t bother to hide his excitement. “King Nilan is experienced, but his son remains untested in true battle. This period of transition is just what we need.” He clasped his hands together, a wide smile spreading across his face. All of his plans were about to come to fruition.

  “Good,” Ivor replied. “My troops are growing restless. What are your orders?”

  “Begin invading the border towns. Make sure there are plenty of survivors.”

  “Why?” Ivor was puzzled by the command. Surely dead citizens would send a stronger message than living ones.

  “We need them to carry the message of our strength. They must spread fear to their neighbors. When they speak our names, they will quake with terror.”

  Ivor rolled his eyes. “How could I forget? Your glory depends on such stories.”

  Tyrol gave his son a scathing look. “Indeed it does. Each subsequent village we take will become easier. Citizens will flee rather than fight a hopeless battle.” He paused a moment and added, “Make sure you send a strong message. Torture the town leaders, and make it spectacular.”

  “Of course, Father,” Ivor replied. “We wouldn’t want them thinking you’ve gone soft.” He turned and strode from the room, leaving the king behind to bask in his own glory. Outside, the soldiers had begun preparations for a march. There were horses enough for the commanders, but the majority would have to travel on foot. The towns along the border were small, and heavy cavalry would not be necessary.

  Ivor stepped inside the smithy near the palace. Hammers were clanging, and the air was darkened by smoke. The furnaces were working overtime, as were the metal smiths. At the sight of their prince, the men stopped hammering and bowed their heads.

  “Is my armor ready?” he asked the largest man.

  “It is, Your Highness,” the man replied. Rushing to the rear of the shop, he approached a boy who was lazily polishing a piece of plated mail. Slapping the boy on the side of his head, he demanded, “Bring the prince’s armor, you lazy little good-for-nothing.”

  The boy glared at his master but promptly rose to his feet to obey. In a flash, he retrieved the prince’s items and handed them to the smith.

  Inspecting each piece closely as he walked, the smith presented the armor to Prince Ivor. “Some of my finest work, my lord,” he said proudly.

  The prince looked it over approvingly. “It will suffice, I suppose.” Though it was well crafted, Ivor preferred not to give compliments to those who were beneath him.

  “You,” the smith said, pointing at the youth. “Carry this for the prince.” He shoved the bundle of armor at the boy, who struggled slightly under its weight.

  The prince headed out, determined to speak with the commanders of the army’s various regiments. A manservant spotted the prince and immediately rushed to his side. Relieving the boy of his burden, he waved a hand dismissively. The boy rubbed both arms, which were aching from the strain of the bundle. Shaking his head, he realized there would be no payment for his services. Why should a prince tip a peasant or even acknowledge him? The boy trudged away, his head low.

  Finding his officers in the armory, the prince was pleased to see them already dressed for battle. A map lay on the table near the men, and they appeared to be discussing the movement of their troops.

  Ivor stepped heavily to draw their attention. The men stood and bowed to their prince.

  “We will begin our march this afternoon,” he declared. “Within two days we will reach the border, and my father has commanded us to raid the villages but not harm too many citizens. The leaders are to be tortured.”

  “He wants us to spread fear,” the eldest commander said, nodding. “He’s a clever man.”

  Ivor scoffed. “Personally, I don’t care how many survivors you leave. A handful can spread the word as well as a hundred. The torture will have to be quick if fleeing citizens are to witness it. Drag the town leaders into the street and gut them before you remove their heads. Hold them high for all to see.”

  “The guts or the heads, my lord?” one man dared to ask.

  “
What difference does it make?” the prince replied. “Have the troops ready by midday.” Turning to his servant, he asked, “Do you know how to dress a man for battle?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the man replied with confidence.

  “Good. You may have the honor of assisting me with my armor.” The prince dressed while his lieutenants dispersed.

  Outside, the eldest man asked, “Do you think our prince will make a good war leader?”

  A heavily bearded lieutenant replied with a laugh. “Not to worry. His father won’t stay out of the fighting for long. Let the prince have his first experience of blood and death. It will do him some good.”

  “Let’s hope he’s listened to his father over the years,” the old man replied. “I’ve ridden with the king many times through the years. He’s a natural fighter. The prince knows how to handle a blade, but he’s a poor leader.”

  “How do you know?” a third man asked. “He’s never actually commanded anything.”

  “Exactly my point,” the old commander replied. “By now he should have fought many battles. These years of peace have done us all a disservice. Our prince will likely charge in without thinking things through.”

  “Well, those years of peace are over now,” the bearded man stated. “Battle has found us once again. Let the prince do as he will.” The men parted ways, each with more vigor in his step than before. Battle ran deep in their veins, and they had felt useless in these years of peace. Now they would once again bathe in the blood of their enemy.

  Still inside the armory, Prince Ivor felt his excitement rise as the servant fastened the buckles of his armor. Each second brought him closer to the battle he craved. His father’s honor did not matter to him. It was time for him to make his own name—to triumph in battle as his ancestors had. He could almost taste his victory.

  There would be little opportunity for his opponents to fight back. They would be too distracted mourning their dead king to worry about an invasion from the south. He would catch them unaware and massacre as many as he could. His father’s wishes be damned. Every citizen he allowed to escape would be a symbol of his failure. His lieutenants would allow more than enough people to escape. His own regiment would be commanded to leave none alive.

  Stepping out into the sunlight, Ivor’s armor gleamed. He was eager for the battle and regretted giving his men until midday. Leaving now would be better, but the men were not prepared. Some of them were forming ranks on the palace grounds, but many of them were absent. The supply wagons were still being loaded, and the smithy was still buzzing with activity. There was nothing he could do except wait. The moment was so near, he could almost taste the blood.

  Chapter 10

  Pointing to a location on the map before him, Gannon said, “The invaders have stopped here for the time being. We must ride with all haste before they can advance farther.”

  “Will you lead this battle yourself?” Efren asked quietly. He feared for his brother’s safety, knowing he had no true experience in battle.

  “What else would you have me do, Brother?”

  Efren shook his head and sighed quietly. There was no answer he could give that would please the young king. His mind was made up, and he was determined to fight alongside his men.

  “We cannot let these attacks go unanswered,” Councilman Faril said, striking his fist against the conference table. He was an older man who had experienced war with Na’zora in the past. Though his hair was gray and his face lined with age, he was strong and determined. “We must push them back into their own lands. Show them we are not a kingdom of cowards.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Gannon replied. “They began this fighting. It is up to us to end it. I will lead my army personally. Let them see that Ra’jhou’s king is not afraid to fight.”

  Efren swallowed hard but did not speak. He hated the thought of Gannon’s first days as king being filled with war, but it was useless to try persuading him to stay behind. His blood ran hot, and he refused to be left behind regardless of matters at home that might need his attention. Nothing was more pressing than the attack on his kingdom. Once the troops rode out, all Efren would be able to do was wait for news from the battlefield.

  General Willem, the man who had served under King Nilan, was eager to fight as well. He was tall, broad-chested, and wore a thick black beard. “I can have troops prepared by tomorrow,” he said. “We should take back our lands and push into Na’zora’s territory. Whatever lands we take we will declare them part of Ra’jhou. Let’s show them who they’re meddling with.”

  The king grinned and nodded. Noticing Efren’s silence, he said, “What say you, Brother?”

  Efren hesitated a moment before speaking. “We know little of our enemy’s forces,” he said. “Na’zora has been known to employ mages in their army. They may prove more powerful than you realize. I recommend caution.”

  “This one has no stomach for war,” the general said, looking disgusted. “He would have you lie down before the Na’zoran king.”

  “I never said that,” Efren replied. “I simply think it’s wiser to know what we’re dealing with before we rush into battle.”

  “You can let me deal with that,” Willem declared. “It’s not as if you’ll be present on the battlefield.”

  “No, he won’t be there,” Gannon said. “He must stay behind and tend the kingdom while I’m away.” He looked thoughtfully at his brother, the man who had his full confidence. There was no other who was better suited to the task of seeing to Ra’jhou’s needs while the king was away.

  A few of the councilors grumbled at those words, but no one spoke openly against the new king. They worried Ra’jhou would become a kingdom to ridicule if a blind man was left in charge, but they kept their opinions to themselves. The long history of war with Na’zora made them more inclined to support their king’s decisions. With luck, the king would return victorious in a short amount of time. Efren wouldn’t have the chance to mess things up too badly.

  “We ride tomorrow,” Gannon declared. “Dismissed.”

  The councilors marched out the door, talking among themselves. Their voices spoke excitedly, anticipating the battle to come. All were in favor of war.

  Efren remained behind after the other councilors had gone. “Take care of yourself out there,” he said to his brother. “We have never before encountered Na’zora’s mages, not even when our father sat on the throne. They might prove far more dangerous than you expect.”

  Gannon looked upon his brother’s worried expression. With confidence, he said, “Their mages are mortal. They will fall as quickly as any other man.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder.

  “Kings fall too,” Efren replied solemnly. “Please take caution.”

  With a sigh, Gannon said, “Of course, Efren. Do not worry. Once we’ve shown Na’zora we are not easily defeated, they will yield and cease their fighting. They are only testing a new king. This will not result in an ongoing war, you shall see.” He strode from the council chamber, leaving his brother alone.

  Ryshel waited patiently outside the council chambers. She bowed her head before the king as he exited. “Your Majesty,” she said.

  “Sister,” he replied. “Your husband will rule in my stead while I’m away. See that you take good care of him.”

  “Always,” she said. Entering the room, she found Efren standing alone. Taking him by the arm, she asked, “Are you all right?”

  “No,” he replied honestly. “Gannon is a skilled warrior, but Na’zora uses magic. He is as yet untested against their kind, and it worries me.”

  “All you can do is wait and hope for the best,” she said. “Concentrate on the work he has left for you, and the time will pass quickly. He’ll be home before you know it.” Her attempts to ease his mind had little effect. His face clearly showed his concern.

  “I have no desire to rule in his stead,” he declared. “I would rather he remained and sent soldiers to deal with Na’zora, but he is stubborn and b
elieves himself invincible. That is a dangerous way of thinking.”

  “How would you deal with mages?” she asked curiously. She knew Na’zora had a special college where sons of the wealthiest nobles could study magic, but she had never heard what skills might be taught there. Nor did she have any idea how powerful those mages might turn out to be.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he said. “I know that these mages have been trained by the Enlightened Elves. They are a race who guard their magical secrets closely. Their cooperation could not have been easily won. They are incredibly powerful, but I don’t know if humans are capable of wielding the same level of power. For my brother’s sake, I hope news of their skills has been exaggerated.”

  Efren’s words hung heavily in the air. The Na’zoran mages were trained by masters of the arcane, and they were ready for a fight. They intended to take control of the Kingdom of Ra’jhou, adding its wealth and resources to their own. Efren wondered if it was possible to contact these elves for guidance. There must be some information they’ve withheld from their human students, and it might be of benefit to Ra’jhou.

  “Your brother has trained in fighting his whole life. His councilors are seasoned veterans of past wars. For now, at least, let’s trust in their abilities.” Ryshel squeezed her husband’s arm and kissed his cheek.

  “I’ll try,” Efren said. After a pause, he added, “Would you draft a letter for me? I’m not sure I can trust the councilors who are remaining behind. I get the sense they aren’t all that confident in my leadership skills.”

  “Certainly, my dear,” she replied. “To whom do you wish to write?”

  “A sorcerer,” he replied.

  Chapter 11

  Despite hopes for a swift resolution, ten years of bitter fighting gripped the two kingdoms. Letters from Aubriana to Ryshel were still being delivered, but they came less frequently with each passing year. The princess was treated as a prisoner, and she was suspected of passing military secrets to her family in Ra’jhou. The accusation simply wasn’t true. She was kept in the dark of all matters concerning the war. Her only visitors were her servants and her young son, Rayne.