Prince Connor Wrath is beyond bored with his royal lifestyle. Receiving nothing but the most mundane tasks in the name of his kingly father, and even less respect than the court jester, he dreams of a life beyond the land of Lynnwood. There’s only one catch: The gods of old have forbade travel past the harbors and inlets of the only land he’s ever known. Who are these gods, where have they gone, and why would they insist on such a questionable boundary? Connor is determined to be the first who defies the laws of the disappeared deities.
What follows is IP of Gonzo Wolf Productions LLC & Chad Cloud-Miller
Wrath’s Lament
by Rev. Dare Cloud
Chapter One
3.0
To the depths with this rain. It feels as if I’ve had precipitation pelting me in the eye since the day I was born. It makes it damn hard to concentrate on a target. Thus is life in this cursed land.
Me and the lads have been standing here in this miserable downpour for what my tired bones insist is an eternity now. We futilely knocked upon the Wall of Graves hoping we could roust some poor soul and just get this over with. No such luck, it appears. Everyone is off celebrating piss-poor sky gods or hiding in fear from the twenty soldiers I brought with me to oversee business.
Lord Sert of Quimper was placed in charge over the fishing and hunting duties for the kingdom long before my birth, but whispers among the commoners claim he’s been cutting back on supplies while expecting the same payment for his services. This is a tool used by comfortable men when they believe they’re owed more, usually when someone is chirping delusions into their ears. Sometimes it’s a talkative spot in the bed beyond the home fires, drumming the man up to ill-deserved greatness. Most times that particular spot is wrong. This happens to be one of those times. Did he not think the Wrath family would discover his deception? Has he not witnessed what happens to men who throw a kink in the grinder repeatedly? The same occurrence took place down south in De Haro Village a mere year ago and it was dealt with via a simple replacement. The same body, different head; my blade was the tool which solved it all.
I told them, though. I told them from the very beginning it would come to this, but nobody listened. I should be used to it by now. Nobody listens to the son of the king. Well, at least not me. They have no problem paying attention to my big brother and the words that leave his mouth. I can’t help that I’m the younger of us. Maybe it’s because he’s next in line for the throne and has a better face. That would make me want to get in line very quickly if I was a maiden with dreams of a royal makeover!
Still, Lord Chelios Sert decided to grow a pair at the last minute and stand up to royal decree. It’s a lost cause, really. His tiny militia of fisherman and ranchers are no match for the royal army. We’ll kill two or three and the rest will surrender once they see blood flow through the streets. This is the way it happened with the farmers in De Haro last year and the year before that. Someone always insists on getting their balls in a bind and trying their hand at challenging my father. They forget he never fights his own battles and sends the swords of his men to do his bidding. Memories are short in Lynnwood, that’s for sure. They should sew that motto on the banners in Castle Blanchet as a reminder. Maybe a few here and there to cover up those dreary walls. Welcome to Lynnwood, where half the princes have nice faces, and the peasants have short memories!
“What in the depths is taking Lord Sert so damn long to reply?” called out General Canaby. “Did they have to send a runner all the way to the Cliffs of Sasser for a straight answer?”
“No, General,” called back one of the three men from atop the wall. “He’s tucked inside his bed in Quimper Village same as everyone else at this hour. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could discuss our woes another time. Perhaps during hours of daylight?”
Damn fool guards and their useless wit. A man gets all high and mighty when there’s ten feet of stacked rock between their throats and the blades of their enemies. I catch the image of General Canaby shaking his head beneath his polished helmet. He’s obviously disappointed in how the situation is developing. I truly don’t blame him.
When my father tasked me with joining the general’s guard on this mission, I didn’t really argue. Granted, I knew it was raining and nasty about, but I needed a spot of adventure. I didn’t have pressing plans aside from sitting in my chamber doing what men do in their free time. This quest is obviously the most productive of the activities. What can I say? I’m a man with goals. Bards don’t sing songs of solitary self-service, but my head disagrees. I hear angels sing. It’s my hard-earned opinion that bards should create more melodies about men in their solitude.
“Prince Connor,” came the general, but I was too deep into my own mind to acknowledge the beckoning. I heard him, but I didn’t want to answer. I knew the question on his tongue. He came once more, using my full name.
“Prince Connor Wrath! Do you think I could bother you to remove your good ears from your rear-end so I could ask you a question or two?”
I knew it. General Zellot Canaby is not much for jest, especially on the eve of battle. He can’t help poking fun at me when the chance arises. He’s never been nice, to be honest. He’s one of the first faces I remember from early years, and none of those were ever smiling. Not once. He even has good teeth for a military man, yet he refuses to smile. I don’t get it, not one bit. I’m always up for a good joke, more often than a threat or serious tale of despair. Most men just can’t manage my sense of humor. They think I’m not taking them seriously when I return their requests with wit. Why stop now? I’m all armored up and soaking wet from head to toe, ready to remove heads from anyone who opposes me over the next half hour.
They’ll surrender before then. I know they will.
“Yes, General,” I replied. “It’s just as big as you’ve heard and twice as pretty, but that’s not important. The only person I ever plan to please with it is myself!”
General Canaby shook his head in disgust, but he should’ve known it was coming. Not once have I ever replied with sincerity. Never. Same as how he’s never smiled at me. I’d be willing to make him a deal if he were interested. I’d answer his inquiries with integrity if he smiled while inquiring. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Depths, it sounds like a fair deal!
“Choose a runner to go back to Blanchet and have them inform King Collus of the situation. Apparently Lord Sert isn’t up for negotiations tonight and will need a proper spanking.”
“As you wish, General,” I agreed.
There was no point in toying with the man much longer. Sure, I’ve taken it further. Much further to be precise, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear his bitching and belly aching on this most rainy of nights on the edge of battle. I wasn’t nervous. I’ve taken my fair share of souls, but there’s always the chance tables could turn. Some lucky bastard could claim mine instead. Gods, could you imagine? What Depths would be brought upon the opposition if they could take the head of Prince Connor Wrath of Blanchet? That would certainly be the battle to top all battles.
I pointed toward the man closest to me to come hither and deliver the message to my father. It’s not like it mattered. The old man was just going to inform him that we are to begin cutting heads until the kneeling begins. That’s the way it always goes. No negotiation. No bending. Straight to the head cutting. Easy for a king, really. He’s not the one who must endure the vibrations of a blade through flesh as it travels through your wrists and into the heart. I feel it every time. I often wonder if the gods have magical devices sewn within me to keep count of every soul I’ve freed from the Mewes to the Ishiro. What if every life I’ve taken is one subtracted from my own? Is it silly to ponder such things? No one knows for sure. If that’s the case, how many do I have left? What prize awaits me for topping the board?
I can feel the frigid rain collected in my outstretched arm brace pour down my chest between armor and skin. The cold doesn’t let up as it dives deeper into the unknown regions of sweat and legends. It’s a brief spot of refreshment for whatever has gone awry. To tell the truth, I hate wearing armor just as much as rain. Combining them on the same night? My visible exasperated exhalations should make my feelings abundantly clear. I’m a prince, after all. What am I even doing here?
“Send a message to my father The King,” I instructed. “Let him know that the Wall of Graves isn’t friendly on this evening and that Lord Chelios Sert and his militia of peasants are nowhere to be found. Ask his instructions and bring his wishes back to me. Make haste!”
“Yes, your highness!” the knight obeyed with a tip of his helmet. I watched as he slimed his way through mud and slippery stone, staining his pure white steed as he mounted the beast. He disappear into the trees with a well-timed flash of lightning. It won’t take him long to reach the castle. With luck, those presently missing hunters and fishermen won’t arrive in his absence. The extra sword would be nice in battle if it came to that. I don’t believe I’m even in the mood to fight anymore. I’d just blame the weather and call it a night if it were up to me. I mean, it is, as of this moment, but I’d be in deep trouble once I reached father’s court. The look from Killian would be worse.
I’m not even sure why I bother trying to impress my older brother anymore. I looked up to him as a child, but those days are gone. More like the general than me, he doesn’t have a sense of humor to save his life if necessary. Sure, he’s laughed at times, and I’ve even seen him smile when the occasion called for it, but it’s difficult for him to take a joke. The future king must always be on his best behavior and stony-faced. You can’t just let the other lords and plain folk see you giggling as you dance down the street with your nose in the air. You’d look like an idiot! Well, I can imagine that I look idiotic when I do such things, but no one is keeping score for Prince Connor. Two Wrath men would need to perish for me to become king, and I don’t believe that will happen.
I’m simply fine with being a prince. I don’t have the same responsibilities as my father or brother, and I don’t have to fish or shovel waste like the rest. I plainly AM, I guess. I sleep well beyond the rising of the sun, I take my share of maidens, I drink way more than my share of wine, and everyone else along the Sea of Torrence can kiss my shiny, armored buttocks; including my father, brother, and that damned General Canaby. He’s supposed to already do that, but he doesn’t respect me in the slightest, and no one forces him, either. My new mother, the most recent queen, treats me well though, and I’m nice to her in return. She can’t help it that the king chose her among everyone else to marry when my true mother died. Still, I like her, we have a lot in common. Way more than anyone would imagine. I can’t wait until morning to tell her of all the madness my father put me through by sending me on this dingy mission in the middle of this precipitous night. She’ll continue to cut him off for sure, and he’s getting too old to force the issue. She may as well have a catapult down there. Deadly from a distance, that woman. My kind, for sure.
Some would say it’s strange to daydream about such things, but it was better than counting raindrops as they pelted my helmet upon this abomination of an evening. Queen S’Varick is five whole years younger than I and the only daughter of Lord Dreek Ferrell of De Haro. Father knew I’d had eyes on her for some time before taking her as my mother’s replacement. It must be nice to be a king, pumping babies into someone thirty years your junior who’ll be nipping at his toes until reaching court or military age. Luckily, my father doesn’t have enough arrows in the old quiver to ruin that good lady’s figure. She’s too beautiful to be tarnished by pregnancy. This brings me to my next line of thought. I needed something to take the discomfort of this downpour away.
Do I love my father? Of course I do! All young men love their fathers regardless of what they say to their mates after a few pints of ale. Do I approve of his methods as a ruler? Absolutely not. The old man is entirely too high strung and could use a good pipe or two of Gods’ Crop to take off the edge. I’m sure he believes himself to be beyond such things since it would anger the gods nice and proper. Everything he says and does is for the sake of the gods, and that imaginary lot hadn’t set foot in Lynnwood since before my birth.
Many elders on the council claim the gods return to this land once every generation, but those tales have become sparse as time trudged forward. I’m not even sure if I believe the strange stories of the senile folk who claim to have met such beings. Apparently, they pop up every once in a while, to tell us all what we should and shouldn’t do and then disappear until after the next generation is born. It’s convenient when the only people who claim to have met them are closest to the coffin. The journey to the other side is enticing by that point. Personally, I’m not buying it. I don’t care whose money I’m using for the purchase.
All I’ve been told since I was a child is not to do this or that because it will anger the gods on high. The anglers are not allowed to move their boats beyond the Kissing Fools or Talia Harbor lest it anger them. Something about angry fish who seek vengeance for the plucking of their smaller brethren for our own nourishment. Even as a child growing up in Blanchet, I was not allowed to swim any farther out than the edges of Dark Hills Bay or it would set off the entities in which my father placed so much faith. Sunrise to sunset, I would sit atop the castle and long for whatever lay beyond the horizon of Lynnwood. In all my twenty-five years, not once have I met anyone who journeyed beyond my birth land. It’s as though the birds who fly east over the Sea of Torrance would suddenly appear at your back as they flew from the west. Rubbish, but frightening rubbish. This is not a safe conversation for one to have within one’s own mind without drowning it in ale first. That was what I planned to do as soon as the soldier returned from Blanchet.
Still, what lies beyond the evening sun, past the waters of my home? There’s only one way to know and, if it indeed angered our rulers on high, perhaps they’d appear to teach me a lesson. I would be doing the land a public service since there aren’t many left in Blanchet, Quimper, or De Haro who believe in such nonsense.
My thoughts were bothered by the approaching sound of hooves on the rain-beaten rock. I guess it was welcomed since my erratic mind nearly had propelled me into the nearest fishing boat to solve the great mystery once and for all. I slapped my helmet with my gauntlet a few times to ignite the weathered, spent candle within my head. The last thing I needed was to think of idiotic quests with battle ahead. Greater men were killed by lesser things.
“Your Grace,” the messenger announced the royal pleasantries while dismounting his horse. “I send word from your father, The King.”
“Let me guess,” I replied, already knowing the answer. “We are to either climb or knock down the wall and drag Lord Sert before the throne kicking and screaming.”
“You are correct, your Grace,” He responded, dumfounded. “It’s almost as though the two of you are of the same mind!”
“No, soldier,” I cringed, drawing my sword to the ready. “I’ve just been living with the man since I popped out of my mother into this world with a fine hello on the tip of my tallywacker. Put two people behind the same walls for that long – watching each other eat and smelling each other’s expulsions, and you’ll begin thinking alike. Oh, and if I ever hear of you or anyone else comparing me to my father again, your fate will be no different than the unfortunate anglers of Quimper Village.”
“Yes, your Grace,” the scolded soldier apologized.
I said nothing to him from that moment on. Of course, I wasn’t mad at the man for saying such things, I just preferred to keep him on his toes. A leader, whether it be a king or a lowly prince like me, should never rub elbows with his subordinates. They must fear you if they are to obey your orders. That’s exactly what the general had done to me since I was wetting my crib. I’ll never let him know that I could sense his true nature. The land of Lynnwood needed him to be strong in times of battle and unaware that he was slipping in his old age. Speaking of which…
“General,” I called. “Let’s teach these meat dealers what happens when they hoard supplies from their king for ease of negotiations.”
“As you wish, your Highness,” answered Canaby. “You heard the prince, men. The king wants this to be handled thoroughly and quickly. Take the wall!”
I turned back toward the men to let them know they should follow my orders into battle, but my father pulled a traditional “Wrath” move, as I’ve grown to call it. Out from the tree line walked an additional eighty or so armored soldiers to join the twenty men already soaked to the bone at the base of the Wall of Graves. As though they’d rehearsed this movement a dozen times, they attached iron hooks to the ends of ropes and began their ascent. Taking notice, the original men who’d accompanied the General and myself began bashing the wall’s gate with alternating battering rams. Now was a race to see who’d get bloody first, the men on the ground or the climbers upon the wall.
Screams came from both simultaneously, making it difficult to name the victor in my mind’s contest. It’s not like it mattered; no one was winning prizes for doing the King’s bidding. A dry place to sleep and bellies full of intoxicants were more than fair compensation in the royal guard. No one ever asked for more, so nothing was added to the job description. I was merely the go-between, a prince who would never be king and a scribe who refused to claim the quill responsible for such addendums. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. Did the old man hope a toothless goat with a pitchfork would get lucky and be the end of me? I wouldn’t put that past our lord King Wrath. Not for a moment.
Live or die on this night, either way. It was time for my think-box to end its bickering and make good on one of the few things in which I excel. I lowered the visor from my helmet’s helm and introduced my blade to the chilled air from its sleepy sheath.
“No worries, my love,” I stated while placing a kiss upon her sharpened steel. “You’ll be warmed by crimson storms soon enough.”
I was wrong by thinking this was to be a short battle, if even a true battle at all. A mound of gutted men formed as I advanced into the village of Quimper as rivulets of blood flowed toward the lowest part of the Mewes inlet. I’m sure the fish would feed on such sickness as soon as it hit the water. Any fisher who still drew breath were missing the opportunity of a lifetime.
Oh, to be a fisher at this moment. I said I was good at taking heads. Not once did I say I cared for it. At least not when commanded by one who got his underclothes in a bunch beneath his royal robes. Not a single person had done wrong by me throughout this fiasco. Besides, I hate the taste of fish. Tiny bones. Annoying tiny bones.
A dozen more slashes of the soldiers’ swords and the remaining resistance fell to their knees for mercy. Now this is the portion of our imaginary conflict where I would bless them with this request as a teaching tool against future uprisings. Unfortunately, my voice was nothing more than a formality. The general and his men were following the orders of an old relic who didn’t stir from beneath his weighted pelts when my messenger arrived. What just happened before me was discussed over a hearty dinner days ago in my absence. My brother and future king, Prince Killian, always tells me that father likes for me to feel important from time to time. I’m officially calling royal shenanigans. That man took a chance on my death tonight; I’m certain of it. Hopefully, he won’t be too upset when he realizes his wish didn’t come true.
I hate this land, that castle, and I hate my king. I know there must be something better beyond the instructions of our gods, and surely I’m not the first man in the history of Lynnwood to crave them. Save the dream for another night, young Prince Wrath. Same dream, different night. I despise more than I’ve realized before having this conversation with myself on the blood-soaked streets of Quimper. No worries, this rain will wash it all away by morning.
To the depths with it all.
Chapter Two
3.0
The silence of the dungeons was broken by the faint trickle of water. The never-ending flow of rain outside had yet to cease and there was no way of stopping it. Generations of weather and winters had forged a few strategic cracks here and there granting it the ambiance prisoners craved during incarceration. A drop here, a plop there. After a few days, the unpredictable invasive reverberations were enough to drive a man insane. I couldn’t take it for more than an hour at a time.
The dank bowels of my family castle felt unusually welcoming when compared to the cold open wetness of tonight’s battle. Certainly, that entire confrontation could’ve been avoided if Lord Sert had simply seen fit to show up himself. Our opponent had no chance of winning against our numbers, but I guess there are just some in our world who insist on reevaluating the boundaries from time to time. We can smell our own.
Taking my armor off piece by piece was contributing to the ever-growing puddles beneath my numb feet. Rainfall in Lynnwood was never warm. No, it was frigid, bordering on freezing, no matter air temperature or season. It was rather refreshing during those days when the sun rode high and baked you to the bone. I could compare it to that of a beautiful woman’s embrace if it helped relate. During the cold times? It still felt like a woman’s embrace, just one who’s grown tired of your misdeeds a few cycles back.
This was indeed the colder time of year, so the precipitation was an unwelcome hindrance. None seemed to care much after the fighting began, but waiting there for someone to make the first move was excruciating! Again, it all could’ve been avoided if just one of those ancient men would’ve given some slack on either end. The older men get, the more stubborn they become. My father was the world’s worst, or at least the worst in the portion of the world I’m allowed to explore. Lord Sert was equally stubborn but without the swords to back it all up. To me, it’s simple stupidity. Stupidity will get you killed in Lynnwood if you’re not careful.
Piece by piece I dropped my armor to the floor with a clang and splash. All the other soldiers in the King’s army were performing similar actions inside the armory while stumbling over one another, crushing unfortunate toes with their sabatons. Prince or not, they always gave me a hard time whenever the general was nowhere to be found. Calling me names or forcing my face into the privy chamber to fill my nose with the bark of someone’s fresh gift, I hated them all. Muscled up oafs were nothing without their weapons and numbers. The problem was that they made sure to always travel fully armed and dangerous. That is why I choose to perform this blasted activity in the lonely silence of an empty dungeon cell. Yes, I have a bed chamber, but why soak my own floor with this peasant rain from Quimper?
Dropping the final piece and piling it all into the furthest corner, I slammed the iron door for it all to be forgotten for another day. My underclothes were so saturated that I couldn’t feel the sting of the key against my chest when I dropped it down my tunic. I wasn’t sure which of the two activities I looked forward to the most over the next hour. Warming my bones and clothes before the roaring fireplace in the royal hall or winking subtle suggestions to Queen Wrath at the expense of my father’s ignorance.
I’d heard it all before from the man I considered my best friend in all the halls of Castle Blanchet. Ironically, this person is the court jester, but he always offers the most solid advice toward questionable situations. No, Tawn Mannon was the closest thing I had to a real brother even though I was blood-related to the future king who resided a few doors away from my own. If only you could choose family, I often thought. If only Tawn were my real brother instead of Killian.
I loved the man, I truly did. We had so much in common when it came to how others looked upon us. At least his insults were expected since he was the court jester by appointment.
“The two of you have got to stop making eyes at one another,” he warned. “Your father will string you up for sure if you get caught sullying his flower. I don’t care how pretty that smile is when you’re looking down on her.”
Tawn was never quite proud of my replies during these conversations. It was never Queen S’Varick’s smile that kept me coming back to her chamber while my father snored from drunkenness upon the throne. It had everything to do with how her arms felt around my waist, holding on tightly as though falling from the highest tower. It was her scent after being bathed by the handmaidens before bed. Mostly, it was that angelic voice whispering to take her places into which she’d never been. Then again, that wasn’t too grand of a request. She’d remained untouched since before her wedding night and my father’s manhood disappeared years ago, swallowed by the fat of his own gluttony. The poor man inadvertently made turtles jealous whenever forced to expose and relieve himself via the shoreline.
The lady deserved much more than what she’d get between now and my father’s passing. After that she’d be pawned off to my brother like a secondhand sheath. Neither genuinely loved her nor would they know how if they mustered the sensibilities to try. No, I loved her with all my heart, and it had little to do with the games she and I played beneath the pelts. She was indeed worth the price of discovery.
***
“What do you mean?” asked my father. “Are you saying that you don’t want to be the intermediary on the battlefield? You don’t enjoy being the face of the kingdom? Do you know how many men would give their right eye for the opportunities and blessings you receive here in Lynnwood?”
“By the gods, father!” I replied. “One damn question at a time please! I can’t answer your ramblings all at once, so please allow me to take them in turn!”
I hated family gatherings during the morning meal. Traditionally, the entire family sat at a lengthy, rectangular table in the castle’s great hall beside an enormous, roaring fireplace to shed the overnight cold. My father occupied the head of the table while everyone else ignored the existence of assigned seating. We landed where we did on most mornings unless King Wrath really wanted to tear into someone; then he would place them the furthest away. He enjoyed yelling.
“I’m saying I don’t want to be the front man on the battlefield because it’s completely pointless,” I continued. “General Canaby does whatever he wants. I’m nothing but a glorified messenger.”
“You watch your tone, young man,” barked Canaby.
“See what I mean? The general of your army just scolded your son, the prince, and no one flinched, broke wind, or batted an eye!”
No one, from my father on down to my brother, even noticed the war-hardened bastard just insulted me at my own table! This was the exact point I was attempting to make, but no one got it. Why put my own life in danger if no one intends on respecting that life in the first place? On top of that, why was this man even having a meal with my family? It made me wonder if he had blackmail fuel on my father and weaseled his way into special privilege. The possibilities were endless within the halls of Wrath. I was no different.
I continued. “To answer your second question, it doesn’t matter that I’m the face of the kingdom. If I’m armored up in battle, my face isn’t visible from my visor! Also, I dare not wear any type of identifying cloak or colors for fear of making myself a more important target! You could dress up Tawn the Jester in my armor and no one would know better!”
Silence. They stuffed their fat mouths with food while I spilled my heart out onto the table. I’m certain they were hoping I would run out of breath so they could enjoy their breakfast, but I wasn’t about to give them pleasure. If they were going to sit here and eat, I was going to give their ears a treat. After an hour, they surely wouldn’t mind if I took meals in my own chamber. I rather liked eating in solitude, to be honest.
My morning’s final hurrah sounded. “And as far as the men who’d line up to take my place as prince in Lynnwood, I dare them to form a line. I am Prince Connor Wrath and I’ll be damned if I let a soldier or peasant take my place as the court’s whipping boy. It may not be the fantasy most men dream of, but it’s mine. Only the intervention of the gods could change my birthright and, since they’ve chosen to abandon you and all the other delusional believers of this land, I don’t see that happening.”
My father slammed his fist onto the table with enough strength to topple most of the drinking cups. Not that he was a strong man by any account, but the table was solid. Maybe that’s why he chose it. It made a gods-awful noise when you beat it with your puny fist. The moment he performed his beggar’s feat of nonsense was also when a bare foot from across the table started caressing my leg for everything it was worth. The queen knew I was nearing my breaking point when it came to my boisterous father, the ignorant general, or my mute brother. She knew how to soothe my nerves following a Wrath confrontation. I smiled behind my cup to let her know I’d be taking her up on that offer just as soon as everyone else was away on their daily tasks. My father’s voice brought my excitement back into a more manageable, flaccid state.
“If you insist on insulting my gods at my table in my chamber in my castle, then you can excuse yourself whenever you seem fit to do so. They’ll be no blasphemy here or anywhere else within earshot from now on. I don’t want to be associated with you or any other non-believers when the time comes for their return, boy. You’d better get your life straight and do it quickly.”
For once, my father was right. I planned to get something straightened out with quickness as soon as the young queen finished breakfast. If she weren’t full up from the bounty spread across our great table, I’d make sure she was satisfied.
I’m not sure what annoyed me most. Was it the god’s awful sunlight pouring in through the dining room windows, the damned sparrows chirping in the trees beyond, or my brother stirring in his chair as though he were about to say something he deemed relevant? In the meantime, at least it wasn’t raining.
“You know, brother…”
I stood corrected as Prince Killian Wrath finished stuffing his food hole long enough to join the conversation. He always stood beside the king no matter what the subject. Of course he did. He must kiss that royal hiney every chance he got since he was next in line for the throne. It wasn’t like my father would change his mind and grant me the honor instead. I was the younger, the weaker, and the least adored. I reminded myself to be vigilant while sneaking to my dungeon hideout. I wouldn’t want to tempt father into stealthing up behind me and purposely shutting the door. No one would ever hear my screams. A few weeks below and many residents of Lynnwood would have their prayers answered.
“You should let me teach you,” he continued. “If I trained you on everything I knew, you could be leading your own troops into battle rather than joining the general on missions.”
“How about this,” I primed my retort. “How about the Wrath family learns to rule firmly but fairly, and then we won’t have to worry about slaughtering anglers, ranchers, and farmers every time they get the notion to withhold food from Blanchet. Can you teach me that, dear brother, or do I have to wait until father passes on?”
My father had clearly checked out of the conversation the minute my brother stepped in. It was simply fine with me. He never said anything of any relevance anyway. Just the same thing repeatedly. Always insisting that I get it together or act more bravely in the face of adversity. The man knew nothing about me. If he knew how much Gods’ Crop I’d hijacked lately, he’d explode on me for sure!
Gods’ Crop is the only thing we grow here in Blanchet since the peasants and lords of both Quimper and De Haro aren’t allowed to touch the seeds! According to what I’ve been told by the aging members of the castle, the plant has magical healing abilities, and we cultivate it for the gods themselves. Funny that I’ve never seen these gods with my own eyes during my lifetime, and it’s even funnier when I set a flame to it. I’m not sure about healing properties, but it fuzzies me up nice and proper. It’s much faster than any ale and it never makes me stick my head into my own chamber pot to release the evening’s dinner to the depths below. That’s a blessing, and I’m sure I’m not the only person in Blanchet who feels that way. My friend Tawn the Jester had to find out somehow, and he’s the one who introduced it to me!
“Is that what you want, Connor?” my brother brought me back into the conversation. “Do you want our father to die so I can become king? I’m just going to hold you to the same standards. You’re not the spawn of my loins. My love for you isn’t as unconditional.”
I laughed sharply from wall to wall. The queen hid her smile behind her hand as best she could, knowing Prince Killian was way off mark. I subtly nodded in her direction, allowing her to recognize my compliance with her hidden gesture.
“Dear brother, you call this man’s interactions with me the result of unconditional love? I think it’s time you visited one of the brothels in De Haro at your earliest convenience so you may be shown an example of the sport. It may not be unconditional, but they’ll promise you it is if you tip them well enough!”
With that, my brother and the general joined my father’s stance and bowed out of the conversation. It was as I wanted. No one looked or spoke in my direction. I had brought peace to the table where it was rare. After a feat like that, they should make me king instead, right this moment! I already had a queen. Her foot was flailing me like a pendulum from side to side like the clapper in an old church bell. Those toes of hers contained only a small portion of talent when it came to the manner of such things. I’m sure she was just excited that she didn’t need to sally forth on a scavenger hunt just to find it. Perhaps we were equally as lucky when it came to our mysterious meetings beyond the royal marriage bed.
This was my family dynamic concisely. Every morning, my attendance resulted in ferocity pointed my direction, and suggestions from the lot on how to repair my life. Not once had anyone inquired as to what I wanted, nor would they understand if I were to reveal honesty. They’d learn soon enough.
***
“You know they’re going to hunt us down and hang us from the highest tree in De Haro, right?”
“My apologies, your grace,” came my muffled response. “I’m not ignoring your warning, it’s just not polite to speak with your mouth full. Also, your thighs were squeezing me during that last bit, so I couldn’t hear what you were saying. How are you managing to have a meaningful conversation with me while I’m serenading the old naughty?”
“Talent, and we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said. “Your father and brother were so mad at you after breakfasting this morning they’d surely decapitate you if witnessed in your current position!”
“Bold words for someone who’s already finished,” I accused.
It was a wonderful afternoon in Lynnwood. A refreshing afternoon breeze flowed from window to window through my chamber, kissing my exposed buttocks as they shivered by. King Wrath and Prince Killian were out hunting and accessing the damage in Quimper from the night before. I’m sure father just wanted to look Lord Sert in the eyes to give him that overall feeling of disappointment. I knew it all too well from childhood. I planned to do everything within my power to calm the sweet girl’s nerves. Honestly, I was a bit high-strung myself and could use a good sigh. Two if I were lucky.
“I don’t expect that they’ll be back from up north too long before the sun sets, so we’ve got all the time in the world, S’Varick. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself. I can imagine it’s something you don’t receive in my absence.”
Immediately, the queen sprung from my bed and adjusted her dress to remove my playthings from sight. This was the part of our secret relationship I loathed. It was the talking part; the part which dealt with our shrouded future. It was a dream of hers to be out from under my father’s thumb and into the arms of the man she loved. I hated to burst her royal bubble, but the only way that fantasy would ever play out would be if King Wrath perished without blame. All eyes would look to me regardless. I was the son he despised, and everyone knew it.
She plopped down in a chair I’d dragged over to the window to glance across the Sea of Torrance. I preferred to watch the sun set behind the water and the stars awaken with a subtle twinkle just as a good gift of Gods’ Crop blessed me. It wasn’t anything to alert the guards about, but it was magical as far as I was concerned. There wasn’t much in my tiny world to get me aroused more than burning Crop and secretly ravishing the queen. It was time to reach greatness; perhaps tempting fate.
No one ever accomplished great things by remaining within the boundaries of their comfort zone. In Lynnwood, no one ever accomplished great things at all. Your deeds mattered little, and birthright meant everything. My father was king, my brother was next in line, and his inevitable children would follow. Children planted firmly within the woman I loved, not to mention against her will. That wasn’t going to happen. Not if I could help it.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” I asked.
“Connor, we can’t be seen anywhere else in the castle together without tipping everyone off…”
“No, I mean really getting out of here,” I stopped her. “I mean why don’t we leave Lynnwood? You want to be with me, and I want to be with you. No one is ever going to let that happen if we’re stuck on this rock. Let’s steal a fishing boat, load it up with everything we need, and just go wherever the wind takes us. It could be you and me in a new world where no one could tell us what we could and couldn’t do.”
S’Varick stared with her mouth agape like she’d just heard a Bard’s nonsensical rhyme. It was damned close. No one left Lynnwood, nor had Lynnwood ever received visitors. Surely, we weren’t the only inhabitants of our world, and there was only one way to find out.
“Connor, that’s insane!” S’Varick answered. “The gods have forbidden us from leaving the boundaries of the harbor! On top of that, if we did manage to do so without anyone on Lynnwood or in the skies above noticing our escape, the creatures who inhabit the Sea of Torrance would surely devour us!”
I gazed around the room in wonder. How could such an intelligent and beautiful being believe in such things? Surely her family dragged her to worship weekly like every other child in Blanchet during their upbringing. I, on the other hand, stopped believing in ghosts from the moment I reached the age of reason. Nothing would convince me otherwise. The gods were a farce to keep the commoners in line, plain and simple. I planned on proving it to everyone with or without her blessing. I can imagine that, if my hunches were correct, that there would be more than my fair share of ladies in other lands to run circles around those of my fearmongering homeland.
I advanced to S’Varick and knelt before her with utmost sincerity. “I’m going to prove it to you, my lady. I’m going to find life beyond the walls of this castle and return to show you what truly lies beyond the reach of King Collus Wrath.”
I couldn’t tell if she was shuddered by my “blasphemy” or just upset that I planned to leave, but she left my chamber in a gush of tears. What she didn’t know was that I’d been planning this departure for quite some time. The boat hid in a grove of trees in the northernmost section of Talia Harbor and camouflaged from sight for nearly four seasons. She was stocked with provisions, weapons, and everything else an adventurer would need to succeed against the unknown. I was leaving with or without her.
Chapter Three
3.0
Life is a merciless, cruel mother. I’ve sat and watched others grow to love the people and places around them, only to be deprived of those things in the blink of an eye. On the other hand, the things I wish would disappear keep gnawing at my soul like some sort of parasite who refuses to burst. This is why I must leave.
It was a chilly walk to Talia Harbor with only the moonlight to guide my way. The usual evening clouds were nonexistent leaving me no need for torch light. For this, I was thankful. It left me an extra hand to carry the necessities. It was much less of a tip off to anyone curious enough to question my activities. After months of planning, this was truly the last time I’d step foot in Blanchet Castle.
I’d promised Queen S’Varick I’d return to get her. I’d hoped she would’ve accompanied me from the beginning. Did I really love her, or did I love the adventure that accompanied sneaking around with my father’s wife? Perhaps it was a bit of both but leaning more toward the sneaking part. She’s beautiful; I’d never deny that. Beauty fades, though, and what do you have after all is gone? Perhaps I’d regret not leaving without her. Perhaps I’ll die of longing for her embrace in some unforgiving void.
I left goodbye sentiments for no one. It wasn’t like anyone would care about the methods of my disappearance. Whether that be circumstantial or a kidnapping against my will, my father would throw a false funeral on my behalf so the kingdom could mourn my loss without accusations of royal family foul play. The good King Wrath would jump for joy (if his weight allowed) once he realized I wouldn’t be there to put an envious knife in my brother’s back to steal the throne. I wanted it not. I’m not as regal as some would think me to be.
I truly didn’t care for swinging my sword at the necks of those who’d done nothing wrong. The uprising in Quimper Village was a group of diligent folks who were sick and tired of getting deficated on by the royals. That General Canaby seemed to get off on doing such things in the name of my father, but I’d had enough. I wasn’t a warrior, and the king knew it. I was barely much of a hunter either, but definitely not a warrior. Sleeping on it, I’d come to realize that Canaby was instructed to bring me along on such maneuvers in hopes I’d fall victim to a lucky villager’s frantic slash. He’d cart my lifeless body back to the castle and all would be well in my family’s private hellscape. Perhaps I was doing them all a favor by leaving?
Although I didn’t speak of it much, especially to those who would taunt me for doing so, I’d been looking toward the horizon longingly since old enough to think of my own destiny. No matter how high I would climb in the castle, the windows revealed no signs of life between home and the horizon. Even in the dark of night when such things were noticeable, I never witnessed fire beyond the waters of Lynnwood or a ship skirting the sunset. Most would accept this for the god’s reasoning, but my dreams whispered otherwise. It became more painful as time grew on, and the moment of my departure drew nigh. Tonight, with clear skies as my celestial guide, I would sail beyond the boundaries of Talia Harbor through the Sea of Torrence to discovery or demise. The gods could kiss my leather clad bottom, but I prayed ever so slightly that discovery would arrive before demise. It wasn’t too much to ask.
I say leather clad because I left my heavy armor down in my dungeon hideout. It was too much unwanted weight for the coming adventure and not fashionable for sneaking. What if I found another civilization over the edges of the world and I needed discretion? A bumbling idiot covered in clanging, shiny surfaces isn’t necessarily the most invisible intruder. Whoever I discovered, if anyone, would be just as curious about me as I them. The difference being they might decide violence over diplomacy. Maybe they’ve known about Lynnwood all along but just chose to avoid us. What are the chances that me and mine were the idiots thinking we’re the only souls alive?
The final verdict was that you could ride a horse from the northern part of Lynnwood to the southern tip in a day’s time if you rested strategically. Considering the amount of time it took for the sun to rise, set, and rise again, we were indeed living in a larger world. How ignorant would a person be thinking we were the only inhabitants? I blamed the old scriptures and an irrational fear of invisible beings who may or may not have existed to begin with. If the sky gods were so competent, then why weren’t they here trying to stop me from learning the truth? With luck, I could bring their whole belief system down around everyone’s ears. It wasn’t my only reason for sailing off into nothingness, but that “crashing down around the ears” part sounded pleasant.
I somehow managed to reach my hidden vessel by only stumbling over a handful of large rocks in the well-lit night. I’d have died if typical cloud-cover were present. Talia Harbor was riddled with hazards in the darkness, making it the perfect staging ground for my departure. I’d passed no residents of Quimper Village as I journeyed north but that was to be expected. They wouldn’t dare venture this far from their homes since last night’s beating. It would be a while before any had the nerve to cross beneath the Wall of Graves without fear of execution by the Blanchet Royal Guard. I didn’t blame them, though. General Canaby gave quite the spanking. The intermediaries between the two civilizations would need to change kneecaps once it was all said and done. That’s a lot of unnecessary walking.
Luckily, the makeshift camouflage of leaves and branches I’d placed atop my boat were still in place. No one tampered with the supplies I’d hidden either. Yes, my family despised me, but the servants of Castle Blanchet knew better than to drill me as to my intentions of a midnight kitchen raid. I’d wondered if they’d noticed how fat I wasn’t getting from all the food I’d swiped. Also, the gate guards never inspected my belongings. Enough food and fresh water were stowed away within my craft for a year’s journey if rationed correctly.
I’d swiped a bit of fishing gear as well even though I’d rarely fished. I’d observed the anglers doing it daily while sitting atop the Cliffs of Sasser. Luckily, they overlooked Kissing Fool’s Harbor and it didn’t appear to be all that difficult. Throw the net, catch the fish, right? Too easy.
Lashing a few more ropes together, I managed to securely stow the last load of gear. After tonight, I couldn’t claim royal privilege in the world beyond. No one cared that I was Prince Wrath of Lynnwood, because they had little to no idea such a place existed. To them, I’d just be Connor Wrath.
No, wait.
To them, I’d be a thief who preyed upon their village for food and slept with their women. I’d more than likely be hung from their tallest tree – if trees existed in the lands of imagination – until dead. Another lifeless ornament to feed the flies and pests of a new land.
“Well, I brought the wine like you said!” came the startling, yet recognizable voice beyond the tree line.
“Quiet, Tawn,” I shushed for all it was worth. “If anyone hears us, they’ll come down here with a dozen questions I’m not willing to answer. I’ll have to kill them, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to depart Lynnwood with any of its blood on my sword. I’m done here. I truly am.”
Tawn Mannon was the royal jester from my father’s court and the only true friend I’d ever known. At age fifteen, he’d been brought to the castle as a means of trade by his own father. They owed the royal family quite a bit of coin. He jested not by idiocy, though. He was truly talented, with a quick tongue, defeating the toughest of adversaries in a battle of wits. My own father, who never smiled at anything, found the kid amusing. Father kept him to settle the debt, and I was born shortly after. Tawn has been in the service of the royal court for over twenty-five years now. Eventually, you’d think someone with such responsibility would run out of jokes. Not Tawn. He’d put the “fun” in “funeral” if you’d let him.
“Oh bull, Connor,” Tawn spat. “None of those simpletons ever come down here in the middle of the night because they think some kind of sea creature is going to eat their balls for sticking their noses where it didn’t belong. Fear of the gods is a very real thing, Connor Wrath. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but at some point in your near future, you’re going to wish you’d listened to all the chatter about what comes from above. I’ve seen them.”
“You’ve done no such thing!” I laughed. “That sky god joke of yours is getting stale, sir. Save it for court. You’re my friend, Tawn, and not my joke-slave. You’ve never been, regardless of what my last name meant to others. You’re my friend. My only friend, to be precise. Friends don’t lie to each other about the existence of cloud people.”
Tawn smiled back. For someone who made others laugh for a living, you’d think it would be hard to laugh at others. Not my friend Tawn, though. He doubled over at my crazy rants just as much as I did his, and that’s why we were the best of friends. No one else, whether in Branchet, Quimper, or De Haro, could make me smile like him. No one else held my trust the way he did. He was the only one I’d dare clue into my plans for leaving my homeland. As expected, he seemed sad.
“Besides,” I continued. “You were a kid when you claim to have seen the gods. Those memories are a concoction of unsure infantile memories, a parent’s faulty beliefs, and continuous societal insistance. You saw nothing of the sort.”
“I hope you’re right, Connor; I truly do. My philosophy was to appease the gods just in case they’re real. That way, when I draw my last breath – only to realize they’re as imaginary as you claim – then I’m not out all that much. Then again, if I do so and must stand before them in judgement, I wouldn’t want to disappoint. I have a low tolerance for pain, and I’ve never been a fan of punishment. Eternal punishment sounds excruciatingly boring; eventually you’d get used to it and level off. Being fed to a giant sea monster and slowly digested over thousands of years is not my definition of fun.”
The poor guy; his family really did a number on him. A lifetime of whispers within the castle walls about returning sky gods didn’t do much for his mind. The only way we were truly able to remain friends all these years was an initial understanding to keep our religious beliefs to ourselves. We’d slip on occasion – I’d blast the make-believe cloud beings, or he’d instinctively go into prayer while sharing a meal – but we never had serious conversations. Not bad for a twenty-five-year friendship. He was indeed the best of the best.
I’d tried talking him into joining me, but fear of the unknown plagued the fool’s daydreams. Now, I didn’t mean to call him a fool, meaning he’s foolish, it’s just a slang title for a jester within the royal court. He’s never been and never will be foolish in any definition of the word. Most times, he was the smartest lad in the room, but he dared not reveal that to any members of the royal court. If they knew of his intelligence, they’d forbid him from his presence during matters of high secrecy. Tawn would just sit there and play dumb, and they never knew any better. We’d laugh about it like a private joke. Still, his fear of the heavens and sea monsters remained annoying.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me, Tawn?” I asked. “I promise I’ll protect you from anything harmful. Besides, I don’t know what I’m going to do without your wit to keep me company. Months at sea with myself seems torturous.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine being stuck in a boat with you for months on end,” he said. “What about S’Varick? You couldn’t convince her to leave your father’s wrinkly purse long enough to go on a death-defying journey toward the unknown?”
Tawn was the only person in Lynwood other than S’Varick and me who knew of our involvement. Even though we were far from being snickering little boys in the age department, we were truly that; just a couple of snickering boys. Granted, his hairline was swallowing that once dark mop atop his head, and my joints and bones creaked like an abandoned thatch house in a windstorm, but our hearts and humor aged not. It kept us young, so the older folks say. I could gladly live out the rest of my days with that advice. I imagined I’d be a raving lunatic on a leaky boat before new lands revealed themselves. It was a chance I was willing to take.
“She said she was scared of the sea monsters too, my friend,” I smiled. My boat was dry, and I missed him already.
I was glad he came to visit me on my way to oblivion. Wiping a quick tear from my cheek with my free hand before moonlight caught its glimpse, I poured two goblets of wine. The containers teetered back and forth as I did so. A moss-covered rock placed on the edge of where the grass meets the sand was my only choice for a makeshift table. It sufficed for the purposes needed.
We both reached out for our respective cups as though we’d rehearsed this action until perfection. The wine kissed our welcoming lips with our arms raised high, destroying any of the liquid’s false hope against escaping our throats. Our eyes met in silence, signaling that a refill was in order. My best friend Tawn and I repeated the gesture until the cask ran dry. In fear that the spirited juice wasn’t enough, I broke out a fresh pipe of Gods’ Crop to push us beyond the edge of reason.
I raked my fire-striker against the packed herb and inhaled as deeply as my lungs would allow. Holding my aching chest, I exhaled into the salty night, passing my bounty to my one true brother. He mimicked my actions and passed my prize to my waiting hands. As our gazes met one final time, our eyes spoke volumes in silence. A true talent between close friends. Something I shan’t have with another.
As we approached my moment of departure, we were blasted to our backs by unseen forces. The sand swirled all around us like whirlwinds from a dreadful storm. Blinded by debris, we reached for one another in safety. Our fingertips met as a feeling of temporary familiarity washed ever me, but I’d be forever lying if I said the fear wasn’t as overpowering or incapacitating as on the eve of battle. Scared for what came next was an understatement.
The wind and sand intensified, blowing what remained of my unstowed belongings out to sea. I cursed the disturbance with every last bit of volume my throat could muster, but it was to no avail. I could barely hear myself think, much less insult whoever invented such nonsensical timing. It was then that a light which put that of the moon to shame appeared above to illuminate our surroundings. Suddenly, Tawn’s fingertip grasp became a fist.
“Come on!” he screamed. “We’ve got to get back to the castle!”
My better judgement insisted I not argue and follow him back up the rocky embankment toward a home I’d nearly abandoned. Tripping upon rock after rock, the two of us peaked the summit and followed the worn horse paths that led from the Wall of Graves and back toward the fortress of Blanchet. The wind seemed to increase as the moments ticked by, but the debris had settled, giving us a better look at the oddity. Then, an eerie screech arose from the forest as the gusts battled the skinniest of trees. We knelt in painful defiance with our hands pressed tight against our ears.
“Tawn, what is that?” I cried. “Why are the trees screaming?”
My moment of reckoning arrived on the only tongue in Lynnwood I’d believe in such dire circulstances.
“It’s them, Connor,” Tawn reinforced my fears as his muffled voice penetrated my trembling hands. “The gods have returned!”
I stared into the blinding light for answers but was met with searing pain. Tears blurred what remained of my vision as I traversed the packed earth toward home. Instinct said it would be the safest place if ever the imaginary beings of ultimate power managed to reappear during my lifetime. I could tell they were heading in the direction of Blanchet as my eyesight returned.
“Don’t look at the light, Connor! Just keep running!”
Tawn’s warning came late, as luck would have it. Bells beyond the walls rang in the distance signaling that Tawn and myself weren’t just suffering from a bad batch of Gods’ Crop. Never in my life had I heard these bells, and they struck my quivering nerves with each stroke. I’d grown up around them, but my father insisted I never ring them unless it was an emergency. Since my royal upbringing never quite resulted in much of anything that could be considered an emergency, I never rang the bells! I’m glad I didn’t. If I could feel their tone through screaming trees, it would’ve vaporized me as a child.
A celestial craft crested the nearby hills, blocking out all starlight from above. What manner of boat did the gods possess that allowed them to sail above angry seas? These creatures were truly as magical and peculiar as all their worshippers claimed them to be. With that acknowledgement, I couldn’t help but think I was the solitary cause of their unannounced return. I should’ve listened to Tawn and S’Varick about the boat. This was far worse than being swallowed by some sea monster! Would these gods waste such an entrance on a young man who hadn’t even placed his boat in the water? Theatrics aside, my father was going to be angry when he found out about what I’d planned to do. Maybe I should change direction and just sail away. What’s done is done, right?
A sudden silence enveloped the land as all lights on the being’s craft extinguished. The screaming forest ceased its terrifying song as night creatures serenaded the night sky once more. I’m sure nature’s tunes separating the desires of hungry and horny vary but, on this night, it all sounded the same.
Firelights erupted in all windows of castle Blanchet signaling their ultimate guests had arrived. Peering into the southern and northernmost directions of Lynnwood, I could tell the villages of Quimper and De Haro offered the exact opposite gesture. All who lived in those areas of the land were damned happy the gods passed their unworthy lot and landed on the doorstep of King Wrath instead. Sure, they’d pray to these beings day and night, offering sacrificial blessings in their names, but they didn’t want to be clued into the whole “godly experience” on a firsthand basis. I didn’t blame them. If I weren’t a member of the royal court myself, I’d be hiding somewhere beneath a sturdy vegetable cart in De Haro.
“Get upstairs and get cleaned up,” commanded Tawn, interrupting my dreams of safety in the southlands. “If memory serves, you’re not going to want to miss this.”
Was he genuinely excited for this frightening intrusion into everything I’d known? Yes, I know I owed the man hundreds of apologies when everything was said and done, but I wasn’t about to stain my underclothes in giddiness. Fear? Certainly. I ranked this right up there with an afternoon game of “queen and seek”.
Chapter 4 Coming Soon…
The Gonzo Wolf 