Crown of the Realm, page 1
All Things Impossible
Crown of the Realm
This book is dedicated to Thomas Szott,
who convinced me that these
stories were worth writing.
Author: D. Dalton
Editor: Thomas Szott
Cover Art: Dennis Saputra
© Copyright 2010. D Dalton
All Rights Reserved.
This work’s copyright has been registered with the US Copyright Office.
ISBN: 978-0-578-09346-8
Third Edition, September 2011
www.allthingsimpossible.com
Prior Printings:
First Edition, May 2009
Second Edition, January 2010
This book or parts of this book may not be distributed or reproduced in any form without express permission from the author who is the sole copyright holder.
No one may acquire this novel in a digital form or any form for free and distribute it in any form for profit without documented permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. None of it is real or based on real persons, with the single exception that one of the characters is named after a dearly departed friend of mine. Other than that, there is no intentional correlation between what is written here with any other works of fiction, or real world events, places and/or persons.
Prologue
“We won’t leave you!” Prince Edillon choked on his words. His younger brother pressed into his side and nodded vigorously.
“You will!” King Valladen thundered in a voice that left echoes fading throughout the garden. His older son saw that he had never looked so regal before, or so sorrowful. His father’s golden hair shimmered like the sunlit prairie lighting up the golden crown on his head, and his sea blue eyes stirred with the power of a thousand storms. Would he truly never see that again? Edillon gulped.
In the back of his mind, the son wondered if he could ever be that extraordinary. But right now, he desperately prayed he would never have to find out.
The king opened his hand toward the path underneath the flowering natural arches. “You will go now, my sons. You have a chance. Meet your guards and do not tarry for they will be upon you.”
“No!” The older son collapsed onto his knees. “I can’t think of life without you!” His throat ached with the strangled words that he could not force out. This was too sudden! This couldn’t be real! His mother stole his crying eyes. She too was weeping, but there was no panic creasing her eyes, only sadness.
The younger brother rushed forward into his parents’ arms. “You said they were gone! They couldn’t–”
His father cut him down with a glare. “Never did I say that, son. Never think that or you will not know who has slain your family.” The brothers flinched.
The eldest pounded his fist against the ground. “Please! We’ll all run. If we can make it, so can you, Father… Mother, please! They’ll never find us!”
Their father smiled ruefully. “I wish it could be so.”
The son’s tears burned against his cheeks. “Give them the kingdom, it’s not worth this. Please.”
Valladen rested a hand on the head of his heir. “They would not stop with the kingdom, they care nothing for it.” He pulled his hand back. “You will succeed. Your duty, the responsibility of the crown, is to protect and save our people.”
The crown prince bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He finally nodded.
His mother moved between father and son. She spread her hands out before both her children. “I pray that your lives are eternal and full of love and joy.”
The eldest remained kneeling and lowered his face to hide his shame. His voice was surprisingly low. “I accept your blessing, Mother.”
She stepped beside Valladen. “Go, my sons.”
He rose and took his place beside his brother. “Must–” He bit his tongue. “We shall.”
“We love you,” Valladen whispered.
“We love you too.” The youngest hastily dashed forward and buried himself in their arms, just as a small child hugs a pillow against a nightmare. Valladen and his wife pushed their second child away.
“Forever will you sing the first songs,” they said the traditional farewell.
“Forever–” the brothers’ unified voices faltered at the same time. Their words hung helplessly in their open mouths.
“Do not tarry. Now, go.” Valladen swept his arm wide to the brilliantly white archway.
They bowed low and long before turning away. The eldest did not look back.
Alone in the garden, the lady sagged against her husband. “Oh, my love, this is all they’ve ever known.”
Her slender frame seemed so fragile to him. “I know.” He buried his face in her hair and held her tightly. They did not have long to wait before the sun’s warmth faded from their skin. The once vibrant air chilled to a damp, slimy feel. Shadows lazily stretched and bloated, spreading to abnormally huge proportions. Valladen looked heavenward where the sun still shone, but the light looked as though a greasy film had been pulled over it.
Then the world faded to gray, like the gray between dusk and absolute darkness where the colors just leached away from the world. The storm-readers’ light. All the stories said to see it was to die.
He glanced around the muted garden. His heart beat mournfully as he thought of how the gray light defiled this scintillating, laughing place.
A voice sliced through the oily air, smooth as silk but it felt like a whetstone scraping against the king’s delicate ears. “You give your own lives freely.”
“We couldn’t run. You know why.”
The voice chuckled. “Oh, I know. We will kill your offspring. You only bought them time.”
“You speak with confidence.”
“You die without purpose.” The voice was sweet with venom. “Love is a weakness that cost you what you did not have to give.”
“Our children live freely.” The words hissed through Valladen’s teeth. The polluted air drew the very breath out of him. He held his beloved wife closer.
“Until we find them,” the voice replied tartly. “Our king said that our victory is well deserved. You know, we earned our immortality, unlike you. And you never respected our achievement.”
“Your rise to immortality was a horrendous sin,” the king snapped. “Now, stop gloating and do what you came to do.”
The queen took her husband’s hand and Valladen dropped his crown to the ground. It rang loudly in defiance. His wife kissed him. In that kiss, he was not sure of the exact moment he unnaturally expired.
Chapter One
Riversbridge
“Ready?” The shout carried in the wind.
“Ready!” Derora Saxen hollered, and then adjusted her helmet on an afterthought. Her hand snatched the lance from the boy’s arms as he timidly held it up. She grinned. The lance’s balance slid into place at her side, and she angled it toward her opponent. Her dark green and brown eyes flitted back to the center of the field, eagerly awaiting the flag signal.
Swish! The sound of the flapping banner reached her eyes only; she couldn’t hear it over the blood pounding in her ears. She leaned forward and kicked her horse hard. This was the fun part. The animal under her heaved and surged forward in a motion that was anything but graceful.
Ignoring the probable danger of falling off, Der watched her opponent’s charge with an eagle’s focus. She shifted her lance to hit high on his chest. He also realigned his weapon, but a smidgen hesitantly.
Suddenly, neither of them had any more time to plan. Der’s lance struck first, a solid impact she felt through her arm and torso. Her opponent’s lance clipped her left shoulder exactly when he lost control of his mount. She grunted and jerked forward to stay in the saddle as the horse beneath her spooked. She failed. Throwing her lance out wide, she cleared herself of the galloping animal. She saw her opponent also tumbling off his mount.
The ground hit harder than the lance. The impact echoed throughout her entire body.
After a moment of groaning, she rolled onto her back and propped her head against the dirt to find where her horse charged off without her. She winced; spikes of pain were already shooting through her shoulder.
Der sat up. Someone at the edge of the meadow was chasing after her horse. He would be too shaken to ride for a while. She eased off the pot helm to reveal dark hair. It was originally a boy’s bowl cut, but it had long since had grown out. The young woman was average in height and looks. She could have been pretty, if she ever bothered to brush her hair. All her potential was diverted to things she did give attention to, like weapon play.
She looked about the clearing, forcing herself to stand before anyone could offer her a hand up. The small meadow they practiced in was hidden from the sight of the village of Riversbridge, and it was the common place where the youth had met for several generations to escape their daily chores. She walked up to her opponent and grinned.
He shook his head and rubbed his chest. He appeared beat, but smiling. “We need spurs.”
“No, we need warhorses, Donley.”
His grin spread. “Der dares again.”
She glanced at him sharply. “What does that mean?”
He looked innocently at the sky. “Nothing, Der. Dare. Your name is said the same for a damned good reason.” Then he grinned.
She rolled her eyes and caught the angry gaze of the approaching redheaded girl two months her junior.
“The both of you need armor, or at least padding on your shirts!” Avice scolded. She had already folded the blanket they used for a flag. She was the seamstress’s daughter. She provided the three blankets they used: one as the flag, and two to soften the blows on the ends of the blunt wooden lances that Donley had cut. He was the forester’s son. They were lucky neither of the lances had broken yet. These weren’t sleek or refined, and in fact, they were little better than planks.
Derora turned away from Avice to the plow pony one of the children had led back. It sidestepped anxiously. She scratched gently between his ears. “It’s alright, boy. See? We’re done. You did well today.”
Donley stretched. “It took them forever to get used to the lances. Mine spooked too when I fell off. You’d reckon they’d be used to it by now.” He turned to glance over at his shoulder where his younger sister was holding their pony.
Der grinned. “They’re not as bad as they used to be.”
“Are either of you hurt?” Avice barked. “Don’t worry about the silly horses.”
Der patted her pony on the shoulder. “I’m fine. Donley took the worst blow today.”
He rubbed his chest. “I’ll live, Avice. Der, do you have to hit so hard?”
“Um,” she chewed her lower lip, “Well, you would hit harder than this in real combat.”
“This isn’t combat!” Avice flared. “Sometimes I think you take all this play too seriously. There’s never been real combat here! You’re just teaching these children to fear!”
This was not the first time she put her thoughts to sharp words to her about Der’s so-called exploits with the youth of Riversbridge. It wouldn’t be the last either, Der muttered silently to herself and rolled her eyes while the other girl talked. Everything around here ran in circles.
Donley nodded, looking at Der matter-of-factly. “It’s true, at least. No battles here.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think I’d want to face you either.”
She rocked back on her heels defensively. “But think about it, what if something came about and we did need to actually fight?”
“Then I’d doubt we’d be jousting on plow ponies.” He tilted his head. “You know swordplay, and if you are serious, you could teach us that.”
“But I only know what my father taught me.”
“And you didn’t know anything about jousting, and we’re doing passably, I reckon.”
“What!” Avice yelped. “You’ve been out here in danger of breaking your stupid necks and you didn’t know anything about it?”
“We’re figuring it out as we go!” Der snapped back. The rest of the youth crowded around the three eldest. Their constant arguments were about as entertaining as the joust.
Avice growled, “I am going to tell your mother about this. I’m sure she would be glad to know what her daughter is doing.”
Donley stepped between the two as Der balled a fist. She wasn’t bluffing. All his life he had grown up with her and she had yet to make an idle threat. The girl could outfight most of the boys in town too because she never once considered that she shouldn’t be able too. He also had a few scars from her teeth when he’d thought he’d already won the matches. She hit anything with everything.
“Avice,” he spoke sternly, “You know as well as anyone that the meadow is sacred ground. You know you can’t say anything!”
Der dusted her trousers and forced a grin. “It’s all play anyway, Don.” She looked at the sun. “We should get back to work; we’ve spent enough time here.”
Their parents would know where they had been, of course, but they never asked. Der figured they remembered their younger days spent here. She made a face, thinking of this generation’s children and if they would ever ask their own children what they did in the meadow. She’d decided that she’d be elsewhere when that time came.
Donley, being the oldest, dismissed the gathered youth. Der walked down the lane back to town alone in her thoughts with the pony following doggedly behind her. She hardly noticed as the others around her dispersed and took different trails back to town. It was common they didn’t parade back in to Riversbridge together and be entirely obvious.
She stubbed a toe into the ground. She didn’t want to return home; her father had enough help. The girl did not even notice when she passed the first house.
Their quaint village boasted nothing so large as an inn, but it was entirely self sufficient. It had to be. Geographically, it was odd because it was so far removed from any fortified lord’s home. It was just another one of many nearly identical villages hiding amongst the forest’s trees.
Derora stopped at the blacksmith’s. The forge was on the outskirts of the town, in a medium sized building Donley and his father had built four and a half years ago. Over the entrance hung the hammer striking the anvil, the symbol of the Blacksmiths guild. She tied the pony outside.
Her closest friend was the apprentice, and he always labored over the forge. He hardly ever had time for the meadow these days.
The master smith was used to her, and bore no complaint because she didn’t interfere with Kelin’s work. In fact, she often assisted with sweeping the dust outside and other mundane chores. Sigard waved to her as she walked in and then hunched back over his current work. She nodded and ran a hand over her sweaty forehead; the extra heat was pleasant in winter but not in summer.
She found Kelin sweeping out the back. “Almost done for the day,” he said, pushing his broom as fast as he could. The young man was from a hearty breed, with a good sized build and hands that seemed too large for the little stick of a broom he held. His dark curly locks hung damp against his forehead, and he hadn’t shaved in days, as usual.
“You’re done early then.” She grabbed the spare broom.
“Had to happen someday. You’re not on the farm.”
“We have more than enough hands for harvest; there’s really naught I can do there now.” She started sweeping. “I knocked Don off his mount today.”
“He deserved it too, I’m sure.”
“Can’t have him building an ego greater than mine,” she joked.
His laughed thundered off the walls and he shook his head. After that, they worked in silence after that, sweeping out different areas. Finally, Kelin presented the broom to Sigard and pointed to the floor.
“Huh. You and th’ lass work fast. ‘Tis well enough, see you tomorrow.” He waved the pair off. They dropped the brooms and ran for the door.
Der shut the forge door behind them and turned to Kelin. “He seems interested in something else.”
He nodded. “Whatever it is, he’s nearly done with it.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No.”
“It’s a weapon, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” He grinned. “Of course, everything’s a weapon to you.”
“Makes me all the more dangerous.” She gestured her arm around at the village. “I’m never unarmed.”
“Aye.” He laughed again. “I’ll never forget the time you threw that chicken at Don. I think he squawked as loudly as it did.”
She flushed. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do!”
“But throwing chickens is not the point of wrestling!”
“Ugh, that’s something I’ll never do well, and I didn’t want to lose!”
Kelin only laughed and shook his head. Then his face darkened. “Sigard is truly serious about this project he has. He won’t even let me see whatever it is, and he hasn’t seen that new apprentice he’s considering in a few days.”
“He’s taking on another?”
“Aye, he says it’s because I’m almost ready for the guild examination.” A grin swelled on his face.
“That’s good news.” She paused. “So, will you be going to Duelingar to take it?”
“I have to. They don’t come to me,” he said lightly, with a twinkle in his eye. “What? You want to come?”
She nodded. There was no use being dishonest to a friend who could discern those rare times she tried to lie. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
He cast her a reproachful look. “It’s not that horrible of a place, Der, it’s actually a nice town.”
“But it’s… it’s boring.” She glanced ahead onto the ancient stone bridge for which the village derived its name, and to his house just on the other side. They crossed the water at least eight times a day. They hardly noticed the stones underneath their soles anymore.
