THE HERO OF TREAL
Chapter 1
Beginnings
Two figures on horseback raced across an open plain, stopped barely long enough to eat a hurried meal, and set off again. Khalid tried to relive the awful moments before their departure once more.
A village drifted into sight of Khalid’s mind’s eye; the scene was peaceful, with elderly men sitting around the common smoking their pipes while women tended to household chores. Children ran through fields full with harvest, occasionally stopping to help a father or older brother pick the bounty before returning to their game. Suddenly, however, a disturbance went up from those facing north; others turned to look, and a great cry went out. In the fields surrounding the village, Khalid heard it, and looked in the direction everyone was pointing. Then he saw them through the trees, men—an army, walking toward—no marching on their peaceful hamlet. It was a village with no more than 300 people in it, a mere group of buildings without even enough men to form a military band, to have swords and shields sent to them from the far-away capital. No, their only hope was a wall—if it could be called that—of logs, surrounding the village, with two gates (one south, one east).
Khalid hurried toward the village. People were running everywhere; panic had broken out, and was rampaging freely through the minds of the villagers. Khalid’s Uncle Laeidor grabbed him from behind.
“Khalid,” Uncle Laeidor half-shouted over the din that enveloped them. ”Ready the horses; we must ride to Treal to warn the king of this danger.”
Danger?! What of the danger to their home? He could wield a sword, and Uncle Laeidor had two didn’t he? Fly in this hour of need from their near-defenseless home? Khalid’s father would have stayed; he seemed to know it. Khalid never knew his father; he had asked his mother and Uncle Laeidor many times for information about his male parent, but they both stubbornly refused to tell him anything. So Khalid always assumed his father had died, on a field of battle, he hoped, and this had been the only satiation for his hungering knowledge.
But Uncle Laeidor was right and Khalid knew it. They wouldn’t last one bout with these professional soldiers, and their precious home would be destroyed before their eyes. No, Uncle Laeidor’s plan was the best, ride to Treal—ride to Treal! There was a grand thought; the only person Khalid knew to have been to Treal was Uncle Laeidor himself, years ago. He didn’t talk of what he had done there, but the stories, stories of knights and violent swordplay, of gleaming golden spires and the royal palace, tall and mighty in the morning sunlight—and he was going to see it.
His mother ran over to him and quickly undid the clasp to the locket she always wore around her neck.
“Take this,” she told Khalid, smiled, and disappeared into the frenzied crowd.
Khalid barely had enough time to saddle the two horses before Uncle Laeidor burst into the stable. He quickly threw a few things he had gathered into a saddlebag, and they were off. Khalid scarcely had enough time to mount his own steed before they flew out the south gate and across the fields. Fields Khalid had helped plant, laboring with the older men, teaching the younger boys. As they rode past the corn Khalid almost had a pang of homesickness, even though they hadn’t left home—not quite. Khalid spied the beans he had been picking when the cry went up, ending the harvest indefinitely. He wondered if the enemy would burn the crops or eat them, probably eat them he reasoned; how could they let that much food go to waste? The entire village had worked those fields. There was enough food to last the winter—enough food to feed an army, he thought bitterly. At the top a hill Uncle Laeidor reined up to look back on their dear home. The village was in flames, but the fields were smoke-free; Khalid knew his long hours of work had gone to aid his enemies.
But now Uncle Laeidor was slowing down; it was dark, perhaps they would rest. They had ridden through the night before, but this was different; Uncle Laeidor was building a fire, he hadn’t done that all trip. Khalid dismounted and stretched his weary muscles.
“Am I to take it we’re staying the night then?” Khalid asked.
“You are,” Uncle Laeidor replied, paused, and then continued, “the capital is less than a day’s ride from here; we will need our strength tomorrow—the questions the king is sure to ask may be more tiresome than out entire journey, and we've made good time; we can afford a rest.”
Khalid sat down heavily against a tree, and closed his eyes. This was the first rest he’d had in six days; unless you counted the brief stops they’d made to feed and water the horses and themselves, which he didn’t. It had been almost more tiring than riding; in their haste to leave Uncle Laeidor hadn’t had time to gather many provisions, so they had to search for edible roots and berries. The work wasn’t hard—they both knew where to look, and what to look for—it just took time. But, Khalid reasoned, if they hadn’t stopped the horses would have dropped from exhaustion long before.
“Take care you don’t fall asleep,” Uncle Laeidor cut in to Khalid’s thoughts. “We have much to discuss before we reach Treal.” Treal, Khalid longed to see its towering spires and ancient halls. Uncle Laeidor continued, cutting his dream short, “You don’t know about your father, do you?” Khalid was instantly awake. No he didn’t know anything about his father.
“Of course I don’t,” Khalid sat up, “you won’t tell me, and you know full well mother won’t tell me.”
“That is about to change,” replied Uncle Laeidor softly. “You will find out tomorrow—“
“Tomorrow!” Khalid half-shouted. “Then why bring it up tonight!?”
“You will find out tomorrow—much to your shock—if I don’t tell you tonight;
which is exactly what I plan to do, if you will calm down and allow me to finish.”
Khalid suddenly had a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach; Uncle Laeidor spoke as if he were going to soften some distressing blow. Suddenly Khalid wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. The knowledge had been the center of his attention in times past; he felt as if he would explode if they didn’t ease his curiosity. Now, however, he felt as if he could go on forever, ignorant and uncaring, but Uncle Laeidor was continuing.
“Your father did not die as you suspect—as everyone you know assumes. No, he is alive, and in quite good health I would imagine. Our story begins shortly before your grandfather ended. Before you were born your father and I went to war. We were both high-ranking officials for out military prowess. We had taken the greater portion of the army to beat back our foes, when word reached us that the true enemy force was marching on the mountain pass our father was guarding—we had been lured off. If they broke through, they would have an easy march to Treal: the very country was at stake! We abandoned our camp, our heavy artillery, and anything else that would slow us down, and we arrived just in time. Your father led a charge down the side of a mountain that might have turned the day to out favor, but our father was dead. He had seen that the fight was going ill, so he placed himself in the thick of the battle. Few survived from our army to begin with, but none from any position of danger. Your grandfather died for his country—bought his country with his life—no king could ask for a nobler rite. Yes," Uncle Laeidor answered the question on Khalid's face, "ours is the line of kings; your father now sits on the throne. You certainly have many questions, the most obvious of which I shall attempt to answer before you ask them.”
Uncle Laeidor pressed on before Khalid could break in. “I am the elder brother, but I gave up my reign—invested it in the future, in you. Your father, Idaer, was plotting to take the throne; I knew this. I also knew that he would stop at nothing to fulfill his desires. If I had attempted to enact the coronation, I reasoned, at best I would likely have been killed, and at worst the country could have been plunged into civil war. Neither of these extremes, nor any position on the gamut between them, tempted me; the risk was too great, the profit too small, and the success too short-lived. However, your mother was pregnant; I knew this, but your father did not. Your mother loved your father, but she did not believe his plan was a just endeavor. She told me this, for she knew of my desire to find another way out. She also pledged to help me if I found a plan to my liking. Hence, I had an opportunity, but with only the smallest of occasion for triumph. Nevertheless, if I succeeded, that for which I fought could be ensured for generations to come. So it was I took the greatest gamble of my life, and not without distress; I took your mother with me, and fled. We made it seem as if we had both been killed, and your father must have believed it, for I heard he had remarried; he was an man of honor, and would not have looked on another woman if he believed your mother to be alive. However, I digress, our hopes were realized when you were born a boy, and you bore your father’s appearance; our scheme was shaping up quite nicely. From the time you could learn I instilled on you certain qualities of a ruler. You remember when I stopped you from fighting with the other boys, even though they were teasing you. ‘You cannot fight words with swords’ I told you. I drove such lessons into your very being. Three months ago, the day you turned seventeen, I deemed you ready to know the truth, and, if need be, take the throne”
“Wait,” Khalid took advantage of a brief lapse in his uncle’s monologue. “You expect us to march into the capital, begin warning of an impeding attack from the north, and overthrow my father, your brother, the king. Even if I wanted to, the people would never believe any of it.”
“Yes,” Uncle Laeidor replied, “given what I have told you only a madman would attempt it, but madmen have succeeded in far more absurd ventures. However, for the past eighteen years each of us has guarded one evidence of who you are. You have guarded your father’s image reborn in yourself. Until six days ago your mother guarded—“
“The locket,” Khalid broke in.
“Yes,” said Uncle Laeidor striding over to his horse’s saddlebag. “And I guarded this,” he finished; drawing out his second sword which Khalid now saw to be a noble blade indeed. “This was your father’s sword; we each had one, mine with a blue gem embedded in the hilt. Your father’s with a red one at the end of the pommel,” and he tilted the sword so that Khalid could see a gem at the end of the pommel sparkle red in the firelight. “I had to rid myself of my own for risk of being found out, but I managed to save this one for you.” He held out the weapon to Khalid who took it eagerly. “These three evidences: the sword of Idaer son of Madiel, the locket of the house of Pwyn, and your resemblance to you father will gain us many supporters.”
“But,” started Khalid, “am I to be heir, or shall we stage a coup? And why wouldn’t you just be king—or heir for that matter?”
“The law states that once one is crowned, the kingship passes through the firstborn males, even if a more suitable heir than oneself is found. If the coronation has taken place, I am of no consequence. To your other question: our first objective will be to have you recognized as heir to the throne; we will not create conflict unless we must. However, there will be those who will not want you to even be acknowledged as heir. Your eldest half-brother, for example, will not be pleased to learn of your existence. We will take this in steps, planning each only after the last has been played.”
“I’m not even sure I want to be recognized,” began Khalid. “Just an hour ago I was a citizen farmer aiding his country, and now, a prince!?” Khalid finished in mild wonder.
“I understand how you feel,” Uncle Laeidor replied, “but tomorrow you will find, unless I am very much mistaken, that your father is a tyrant—he does not love anything so much as his power. He would have killed me, and he will kill you if he thinks you pose a threat to his control.
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t want to lose it.”
“No, why now?” asked Khalid. “Why tell me all this now? Why not just let me live with both my parents in an unbroken family, and let my father teach me how to rule?”
Uncle Laeidor answered slowly, “I am sorry to have broken your family, but as you shall see tomorrow, your father is not a good ruler. He was trained in the arts of war, as I in the arts of directing a country. He was a popular general, a daring man, an expert tactician, but he is not a leader of peaceful people. I have not been to Treal since I fled so I can’t tell you what you will find there, but if my sense of my brother is any indication, it won’t be a prospering government. Any other questions can wait until morning; we both need our rest.” As Khalid rolled up in his blanket a thousand questions burned in his mind.
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