Divinity

Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

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            "Forgive me for my actions back at the hall," Lord Pierce placed his caring hand upon Merik's clenched fist as he apologized.

            "Brynn's death was not my fault," Merik retorted violently, bitterness and spite in his voice. Quinton couldn't blame him for acting the way he did, but it was not wise to fight against his father, for one had much more power than the other.

            "Then whose fault is it?" Lord Pierce shouted, his voice rising to the volume of raging thunder. Quinton knew what would come next, the long speech about family and honor that would ensue, and he shuddered. "We are a family who is supposed to look out for one another," Lord Pierce began, "it is part of our code of honor to keep those around us safe. You failed to keep that code of honor, and for that you shall be spending a night in the forest. I failed my father when your uncle died, and so I spent a night in the forest. There seems to be a cycle here, Hopefully if you lose a son, your others sons pay the price. I must uphold the hierarchy here, I am above you. I am lord."   

            Quinton sat staring off into the distant veil of mist that enveloped their carriage as they traveled onward towards their land. Their home was Narazir, city of the northern realms, once the pinnacle of power in New Aeqor, years of royal siblings feuding over power had stripped the city of its fortune. 

            The God-King's power had been the source of much of this feuding. Siblings had been driven against each other out of animosity. Learning that their sibling had inherited this power, and not them, had driven many children to murder their brothers, though usually they failed, those who succeeded had taken the power for themselves. Quinton pondered the thought of his own brother killing him over this power if it was he who possessed it, it almost made him want to not inherit it. But the ravenousness that was pitted within his soul urged him to obtain this power for it would grant him dominion over his father's realm.

            Fair skies turned to dreary darkness as the carriage passed into the farmland surrounding Narazir. It was winter, no farmers sowed the land as frost coated the dirt where wheat would normally be springing up from the earth. Quinton was never one for winter, it was always drab at home where the air seemed to freeze everyone in place and stop any sound from echoing through the vast halls of their hold. Most the children stayed in the main hall where several fires lined the walls and suffused the room in the heat of summer, despite the snow that came down outside. The city had been built to withstand the fierce winters of the north, though usually the family traveled down to Akatosh or Dwerev during winter. The carriage creaked as its axles froze and the made passage more sluggish.

            "It might take us several years to reach home if we move this slow," Quinton jested, but his father gave him a disapproving look as if to tell him to shut his mouth. Quinton looked over to Merik who was curled up on the corner of his seat, his arms wrapped tightly about his legs as if to cradle them. "Any news from Lord Reinhardt, father," Quinton attempted to spark a conversation within the silent carriage.

            "He is coming soon," his father replied, "we should expect him in two days at the latest." Quinton saw Merik perk up his ears and his eyes widen. Quinton reached for Merik, but the boy shuffled away in apparent agony. Whatever he had seen in the Bastille, it had driven the usually voluble boy into silence. Quinton noticed a blade strapped to Merik's waist, and slid it out of its sheathe.