The Coward King: Part One - Rebellion

Rebellion: Chapter Three

Upon mention of their father, the floodgates opened and Danar could no longer hold the tears at bay. It had been five years since their father, Lord Ranad Erilion III, who Danar was named for had passed. The memory, however, was still fresh for Danar, and any mention of the man made him cry.

Dorad embraced his brother. “It grows late, Danar, and it would be best if you went back to your chambers for some sleep.” He gave the boy a gentle push, and Danar wiped his tears away and made for the exit.

“Poor lad,” Lady Alis muttered from Dorad’s side. “I ought to go see to him.” She stood from her spot and took a few steps after Danar, before pausing a moment. “Do not be long in Werach, my son. From the moment you enter its gates, you shall have no friends but your own guard. Heed my words, be careful, and come back soon.”

After the door shut behind his lady mother and his young brother, the sounds of merriment from the feast faded from Dorad’s ears and thoughts of his coming trip filled his mind. He lifted a goblet of spiced wine to his lips, but then decided that he had lost his appetite for food, drink, and the company of the people.

The smooth gait of Dorad’s shaggy white palfrey mount was lulling him back into sleep. Dorad had left with the men of the king just before dawn, and the sun was still hidden behind the tall walls of Castle Enival some three miles behind them. Riding on either side of him were Sir Byned and Sir Errin, along with ten men-at-arms trailing along behind.

The trip to the city of Werach was one that Dorad had made only once before, five years ago when he had been sworn in as Lord of the Stony River County by the previous king. He was barely a man grown then, a mere sixteen years old, and he could hardly remember the trip at all. Although Arrick Laistan had told him that it would be a week and a half before they arrived in Werach.

At Dorad’s request, Arrick Laistan and his men rode apart from Dorad’s men. The king’s messenger had made a farce of how disappointed he was that he would not be able to ride beside Dorad, but eventually gave in to the request and rode about half a mile ahead. He had wanted to go behind, but Dorad didn’t trust the man any further than he could throw him (which was not very far, considering the man’s enormous weight) and did not want an enemy riding at his back.

Dorad tried to stay awake and focused on the road, but he had only had one decent night of sleep between his trip to Mallesia and this trip to Werach. Images flooded his mind, images of his mother, sister, and brother as he said his goodbyes to them this morning in the darkness before the dawn. He remembered his brother’s tears—the boy hadn’t stopped crying since the night before, apparently—and how his dear sister Mari had given him such a sweet kiss on the cheek. His lady mother, however, merely coughed into her handkerchief and warned him of the dangers that awaited him. That was what haunted him most of all, his mother’s pale flesh and empty eyes. He wondered if she would live to see him home again.

 They rode far and fast that day, ‘til the sun had set in the west and it was too dark to continue. Arrick Laistan and the king’s men set up their tents on the left side of the road, big, spacey things made of a brilliant gold-colored canvas, with banners bearing the king’s sigil flying from the top. In the center of their camp a large cookfire burned and the delicious scent of roast boar crossed over the road to the camp Dorad and his men had made.

The Erilion camp was less impressive, to say the least. Dorad had a big plain grey tent where he would sleep alone, excepting the company of old Sir Byned who had insisted upon being his guard for the night. The other knights and the men-at-arms, however, all shared three tents among them. The smell of boar made their mouths water and their stomachs grumble, but they settled their stomachs with dried meats and fruits. Dorad Erilion would not have it said that his men were extravagant, especially when men and their families went hungry in the villages and farms, starved by the taxes forced on them.