Movement was the first sensation Prince Nathan became aware of. He could feel the jolt of hard footfalls, the feeling of running, yet his legs were not moving. Was he being carried? Why would someone be carrying him? Perhaps he had fallen asleep somewhere he should not have and his father was carrying him back to his room. But his father had not carried him in years, and why would he, the High King, be running through the castle like an undignified child?
He forced his tired eyes to open slowly with what felt like an exorbitant effort for what should have been an almost imperceptible task. Uneven patches of dirt and grass revealed themselves to his blurry sight, seeming to undulate with the uneven motion of running, his vision tilting slightly with each alternating step. The familiar jangling sounds of chainmail reached his ears as a pair of armored boots crossed his field of vision. He turned his head to see who the boots belonged to and saw Jahn running beside him, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Prince Nathan, you're finally awake!" a relived voice called out as he shifted. He turned his gaze upwards to see the lower half of Captain Gattis' face as the burly soldier ran with him in his arms.
"Where are we?" Nathan managed to croak, his voice dry and cracked with disuse. His Captain slowed to a halt, bending to set the Prince onto the ground, gingerly placing him on his feet. His knees buckled as his feet touched ground, forcing Gattis to grab his arm and support his weight.
"We are a day out of Stormcliff, my Prince," Gattis said quietly as Jahn and Paul, who Nathan had not noticed before, stopped beside them, breathing heavily.
A day? Is that how long he had been asleep? His head pounded and his vision swam from the sudden transition from laying to standing. He racked his memory as to why they would be travelling on foot away from the palace, and what had caused him to fall deeply unconscious.
The memories flooded back to him as waves of sadness cascaded over his body like ocean breakers on the rocks below the crags of his home district. His father was dead. Cut down in his own room; no goodbyes, no last words, life stopped short unceremoniously with no one around to offer him comfort as he passed across the veil. Bernoulli and Gattis had convinced him to go into hiding until his brother returned to the castle but they had been attacked on their way out of the castle and Helvar had been killed by those traitorous guards. He had expended an exorbitant amount of his power to protect his surviving men from the attack. Evidently he had been successful, but if he had been unconscious for almost two days it had come at an almost lethal cost. If he had expended much more of his energy he may not have ever awakened again. The memories and emotions fought to overwhelm him but he pushed them aside with all of the mental strength he could muster. There was not time to dwell on the past, there would be a time to mourn later, he needed answers now.
"What is our destination? And have you heard any word from the castle since we left; is Bernoulli still alive? Has my brother been found?" The questions tumbled from Nathan's mouth like rocks rolling down a hill, once they began they could not stop.
"We have received no news since we fled the castle, but that does not spell ill tidings, we have been avoiding the Imperial Road so as to keep from being seen," Gattis responded gently. The Imperial Road was the longest continuous road in Verden, stretching from the capital Stormcliff in the west, to the eastern coastal city of Kysst, the capital of Esterwyn province. "As for our destination, there is a town called Highmill roughly a days journey from here where we can find lodging while we wait to return to Stormcliff. You will have to hide your face and lose your royal attire as swiftly as possible to keep from being recognized. We will keep you hidden and safe within your rented room until it is time to return you to the palace."
Nathan leaned his weight into Gattis, bending his knees and alternating lifting his legs as he attempted to quickly rebuild his strength. He turned to face Jahn and Paul, wishing to address all three of his men at once. While he was very familiar with Captain Gattis, conferring with the Captain nearly every day since he was only four years old, Paul had also served in his personal guard since the first time he had left the palace without his father when he was thirteen. Nathan regretted bitterly that he had not taken time to know the man more personally before now. Jahn had been a relatively new addition to his personal guard, having served for only a year, yet here he was, a young man roughly the same age as himself, traveling on the run with his Prince after saving his life without so much as the hint of a complaint on his lips. Nathan had always prided himself on treating his men with much more compassion and humanity than his fellow nobles, always taking the time to listen when they spoke, feeding them before he fed himself; he never took for granted that his men would willingly lay their lives on the line to protect him, spending days and weeks at a time away from their families on the whim of their young Prince's travels and obligations. He had even made sure to eat with his men, hoping to impress upon them that he did not take their sacrifices lightly, and did not consider himself to be as untouchable as many other Verden nobility were convinced they were. Those were large group settings however, and while he had been able to converse with almost every one of his men, there were always too many at once to get to know any particular soldier on a more personal level.
"What happened after I fell unconscious?" He asked, wanting to know every detail that he had missed.
"After our attackers killed poor Helvar, you unleashed the largest display of power I have ever seen," Gattis said, helping Nathan steady on his own two feet. "The entire tunnel filled with light and sound, I thought I was going to be made blind or deaf by it. The men in front of you were scattered by the blast like saplings before a hurricane; I do not know if any of them survived. When you fell I picked you up and ran as fast as I could manage. Outside of a brief stop to sleep we have not stopped moving." Nathan admired how descriptively his captain spoke. Gattis always sounded much more eloquent than the majority of the other soldiers Nathan had spent time around, including the officers.
"Did any of you recognize our attackers?" He asked, grasping for any information that could help him identify his father's murderers.
"I did not recognize either of the two men who intercepted us in the secret passage, and it was too chaotic to get a good look at any of our other attacker's faces," Gattis said shaking his head.
"I have been stationed in the castle for fifteen years and I do not remember seeing those men, my Lord," Paul agreed.
Nathan's mind whirled with possibilities, had the men that attacked them been a rogue unit of the Verden military that had sworn their allegiance to the resistance? Or had rebel soldiers infiltrated the palace from the outside disguised as guards? What was almost more worrying to him was the fact that they had known where to find the secret passageway in the first place. The only plausible explanation was that someone very high up in his father's inner circle had betrayed Verden to work with their attackers. Unless someone had gotten extremely lucky when scouting the palace before the attack. His thoughts drifted towards his newly appointed Steward, Leonardo Bernoulli. If there was a high ranking traitor they may already be working to undermine his temporary rule. Had the traitors already tried to assassinate him as well? Was he even still alive? It had been an enormous risk for the advisor to assume stewardship of Verden while Alexander was found and Nathan prayed that his father's former advisor was safe. Bernoulli should only remain in charge for a week, possibly two at the most, while he waited for Alexander to return to take his father's place as the rightful heir to the throne; but in that time the rebel's target would be squarely on the advisor's back.
"Do you have any idea where my brother left for?" he asked aloud.
"I am sorry my Prince, I was not informed of your brother's destination, I only know that he left alone," Gattis said, he turned to Jahn and Paul. "Did the two of you hear anything from your counterparts in Prince Alexander's personal guard?"
"I did not hear anything, Your Highness," Paul said appearing genuinely unhappy that he had been unable to provide helpful information to any of Nathan's questions.
"I was told that your brother appeared to be fairly upset when he left the castle, and took off on his horse down Imperial Road. I do not know where he intended to stop or if he turned onto a different road later," Jahn joined the conversation for the first time, dabbing beads of sweat off his forehead as he spoke.
"If luck or the gods are on our side, perhaps we can intercept him along the road," Nathan said, not daring to hope that they could be so lucky. He prayed that the men sent to retrieve Alexander were not amongst the traitorous group that had attempted to kill him and likely successfully killed their father. Once again he wished his brother had spoken with him before he left the palace. He could not understand why he was always so secretive now. Something had clearly put both his brother and father in an ill temper, yet neither of them had felt the need to explain to him what that had been. At twenty he had been a man for four years, why did they insist on treating him as if he were still a child? He would have been better prepared to handle the night of the assassination if he had the entirety of the details that his father and brother knew. How had they not realized that if there was ever a situation without either of them at the palace everything would fall on his shoulders?
He took a handful of steps on his own as he spoke, leaning away from the balance that Gattis had provided. His legs felt much stronger than they had only a few short minutes before. He did not feel as if his full strength had been returned to him yet, but he had markedly improved from when he had first awakened. He accepted an offered waterskin from Jahn, the cool water rushing over his dry lips, wetting his tongue with what felt like his first sip in weeks. Never in his life had he spent so much of his power at once, bringing himself so close to the edge of death. His father had warned him his entire life of the dangers that came with attempting to unleash more power than a body could handle, only strict control over your abilities, not allowing the primal force of nature to overcome your body would keep you safe. But he had been given no other choice, it was the only way to save the lives of his men. He had to kill those men.
His stomach lurched, threatening to expel the water he had just swallowed. How many of their attackers had died in the blast he had created? Gattis had said he had been unable to ascertain if the assassins had been dead or unconscious as they made their escape making it nearly impossible that he would ever know the full extent of damage that he had caused. He looked down at his hands, staring at the backs of his fingers before slowly turning them over, his palms pointed upward towards the sky. These were the hands of a killer. He had no choice, he told himself again. The men had attacked his family, killed his father, killed Helvar, they would have killed Gattis, Paul, and Jahn; it had been self defense. But if it was self defense then why did he feel so much guilt?
"We need to continue towards Highmill," he said attempting to begin a slow jog in the direction that Gattis had been carrying his unconscious body. He needed to keep moving, if he dwelt on his thoughts for any longer he would lose his mind. "We need to be somewhere where we can keep an ear for news of my brother's return so we can know when to return home. I have a feeling that it will be big news, even in smaller towns, when Alexander returns to take our father's place." He wondered how far news of his father's death had traveled by now. It would be a nearly impossible secret to keep, as hard as Bernoulli wished to try. How would the populace react to such an open act of warfare by the rebel dukes? Nathan hoped they would react with revulsion at the deed, closing their ears to the lies and propaganda that the traitors spread.
"Your brother will return soon Prince Nathan," Gattis said, placing a large hand on his young charge's shoulder as he and the other two guards began to jog after him, shaking the weariness from their limbs.
"I just hope he has a city to return home to," Nathan admitted, picking up his pace to a slight run. Away from Stormcliff, away from his home. The whole order of the world had been turned on its head the instant his father had died two nights previously. He prayed Alexander could return a sense of stability to Verden with his return to the capital.
"Bernoulli will keep Stormcliff under control until your brother reaches the castle," Gattis said reassuringly to his prince. Nathan hoped he was right.
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"Right this way Steward," a frazzled middle aged healer with tufts of gray hair shooting out from behind his hairs as if he had just received an enormous shock led Leonardo Bernoulli through the medical wing of the palace. "Mr. Arlington has been asking for you since he awoke." Winding their way past several rooms, most empty, some filled with sick and injured soldiers being tended to by a combination of traditional healers and the odd practitioner of healing magicks. The majority of open users of the arcane served under the employ of the High King's military as healers; less common were the select few battlemages that served in either Verden's military or provincial garrisons.
"It is fortunate you found him when you did, our healers assure me that he will recover," the healer said. "Although it would assist them in their efforts if we knew how he came to sustain such injuries, he has not answered any questions since he awoke." The old man eyed Bernoulli hopefully, clearly wanting the Steward to shed more light on the severe injuries that covered the young soldier.
"As I said when I gave him to the healers, I do not know what befell him, I found him unconscious amongst wreckage and bodies. Clearly the assassins triggered an explosion of some sort on their way out of the palace," Bernoulli affected a look of apology as he spoke, attempting to appear as perplexed and concerned as the old man.
"Yes, yes, I understand," the old man said leading the steward into a cramped, low lit room containing little more than a single occupied bed, and a matronly healer. Arthur Arlington had pulled himself partially upright, gripping the healer's arms for support. The right half of the soldiers face was disfigured with a large fresh burn that still oozed and bled as it attempted to scab over; the dim light revealed a myriad of cuts and bruises covering his bare arms.
"I need to speak with Leonardo Bernoulli," Arthur was pleading as the healer attempted to lower him back into a supine position on the bed.
"You need to rest," the woman insisted in a soft yet firm voice. "He will come to you, you are in no position to walk yet."
"Steward..." Arthur breathed, his eyes relaxing as he caught sight of Bernoulli stepping into the room.
"See, I told you he would be here," the healer said with a broad, if tired smile as Arthur allowed her to push him back into his bed. She straightened up, turning to acknowledge the newcomers. "Steward, thank you for coming so swiftly, I'm afraid this young man was rather insistent on seeing you."
"I thank you for taking such good care of Arthur, this brave young man deserves the best attention available," Bernoulli acknowledged, bowing his head slightly towards the woman. "Now, if you two do not mind, may I have a moment alone with Mr. Arlington here?"
"Of course," the woman answered immediately, sharing a brief look with the old man before awkwardly shuffling out of the door, leaving Bernoulli alone with Arthur.
"I am sorry Sir, I have failed you," the young man began.
"It is not your fault," Bernoulli interrupted, "Nathan is much too powerful of a stormcrier for me to have sent as few of you as I did. That is a mistake that I will not be making again. I am sorry it cost the lives of your team." As angry as Bernoulli wanted to be, he was much too rational of a man to place the blame on anyone but himself. "Did Nathan seem to recognize you?"
"No Sir, I do not believe he got a good look at my face. Wherever he is now, he should still believe that you are his faithful advisor and steward," Arthur said giving a small smile, looking relieved to be able to give even a modicum of positive news. "Have your men spotted him since he left the castle? And what of Alexander, any news of the heir?"
Bernoulli's teeth sank into his lower lip angrily as he inhaled mightily through his nose before offering a response, "My men have not returned from their search for Alexander. If our former High King would have taken a moment to inform me where his son was being sent off to, this would not be so large of an issue." Castius had always been so hard headed; he would have told his friend and advisor eventually, he had just been in such a foul mood in the days before his murder. He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, withdrawing it quickly as the young man winced in pain under the contact.
"The healers have assured me that you are recovering well. Get some rest while I settle in to my new role as steward. We will be coming to blows with the resistance sooner than I would like," Bernoulli said softly. Of course we also will have to look into the reports of dragons returning, he kept that final thought to himself, there was no need to worry Arthur with a problem that he could do nothing to solve. He would have to consolidate his power swiftly with the loyal dukes staunchly by his side if he could even hope to defend against an attack from a true stormcrier. Arthur nodded weakly, his eyes already beginning to close, a look of relief crossing over his face after being able to report to Bernoulli. The young soldier was snoring before the Steward could close the door behind him.
The two healers stood uncomfortably in the hall, far enough away from the door that he was certain they had not overheard any of his conversation, but their presence this close made him feel uncomfortable. He could not have anyone spreading rumors, or worse knowing the full truth, of his plot to secure sole leadership of Verden for himself. He had to appear outwardly as a humble servant of the soon to be exterminated Irving family. He was nothing more than a caretaker of his kingdom in their absence, who after suffering much personal distress at their demise, would have no choice but to be called upon to take their place; and he would assume the throne only to honor the memories and last wishes of the fallen royal family. After all, Prince Nathan had clearly believed that of all the people in the palace, he, Leonardo Bernoulli was best suited to lead Verden.
"I do not know if either of you are wielders of the arcane arts, but I would ask you to see that this young man is tended to by the very best that we have. I wish to see him up and walking within a day from now, two at the very most. Use whatever resources you have available to you," he commanded in as stern of a voice as he could allow himself to take without putting them off too much.
"Yes steward," the woman answered immediately, not bothering to waste time by explaining if it would be her or a new healer who would tend to Arthur.
Bernoulli had never been known to be the most pleasant man around the palace, but he had always attempted to speak to his underlings with a certain amount of smoothness that would not turn them against him. To his few peers, such as the members of the council, he often kept his tongue in check, never allowing himself to fully give in to the anger and frustration that he often felt when dealing with simpletons and people who wanted to attain and gather power for themselves. Over the years he had cut off many rising stars at the knees before they could gain enough attention or notoriety to become any real threat to the gathering of his own power and influence. It was no secret to the council that he had harried their every move for years, but he had always been careful to never fully reveal the extent he would be willing to go to achieve his goals, preferring to come across as nothing more than another passive aggressive, silver tongued bureaucrat, no more extreme than any of the other denizens of the palace. To his superiors, which in his mind consisted of only the royal family themselves, Bernoulli was never anything other than polite, humble and friendly, presenting himself as a loyal longtime friend of the family. It had been a stroke of luck that he had gained the High King's ear when Castius was but a prince. He had slowly built his trust over decades as he helped the young man avoid scandal, war, and unrest as he grew into manhood and eventually took his father's place on the beautiful golden throne in the high ceilinged Chamber of Lords. The ornately carved seat of power that was said to have been made from pieces directly from the old dragon king, Illisarian's personal horde that the original human stormcriers, the liberators of men, had personally raided when their war for freedom had been won.
Soon, he thought, as he let himself out of the medical wing. Soon he would not be forced to watch his tongue around anyone. At the snap of his fingers the servants and peasant workers of the palace would run to complete his bidding. No longer would be have to hide the true depth of his malice towards the council or any other would be usurper of his power. Very soon, he would bow to no one.