10 Years Earlier…
The pounding of steel boots shook Darius from his slumber. The reverberations echoed down the hall, sounding the alarm about something troubling. He barely had time to sit up before three figures burst into his private quarters, sending the lit hearth into a frenzy. These weren’t any men, however. These were Vlencia’s finest—the Crimson Guards.
Each man wore imposing, legendary armour that bore the red lines and the signature embellishments of House Rarkez. Of sword and shield. Leading the charge was Darius’ stern taskmaster and the king’s adviser, Alastar Jemmons. His gaze locked onto Darius’, now wide awake.
“What’s happening?” Darius demanded. “Another test?”
“This isn’t about your apprenticeship, nor your graduation,” Alastar responded.
“Then what is it?”
“I cannot share such details. The king has summoned you. Now come along, we mustn’t keep your father waiting.”
Silence fell over the room as the fire continued to crackle and dance. Darius’ gaze fell on the other two knights, who stood like statues with their hands resting over the hilts of their sheathed swords. He studied their attire and stoic posture, envisioning what life as a crimson guard would look like after his induction into the legion next week. Thirteen long summers it took for him to go from budding apprentice to joining their ranks. But something felt odd about this. Unsettling, even.
Old thoughts resurfaced in his mind. Was his father scheming again? Was it too much to bear that his son picked the Crimson Guard over his duties as the Prince of Vlencia? Darius dismissed them. It was too late for such meddling in his affairs. He was a knight now. A protector of the realm. He made his choice.
He looked out of the window at the midnight sky, filled with glistening gemstones. The last time guards awoke him like this was when he and his younger brother, Dillian, were escorted to their parent’s quarters. He remembered it clear as day. There, his father wept beside their lifeless mother, clutching her hand and kissing it profusely, wishing her to rise from her cruel slumber. Only, she didn’t.
Fever was rampant that winter, claiming many thousands of lives. It tore through every city and village, striking down anyone with a pulse. Darius, Dillian, and their father survived, but not without losing someone dear to them. Life, as they knew it, was never the same after that fateful night.
“Have you sent for Dillian, too?” Darius sat on the edge of his bed.
“Just hurry along, lad.”
“Why are you being coy with me? I’m a knight of the Crimson Guard now. You can tell me what’s wrong. Has someone been taken ill?”
Silence.
“Have Elron attacked? Ten years of peace had to end at some point.”
More silence.
“It’s got to be another test. I thought The Suffering was the last.”
“It has nothing to do with your bloody apprenticeship!” Alastar’s voice cut through the air. “Put on some damn clothes and let’s move.”
Darius frowned but lacked the courage to protest more. He stood and pulled on his leathery armour, which comprised of breeches, a gorget for his neck and shoulders, and a sleeved cuirass. It was a ghastly piece of attire, but it would suffice until he received his full Crimson Guard set—the sword being the thing he was most excited about. He left his weapons belt and followed Alastar through the castle while the other knights trailed close behind.
The corridors had a haunting quality to them. No maids or servants were seen or heard, as if they were instructed to be elsewhere. Darius became increasingly uneasy and yearned to press Alastar further on this piece of theatre.
When they entered the walled courtyard, a small group of guardsmen waited for them. Each held a horse. Like inside, the castle grounds were deathly quiet.
“Have you readied the king?” Alastar asked one of them as they descended the short slope of steps.
The man nodded, his face concealed behind an iron helmet. “He’s being escorted as we speak, sir.”
“Very well. We’ll take it from here.”
The guards gave Alastar and the other knights the reins and left the courtyard. Despite Darius’ best attempts to avoid asking more questions, nerves forced his tongue into action.
“Alastar, as your prince, I demand you to tell me what’s going on.”
The commander looked at him and narrowed his eyes, his stare turning Darius’ stomach upside down. “You lack the authority to demand that. Now, get on your horse. That is an order!”
It was as if his title carried no weight or meaning. He swallowed what seemed like a rock and mounted his steed. Alastar climbed onto his stallion and signalled to the watcher on the tower to open the gates.
Leading the way, he rode them out of the Vlencian capital using a multitude of back alleys and unlit routes. If Darius wasn’t suspicious before, then he was now. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as the sleepy city became consumed by the night. They travelled for what felt like an hour until a cluster of orange dots appeared in the distance.
Torches.
The pinpricks transformed into a battalion of men in battle gear, quickening his heart. Four held the banner of House Rarkez—a blend of red, white, and black with the crest of a shield perched in the centre. In the middle of the group was his father’s distinctive white stallion, Spirit. It was an impressive and prized steed. Darius hoped to one day inherit his offspring.
Despite Alastar’s denial, he wanted to believe that this might still be some sort of elaborate test or initiation. A lesson from his Crimson Guard apprenticeship: never assume, always expect.
As they slowed to a trot and approached the group, Darius could see everyone. Sat atop of Spirit was his father, draped in armour adorned with otherworldly beasts that glowed from the torches surrounding him. His face was long and frank as if Darius disappointed him in some immense way.
“Lord King, I have Darius with me.” Alastar halted. “Is there anything else you would have me do?”
King Robick Rarkez glanced at his son before acknowledging his royal adviser. “I wish only to be with my son for this last leg of the journey. Go forth with your men and clear the path of any unwanted travellers. The open roads are rife with trouble this time of year.”
“My lord.” Alastar nodded and rode ahead.
Darius was both relieved and eager to see them fade into the distance. He looked at his father, who, with words unsaid, summoned him by his side. Robick ordered his party of knights to give the two of them some space, to which they obliged. They travelled east and well into the darkness, far away from Istrille. After much silence, Darius was the first to speak.
“Father, what’s going on?”
Robick expelled a dejected sigh. “You know what you’ve done, Darius.”
“If this is about the Crimson Guard, you cannot change my mind. We’ve been through this already.”
Robick chuckled, but not in humour.
“What?”
“I really don’t know you as well as I hoped.”
“I do not follow.”
“It seems you lie as good as you wield a sword.”
“What in the realm are you talking about?”
“Your plot to kill me!”
Darius’ throat seized. “What?!”
“I know everything. Every seedy detail.”
“You jest!”
“I jest?” Robick clenched his jaw with enough force to shatter teeth. “You think we’re travelling under nightfall for mere jesting? What do you take me for?”
“A madman.”
Out of nowhere, a backhand found Darius’ cheek. The blow had almost pushed him off-balance.
“You disgust me!” Robick bellowed.
Darius clutched his face in shock as his horse regained its composure. This was no test. This was real.
After a crippling pause, Robick continued on in a calmer tone. “I’ll give it to you, Darius. Your plan didn’t lack intricacy. The deadly tonic you intended to serve me would have most definitely killed me. Our royal surgeon confirmed this.”
“Plan?” Darius muttered. “This is lunacy.”
“I knew your love for the Crimson Guard was boundless, but to murder me so you could usurp the crown and hand your responsibilities as king to Dillian? That, I did not see coming.”
“I swear on everything I hold dear, they have fed you lies. I don’t know who has orchestrated this or why, but these are falsehoods.”
“Oh, but you do.”
“Then tell me who so I can slit his throat!”
“Then I’d be left with no sons.”
Darius’ head jerked back as his insides filled with a frigid liquid. “Dillian?” he replied in a shaky voice.
“Your denial is testing my patience. He revealed everything. He even showed me your scribes—”
“My scribes?” Darius blinked rapidly. “I’ve written no such things.”
“Your longhand doesn’t lie. We may seem like strangers, but I know your scribing hand. It’s very distinct. Trust that I took every measure to dispel the truth.”
“I-I…” he stuttered. All he felt was numbness, trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. “Why would he do this?”
Darius recalled memories of two young boys play-fighting and wreaking havoc around the castle. But as they matured, talks of a more personal nature replaced such antics—of dreams, girls, worldly desires, and their mother’s heavenly whereabouts. They were brothers connected for life, or so he believed.
“Answer me this. Was I that bad of a father?” Robick’s words cut through him like a hot knife.
“No,” was all that left Darius’ lips.
“Somewhere, I must have failed you. This is as much my burden to carry as it is yours.”
Darius gazed ahead at the slivering line of torches while his mind remained blank. They rode silently until the stars faded and dawn neared.
Remote villages and rolling hills soon gave way to vast meadows. In the distance was a wall of menacing trees. Never had he seen so many stake claim to the sky. Even the air had an uncharacteristic chill to it.
When Alastar and his knights huddled in formation further up the meadow, Darius knew this was where he would meet his fate. In some secret, desolate part of Vlencia. It was a fitting spot to execute a disgraced prince, as death was the only punishment for treason.
Darius became gripped with anxiety, his breaths turning into greater clouds of smoke. Swallowing profusely, he looked to his father for mercy, receiving none.
When they re-joined Alastar, a quiet tension fell over them all. “My lord,” he said. “Would you wish for a moment with your son?”
Robick’s eyes carried an empty stare. “No. I’ve spoken enough. Let’s get this over with already.”
Darius pleaded with his father, his heart racing like a tribal drum. His words had no effect. Alastar strode over to Darius on horseback, his face a reflection of pain and sorrow.
“Dismount your horse and come with me, lad.”
“Please,” Darius’ voice regressed from that of a young man to a frightened boy. Not even his extensive Crimson Guard training could quell the hollowness he felt. “Father… I-I didn’t betray you! Dillian is behind this, not me. It’s not too late to stop this. Think!”
“You should’ve thought more of the consequences!” Robick rebuked. “I wanted nothing but the best for you. I begrudgingly accepted your decision to join the Guard. Now you must accept mine.”
Alastar grabbed Darius’ forearm as he watched the colour drain from Robick’s face. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Darius.”
He forced the prince off his horse and marched him into the vast meadow that sat before the ancient-looking forest. The king’s adviser halted him a couple of hundred yards away from the tree line where the morning dew soaked his boots.
“Alastar. Pleas—”
“Darius Rarkez, the High Court has charged you with treason. You conspired against the crown with plots to kill the king and usurp the throne for your own nefarious gains. On behalf of King Robick and his people, you are hereby stripped of your royal title and sentenced to indefinite exile.”
“Exile?”
“If you return to Vlencia, you are to be executed without trial. Do you accept your punishment?”
“I…” Darius stammered. “This is wrong. You’re all making a mistake.”
Alastar lowered his tone to a whisper. “Darius, you must accept, or this will only go one other way.”
Tears streamed down his face as he shook his head. “I accept the court has charged me for a crime I didn’t commit… by a brother I thought I could trust.”
“Thank you.” Alastar glanced at Robick in the distance. “If it’s worth anything, I fought your corner, Darius. Tirelessly. But the evidence was too convincing for your father.”
“If he believed such findings to be true, then why am I not being killed? Many a king would execute their sons, would they not?”
“Only the king knows the answer to that. When word of your treachery reaches the earls of the kingdom, they must know he acted quickly and accordingly. To lose or weaken their support would be a catastrophic failure. Politics is never pretty, Darius.” Alastar pursed his lips together before unfastening his sword belt and handing it over. “Here, you deserve this much.”
Darius inspected the weight of the scabbard. It was heavy and unlike anything he had ever held. Gold lines chased one another in all directions and blossomed into a crimson rose of thorns that sprouted from the hilt.
“Ralz was a fierce warrior, as were the bearers before him. You bested him in The Suffering, and now his weapon is yours. Look after her, and she will serve you as she has served many knights of the Crimson Guard. I’m sorry we’ll never get to see your induction.”
Darius stared up, his eyes lit with gratitude. Such warmth, however, was fleeting, for the sword also represented other, more personal things. His old life, the years of struggle to make the Crimson Guard, and dreams he would never realise. All stolen by Dillian.
When Darius looked back, his father was already long gone, for the stallion was merely a white speck in the distance, flanked by several torches. Tears crisscrossed down his youthful skin. He felt helpless and stripped of any agency to alter the course of his life.
“Darius, listen closely,” Alastar glanced at the tree line before handing him a waterskin full of sloshing liquid. “The Forbidden Forest is an unforgiving place. If the sky gods favour you, you’ll reach Elron in one piece. Once there, do not speak with anyone—not even a child—and make haste out of the region.” He cleared his throat. “You must leave, Darius. May the gods be with you. Now, go!”
He took one last glance at his motherland before turning to the ominous forest. With a hand over his hilt, he strode away from Alastar and the life he once knew and loved. As the trees loomed large and cast their chilly shadows over him, he drew his newly acquired weapon, bracing himself for a perilous journey.
A journey that will force him to traverse a divided region steeped in blood, betrayal, and a dark history that threatens to see light again.
This is Darius Rarkez. This is his story. This is Estos.
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