CHAPTER TWO: THE PRICE OF LOYALTY

Revan woke. He could hear raised voices and harsh words from downstairs. All was not well in the Harrow estate. The boy climbed out of his elaborately carved four poster bed and pulled on his dressing gown. He matched over to his wardrobe and picked up his short sword and scabbard and tied it his waist The sword was a present from his late mother, it was supposed to be a gift for when he graduated from the Mercian Academy, but after her passing his father decided that he should have it now at the age of twelve.

The scabbard was ornate and set with silver bands and precious jewels, the hilt was solid silver and set with a large sapphire. More of a show piece than a weapon, but it would do the trick if needed.

Revan took a deep breath and opened the door to his chamber; taking care not to make a sound he quietly made his way from hi room to the landing over looking the reception hall. He crawled to the stone dowels of the hand rail and peered through to the hall below.

His father, Brayden, was leaning on the stone carved table in the centre of the hall with a scowl on his face. He was dressed in red silks and velvets, the Harrow crest ring on his right ring finger, his wedding ring still on his left. His brown hair hung around his shoulders, and his eyes were dark and fierce.

There were three other men I the room, two were Mercian soldiers; they wore padded leather chainmail with a steel breastplate bearing the emblem of King Arnheim. The third wore simple dark robes and was seemed to be the one doing the talking. Revan could not get a good look at his face from his position; the robed figure had his back to him.

“Whether you believe me or not the fact remains the same!” Said the robed figure sternly, “Dragus is now the rightful ruler of Mercia and its peoples. The tragic deaths of Remus and the two princes are of no concern to you.” The figure’s voice was calm and collected with an icy undertone.

“How dare you!” Bellowed Brayden “Remus was like a brother to me, and I was to him; more so than that slimy bastard.”

Revan had never seen his father this angry before, something did not sit well with the boy. He had a gut feeling of dread. He started to perspire, and his fingers flexed tentatively towards his weapon.

“It would save us an awful lot of time if you would merely accept our proposal Brayden. This is the way of the world; every mortal human life ends, it was Remus’s time.” Said the figure.

“Damn your lies! It was not Remus’s time, nor was it his son’s. A fever you say? Bah! He was in this very room yesterday and he did not look ill in the slightest.”

“It was a sudden fever Lord Harrow. He took ill in the night.”

“Lies! He was slain! And that bastard Dragus is responsible!”

Revan’s hand reached for the hilt of his sword, it was shaking all the way. Fear was beginning to get its hooks into him.

The figure moved a step closer to Brayden “Be cautious my lord, your words are beginning to sound like treason. Insulting the good name of the new King will have dire consequences.”

“Good name? Bah! Get out of my house all of you!”

“I will not leave until you have accepted the new King’s proposal.”

Brayden paused for a moment and stood up straight from the table. “You tell King Dragus,” he spat out the title as an insult “that I shall be refusing his proposal, and I shall be placing a vote of no confidence in his rule.”

“Very well, this was to be as expected.” The figure walked over to Brayden and extended his hand in a friendly gesture. “No hard feelings Lord Harrow? It is politics, not personal.”

This was it, Revan tried to draw his weapon. The dread had him now. His hand froze and his arm had surrendered. The nausea of fear had dug its claws into Revan’s stomach. He couldn’t move.

Brayden nodded and shook the figures hand. In a flash the figure lunged his free hand towards Brayden, a concealed blade on his wrist punctured his throat. The Lord struggled in vain to fight him off, but the figure grasped hold of his head and took the lord to the floor. He pressed the blade further in to Brayden’s neck, blood flowed from the wound, from his nose, from his mouth; the stone floor was awash with noble blood.

A single tear ran down Revan’s cheek, in his head he was screaming, he wanted to charge into the hall, slay the bastards and avenge his father. He wanted to, but he was just a boy. He was not warrior. Not yet.

The struggling stopped, Revan’s father was dead. The robed figure picked himself up and retracted his blade. The three assailants left the entrance hall, leaving Brayden dead and Revan’s life in shreds.

He must have sat there for hours watching his father lying lifeless on the stone floor, in a pool of blood. The nausea still had him, but it let him move. He sprang up from his hiding place and flew down the stairs and threw himself to the floor next to his father’s body.

The grief finally came to his eyes; he kissed his father on the forehead and hugged him. He was gone.