Indiscretion

He heard the older man’s voice, his laughter as he told him some tale. The king had stayed by his side when he fell ill as a child, relegating the duties of a king to be a father to the son he loved so well.

He swallowed back the tears and begged for strength, the strength to exact vengeance as well as to carry on his family’s legacy, the strength to do his sire and his people proud.

As his father slipped away from him he once again heard the clashing of steel that had somehow been dimmed while he shared his last words with the man he favored above all else.

It was not their custom to desert the battlefield if their king was felled, not as long as the heir was in their midst. They would fight to the death to protect him he knew, and so he must put aside his grief and lead his men.

Seeing what had transpired, the young as yet uncrowned king’s friends and confidants had rushed to his side in the battle. He turned then to seek out the man who had brought about this destruction. The one who sought to steal a crown, and a kingdom, the thorn in his family’s side.

“Julian…” He did not turn at the sound of his friend’s voice, his interest only for the man who sat his horse atop the distant hill looking down at the carnage.

His blood was hot in his veins and again he took no thought for himself as he made his way to his steed and gained its back in a single leap. Voices rose behind him as his sire’s loyal soldiers gave orders to protect the new king.

He never took his eyes from his prey as he drew his bow and arrow and notched it. Spurring his great steed on with the press of his knees, he galloped through the melee as his men covered him on all sides.

He knew he would have but one shot at this so he had to make it count. There was no thought in his head that he might fail, there was no room for that; he couldn’t afford it.

When he was in position, men fighting to get to him now that the king was dead, his men doing their best to keep him safe, he stood in his stirrups, steadied the well-trained horse beneath him and took aim.

His adversary did not see him until it was too late. The arrow sung through the air and made its mark through the eye of the opposing head of the Whitley clan, who had come to steal a kingdom not of his making. Julian watched until he fell from his steed, dead before he reached the ground.

The kill did nothing to ease the pain in his heart. He turned swiftly, sword drawn and slashed his way through all and any of the enemy who were close enough.

If he could he would ride all the way to the Whitley holdings and burn it to the ground with every last man, woman and child inside. Seeing their leader fallen from his horse, his enemy’s men scattered like the proverbial sheep and took flight.

“After them, leave none alive.” The new king rode into battle with his men’s cries of war behind him. He felt the strength of his father’s life. All that he had learned at the older man’s knee, all that he had seen his family endure, now gave him strength.

Something was born in him in the hours following. On the battlefield what innocence of youth he had left died and in its place was left a cold determined king.

Each time his sword arm grew tired all that was needed for him to go on was the sight of his sire’s blood seeping into the grass, his life leaving his eyes. How easy had it been to snuff out the life of one so great. He learned another valuable lesson that day. Life was a fickle bitch.

Chapter 2

***

The battle was fierce but handily won in the end. Young Julian looked on as his men looted what was left of the enemy. They were starved and cold, having spent these last months fighting to keep control of their land, their home.

“We go home.” One enemy had been vanquished, and now he goes to secure his throne. “Find my brother and sister and bring them to me.” He turned his steed around and headed back to the place where he had laid his dead father.

After procuring his father’s body the young king led the procession, his mind and heart full of the task he now faced. He kept his silence as his friends flanked him lost in their own sorrow. His sire had been a hard task master yes, but he had ever been fair and his subjects that held a true love and admiration for the ruler who had always looked out for their best interest first above his own, would feel the loss almost as much as he.