((Apologies for the long opening.))
The day was gray, clouded over with rolling nimbuses, bringing the sense of a coming rain. Below the clouds sat a castle, large and magnificent to the eye, its tallest tower seeming to almost pierce the barrier of gray above. The multi-colored glass windows looked dull in the limited light, yet its carefully built frame still appeared clean cut and accurate, as though the best architectures had hand made the structure themselves. Two figures stood on one of its stone balconies, both facing the same direction, peering out beyond the castle.
One stood closer to the barrier placed between a solid footing and thin air, palms pressed to the cool rock. His neck-long, wavy black hair was stirred by the wind slightly, as was his cloak, a cool breeze beginning to build, feeling the cold seep beneath his leather clothing. Brown eyes, so dark they nearly appeared black, looked out before him, past the courtyard with its gardens and dirt paths, and past the large wall that surrounded the castle, finding the city market just beyond the iron gates. It was circular in shape, the multitude of shops and other sellers on its perimeter, other traders setting up their wares in its center.
Yet today, despite the fact it was filled to the brim with people, not one person was there to sell, trade, or bargain. They had all gathered there for something important, something that did not occur often. A platform had been built before the castle gates, a few figures standing upon it, dressed in what seemed royal clothing. One appeared to kneel on one knee to another, his head bowed.
The man on the balcony watched carefully, his eyes examining every detail, an air of disgust to him. He watched as something was lifted above the kneeling figure’s head, giving off a small shine, regardless of the blocked sun above. It was lowered to his head, a sudden roar of cheering occurring from the distant crowd, their mood mirroring the exact opposite of the sky above. The man’s teeth clenched, hating the sight.
“My lord, Malus,” addressed a voice from behind, the man turning to find another, having completely forgotten his presence. It was a younger fellow, only appearing to have reached manhood a couple years before, his blonde hair tied up in a small ponytail behind his head, a similarly colored goatee gracing his chin. Green eyes looked back at the brown questionably, the young man speaking again.
“Why do you let yourself become angered by this? For days you knew this would happen, yet you still are frustrated…”
“Because Alton, you just don’t understand how much turmoil I go through,” replied Malus coldly, looking back to the market. “That position as king was rightfully mine, not to be given to some… boy.”
“He is the prince though, captain,” said the younger.
“And yet I am family as well!” he exclaimed, whipping around to Alton. “I was the former king’s brother! I am the captain of the guard! Yet, the king insisted that his own son, not even a day past his eighteenth year, should have the throne, just as inexperienced to the position as an infant learning to walk!”
His outburst had been sudden, unexpected, and he realized this, forcing his body to relax, his eyes closing and breathing deep.
“I guess there is nothing I can do about this at the moment…” he muttered, glancing to the market. “But mark my words, Alton, my place as king will be fulfilled…” He looked to him. “And you will assist me in doing so.”
Alton bowed. “I have always been, and always will be, loyal to you sir.”
Just then, the air cracked, a roll of thunder washing over them and the city, the floodgates of the heavens above bursting open, the rain flowing down like a flood. Malus only smiled as he became drenched, looking up to the clouds.
“…I will strike, soon enough… and the king will fall…”
-*-3 Months Later-*-
The room was quiet, the only sound belonging to the pitter-patter of the rain against the windows, the last rays of sunlight dipping away from view. It was a grand place, the ceiling towering many feet above, the walls adorned with portraits from past generations, featuring great leaders and other influential persons. A red carpet ran across the marble floor, splitting the room into two as it ended at the foot of a throne, carved elegantly from oak.
Sitting upon it was a young man, younger then any person you would actually expect to be seated on such a threshold. Dressed in rich clothing, yet seeming more casual then most, his striking blue eyes stared out blankly to a distant window. His dirty blonde hair looked somewhat ruffled, yet still clean cut, his face shaved smooth. He seemed to maintain a quite impressive physique for one such as him, visible muscle beneath his clothing.
“My king, is there something troubling you?” said a man standing beside the throne, many years prime to the one he had just addressed as his ruler. He wore a simple robe, falling all the way to the floor below, an aged face showing a slight glimpse of worry from his gray eyes. A beard covered a large portion of his facial features, gray hair cut short.
“Robert, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” said the young man, turning to the elder. “We’ve known each other for years… so call me by my name. Please.”
Robert sighed. “Very well… Sheffer.”
The king grinned. “That’s better…” His head turned back to the window. “And to answer your question; no.”
Robert followed Sheffer’s gaze up to the glass barrier. “It hasn’t rained this heavily since your crowning…”
He nodded. “The farmers will be pleased though. Rainy seasons always bring good crops…” A sudden sneeze erupted from the king, wiping his nose with the back of a hand.
“Are you alright?” asked Robert, a tone of concern in his voice. Sheffer only waved him off, giving out a sniff.
“I’m fine, Robert,” he said, looking to him. “No need to worry.”
“Yes, but I just can’t help but-“
“Think about what happened to my father?” Sheffer questioned. “There is no need to fret over it. I’m young and healthy, and I doubt the chances of the sickness that took my father will take me as well… unless there is some cruel irony amongst us.”
Silence fell between them, both peering up to storm outside one last time, Robert turning to the king.
“I think I shall excuse myself for the night, and I encourage you to as well.”
Sheffer nodded. “I will… just a few more minutes.”
“Then I say good night.” With that, Robert removed himself from the room, disappearing past a side door near the throne, off to his quarters.
Sheffer sighed, his head leaning back, hands reaching up and rubbing his closed eyes. Robert had been right; something was troubling him, mainly concerning his new position. Only a few months had past since he was given the crown, but he already had become a receiver of all the stress that it brought with it. It wasn’t necessarily a daunting task, being king (he had many an hour to himself), but having people rely on him to make decisions brought a sense of worry to him. Living through it without his father was hard enough, but when the whole city seemed to question the logic with giving the throne to a man having only become of age added to it tenfold. Now, with this small cold, his head pounded day after day, still becoming used to the new lifestyle.
His only source of guidance now was Robert; a member of the council, and a long time friend of the late king. He would stand by his side for the months to come, teaching all the young ruler would need to know, directing the king to the right decisions. Yet Sheffer, as was in his nature, seemed to have a good sense of what would bring joy to his people.
Just as the urges of lifting himself from the throne to retreat to his comforting bed, a roar of thunder occurred, rattling the windows and giving a feeling of the floor shaking. Sheffer’s head snapped up, studying the air above him, somewhat surprised by the sudden disturbance of noise.
What he hadn’t realize yet, from some strange coincidence, the grand throne room doors had burst open just as the heavens erupted, quite a few men entering. Swords were gripped tightly in their hands, gleaming in the dying light, thin armor clinking. Sheffer picked up the sounds, his head snapping down to them.
“Malus!” he exclaimed, seeing his uncle leading the group forward. He carried himself proudly, his steps not faltering as he approached the king.
Sheffer’s eyes, now filled with confusion, snapped between the captain and his men.
“Why are you here?” he asked, wanting an answer.
“You should have seen this day coming, nephew…” said Malus, a cruel grin on his lips as he did not stop his quick stride. Sheffer’s hand shot out to his sword, leant against his throne, but his uncle was too fast, delivering a sudden blow to the king’s cheek, Sheffer falling from his seat to the floor.
Teeth gritted, he ignored the new pain, a hand groping for his weapon, only feeling the pressure of a boot on his forearm.
“Now Sheffer, let’s keep this simple,” came Malus’s voice, giving a swift kick to the king’s side, the victim now clutching it in pain. He felt himself rolling to his back, looking up to his uncle.
“What is this... this treachery?!” he yelled.
“It is simply the fall of a king, and the rise of the proper one,” replied Malus. “Something that should have happened long ago…”
Sheffer, anger and betrayal now fueling him, pushed himself to his knee, only to receive another blow to his back, letting out a grunt as he fell again. Malus motioned to his men, the king feeling rough hands gripping his arms, pulling him up.
“Will you cooperate?” asked the traitor, leaning down to Sheffer’s eye level. He only pulled against his restrainers, trying to escape, wanting to bring pain to the man before him.
There was a blur, the solid steel of a sword’s handle ramming into the side of Sheffer’s skull, his body becoming limp, eyes shutting. Malus sheathed the weapon, frowning.
“I presumed so…”
-*-
His clothes were tattered, his body weak. The cold seeped to his bones, the hard stone of his cell giving no comfort. Silence and darkness were his only companions now, not knowing how many days had passed. He remained in the far corner, curled up against the wall, feeling its mold pressed to his face.
Sheffer had been betrayed; simple as that. He should have foreseen it, Malus wanting the throne… He had always had a sense of his jealously, even during his father’s rule. Now, thinking back, it was blatantly obvious, the signs leading up to this. Malus had requested new recruits to be submitted into training for knighthood, and nearly doubling the guard in the city. All of these men were in his control, following his orders. Sheffer could only imagine what he offered to them if they helped him steal the crown.
Speaking of this, from broken conversation from passing guards and Malus himself, Sheffer knew of his now pronounced death. He recalled his uncle speaking, not acknowledging his presence but only his words, how his voice dripped with skin-shivering satisfaction as he explained every small detail of his announcement as king. How a crazed anti-loyalist found his way into the castle, stabbing the king as he slept, only to be caught and executed immediately. All lies.
“Oh Sheffer, you should have seen the expressions… of their grief… but then how they cheered as I said I would take your place…”
A cruel laugh had followed the words, Sheffer, even now, flinching at the memory. He felt like a fool… but his anger drove over any other emotion. Malus had deceived his country, even his family. Sheffer only wanted to feel his throat between his hands, choking his last breath away…
…but he could do nothing here, trapped in the dungeons below the castle. Nor did he see himself living through the situation. Malus had been pondering what to do with him, more then likely letting his mind construct a new, inhumane way to torture the body, just for Sheffer. If he did not make a decision soon, he would starve down in the prison anyway, having barely been given any food or drink for the past few days.
Now, depression and abandonment began to sink into his weary mind, gradually giving up any hope. He was alone, dying in a pit of darkness, a fake in his place…
A light appeared. At first, he thought it was his imagination, only trying to comfort his troubled thoughts, but he began to realize it was real, his eyes cracking open. It was on the edges of his vision, his head turning to the warm glow of a candle, flickers of red and orange painting the walls.
“Who’s there?” he croaked, his voice dry.
“A friend,” said a voice, his eyes focusing onto a hooded figure holding the source of light. Whoever the man was lifted a hand, revealing his face in one motion, one of a certain councilman…
“Robert!” He dragged himself over to the bars, standing shakily. “How did you…”
“There is not much time to talk,” replied the elder, urgency in his voice. “I knew from the beginning that Malus was only full of lies, so I did my best to find you… and I have succeeded.” He looked around quickly. “But I do not have much time. He will soon discover my absence, and will know I ventured down here…” Robert reached into his robe, pulling out a key. “…and I can only hope this is the right one.”
He moved to the lock upon the gate, inserting the key and giving it a twist. There was an audible click, the cell opening effortlessly. Sheffer stumbled out into the hall, only to have Robert force the candle into his hands.
“No need for thanking, just go,” he said, pointing down the opposite direction from the way of the castle. “Now flee, flee for your life and my reassurance that you are safe.” Sheffer only stood there, wanting to say something, anything.
“Go!” exclaimed Robert, pushing him away. Sheffer looked back to him for a moment, then down the tunnel into the dark, finally feeling his feet move forward.
With new-found strength, he sprinted off down the corridor, surrounded by rock, dirt beneath his feet. Ages seemed to pass as he ran, the tunnel branching off in other directions at times, but he only moved forward, not knowing any other options.
Suddenly, the area before him gave away, finding himself flailing through thin air. The candle’s limited light had failed him, and as he plummeted, he swore he could hear a sound, crashing in his ears. Was this the noise of his now imminent death?
In fact, no, it wasn’t. Sheffer felt his body crash into a surface, but not of stone, but of water, becoming submerged within it. He pushed his way up, taking a gasp of air as he broke the surface, only to be pulled under again from the strong current. The cycle continued, his surroundings black as he took gulps of life-giving oxygen, until unexpectedly, he could not dive up again, rugged rock blocking his path.
He began to panic, his body twisting and turning through the water, his body begging for air. Eventually, he could feel his mind falter, knowing he did not have much time. His lungs screamed, attempting to kick up one more time…
…and he was successful.
Sweet, heavenly air rushed into his lungs as he gasped, treading water as his eyes focused, finding light. He was now outside, floating down a river, a full moon shining up above.
Weak and beaten, he half-swam, half-paddled his way to shore, dragging himself onto the river’s edge, his eyes slipping shut as his body shook in fatigue. He had been fortunate… lucky even, to escape his prison, now somewhere beyond the city.
After recuperating for a few moments, he sat up slowly, still breathing heavily as his eyes studied the river, looking to the direction he had come. Surprisingly, it stretched for miles, etching its way across a vast plain, no apparent openings or caves that could have led him to this location. Was there an underground river that joined with this, not visible to the eye? Sheffer could only presume so.
Yet now was not the time to bring logic into things, but to flee. Sheffer, having already glanced to the horizon, could see the outline that was Soran, with its high stone walls and towering castle, darkened by the night. Malus would not hesitate to setting up a search, and might even be clever enough to send parties out his way.
With new determination, he forced himself to his feet, despite his body’s protest, seeing a grove of trees in the distance. He would go there to rest, and come morning, he would travel. To where, he could only guess, but hopefully beyond Malus’s grasp.
As he walked, his mind finally focused onto the previous events. He had escaped, now nearly the only one who knew the truth of his well-being. Malus’s rule would now be shrouded in lies, and any who would question it would meet a quiet death. He would control all that he pleased, molding Sathran into his plaything. There would be only one solution to this.
Sheffer would have to return, to fight for his kingdom, to crush the new order that would be formed. How he would do so was now bestowed to only him, the answer yet to be found. For now he promised himself, and his kingdom, he would come back, no matter what the condition.
He could only hope Sathran’s future did not turn out hideous.
-*-3 Years Later-*-
“Alright, you’re clear,” said the guard, bored and tired, waving to the driver of the horse-drawn carriage. He had just checked its load of potato-filled burlap sacks, not really bothering with an extensive search. It was too much of a routine, not one piece of material ever found to have been illegal within the city. Or person for that matter.
With a “Ya!” and the crack of the reigns, the carriage was off, passing through the arch of one of the city’s walls, beginning to travel on the cobblestone street, various building’s gracing its sides.
Night had fallen only hours before, the moon high above, blocked periodically by scattered clouds. The carriage moved on, greeted by silence from the sleeping city, alone as it rolled down the street.
Moments passed, and just as it began to approach the market, something dropped from its rear, quiet and quick, the figure rushing off to a nearby alley. It vanished into the shadows just as quickly as it had appeared, the driver of the cart none the wiser. It sneaked down the alleyway hastily, reaching the other side, becoming doused in moonlight.
It was, of course, Sheffer, garbed in a hooded cloak, a brown tunic beneath, leather trousers encasing his legs. A sheath hung from his belt, the handle of a sword jutting from its top. His eyes studied the street before him, no soul in sight, carefully moving to its edge, keeping to the shadows as he walked.
The years had done well for him, his body more built, taller and stronger. His face didn’t show his old youthfulness, in fact, more of ruggedness to his features. His stride was wide, as though in a hurry, boots tapping silently on the stone. Just from a glance, it would be a challenge to see him as the king he used to be, now hidden within him. His eyes were stern, only one thought resonating through his mind now, after successfully reentering his old city.
It was time.
But he would have to be cautious. His people thought of him as dead, Malus in control of every armed man in the city. He would be killed at recognition, and he knew that well. Trust would be limited, and even then, he would not show his face. The dark of night was his friend now, assistance of his intrusion into the city.
Three years he had waited, and now he was ready; ready to retrieve the crown from the false wearer.
It was now or never.