“Drink some water, my eminence,” said Arthur, the small priest who had remained beside his bed since the morning. “Your lips crack from the thirst.” He supported the King, as a few drops slipped through the thin opening between his lips. The once great figure that was their King was now merely a shadow of his former self. “I will go speak with the High Priest and find out what progress has been made,” he whispered.
Rising from his knees, Arthur walked out of the room and into the large hall. The marble floors reflected the flames from the wall sconces that were lit everywhere. The cherubs that were painted on the high ceilings looked down with pity at the grief that filled every crevice of the palace. No one stood out there, except for two soldiers who were stationed beside the doors to the King’s chamber.
“Have you seen the High Priest?” he asked one. The fellow just shook his head.
Typical
. He sighed inwardly. The King’s men wouldn’t speak to anyone except each other. Arthur always found them quite rude and arrogant, and that was in no way affected by the fact that he hadn’t been able to get into the army when he was younger, or so he continually told himself. The church life had been much more suitable for him, in any case. Walking briskly down the corridor, Arthur frantically looked into each room, praying he’d find his master searching for some solitude from the rest of the palace. Finally, he saw him staring out of one of the thin windows on the outside wall.
“My lord.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you heard anything? The High King clings to life, but very weakly.”
“We are still searching for them,” he replied, not even turning around to acknowledge Arthur’s arrival. “I can only pray that it won’t be much longer.”
“I’m not sure how much longer he can wait,” Arthur pressed.
The High Priest turned around abruptly, interrupting him before he could continue. “The severity of the situation is not lost on me, Arthur, I assure you. That being said, however, I can only do so much. Unless those two numbskulls are deaf
and
stupid, they will have heard the bells by now and already be on their way. Just to be sure, though, we have five units out there searching for them. All we can do is wait, so I would suggest you do so in
silence
.” He turned back around and continued to stare out into the black night.
Arthur could feel his face redden, as it always did when he was chastened by the High Priest.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied quietly, turning around to reposition himself by the King’s side.
* * * * *
The small man bustled back down the hall, causing a sigh of relief to escape the High Priest’s lips. Arthur was a good man, a good priest by all means, but his patience left something to be desired. He couldn’t help but get annoyed when the man pressed him like that.
Where are those boys
, he thought angrily.
Leave it to the crown princes to be missing at a time like this.
Jameson, he could understand. The boy might be the eldest, but he was by far the most foolish. Everyone knew he would rather sit and get drunk with his soldier friends than accept any responsibility around the palace.
Callum was much more reliable than his elder brother. The King relied on him heavily around the palace. Although he was the younger of the two, everyone knew the crown would most likely be passed to him. It was virtually unheard of to have the younger sibling crowned before the elder, but Jameson had made it clear over his years that he had no desire for the crown, and Callum was clearly the better candidate.
Rain began to fall outside.
Fitting weather for the mood amongst the people of the Capital
, he considered thoughtfully. All of Eden would be in mourning come sunrise. A messenger had been sent to all four areas. The Riders in the west, the Sand People in the east, the Sun People in the south, and the cold Mountain People in the north. He didn’t expect to see any representatives from the north, but they needed to be notified regardless. Every leader in Eden would realize the threat implied by the passing of the High King in the central Capital. A new leader sitting on the throne always created a risky situation. No one knew what to expect of a new ruler, or where their ideals and ambitions stood. A weaker man could be susceptible to the negative influence of those in the north; however, with Callum on the throne the High Priest had very few reservations. On the other hand, if Jameson were to sit on the throne, he could almost guarantee the Capital would slowly imitate the city found in the south, amongst the Sun People. It was a city filled with sin and desire, things that would be very enticing to the eldest prince.
Admittedly, what worried him the most was north of them. There sat a ruler known for his cruelty and lack of compassion. He was persuasive and ruthless in his recruiting of allies. It was said that he stood almost seven feet tall and was twice the width of any normal man. His face was covered by a wild red beard, and down his back lay a thick, long braid of the same colour. His men were trained in the mountains and were able to survive and fight in almost any condition. The King’s men were known throughout Eden as being the best of the best, even rivalling the Riders in the west, but the men from the mountains were a force to be reckoned with. Brutus the Red was his name, and his hand would undoubtedly reach toward the Capital when he heard the tidings. The news of their fallen leader would lead others to believe they were weak.
They didn’t know the prince quite like he did.
Walking slowly back toward the King’s chamber, the High Priest wondered what life around the palace would be like when their beloved leader was gone. The High King was one in a million, a man of great strength, yet great humility and compassion. There was not one person who met him who didn’t immediately take to him. That was what made his men so loyal. It would now be Callum’s job to continue that level of allegiance amongst the men when he took over. Without that, the Capital would surely be as weak and vulnerable as the outsiders would think.
A loud bang resounded through the palace, as the heavy wooden doors were thrown open. Rushing through them in an apparent daze of sorrow and fear was the eldest prince. His boots left puddles on the glistening floor where they landed as he rushed up the central staircase and toward the chambers of his father. The High Priest waited for him in the hall.
“Your Highness,” he greeted him solemnly. “I cannot begin to express my relief at seeing you here.”
The prince’s eyes were wild, his hair soaked to his head. At the age of twenty-seven, Prince Jameson appeared to be closer to the age of eighteen. His face was bare of any hair, and his skin was smooth of any lines. He had dark green eyes and full lips, both features that made him popular with the palace ladies. His wavy golden-brown locks were usually worn loosely around his face, like a halo around an innocent cherub. He was anything but.
“How is my father?” he asked in a hoarse voice. The scent of alcohol filled the air when he spoke. It was clear now why he hadn’t heard the bells sooner. Fighting down his annoyance with the prince, the High Priest tried to remain empathetic toward the boy. After all, everyone might be losing a leader that night, but
he
would be losing a father.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t look good, my lord,” he replied candidly. “We believe that he only holds on so that he may see you and Callum before he passes.” His words hit the prince hard, causing him to brace a hand on the wall.
“I don’t understand,” he said quietly, shaking his head back and forth. “The doctors all said his heart was getting better.”
“Your father is in his eighties, my lord,” he explained. “His life has been long and lived to its fullest, but we cannot last forever.” His words sounded empty even to his ears.
“What comfort is that to me now?” Jameson spat back. “Where the hell is my brother?”
“Perhaps you should sit down, my lord, before going in to see the King,” he suggested. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming, and he could see Jameson’s anger increasing due to his obvious intoxication.
Brushing off his offered hand, Jameson began to pace the hallway outside his father’s room. “I don’t need to sit down, you old bat. I want to go in and see my father. Where the hell is Callum?”
“We’re still looking for him,” he explained. “We hope to expect him soon.”
“You hope to
expect
him?” The prince stopped his pacing and turned in anger. “You either expect him, or you hope someone will
find
him. Which is it?”
Alistair cleared his throat slightly. “We hope—we pray—someone will find him shortly.”
“So you have no idea when, or if, he will be here.” It was not said as a question, but rather a statement, or more as an accusation. “I’m going in, then.”
* * * * *
Callum entered the silent chamber. His brother sat holding their father’s hand; the King lay with his eyes closed. His heart leaped as he entered, mistaking his father for already having passed, but as he moved forward the small grey eyes opened and immediately found him. Hot tears filled his eyes, running down his cold cheeks. Quickly wiping them away, he walked over to the opposite side of the bed and held his father’s other hand. Looking over him, he met Jameson’s eyes. His brother was visibly shaken with grief, as well as visibly drunk. He would have expected nothing else from him. As light and carefree as Jameson was, Callum was the complete opposite. Even his looks were the opposite of angelic Jameson’s. He had shoulder-length dark hair and deep brown eyes. A dark beard covered the lower half of his face, making him appear older than his brother.
“My sons,” the King said in a quiet, raspy voice.
“We’re both here now, Father,” Callum immediately responded. “Be strong; we are with you.”
“My strength has long escaped me, my son. I’m afraid my time amongst you has ended.”
“Don’t say that,” Jameson choked. “This is just a spell—”
“It is not,” he interrupted. “You must accept what life has dealt us.” Both boys remained silent as their father struggled for more breath. “Before I leave you, I must settle the subject of my successor.” Callum saw the High Priest and Chancellor move closer, in order to hear his words better. It was imperative that the words said next be written down correctly. Many wars had been waged over the words of dying men. “Callum, my youngest,”—he turned his head slowly toward him—”you have been my right-hand man since the day you could speak. I cannot express to you the magnitude of my love for you. It saddens me greatly to see any morsel of disappointment in your eyes, but I must choose the right path.”
Callum’s body stiffened at his father’s words. Every man in the room seemed to look to one another in shock. Was his father saying what they all understood? “Father, you cannot mean …” he blurted out.
Turning his head, the King looked at his brother. “Jameson, you are to take the crown when I am gone. I give to you the land of Eden, and all the responsibility of being High King that comes with it. You have never been responsible a day in your life, and each day I have been faced with trials by you. I am trusting you, here on my deathbed, to accept this great honour and make me proud. Promise me you will be as great of a King as I know you can be.”
“Father,” Jameson spoke quietly, “I can’t do this.” His voice pleaded as he continued to hold their father’s limp hand.
“You must. It is your birthright. You have the allegiance of the King’s men, and the people of this city love you. All you must do now is show them why they love you so. Prove to them you’re not just the carefree prince they all know, but also a great leader who will rule them fairly.”
“This is foolish!” Callum barked, standing up beside his passing father. “Someone talk some sense into this man! Obviously his sickness is affecting his reasoning.” He looked around at the others with wild eyes. “Chancellor, surely you cannot agree with this decision!”
The Chancellor looked on warily. “It is not my decision to make, my lord,” he responded.
“Alistair?” He turned toward the High Priest.
“Callum,” he replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your father only has what’s best for his people in mind. We must all support him in this decision.” Callum knew the High Priest did not agree with the High King, but he wouldn’t dare speak it out loud. An act like that would be high treason in these lands. Callum felt completely lost for the first time in his life. All who stood there remained silent, watching as Callum slowly fell to pieces.
“Callum—” his father began.
“Don’t!” He held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough from you this evening, Father. If you want to put this man-child in charge, then by all means do so. It will be the end of all that we’ve known.” Callum turned around and stormed out of the chamber, leaving the audience there assuredly shocked and appalled.
* * * * *
“
How dare he,” Jameson spat, getting up to follow his brother. As he entered the outside hall, he could see his brother’s form retreating down the spiral staircase. “Callum, stop!”
His brother paused on the step, looking up over his shoulder. “Already giving orders, brother?” he said bitterly.
“Our father is on his deathbed, and you have the audacity to walk away from him? Get back here now, and stay by his side until the end.”
“Why should I? I’ve been by his side every minute of every day, and look where it’s gotten me! I refuse to stand by him any longer, when he has so clearly decided to
not
return the favour.” Callum continued to descend the stairs into the great hall. Jameson wouldn’t have it. Running down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, he reached Callum right as he opened the wooden doors. The rain outside was pouring down harder now, making it almost impossible to see outside clearly.
“I forbid you to leave!” he said through clenched teeth. The guards stationed on either side of the door looked nervous when he glanced in their direction. Neither would be prepared to break up a fight between the crown princes. They also happened to be his friends.