Flash Points

05 - The Heir

"Walk with me awhile, Highness, as the men make camp."

Myles set off along what had once been the main road of the village, now flanked by half-burnt ruins and rubble. Already sturdy saplings grew in the streets; another few years and the land would be reclaimed completely by the woods.

Behind him, he heard the boy's footsteps, uncertain in the debris. Myles half-turned, waiting patiently for his charge to catch up.

"What is this place, Master Tolav?"

"This used to be Crossroads Station, Highness." He pointed. "Ride two days north and you'd be at Castle Baelorn. Southeast a day, and you come to the Highroad and the capital. And west of course to Torfeld."

The boy eyed the destruction. "What happened to it?"

"You've heard of Cloden?"

"The battle?"

"Yes. The final battle, actually. The fighting covered much of the countryside. This village was one of several caught in the middle. The peasants either fled or died, along with hundreds of soldiers on both sides." And even now, seven years later, the land lay fallow and untended.

The boy frowned. "Cloden was where the king--"

"Your father."

A pause, but he didn't argue. "Where he was captured."

"Correct. The war ended with his execution, when your uncle Cailas assumed the throne."

"Master Tolav," the boy said, "Are you sure--"

"I am," Myles interrupted, his voice quiet. "You are Prince Tyrael. I realize it's hard to accept, but there is no mistake."

"But--"

"Mistress Bola confessed ere we left Torfeld," Myles said. "She told us of your birth during the siege of Kragan Keep, and the queen's passing; of the desperate plan to smuggle you to safety disguised as the child of herself and Captain Baylor; of their hope of delivering you to your father. But then Cloden happened. After that, they didn't know whom to trust, and what with this or that, their temporary ruse stretched on, until rumors of your existence reached me."

The prince looked stricken. "Are they well? My paren-- I mean, my... caregivers?"

Myles shot him a sidelong look. "Yes, Highness."

"Will I see them at the capital? Are we here because you're taking me to court?"

The hopeful question gave Myles pause, but he steeled himself. "We're here, Highness, because I want you to see and understand. The war tore this country apart. For fifteen years, no one was safe. Castles changed hands, sometimes weekly, and the law was whatever a lord said it was. A man could be hanged on any charge, or none at all. I got lucky, became a soldier; in those days, the army was the best bet for getting fed. Most others didn't have that. The things I saw I pray nightly none will ever see again. When news came of the war's end, grown men knelt in the streets and wept for relief."

Seven years... seven years of tentative peace since that blood-drenched time. Scars like Crossroad Station still dotted the landscape, but slowly the country was moving on, its people breathing easier day by day. And while the Loyalists chafed under Cailas, they couldn't deny his claim to the throne.

Until now.

"Is my uncle a good king?"

Myles considered. "Not really. Cailas is... capricious. He rages one moment, and laughs the next. It's hard to predict which way his whims will take him. Yet he has kept order, for all that his policies are harsh."

"What will he do with me?"

"I do not know. That's the problem." They had arrived at the square, dominated by a large well whose roof had collapsed. Myles tested the edge, then gestured, inviting the boy to sit. He himself remained standing, head cocked in thought. "He might decide to shut you up in some distant castle. Or have you raised in obscurity by trusted retainers. Or have you declared an imposter. No matter what he decides though, the threat remains. You see, Highness, your very existence... Well, all it would take is one misguided nobleman raising his banner in your name, and the war would restart in a fortnight. I cannot allow it. This country has suffered enough."

The boy was naive, but not stupid. "You cannot allow it?"

"I am sorry, Highness. When I became head of the Sentinels, I swore an oath, not to my king, but to my God, that I would do anything to prevent a repeat of the past. It's an oath I mean to keep."

The boy tensed. "But I wouldn't... I'd never..."

"In eight years, in ten, you will be a man grown, Highness, and if you don't want the throne, others will want it for you. Whether you wish it or no, while you live you will always be a sword hanging over this country -- a potential rallying point for rebels and malcontents."

The boy stared at him in horror for a long moment. Then he launched himself off his seat with a cry, dashing for freedom.

***

"Welcome back, sir," Myles's lieutenant said as he strode into camp. "Supper'll be ready in a minute." The man glanced behind Myles, puzzled. "Where's the boy, sir?"

Myles halted, looking the man in the eye. "What boy, Vallis?"

"Why the..." Vallis blinked, his jaw dropping. The he swallowed hard. "Uh, nothing, sir. Just my imagination."

"You and the men best keep your fantasies in check then. Wouldn't want wild rumors spread about."

"Aye, sir," Vallis said, subdued.

Myles accepted a plate of food and sat, chewing distractedly and keeping one eye on his lieutenant. Vallis went to each man in turn, murmuring soft words before moving on. Myles nodded in satisfaction. His men were all pragmatic professionals who knew well which side their bread was buttered on. There would be no talk of missing boys, only a dry report on the two Loyalist sympathizers they had dispatched days earlier.

And if Crossroads Station were ever rebuilt... well, who would question one more small body in its well?

***

Word count: 998