Prologue and Chapter One

Prologue

Heymon woke as the first glimmers of light shone through the window beside his bed. As the oldest of his siblings, he slept on his own straw pallet, unlike his nine and eleven-year old brothers, who shared. He had helped build the extension to the house last summer, which had been a proud moment for him. Without the money he had helped his father bring in, the family probably would not have been able to afford the materials.

The village they lived in was not large by anyone’s standards, but the people were fairly well off. Many of the families of people who worked in the mine lived here, on the edge of the forests. They did not rely solely on animals and crop-farming to get by as many in the nearby villages did. All the miners were freemen, so unlike the serfs in poorer areas they weren’t forced to serve anyone. Everyone in Woodstone owned their own land and could do whatever they wished with it. That wasn’t to say they were rich though. They just weren’t struggling to feed themselves, that was all.

Heymon stood up and stretched, curling his toes and feeling some of the dust from the floor rub between them. His ability to fall into a deep sleep in minutes and wake up well-rested on almost any surface was one of his few talents. He’d had sixteen years of practice.

“Time to get ready,” he muttered to himself with a sigh.

He noticed his brothers were still asleep in the corner of the room and smiled. Heymon and his siblings shared the dark hair of their father, and the brothers looked very much alike. One day they would probably join him and his father mining brimstone. The thought was a bittersweet one. Slynn, the owner of the mine, paid a respectable wage, but it wasn’t a job for children, and he didn’t want to imagine his brothers down in the dark caves.

Quietly, Heymon found his mining clothes and put them on. It was very easy to pick up dirt and grime going underground, so his normal clothes and work clothes were distinctly separate. This thick, supposedly white, tunic had been washed the day before but still didn’t look clean as he pulled it on. It had been owned by his father before him, and most likely his father before him, yet was still in one piece.

As he finished dressing, he looked up as his father appeared in the doorway, chewing on a piece of bread, then wiping his mouth with hands which had wielded many shovels, and heaved too many picks down in the mine. Dain Hardwood was a big man, with a strong jaw, and arm muscles built up from many years of hard labour which could crush a man’s head between them. But his eyes were kind, and Heymon looked up to him, for not just because of his height, which Heymon was fast catching up with.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Dain in a rough whisper, looking over and checking on his other two sons.

“As soon as I’ve had a bite to eat,” smiled Heymon, walking through to the adjoining kitchen to find something.

They walked together to the mines, just as the village began to come to life around them. Windows were thrown open as the sky brightened to become a sunny morning, and other miners said their goodbyes to their families and joined them on the dirt road. Many of them came up to Dain to greet him and say a few words. Heymon tried to imagine himself doing the same thing with his son in twenty years or so. It was difficult to picture. For that he would need a wife as well, which wasn’t something which would be arranged any time soon. There was still plenty of time for all that. It was unusual for women in the village to marry at his age, especially poorer ones, as they were needed to help provide for their families. Still, there was a girl he had spoken to a couple of times at the market, about the same age, and he did wonder whether she would one day be the mother of his children.

“Why are you so quiet today?” asked his father, knocking him out of his daydream.

“No reason,” he shrugged. “I was just wondering about the mines, and whether I would have children who worked in them as well.”

“You’d need someone who would have your children first,” laughed Dain, before his expression sobered a little. “The mines will outlive us all, I imagine. They’ll stay open so long as the castle wants its hellfire. There will always be someone who wants to deprive the Farhorns of their crown, or think they can risk raiding the odd ship, and only a fool wouldn’t make himself ready for when that time comes. Peace never lasts. If the mines don’t stay open then someone will see an opportunity to attack.”

“Does the hellfire matter that much for war?” asked Heymon. “I know they like to shout about it but it seems like it’s mainly for show.”

“My great-grandfather was in the Royal Fleet when they fought those Eastern bastards, and it won the battle,” Dain reminded him, with authority. “Forget about treaties and agreements, nowhere else has a weapon like it, and I guarantee you that’s all that’s stopping them from turning around again and stabbing us in the back.”

Heymon let the subject drop. His father liked to voice his opinion on the Kingdoms’ politics, and Heymon didn’t know enough to contradict him if he was wrong. They moved onto more light-hearted conversation, while inside Heymon wondered if what his father said was true. Was peace really so impossible?

They were getting closer now, and could see the smoke rising from the furnaces ahead. He felt the familiar feelings of fear creep up on him as the sulphurous smell of the mine reached him. He should be used to it by now, but despite never having been in an incident, Heymon always felt that the mines had this aura of danger about them, as if they could strike down the miners at any time.

They reached the entrance to the mine, which was unguarded. The miners were relied on to police themselves in terms of theft, but even if somebody did steal something, there were few to sell it to, as Slynn sold the majority directly to the King, who would obviously not buy from thieves. They walked through to pick up their tools, shoes sticking in the wet dirt. Heymon could sense something was wrong as soon as they reached the tool rack. Several men were gathered around in deep conversation and were glancing around as if fearful of being overheard, despite there being none of Slynn’s men within earshot. One was a man who Heymon recognised. He’d taken a job at the same time Heymon had joined. He saw his father’s face had changed. It was wary. Dain approached to find out what was happening, and Heymon followed, feeling apprehensive.

“Have you heard?” demanded Parry, a long-standing family friend, whose face was red with rage as he approached. Dain shook his head.

“Slynn sent a man. The money-grabbing leech wants to bleed us dry. He’s cutting everyone’s pay by almost half, miners, smelters, everyone.”

Dain’s face went grim, and Heymon’s heart sank. This was bad. They were getting by alright at the moment, but not everyone had two family members working the mines, and it was an unpredictable job. They were paid based on the amount of brimstone they brought in, so if a vein ran dry then conditions could be hard until a new one was excavated. Many families had chickens and grew a few vegetables at home but that didn’t come close to making up for this loss. His insides were hot with anger at the man who was doing this. How could this be allowed?

“Is the messenger still here?” asked Dain, in what was clearly a forcibly controlled voice.

“No, he didn’t stay long,” spat Parry. “But it can’t be just this mine either. I’ll bet every one Slynn owns is getting the same. We can’t let this happen, or we’ll starve come winter. The other mine owners will probably follow his lead as well. We need to spread the word, and after work if we have enough people then we go to the brimstone stores where the mines are managed to complain. If there are enough of us, then he has to change his mind. Elgar here thinks it will work, and claims he can definitely convince a few others. I assume you’re with us?”

Parry glanced briefly at Heymon, before fixing his stare on Dain, the real decision maker. His father was respected here, and his opinion meant something. There was a tense pause.

“There can’t be any violence,” said Dain finally. “We can’t force Slynn to change his mind, but if we threaten to stop working then the King will have to intervene. If we act like rebels, then they’ll just crush us and replace us. We need to be the good guys, and there need to be too many of us to brush off. If it’s possible, once we’ve rallied people here someone should go to the mines Slynn doesn’t own. If he can get away with it, other mine owners will do the same, so it’s as vital for them as it is us. If some of them can join our march it will give us all the more bargaining power.”

Parry nodded, grinning devilishly under his beard.

“We’ll show them that they can’t get away with this,” hissed Parry, to the group. “We’re freemen, not slaves!”

“Agreed,” said Dain, grabbing a pickaxe. “Now let’s get to work and convince the rest of them.”

Heymon had been quiet for all of this, watching the events unfold in front of him while mulling it all over in his head.

“Listen Heymon, I understand you might not want to get involved in this, and it could turn nasty, so if you don’t want-”

“I’m in for it all,” interrupted Heymon firmly. “It’s disgusting for them to treat us like slaves. We have to do something to try to stop it.”

His father smiled grimly and clapped him on the back.

“Good,” he said. “Now let’s get down there and do some real work.”

Heymon nodded, and picked up one of the wooden poles, which had a large wicker basket at each end, and balanced it across his shoulders. His job was to carry the chunks of rock which the miners broke off from the bottom of the tunnels up to the top where the brimstone could be properly extracted. It was hard work on his back, carrying all that weight, but he could feel himself getting stronger from it every day.

Heymon headed down into gloom to begin the hard day’s work, knowing that while he walked up and down carrying heavy loads, his father and his friends were organising a protest. He could feel an unusual stir in the air as he passed burly men hacking at the walls. Something exciting was happening, something big. As far as he knew there hadn’t been an organized protest like this that wasn’t an outright rebellion, and they never ended well. If Slynn refused, he wasn’t sure what the plan was. Taking on the King’s army would be madness, but surely the King wouldn’t send troops against them just for a protest. They would have a chance to back down before things got violent.

“Anyone down in the lower tunnels?” asked Heymon, noticing a man he knew who had joined the mines recently, a man named Merek. Heymon had the job of fetching from the bottom, so he always went as deep as possible first to pick up whatever there was and then fill up the basket on the way up, so that he didn’t waste energy walking down with a load.

“Nay, wouldn’t say so, we’re the last,” he replied amiably. “Got a fresh load for you just here.”

He gestured to a small pile of rubble he and another man had been working on. Heymon came over, setting down the carrier and loading it up with the yellow rock. The dampness of the walls in the morning, visible by the light of the flickering torches mounted on the walls, made it seem as if the grey wall was oozing yellow blood from open wounds. He was in one of the deepest tunnels now, and it was almost as if he could feel the rock above weighing down on him. The air and the surface around him felt damp. He had hated it down here when he had first started, but he was getting used to it.

With the baskets laden, he hefted the pole across his shoulders, not looking forwards to the trek back up the slope, and stepped out ahead of Merek to make his way back to the top. But as the boy balanced the heavy load, he put his foot down on something loose and his foot slipped. As he tumbled, Merek reached out to grab him, but Heymon had momentum and Merek only succeeded in getting himself hit by a heavy basket and fell too, crashing down beside Heymon.

Heymon twisted while sliding, spotting one of the wooden supports. As he passed it, pushed the basket of brimstone past it and used the pole to jerk himself to a halt. He checked himself over. He was slightly bruised but alright. He breathed out with some relief, putting a hand against the large wooden beam which linked into a set of wooden struts on the ceiling.

Merek, who had stopped below him, dusted himself off and looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. Heymon laughed.

“You probably should leave that beam alone,” said the man, looking up at where it joined the ceiling, “I think I heard it creak.”

“I didn’t hear it,” said Heymon, feeling a spike of nervousness at realising he had crashed into the main support. He looked up, and heard a cracking, rumbling sound above him.

“Move!” yelled Merek.

Heymon tried to scramble to his feet, as the wooden supports at the top began to splinter, and all of a sudden the ceiling cracked open. He thought of his parents, and his brothers, and the imaginary family of his that had crossed his mind earlier. He prayed that he would make it back to them, but as he got to his feet he couldn’t resist looking up to acknowledge the danger for himself, and watched as the rift above his head opened and a terrifying mass filled his vision as the world fell in on him.

“Oh sh-”

Chapter One

Maddon raised the crossbow stock to his shoulder quickly, looked down the length of it, and clutched the lever underneath, causing the weapon to shudder, and a quarrel to punch into the soft grass, narrowly missing the hare as it ran across ahead of him. He swore under his breath, and dismounted his courser to pick up the bolt. He didn’t know why he bothered to come on these hunts. Before he could retrieve the quarrel he spotted his sister Ariana cantering over to him and groaned inwardly. Naturally, she had managed to shoot down a couple of wood pigeons already, whose limp bodies were now swinging from the saddle.

“Hard luck,” said the princess, not sounding entirely sympathetic to his ears.

Maddon sighed. They shared the same green eyes and brown hair of their mother but little in personality. Maddon was taller and thinner, and considered himself the most intelligent of his siblings, whereas Ariana was one who was much more suited to the outdoors. While Maddon kept to the castle library to read or think about what to say in the next council meeting, she was often out training with either sword or bow, the latter of which she was faster and more accurate with than anyone he had seen. She was considerably better with it than he was with his crossbow. Her long dark hair was tied back into a more convenient ponytail, her face was plain but flushed, and she wore unremarkable riding gear. All in all, not someone most people would imagine to be a princess, the eldest of the King’s two children.

“Any sign of the deer?” he asked, knowing that once there was a big catch they would head back to the castle.

“I think we’re closing in,” she smiled. “Have you shot anything yet?”

“Not yet,” he replied tersely. “Don’t tempt me though.”

She laughed.

“I’ll watch out for the person next to me.”

With a subtle movement, she steered her horse away to rejoin the main party. Maddon gritted his teeth, and moved up ahead, glancing over to the dog handlers as they sniffed out the trail of the wounded deer. He tugged the quarrel out of the ground, slotting it back into place and winding the wheel of the crossbow to pull back the string. Why he was here Maddon didn’t know. He had no natural ability, nor much inclination to practice. He almost never ended up enjoying them. Also, he was sixteen. If his father wanted to go hunting, Maddon was old enough to decide not to go with him. His Uncle and cousins hadn’t joined them this time, after all. Still, there was always the possibility of bringing down some big game. His favourite hunting memory was from last year, when he had managed to bring down a small boar, and they had eaten the beast that same day. It may have just been because he had brought it down, but it was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted. He still had the horns.

Remounting his horse, he jabbed his heels into its flank to set it trotting awkwardly in the direction his sister had gone, where his father, the King, and his entourage could be heard amidst the baying of the hounds. They sounded excited. Good. They must be close.

Maddon came up alongside the royal party and nodded silently to his father, who was dressed in light leather armour, dyed blue, and a blue and silver cloak – traditional Farhorn colours. He was riding at a casual pace and holding a throwing spear, with the sword at his hip which he never abandoned. He clearly had little interest in the smaller game, it seemed, and was saving himself for when the hounds found something. He had a guard on either side. Berin didn’t speak, and Maddon had nothing to say, so he allowed himself to overtake his father and scanned ahead, searching the woods for some sign of big game.

As he did so, his eyes caught some movement in one of the bushes. It seemed as if there was something over there. Maddon set his horse in that direction, his interest piqued, and then caught a glimpse of something metallic. Before he could question it, there was a low thrum, and a stirring in the air, and something passed by him. His head darted back and he looked on with shock as the King twisted in his saddle suddenly, dropping his spear. From another direction, he saw a quarrel fly through the air and catch the courser’s flank, causing it to buck and throw the King from its saddle.

“Protect the King!” cried one of his guards, wasting no time in reaching the King and using the large shields on their backs as cover while they checked him.

Maddon looked ahead again, and saw the bush he had been looking at stand up, and begin to run. The bush dropped the weapon it had just fired, revealing a man camouflaged in leaves and branches. He didn’t know about the other shooter, but this man didn’t seem to be sticking around. Maddon looked briefly back towards the King, who was now shielded by his men. He couldn’t see his father, but the way he had twisted suggested more of a side shot than a lethal one, and there was little he could do to be of assistance – he was no physician. If he wanted to help, there was only really one thing he could do.

Seeing the crossbowman ahead fleeing, Maddon made a quick decision, certainly the riskiest one he had ever made. He dug his heels in hard to the horse’s flank, and set the horse galloping in pursuit, leaving behind the shocked group of people. He hoped that his thinking was correct in that, despite him being the most exposed of the royals, he had not been targeted, and nobody was trying to kill him in particular. He also hoped that the would-be assassin had no other lighter weapons which he had kept on his person. Maddon’s heart was pounding. This was not his style, what the hell was he thinking chasing a fugitive?

He could still see the man through the gaps in the trees up ahead, sprinting as fast as he could. The woods made it difficult to maintain a fast pace on the horse, but the courser was bred to be light and fast, and he was gaining on the man. If he saw a weapon on him he would abandon the chase, he decided. He did not want to be left in a real fight, but at the moment the situation seemed to be a simple one of hunter and prey.

Maddon’s grip tightened on his crossbow, and he clenched his thighs hard on the horse, desperately trying to keep his seat on the saddle as the horse made him sway unsteadily. He was not a particularly talented rider, but like all noblemen, he had been taught from a young age so was well above the skill of the average person. The trees opened into a small clearing and Maddon saw the figure clearly for the first time. The assassin was not a large man, which he found reassuring. He was well camouflaged. Even now, closer up, he still appeared to be a moving part of the foliage. No wonder the hunters who had gone ahead to track the deer earlier hadn’t noticed anybody.

Maddon raised the crossbow again, focusing on the man’s feet as he moved agilely from side to side. The crossbow shuddered, the string thrumming, and the man cried out, falling with a bolt in his thigh. Maddon cried out triumphantly, feeling a surge of pleasure as he pulled on the reins of the horse to bring it to a halt. While the man struggled to get to his feet again, Maddon quickly wound the wheel around to pull back the string, and slotted another bolt into the groove. He hadn’t shot a person before, and a part of him was oddly curious at the pain he had inflicted.

“Stop right there or I shoot!” he cried, panting with exhilaration while he realised that he had ended up completely on his own. This could easily be a trap. His partner might still be out there. The man turned over, showing his pained face, which had been rubbed with dirt. Maddon didn’t recognise him. He held up his hands as a gesture of peace, and Maddon dismounted, keeping a safe distance from him. He almost fell as his leg muscles had seized up clenching the horse’s side, but kept his balance. In the distance, he heard the hounds, hopefully now directed onto the trails of the men.

“You don’t have much time,” threatened Maddon, clearing his throat and trying to sound less fearful than he actually was. “You get one chance. Tell me who sent you, and I swear, on my honour, I will let you go. I’m not interested in the weapon; I want the man wielding it. If not, I can either shoot you or let the King’s torturers have you and get the information out, I haven’t quite decided yet. You have until those hounds reach us to decide.”

The prince congratulated himself on his quick thinking. The noise of the dogs in the background made for a more threatening effect than any he could deliver alone, and for all this man knew, this could be his only chance to live. Maddon remained wary of the other shooter who he knew was out there, and was tensed to twist around at any sudden movement or noise around him. The man on the ground was clearly tormented, and Maddon wondered whether he even had a tongue, as he hadn’t said a word yet.

“I can’t name him,” said the man, his eyes darting towards the woods to his right. “We were hired by a middleman. He was tall, taller than you, and bald, I think, but he wore a hooded cloak and never spoke much. We were told to wait on standby for word of when the King next went on a hunt.”

The hunt today had been a spontaneous decision, decided just today. Nobody outside of the castle could possibly have known far enough in advance to have men already waiting. Maddon swallowed, his insides writhing. There was someone inside the castle. The question was, was it a spy, or the plotter himself? Maddon advanced on the man, closing to a distance of about ten yards.

“Name him!”

“I truly can’t, please, you swore,” said the man, his fear evident as the barking became louder.

“Alright, get up, go,” said Maddon shortly, his heart still racing. He was still wary of a sudden attack.

The man thanked him, and turned, limping, to head out into the forest again, still with a bolt in his leg. Maddon, still pumping with adrenaline, and taking great care to steady his trembling arm, clutched the lever underneath the crossbow. A quarrel shot out and perforated the knee of his uninjured leg. He screamed, and fell to the floor.

“You swore!” he yelled, trying to get to his feet, but collapsing with a grunt. “On your honour!”

Dark red stains were visible on his trousers as blood pooled around the wounds.

“And you shot my father,” Maddon replied, half-thrilled, half angry. “Besides, who said I had honour?”

He didn’t feel guilty about it; there was no excuse for the man’s actions. He could hardly release the man who, if he had been a bit luckier, would have robbed him of a father, and the Kingdom of a King. Besides, this way Maddon got the glory of bringing him in, although that triumph would be greatly diminished if it turned out his father’s wound was serious.

“Over here! I have one of the men,” called Maddon, as support closed in. He patted the horse’s neck, making a note to reward it for a job well done, and then looked back at the man on the floor. “Today is not going to be your day.”

***

Maddon was nervous as he returned with his escort, seeing Ariana next to the wagon which until recently had been intended to hold whatever they caught. The physician accompanying the hunt was bent over it, examining their father. Hunting had its risks, so it was common for him to be nearby in case of an incident.

“Is he alright?” the prince asked.

“I will be fine,” said Berin, turning as Maddon came into view. “The wound will be treated properly at the castle.”

He had taken a bolt to the shoulder, just underneath the collarbone. The surgeon had cut away the main part of the shaft and bound the wound with honey, but left the main job of removing the head and treating the wound for the castle, as the wound did not appear lethal. The King would be carried back in the wagon, it seemed.

“So what was this?” asked Ariana. “Why were they targeting you?”

“When you’re King, somebody always wants to kill you,” stated Berin. “This one isn’t the first to try, he won’t be the last. I doubt we will know why, unless the perpetrator reveals himself. What we should be concerned with is how he managed to get close.”

“Better ask this man,” said Maddon smugly, gesturing to the horse which the attempted murderer was being brought back on. “I managed to run him down.”

Ariana looked stunned.

“Impressive,” she admitted, examining the man. “I didn’t manage to catch anything this big. It’s interesting camouflage as well.”

The man under examination said nothing. He seemed determined not to say anything at all now that he was a captive.

“You should not have chased him on your own when you knew there were assassins in the woods, you could have been killed,” said the King. “The dogs would most likely have tracked him down eventually without foolish heroics, and we had to send men after you.”

“I saw him abandon his weapon, and I didn’t want him to get away,” replied Maddon, careful not to sound argumentative. “Besides, it worked out for the best, we now have a prisoner.”

King Berin’s brow furrowed.

“Yes, it seems we do, and I will be interested to speak to him later,” he said. “But do not ever risk your life unnecessarily again. Since you were born we have failed to conceive another child. You are the only heir; those kinds of risks are for lesser men. I will not lose my only son.”

Maddon nodded in assent. His father had a point. But he couldn’t help but feel an immense pride at his success. Ariana was looking away, her lips stretched into a thin line. She did not appreciate Maddon being referred to as the only heir.

“No sign of the other man?” he asked.

“No,” said his father, “but he will surface. We can make sense of this when we’re back at the castle and this blasted thing is taken out.”

Maddon returned to his horse and mounted it, relieved that his father seemed to be in good health. Ariana did the same, and directed her horse over to him.

“So go on then, what happened?” she asked, looking curious. Smiling, Maddon related the story, but left out his conversation with the man, claiming that the second bolt had been used as the man tried to flee again. He hadn’t decided on what to do with the information he had, and didn’t want to risk it circulating and putting any traitors in the castle on alert. If he did decide to tell someone, it would have to be someone he trusted to take the right action, which he wasn’t entirely sure his father would.

It briefly crossed his mind that if Maddon had been shot today then Ariana would be the King’s only child. Maybe the close call today hadn’t even been for the King at all? It might explain the lack of professionalism in the shooters. He dismissed that possibility. At the range the crossbowman had been he could have easily shot Maddon if he’d wanted. Besides, Ariana might resent being passed over as an heir due to her gender but she was no plotter.

“You made the shot from horseback?” she remarked. “It seems there’s still hope for you as a hunter after all.”

“I guess so,” said Maddon. “So what were you doing while this was going on?”

“I didn’t know what was happening,” admitted his sister. “I saw father fall but I didn’t see either of the shooters. I did a quick scout ahead but found nothing. I never even saw you ride off.”

“Well let’s just hope that they don’t try again. That was frighteningly close. He had an open view on me,” said Maddon. “If he had wanted to he could have probably killed me.”

There was a moment of dark silence as they thought about it. Nothing like this had happened before as far as they could remember, and it was a strange thought to think they could become targets simply because of the family they were born into.

“Well,” said Ariana, breaking the silence, “hopefully it was just a couple of poachers with a grudge, and nothing bigger.”

They exchanged a look. Neither of them truly believed that. They spurred on their horses. The sooner they were out of these wretched woods, the better.


Next Chapter: Chapter Two