Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 37 - PRINCE WITHOUT A KINGDOM

Prince Nathan's feet throbbed in protest as he followed his newfound guide along the winding back roads of Verden, but he did not curse or groan as he wished to. He could not afford to rest, or slow his pace if he hoped to come upon his brother before the traiter Bernoulli's men fell upon Alexander. Nathan knew that the chances of finding the elder prince in time to warn him of the betrayal were slim to none, but still he clung desperately to hope, his only lifeline as he was pushed along the swift currents of change and loss, that they could reach him in time. The vastness of Verden held hundreds, if not thousands of roads for his brother to travel, and that was if they were correct in assuming he took an established road in leu of a more direct, albeit more dangerous, path out of Stormcliff.

He wished Alexander would have informed him where he was going so that he could have the slightest idea where to begin looking for his brother. When they were younger the two of them had been inseparable, telling each other everything. But as the years progressed Alexander's demeanor had darkened, the men he kept in his personal guard grew rougher, and the less he stopped to talk to his younger brother. He had begun to accept assignments from their father that he enjoyed saying were 'too secret' for him to share with Nathan. The more assignments he completed, the worse his temperament had grown. It was not that he shunned Nathan, he merely seemed too busy to stop and bother himself with his brother. As hectic as their trip to Riftwater had been, it had been nice to spend time with Alexander once more.

Darker temperaments seemed to follow age in his family, in his earliest memories his father had been happy and playful, but that had changed long ago, replaced by a distant hardness. The death of the queen, Nathan and Alexander's mother, had only worsened the emotional decline, leaving the High King often moody, angry, and detached. He was never mean or cruel to his children, he just never seemed to have time for them, and the more closed off their father became, the more desperate Alexander seemed to grow for his approval, throwing himself into his "secret" missions with restless abandon. More than anything Nathan wished he could return to his early childhood with his family happy, healthy, and whole.

For the better part of the day few words, if any, were exchanged between their company, whether from exhaustion of the body or mind, or more likely a combination thereof, Nathan did not know. The silence left him terribly alone with his thoughts, a dangerous place to be in his current temperament, so he turned his attention to his surroundings, eager for the beauty of the outside world to overtake his bleaker inner landscape. No matter how often Nathan traveled the breadth of Verden, he never tired of its far reaching beauty. Wild and untamed for most of its expanse, its natural landscape unbroken save for towns and villages that sprung up here and there and around a dozen major cities. To his chagrin he noted that in all his previous travels he had traveled almost exclusively along the main roads of Verden, sacrificing exploration for the comforts of speed and security. His sore feet reminded him that the majority of his travels had also been conducted in the confines of his royal carriage. How could he relate to the common people of Verden if he did not even walk the land as they did? How could a prince

  As the day dragged on he tired of his silent observations, with each mile of rolling plains blending into the next with minute change in distinction. He turned his gaze from the seemingly unending landscape of central Verden and settled upon his newest companion. He studied Kyler Dustil carefully as the hired guard silently led their small group across the land. After the masterful display with the blade with which he had saved Nathan's life, he trusted more than ever that the man was not leading him directly into the hands of his enemies, but he still knew nothing about him other than that he was a sword for hire. The swiftness and ferocity he had shown when the hooded men had set upon them had been awe-inspiring, almost frightening even. He had danced between the assailants dealing death with an artist's touch. Even among the best duelists in Verden, of whom he had seen many during festivals and holidays over the years in his father's court, such skill was rare. He doubted he had seen more than a half dozen men who could have stood toe to toe with Kyler, and of those few, he doubted any could have defeated him cleanly. That level of skill was not possessed by common mercenaries, nor even by a foot soldier; someone with expert experience as a duelist had trained him.