The Raging Storm

Chapter Eight: The Prince's Sacrifice

 Prince Dayne Dawford stared at his reflection in the ornate mirror. His shoulder-length curly brown hair barely touched the gold trim on his crimson armor. Mother had given him the set of armor as a gift. Thoughts of his mother always filled him with numbing sadness, but now wasn't the time for feelings, he needed to be in command. The sacrifice that would change his life for the better was only days away.

He reached into the drawer beneath the mirror and pulled out the envelope stored there. Days before leaving the New Lands, he'd found the letter on his dresser in the Crimson Palace. He caressed the envelope like someone would caress their lover.

The information in the letter changed everything.

He carefully unfolded the parchment. It was almost a ritual for him at this point, something to calm him. He savored every moment, licking his lips to wet them. The routine helped him focus - to quiet his noisy mind.

He'd memorized the words by this point but read them again for the thousandth time.

We discovered a girl who can resurrect the dead. All we need is your mother's killer to bring her back. Meet me with the Foundling boy at the Four Clover Inn in New Dawn so we can meet face to face.

I will be waiting.

Prince Dayne put the note to the side and slammed down his fists on the dresser in excitement. A small giggle escaped his lips; he smiled until his cheeks hurt. His mother would be back soon, she could help him. The voices hadn't come until after her death. He would have his sunlight back. He would have quiet back. All he needed to do was take the Foundling boy to New Dawn.

Have you been plotting behind my back again? a male voice whispered in his mind.

He walked backward until he hit the table with his torture tools. Across the way, he looked at himself in the mirror. A swirling dark something formed into the shape of a humanoid figure, standing to his left. He looked left to where it should be standing - away from the mirror - and saw nothing there. He looked back in the mirror and there it was, standing to his left, facing him.

The last time you did this, I had to give you another episode. Do you want another one of those Little Dawford?

Prince Dayne gripped his hair with both hands. "NO! DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Panic swelled up inside him. His mind had been his own for a few hours, enough to take action. Why did it always show up?

The figure in the mirror walked toward Prince Dayne, reaching for his neck. Dayne tried to move back further but met the side of his tent. He froze with fear, a whimper escaping his lips. A sudden pressure built up around his neck. His eyes bulged while he groped at his neck for the invisible force choking him. Nothing was there though.

"Sir?"

Prince Dayne fell to his knee, gasping for air. He ran his right hand through his curly hair, wiping away the sweat that had collected there. He looked up to see who had spoken.

Advisor Tilvor. He was an ugly man with a long hooked nose and a bowl-cut. He stood just a little over five feet tall and had a large pimple that looked ready to burst on the tip of his nose. The strange thing was, he always had a pimple there. Strange man.

"I heard shouting my Lord, are you okay? I can send for Papricca..-"

Prince Dayne gathered himself to his feet. His knees were shaking. "No you imbecile, I'm fine."

Tilvor cringed back like he'd been struck and Prince Dayne smiled. He kept Tilvor around solely because he loved the way he cringed back like that. What a weak little man.

"Of course, my Lord," he bowed deeply. "Please excuse me Sire but I have some ill news to share. Celibrik has sent word that the Foundling boy was found without his Shroomveil while out Harvesting. A group of golden-beaked hippogriffs attacked the group."

Prince Dayne's eyes grew wide with horror, his lower lip quivered. "Did the boy die?" He was almost too scared to hear the response. All his plans would be ruined if the boy died.

Tilvor wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "He almost inhaled too much mist, but we used the langleaf herbs to save him. He will be brought to you within the hour."

Prince Dayne let out the breath he'd been holding and walked over to the dresser with the mirror on it. "Good." He looked to his left in the reflection. No figure was there this time.

He turned toward Tilvor and rubbed his hands together, lost in thought. "Bring the Foundling boy to me. Now. I have some questions I need to ask him before we head to New Dawn."

Tilvor was looking at Prince Dayne strangely for a few moments before he noticed.

"Out. Now," said Prince Dayne with a menacing grin, causing Tilvor to cringe and bolt out of the room. Dayne chuckled to himself.

Prince Dayne looked in the mirror at his reflection. The voice had come back again. It always came back. He shoved his open palms against his eyes, rubbing them. He needed to act now before the voices returned. What if it started talking about his father again? Reminding him of that day long ago. A shiver went down his spine and cold fear filled him. He shoved the thoughts out of his mind, he had to act while it was quiet.

"Zilar!" Prince Dayne shouted. A dark-haired young man, around eighteen years of age ran in.

"Yes milord?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Call for the Crimson Guard to gather an escort force. I also want a group of prisoners to build a cage for me. We will be heading for New Dawn within the day, as soon as the cage is finished," Prince Dayne said, collecting his things.

Zilar saluted, hand to the chest. "Yes sir!" He ran out to distribute the messages.

Prince Dayne smiled. He would head to New Dawn and meet this mysterious contact. He had a sneaking suspicion of what organization they might belong to. With a legion of Crimson Guard, he would crush any Native Races' forces along the way. The New Lands would belong to him.

His kingdom would be even bigger than Reven. Bigger than his father's.

First, he needed his mother back so she could help quiet the voices inside his mind. All he had to do was bring her back and they would go away. He missed her with every fiber of his being, he couldn't do this without her. He couldn't conquer this land with the imbeciles surrounding him. Get the Foundling boy to New Dawn and get his mother back. Then all else would fall in place.

But what if the person in the note was lying?

You will fail at it all Little Dawford, just like you failed your mother. And I'll be right here to watch, the male voice whispered in the back of his mind, laughing maniacally.