Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 1

"You think a war is the best place for a child?" Aethelfrith screamed at his brother.

"This wasn't supposed to be a war. I came from Eldon to talk sense into you," Graham barked. The Eldonian king scowled down his nose as he nudged his son behind himself.

"I came to the aid of the Warrick people. They accept me as their leader." He stepped forward, his shoulders squared, and stared Graham down. The boy scurried away between the guards who stood ready for a confrontation.

"You stole a crown that was not yours because you couldn't stand the thought of me having our father's throne. You should have minded your own business and left the Warricks to themselves. You need to return to Eldon with me."

"Graham! I came to Warrick to help people who lived under the thumb of a tyrant. You turned a blind eye on their suffering, and I took action. You are not fit to be a king. Maybe it's you who can't stand the fact that I could sit on a throne too!" Aethelfrith screamed. "You bring your child to the battlefield to witness your own shame. The coward who stands up for himself and his own interests." He stood chest to chest with his older brother, staring him down. The air was thick with tension. Aethelfrith could hear a few swords being unsheathed and the giggle of Varol as he played somewhere in the crowd. It made him furious that Graham would be so heartless for the Warrick people as if their children didn't matter at all.

"My son is learning what it is like to deal with men who sneak about in traitorous thievery and manipulation."

Aethelfrith pushed Graham as he uttered a few words in anger and took a step backward. The horse behind Graham reared up on its hind legs and kicked out as he fell against it, causing Aethelfrith's horse to spook, making it dart forward into the group of men. Suddenly, the gathering of guards from Eldon and Warrick alike took to arms, and a skirmish broke out. Sword clashed against sword. Fists were thrown in outrage as shouts were lifted up.

Graham looked around frantically as metal clanged on metal and hooves pounded. Aethelfrith watched his brother dart through the chaos, and not wanting him to think he'd won the argument, he followed the direction Graham moved with his eyes. Varol lay on the ground, blood streaming from his mouth. Aethelfrith charged across the valley, passing by men engaged in combat. He rammed into a shoulder and lost his balance nearly taking a topple. Regaining his composure, he ran and fell to his knees beside his brother and nephew.

"Gods be!" Graham shouted.

"Enough!" Aethelfrith screamed. A few men near him heard the command and halted their attacks. Slowly, the clanging of swords and raucous screams simmered, and Aethelfrith could hear Graham whispering into Varol's ear. A somber and eerie silence fell over the group of men as the boy coughed and made gurgling sounds. A clear hoof print on the side of his face and a matching one on his shirt announced what had transpired. "Gods be," Aethelfrith whispered, cupping his mouth.

"Call the plaith! Please, someone!" Graham wailed, hovering over Varol. A guardsman from Eldon kicked his horse to a gallop and disappeared toward the south-facing gate of Stanburh, racing to get the medicine man.

Aethelfrith looked down at the boy and knew instantly he would not make it. Soft pink tissue dripped from his ear; his breathing was shallow. Laying a hand on his brothers back, and letting his tears come, he knew it was the push he had given Graham that had started the ruckus. His thoughts raced as one of his guardsmen came trotting up on his steed, holding the reins of Aethelfrith's horse.