In Darkened Dreams_3

– Macon –

Trudging through the remnants of an early spring snowfall, the Prince made his way through the Amman pass that traversed the southern peaks of the Nhara Mountains on his way back to Amador City, the King's city of Ethelia. The sun was beginning to dip in the western sky into a sea of brilliant orange clouds that gave a fiery glow to the ice and slush that covered the rock that surrounded him. His exhaustion from the past week's trek was making it hard for him to carry on at this pace for much longer, but he was so close to home now. Still, he knew they would have to make camp soon. He and his small contingent of soldiers would likely reach Amador before nightfall on the morrow but first they needed a rest.

Macon had received a bird from his father, King Magras, two weeks prior announcing the surrender of the Vardin army and requesting that he return home immediately. It did strike him as odd that peace had come so suddenly. The Vardin from what he had seen were a determined people who would fight until the bitter end, at least that was what they had shown in battle. When the war with Varda had first begun, he had even believed that their strength and stubbornness would win out eventually but as his own army grew the tables had begun to turn and they started to gain ground and win battles. They were so close to winning the war entirely; he could not understand why his father would be willing to sign a treaty. The King was not the type to give up on a fight.

Beside him, his manservant and squire, Quinn Courcy studied him intently as they walked. He had a perplexed yet annoyed look on his face. "What is it?" he asked.

"You looked lost in thought a moment ago," he said, "I wondered if you were finally beginning to question all of this absurdity…sire!" He added that last bit at the end in an attempt to sound respectful and mask his anger.

"Oh, don't start this again," Macon sighed.

He and Quinn had grown up together and even now they were still inseparable. He had always trusted in their friendship and listened to his advice but sometimes Quinn could be a bit overdramatic in his theories though he stubbornly insisted that every word of them were true. He had these ridiculous notions that the King was trying to get rid of him somehow. Macon had to admit that his relationship with his father was rocky at best. They had never seen eye to eye on anything but certainly not on the matters of the Kingdom. He always felt much more in line with his mother's views on matters of politics, but he was always striving to please his father still. It was this fact that consistently drove Quinn mad. He chose to believe that his father was testing him, pushing him to be a better leader so that he would be a better King some day.

"I apologize sire, but you have to admit it is a little unnerving that your father would consent to make peace when we were one battle away from defeating the Vardin for good!" Quinn continued his rant. "Not to mention the fact that he sent you to lead an army into a war not two months after you were crowned Prince of Ethelia. An unjust war at that!"

"Are you done?" Macon asked in a light-hearted tone. He always let Quinn speak his mind; he had never felt like a servant to him, more of a friend or a brother even.

"Hardly," Quinn replied.

"He wanted me to prove myself," Macon defended his father.

"Prove yourself to who?" Quinn asked rhetorically. "And in any case, don't you find it strange that the minute you start winning and proving yourself, he takes the war out of your hands entirely?"

Despite the seriousness of Quinn's accusations, it was like he had been reading his mind earlier. "If my father can manage to make peace with the Vardin then isn't that what is best for everyone?" Macon countered.

"If you say so," Quinn answered, defeated for the moment.

"Sire," one of his soldiers called out from behind them.

Macon turned to see Elias Finch hurrying up to walk beside him. He had only brought five men with him besides Quinn, but they were his best men, the best fighters in his entire army save for Thomas Black, his second in command, who was leading the rest of his army home. Thomas had taught him so much about the ways of war and fighting. Had it not been for him, he likely would not have survived his first battle. He shuddered at the memory of his near death moment when a Vardin knife had come with in inches of his throat before Thomas was there beside him impaling the Vardin soldier on his own sword. In any case, he knew that his army would be safe in Thomas's care.

"Sire, this is as good a place as any to make camp. If you don't mind, we are all exhausted," Elias suggested.

Macon nodded. "I was just about to say so myself," he replied.



The Prince felt the full weight of his fatigue when he sat down by the tiny fire they had managed to make out of a few dry scraps of wood they scraped together from the dying trees on the mountainside. He removed his damp gloves and warmed his hands over the determined flame. His whole body felt heavy, like his limbs leaden like they had burdensome iron shackles weighing them down, making them immobile. Most of all his head felt like a cumbersome, foreign object lodged between his aching shoulders. He could hardly hold it up anymore. Their pace this past week had been relentless; he had not realized how tired he truly was.

"Eat this," Quinn told him as he pressed a piece of dried meat into his hand. "Perhaps it will put some life back into you. You look terrible!"

He heard Elias and the other soldiers whispering to one another at Quinn's remark as they went about setting up camp for the night. Even after three long years together they still seemed to tread carefully when speaking to him. Quinn had never really had that kind of tact and he welcomed that.

"Thanks," he laughed and tore off a bite of the flavorless meat. It tasted like nothing, but it was food and it had sustained them this long, it would do for another night.

"They better at least throw a feast in our honor, when we return," Quinn remarked sarcastically as he sat down beside him with his own strip of dried meat. "I could use a good party after all of this depressing killing business."

Macon shook his head and finished off the last of his poor excuse for a supper. He pulled his cloak tight about his shoulders to keep from shivering. The night air grew cold now that the sun had gone. Glancing about, he watched Elias and the others erecting the few meager tents they had brought with them in which they would spend one last night together. He could not wait to once again be within the walls of Amador City; he had missed it. It was not so much the comforts that the castle provided that he had been without for so long, but the people, the energy of the place. It had been far too long since he had been able to interact with someone other than his soldiers, who were all good men, but these were the people he had been fighting for and he longed to be among them again. He missed his family as well, his mother especially, but most of all he hoped that he had made his father proud with the way he had fought in this war. Quinn was wrong about him, he was sure of it.



The tents were up and the soldiers milled about the fire, looking for their own scraps of food. They sat down and ate and chattered about this and that, expressing their own excitements about finally going home. He tried to listen to them but the sounds of their voices were beginning to blur and blend together into single hum and his eyelids were beginning to droop. Shaking off the drowsiness long enough to stand up from his place at the fire, he announced that he was going to get some rest.

"I will take the first watch," Elias volunteered.

Macon nodded a thank you and then turned to retire to one of the tents. He let his tired body collapse purposefully to the pallet that was laid out across the floor of the tent. They would be home before nightfall the next day he reminded himself as he let his eyes shut finally and sleep overtook him.

Macon had no way of knowing how long he had been asleep when he was awoken by the gasp of a man's last breath before he crossed over to the spirit world, as it was still pitch black outside when he peered cautiously out of his tent. He watched as a shadowy figure moved passed Elias's fallen body towards the tents. Shrinking back inside his own tent, he nudged Quinn awake and reached for his sword. That shadow was too fast, he heard sounds of surprise as the two soldiers in the tent beside him awoke to steel in their throats. His eyes widened as he met Quinn's.

The two of them sprang up to a crouched position and peered out of the tent once more to see the two remaining soldiers emerging from their tent to challenge the shadow. He was Vardin, Macon quickly realized once he saw him fight, the blades of his two spinning knives reflecting the light of the moon as he met the blades of both soldiers, one with each knife. The Vardin soldier was too quick for them; they never stood a chance caught so off guard. As one of the Vardin's knives sliced through the neck of the soldier on his right, Quinn whispered in hi ear that this was their only chance.

They charged out of their tent, swords raised. The Vardin soldier spun around to meet his new challengers. Quinn lunged at him and landed a lucky blow at the man's side though he barely even winced in pain, quickly turning again to block the sword of Gavin Raims, the remaining soldier. Gavin was a decent swordsman but his true talent was with a bow, which Macon caught a glimpse of lying slashed in half beside the tent. Quinn tried to get in another hit but was blocked by the Vardin's second knife. Macon was mesmerized for a moment by the way the two blades worked together. It was almost poetic the way the Vardin fought.

The Vardin soldier twisted away from Gavin and around Quinn and rushed at Macon, both knives out, weaving back and forth. He barely had enough time to raise his own sword to block the first blow. The sound of steel clashing rang in his ears as he pushed the Vardin soldier off of him with a two handed grip on the hilt of his sword. Gavin came around the other side of the soldier and the three of them drove him back, inching him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff the camped on.

Quinn extended his sword out, trying to slash at the Vardin soldier again, but the man ducked beneath it and came at Macon again. Reacting instinctively, Gavin put himself in between them, his sword slicing into the soldier's side. Only now, did the Vardin man make a small sound of discomfort. Gavin wrenched his sword free and then put his elbow into the man's chest and pushed him back until he was teetering on the cliff's edge. Macon almost breathed a sigh of relief until the Vardin soldier wrapped his arm around Gavin's torso, jamming the blade of his knife into his gut and taking him with him over the brink. He and Quinn raced to the rim of the cliff only to watch the two of them smash into the rocky face of the mountain below. Quinn quickly looked away, but Macon could not help but stare after them as their bodies scraped along the rock until he could no longer see them. What had just happened?



They did not sleep after the attack, they simply packed up their things and got on their way, not sure of what else to do. They had done their best to burn the bodies of their fallen men a they could not consent to merely leave them lying there to be destroyed by the elements. It was not a proper funeral by any means, but what else could they do. There had hardly been a word spoken between them as they left the scene and continued along the Amman pass towards Amador City. It was strange that after three years of battle and watching men die all about them that this seemed to affect them the most. The attack had just been so unexpected and they were so close to home.

It was nearly mid day before Quinn finally broke the silence. "I know this is not what you want to hear right now, but I cannot help it.  Doesn't it seem at least the slightest bit odd that we were attacked by a Vardin soldier not even a day from Amador almost a month since the peace treaty was signed?"

"Quinn," he said sharply, "Don't." What he was implying was simply illogical.

"But–," Quinn tried to protest.

He was not going to listen to this all the way back. "Just because the leaders of Varda made peace with Ethelia does not mean that there aren't still a few disgruntled soldiers still out there looking for blood," he said definitively, hoping this would end the conversation.

Quinn took the hint, "I'm sure you are right, sire."



Their silence was not broken again until they reached the Nharan Gate, the entrance to the passage that would take them into Amador City. In less than an hour they would be within the city walls and Macon could not have been more relieved. The guards at the gate barely recognized them at first, requesting that they state their business before they could enter. They apologized profusely when they realized their mistake. Macon waved away their apologies and their courtesies. He suspected that he and Quinn looked quite different than when they had left at ages sixteen and seventeen respectively. They had done a lot of growing up since then. He and Quinn both had grown matching blonde beards over the past year or so and he looked forward to shaving his at the first chance he got. He suspected Quinn felt the same, before the war he was always fussing over his appearance, he doubted that battle had beaten that out of him.

Macon smiled at the guards as they let them pass and then turned to Quinn and said, "I think being back will do us both some good."

"So do I," he replied. "So do I."

They walked through the passageway side by side; Macon grew more and more anxious with every step. Amador City was a site to behold by anyone in the whole of the Kingdom's standards. It was a great sprawling city, built into the many faces of the Nhara Mountains. The castle itself found its home in a valley of sorts, the grand entrance to it opening up into a broad public square. The rest of the city emanated from that central point, draping itself over the mountains like a blanket of snow. The city on the surface was only the beginning though, as it extended into the mountains themselves in a complicated maze of tunnels and halls built into the cavernous caves. As they neared the end of the Nharan passage, the sounds of a large crowd began to fill their ears. The noise got louder and louder the closer they got to the gate. He and Quinn glanced at one another with confusion.

"What in the spirits is that?" Quinn demanded to know.

"Maybe it's your feast," Macon laughed. He could not help, despite all that had happened to be in a better mood now that they were moments from home.

"Right," Quinn's tone was bitingly cynical, "The Vardin scouts the King sent out told him we were on our way and he threw something together at the last minute, because he's just that kind of guy."

"Enough," Macon ordered, he would not hear of it.

"Whatever you say, sire," Quinn placated him as he folded his arms across his chest in frustration.

When they finally reached the gate into the city, they were greeted by a pair of flustered guards who stood nervously surveying the scene below. The tunnel let out onto a ledge that overlooked the public square in front of the castle. He and Quinn shuffled up to the edge to gaze down at the throng of people that had gathered there. At the center of the square, there were gallows that had been erected, the wooden scaffolding sticking up awkwardly out of the crowd. On the platform stood a pair of hangmen and a young man dressed in the blue and gray of the King's army. Macon squinted his eyes, studying the soldier. He recognized him as Leos Brai, a man who had joined up with the army in their third year as part of the last group of reinforcements that his father had sent. They had had a conversation once, he recalled. Leos was a good fighter but nervous, having never before seen battle. Macon had tried his best to reassure him.

He watched now as the hangmen slipped a black bag over his head and inched him towards the noose. Feeling the breath go out of him, his whole body tensed up. What had he done to warrant such a public death? The gallows in the center of the square were a new addition since he had left for the war. All executions prior had taken place in the courtyard of the Halls of Justice, where there was ample space for an audience should people choose to attend. This however seemed as though every man, woman, and child from every corner of Amador City had been requested to attend if such a thing were even possible. Regardless of how they ended up there, they all seemed to be in a collective outrage and he was inclined to agree with them.

He scanned over the crowd towards the castle to see his father, mother and younger brother, Mothren, standing on the steps. The King was dressed in all of his finery, his jeweled crown sitting firmly atop the dark locks that covered his head, his deep blue, fur-lined cloak draped about his broad shoulders, and a sapphire encrusted waistcoat. There was curiously a smile plastered on his face as he looked toward the gallows, like he took pleasure in what he was about to do. Glancing at Mothren, he saw a matching expression drawn across his brother's face. His mother, on the other hand, stared not at the square but at his father, with a perplexed and furious look. Her blue eyes were narrowed in anger from what he could tell and her heeled foot tapped lividly on the step beneath her.

"This man," his father's voice boomed, filling the square. "This man was a soldier in my army until he chose to forsake his sacred duty and desert my son and our troops in their time of need. He is to be executed on this day for treason to his country, to his brothers in battle, and mostly to his King!"

"This is absurd," Quinn scoffed beside him. "Leos Brai is a good man who deserted an army who didn't need him that was fighting a war that should not have been being fought in the first place. He was right to go!"

Macon made no objection for once, still in shock at what was happening. Where were the Justice? He wanted to know. They were appointed to carry out sentencing of prisoners. He looked over the scene again but he did not see them and they would have stuck out in their long white robes. Treason, he pondered. Leos Brai was a deserter, it was not as if the punishment was unjust, but the way it was being handled seemed so undignified and unfair. He felt sick as he watched the hangmen place the noose around Leos's neck. Unable to move on his own, he just stood there, helpless until he felt Quinn grab his arm and pull him toward the staircase that descended into the square.

"Come on!" he said, urging him forward. "I will not stand by and do nothing."  

"He is a deserter," Macon found himself saying as they ran down the steps, Quinn still pulling him along.

Quinn brought them to an abrupt stop for a moment and turned to him, grabbing hold of both his shoulders. "You have never agreed with your father on matters like this, do not start now!"

"You're right," he admitted.

"Good, then let's go!" Quinn said quickly.

They continued their descent, taking two stairs at a time, reaching the level of the square in what seemed like seconds. Quinn took the lead and began to push their way through the crowds that shouted in protest around them. He heard things that terrified him as they made their way deeper and deeper amongst the masses. This was the fifth execution in a week. The King had gone mad. The Justice had been bought out and no longer had power.  He even heard claims that the King had likely killed more men in the past three years than the army had Vardin soldiers. Whether these were exaggerations or not, they still frightened him at the though that he had left his people in such peril.

The people they passed ignored them at first, but little by little they began to recognize him and whispers began to echo through the crowd. 'The Prince has returned.' 'Thank the spirits the Prince has returned.' 'Long live Prince Macon.'  The whispers grew into a hum and then a roar as they reached the steps of the castle. His father was in mid breath, about to give the order to kill Leos Brai when his brother officially announced his arrival.

"Brother?" Mothren questioned in an unexpected confusion like he was the last person he had ever expected to see. Almost like his presence was near impossibility.

The King took in a big gulp of air, nearly choking on it as he turned to stare at he and Quinn. He had the same expression on his face that Mothren had had although he quickly masked it with one of feigned and forced joy. His mother, however, looked down at him with sincere elation and relief. The King only allowed himself to be distracted for a moment before turning back to the crowd and focusing on the task at hand. His mother thought quickly though.

"My son's return is–," his father started to say.

His mother cut in before he could finish the thought, "Is cause for a celebration, not an execution." The crowd erupted in a wave of cheers and the Queen smiled to herself. His father spun around to glare at her through squinted eyes. His face turned bright red as he fumed with anger. He started to protest, but she would not hear of it. "Execute him tomorrow if you must, but let us not sour our son's homecoming with death," she said softly to him.

Macon climbed the steps of the castle to join his family, beckoning Quinn to join him. He begrudgingly followed, not taking his eyes off of the King. His mother embraced him as he reached the step she stood on, however he was met with cold, unwelcoming looks from his father and brother. Nevertheless, his father turned back to address the restless crowd.

"As my beloved Queen says, our son's return is cause for celebration. And celebrate we will, with a feast in his honor and in commemoration of the Vardin Peace Treaty. Though tomorrow, I promise you, we will have our execution," the King stated firmly, very selective with the word he emphasized. "Take the prisoner back to the dungeons!" He added.

Macon watched as both the noose and bag were removed from Leos's head and he was brought down from the platform. The soldier's body shook with lingering fear, his head hanging as he was led out of the square. He breathed a sigh of relief that they had stopped the execution for the moment, though there was still tomorrow to consider. Tonight, he would try his best to enjoy the festivities, though his good mood seemed to have faded.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he turned to Quinn. "At least now you will get your feast," he said, forcing a slight smile.

Quinn raised his eyebrows and replied, "Good! I must admit I am starving."