They set up camp about a mile from the walls of Camulan. No one rode out to meet them, which Aeolwyn thought was odd. He was sure his brother’s scouts had seen them and already reported back. If his scouts told him a large army was approaching, friendly or not, the first thing he’d do would be to send a rider out to ascertain their intentions.
He left the army under the command of Galafar, who protested. He was insisting on the right to be one of Aeolwyn’s bodyguards, but the Shielder was denied. Aeolwyn needed someone he could trust in charge of his army.
No one besides Galafar was upset at the command. The knights Count Wollams had brought came with him, and they were the only ones left who would have been offended at someone of lower status being put in command of them.
Trusting that his army was safe under the command of the Shielder, they rode the rest of the way to Fort Camulan. His mother was insisting that he ride into the capital with her, as befitting his station as a Prince of the Realm, but he declined. Instead, Reiva rode in the carriage while he sat upon Sefalus alongside Count Wollams, Egne, and the knights.
Reiva did her best to disguise herself. She packed up her all-black outfit and consigned herself to a bright and colorful dress. Atop her head, she wore a simple round hat with a veil attached to hide her face. If Aeolwyn was honest, she did a poor job, but he suspected that was the point. She wanted his brother to know that she had survived.
In addition to his mother, his friends, and Count Wollams, Brakus had hand-picked a dozen soldiers to act as Aeolwyn’s personal guard. He didn’t see the need, but the captain insisted on it. He chose them for their loyalty, their skill in battle, and their ability to be discreet. He dressed the lot of them in new uniforms with red armbands and bearing the dragon’s head silhouette that the men had taken to wearing as Aeolwyn’s personal sigil.
He rode into the city like a conquering general. He wasn’t sure who sent word that he was coming, but someone did. People were lined up along the streets throwing flowers and begging for blessings, which he and Count Wollams gave freely. Many gave their condolences to him and his family, which Aeolwyn earnestly appreciated.
Some broke into the street, grabbed his feet and kissed them. That was something that made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t a god, or a god’s representative. He wasn’t king, and he wasn’t going to be king. He was a general, and these sorts of obeisance were improper.
But no matter how many times he tried to discourage the people from doing it, they continued. The entire ride from the gates of Teorton all the way up to the gates of the Royal Palace on Mot’s Hill, the citizens lined the streets, showing their respect to Aeolwyn.
“You have captured the hearts of the people here, Your Highness,” Count Wollams said as they rode.
Aeolwyn shrugged. “I don’t know how. I’ve been gone for 5 years. They shouldn’t even recognize me.”
“The people always love a successful general.”
That was something he agreed with. He remembered being obsessed with his great-grandfather’s successes on the battlefields. He read all the histories his father had on the subject. There was a time that he could have recited the descriptions of every battle he had fought in, from the movements of troops all the way down to the supply lines that fed them.
“I don’t know how much my brother will like it,” he said.
“The king will soon have his turn to be glorified, so enjoy this while it lasts,” Wollams replied before adding, “But you’re smart to worry.”
The crowd at the palace gates was so thick that it was difficult for the carriage to get through. His guards had to beat the crowd back to make room. Each person still reached as far as they could to try to touch Aeolwyn, Sefalus, or failing that, Count Wollams.
When a sufficiently sized gap had formed, the palace guards finally opened the gates and let the procession in. The palace guards beat back the crowd with cudgels to prevent them from attempting to get inside the palace.
As he and the queen’s caravan pulled up in front of the palace, he was greeted by Lord Smyton, and Lord-General Harmin. Beside those two stood his sister Davinya, and his brother Wolfryn. Alfyn was conspicuously absent, but Aeolwyn understood. Alfyn was king now. He didn’t greet anyone at the gates. He would receive his visitors inside the palace. Either in the throne room, or the drawing room for a more personal visit.
The fact that Ulfnar and Filliya were absent from the greeting weighed heavy on his heart. His sister was sick with whatever illness had taken his father’s life, and his brother was missing. No one seemed to know where Ulfnar had gone, though Aeolwyn had sent scouts out looking for him. He assumed his brother had done the same.
Wolfryn held Sefalus’ reins as Aeolwyn dismounted. His broad-chested brother looked smaller than he remembered. He was still muscular, but it didn’t impress Aeolwyn as much as it used to. During the years he’d spent as a soldier, he’d put on nearly as much muscle as Wolfryn.
His brother grabbed him in a tight embrace. “Welcome home, brother, though I scarcely recognize the little boy who excitedly left the palace.”
Aeolwyn was much taller now, not that Wolfryn had been known for his height. The royal family weren’t known for being tall men, but Aeolwyn got his height from his mother. She was nearly as tall as his father had been.
“It’s good to see you, Wolfryn. I wish my visit were under better circumstances.”
“We all do,” his sister said as she embraced him. She scarcely waited a second after Wolfryn stepped back to hug him. She seemed different than he remembered. She was much thinner, and her haunted eyes carried a heavy weight. There was something else about her that he couldn’t put a finger on. She had an aura about her he didn’t remember seeing before. An aura of something powerful.
“Mother!” Wolfryn blurted out.
The carriage door had opened, and his mother stepped out. Both Davinya and Wolfryn ran to embrace her. Her tear-stricken face lit up when she saw the two, and she welcomed both of them into a tight hug.
Reiva stood close to her while still being within sight of Aeolwyn. Her normally still eyes darted around, looking for traps and assassins everywhere. His liegewoman was on edge, and it showed. At least she wasn’t reaching for the daggers she had hidden.
Aeolwyn let his brothers have their moment with their mother. He walked over to Harmin and Lord Smyton. The hawk-nosed man’s wart seemed to have grown in his absence. He had been so intimidated by the Lord Chamberlain when he was younger. Now he didn’t understand why. His thin, gaunt appearance couldn’t intimidate anyone.
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“Prince Aeolwyn,” Lord Smyton said as he bowed his head and crisply snapped it back up. “Welcome home.”
“Prince-General,” Harmin corrected.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Lord Smyton said. “Prince-General Aeolwyn.”
Aeolwyn disregarded the slight with a wave of his hand. He didn’t think it had been intentional. Smyton, as Lord Chamberlain wouldn’t have concerned himself with military matters.
“Think nothing of it, Lord Smyton.”
Aeolwyn saluted the lord-general before the elder man reached out to shake Aeolwyn’s hand. “Welcome home, son.”
“Lord Egnever,” Smyton said as his friend stepped up beside him. “Jor Bashi would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”
Jor Bashi wanted to see Egne? That was unusual. Even though Egne was a mage, Aeolwyn didn’t expect that the court mage would take an interest in that. Perhaps he wanted to learn about the advances Egne and Aeolwyn had been making on the battlefield. He would be disappointed. Egne was the one who had given strict orders that no one—not even Aeolwyn—discuss their battle strategy.
Aeolwyn had agreed and made it an order punishable by death.
“Lord prince,” Smyton said turning to Aeolwyn. “His Grace, King Alfyn, gave instructions to bring you to the drawing room as soon as you arrived.”
“Lead on,” Aeolwyn said. A flush of nerves ran through his body, but he stifled them. His brother wasn’t going to order his death. He just wanted to see his younger brother and judge what sort of man he’d become.
Reiva took a step towards him as he walked into the palace, but he stopped her with a gesture. He was safe enough for the time being. If Alfyn made an attempt to stab him in the drawing room, his brother would find that Aeolwyn was now bigger, stronger, and much better trained in hand-to-hand combat than the king was.
Besides, A knife in the back wasn’t Alfyn’s style.
The drawing room was exactly as he remembered it. It still smelled like tar and the sea and was cluttered with all of the battle trophies that his father hadn’t won. Alfyn lounged in a chair beside the open window holding their father’s prized possession: the Daal’s arrowhead; the A’Lon’co’kal as Aeolwyn had learned it was called.
Alfyn looked up as Aeolwyn entered, a sadistic smile appearing on his face. For a moment, Aeolwyn wondered if the new king meant to stab him with the golden arrowhead. It would be poetic if Alfyn did—considering it had been a symbol of their mortal enemy’s power and right to rule.
If the king had been tempted to, he thought better of it when he saw the chainmail covering Aeolwyn’s chest. He put the arrowhead down and stood, striding over, arms open.
“Brother! How you have grown,” Alfyn said as he pulled Aeolwyn into an embrace. Unlike his other siblings’ hugs, this wasn’t a tight one. He essentially just put his arms around the space Aeolwyn occupied before letting go and stepping back.
Aeolwyn formally bowed his head before snapping it back up, just as Lord Smyton had done to him. “Your Grace,” he said.
“Please, Aeolwyn,” Alfyn said. “We are alone. No reason to stand on formality.”
That was unusual. Even in private, his father insisted that the proper protocols be followed. He had expected Alfyn to be the same. Aeolwyn decided that it was a trick to put him at ease and off his guard. Alfyn was more schooled in politics than Aeolwyn and would want to appear trustworthy. Aeolwyn wouldn’t take the bait.
“Let me pour you some wine, brother,” Alfyn said as soon as Smyton closed the doors and left the two of them alone. Aeolwyn felt naked without his sword Woebringer, but he wasn’t allowed to be armed in front of the king, family or not. It didn’t matter. Aeolwyn could handle his brother without weapons—though he still had Ulfnar’s dagger hidden up his sleeve.
Aeolwyn looked at the cup of wine dubiously when Alfyn handed it to him. It had been poured out of the same jug that the king had poured his own cup from. He wondered if he was taking a risk with his life by drinking from it. Though the wine in the jug may not be poisoned, Alfyn could have slipped some in the cup before Aeolwyn arrived.
“For Laryn’s sake, Aeolwyn,” his brother said before grabbing the cup and drinking from it. he swallowed, opened his mouth to prove it, before handing the cup back. Then he gestured to the second chair beside the window. “Please, sit.”
The two of them turned the chairs to face the window and sat down, sitting in silence as they drank their wine. Aeolwyn felt uncomfortable and wanted to fill the silence with words, but he knew this was another political game his brother was playing. By speaking first, he would give Alfyn the upper hand.
Aeolwyn picked up the small statue of a golden bird that had been sitting on the table. According to their father, their great-grandfather had taken it from the elves at the same time he ripped the golden arrowhead from the neck of the Daal. It was a poor representation of an eagle, completely out of proportion and with a misshapen head. Aeolwyn didn’t know why the man had stolen the thing, unless it had some sort of symbolic value to the elves.
Finally, he couldn’t stand the quiet any longer. He was a man of action, not of politics. Even if he was giving Alfyn the upper hand in the game of politics, it wasn’t something he couldn’t steal back on the battlefield.
“Where’s Ulfnar?” he asked.
“Is he not with you?” Alfyn answered. “When you arrived with mother, I assumed that you had Ulfnar in that carriage as well.”
Aeolwyn tried to decide if this was another ploy by Alfyn to get more information out of Aeolwyn. Did he truly not know where Ulfnar was?
“He’s not with me,” Aeolwyn admitted. Whether it was a game or not, Alfyn would already know the truth. “Why is he not in the palace? Last I’d heard, father put him under house arrest.”
Alfyn laughed out loud, and it sounded earnest. “Father could keep Ulfnar from escaping the palace no better than a leaky ship can keep water out.”
Aeolwyn found himself chuckling as well. He suspected there was no prison anywhere on Laryndor that could keep Ulfnar from escaping. He was a slippery fellow. “And you don’t know where he is?”
“No. My spies and scouts have still been unable to locate him. The last they were able to report was that he escaped on a ship headed south and wasn’t aboard when the ship docked in Tambryne.”
That was the same information Aeolwyn had. He was sure that Alfyn had something to do with his disappearance. He doubted his brother would admit to that though. Accidentally or otherwise.
They continued to sit in silence for a while when his brother offered no further information on Ulfnar’s whereabouts. Aeolwyn hoped that Alfyn hadn’t killed him. He didn’t know what he’d do if that were the case. He would be tempted to bring his army inside the city and call for his brother’s head.
“Why have you summoned me here, brother?” Aeolwyn asked. “Not just to drink wine and gaze at the ocean.”
“I wanted to see what kind of man my brother had become,” Alfyn said after another bit of silence. “And to issue you a warning: you’re in my world now, Aeolwyn. No amount men camped outside of the city will change that.”
That was a strange bit of bluntness coming from his brother. He had expected Alfyn to dance around the question, and force Aeolwyn to puzzle out the meaning with hours of contemplation.
“Fair enough, brother,” Aeolwyn said. “Then may I make a request?”
“Of course! If it is within my ability, it is yours.”
Aeolwyn wondered about the sincerity of those words, especially considering the request he was about to make. It was a thing that was definitely within the powers of the king to grant, yet Aeolwyn doubted he would.
“Please stop trying to kill me,” Aeolwyn said. “I am content to be the general of Fort Camulan, and have no interest in your throne, or in being king.”
You could be king. That nagging voice again. He shoved it back down, ignoring it.
Alfyn had the nerve to glare at Aeolwyn in shock. If his brother had been drinking, Aeolwyn would have expected him to deliberately spray wine from his lips.
“You wound me, brother!” Alfyn lied. “I would never want you dead.”
Aeolwyn chuckled. “Please, brother,” he said, putting special emphasis on the word. “I have taken Reiva into my service.”
Alfyn’s pretend shock turned into actual shock. He hadn’t known that. Aeolwyn wondered if his brother thought the second assassin he’d sent after her had succeeded. Surely that one would have reported back.
The king recovered his composure after refilling his wine glass. “I don’t know who that is,” he said before drinking deeply from the glass.
“Of course,” Aeolwyn said in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe his brother’s comment. “With your warning delivered, I beg to take my leave, Your Grace.”
Alfyn waved his hand in dismissal. Aeolwyn had clearly won this round. His brother was shocked to his core that Reiva was still alive and now serving the very target she had been paid to kill.
Aeolwyn stood and started towards the door, before pausing.
“Brother, let me give a warning of my own,” he said. “Those that have come with me are under my protection, including mother and Reiva. If something should happen to them, my army would be greatly displeased.”
Aeolwyn left without waiting for Alfyn’s reply. He realized, too late, that he had taken the golden statue with him. He wasn’t about to go back in and return it. Instead, he just stuffed it into his pocket.
