To Call Our Own (4/36)

[amberfocus]

 

Chapter Four:  Vandarian and Tiron

When King Travenn discovered that prince Tiron had disappeared he had taken a knife and gutted the prison guards on duty that night. When he learned Jack Harkness had escaped his cell he’d slit the throats of the entire prison guard. When he discovered that his daughter Naya and two of his best horses were missing, he’d taken great pleasure in removing the heads of both the messenger and the head stableman with his ceremonial sword. And now as his chief medical man stood in front of him, telling him the plague was getting out of hand amongst his own people, he had half a mind to execute him as well.

It was the cool voice of his son and heir Vandarian that had excused the man from their presence and brought him to his senses. “And of what benefit would it be to your people if you killed the only man who is perhaps capable of formulating a cure, Father?”

“We should have had the cure by now!” Roared his father. “If we hadn’t lost the stranger, the others would have given it us in return for him. But instead I find I am betrayed right and left, even by your own sister!”

Vandarian forbore to mention that if his father hadn’t infected the Dirsan ambassador with an ancient malady that had spread beyond the capabilities of his scientists, that none of this would have happened at all. Instead he strode to the window, clenching his fists before him, feeling his nails drawing blood as he kept his temper in check. He kept his tone even as he replied. “Naya was exhibiting early signs of the plague. I am sure she felt no other recourse. She did not receive the vaccine as I did. I can understand her actions.”

“You excuse her?” The king’s voice was dangerous and if Vandarian had been facing him he would have seen the anger that glittered in his father’s eyes.

“I understand her,” he returned.

“It was she who saved that prince. Infatuated by him, mindless girl.”

Vandarian bit hard on his lip, just short of cutting through with his teeth. Naya had been far more infatuated with the stranger than she’d been with the prince, but it was not a difference that his father would appreciate having pointed out to him. He changed the subject instead. “There has been news from Dirsa.”

“Oh?” There was keen interest in Travenn’s tone.

“Their losses continue to increase. They have lost thirty-five percent of their population. Fifty percent of the remainder are ill. The survival rate of plague victims is one in one hundred. You may have no one to war with when this is done.” Again he forbore to mention that there very well might be no one to send to do battle with them when it was done.

If King Travenn recognized the implied criticism he did not indicate it. “That news at least is good. How fare your children?”

Vandarian’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing. “Neralta’s begun showing early signs. Jeswyn is free of it. Davin is, of course, immune.”

“And your wife?”

“Will die within the hour.” He kept the bitterness out of his voice, just.

“Then by all means go to her. Perhaps your presence will ease her passing.” Travenn’s voice was magnanimous and not for the first time in his adult life did he strongly desire to drive his fist into his father's face. Hate was too inadequate a word for what he felt for the man who had sired him.

“By your leave,” Vandarian said and strode from the room, his boot heels digging so deeply into the flint flagstones he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d given off sparks.

As the door to the great hall fell heavily shut at his back he let all of his rage at the evil behind him show upon his face. One way or another, King Travenn would not live through the plague.

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Tiron had not gone far, not to the mountains as he had told Naya, but he had lurked in the outskirts of the village awaiting his chance to avenge his ambassador Dalys, who had also been his friend for as long as he could remember. He had been surprised at the help from the prince and princess in his escape, though he should have expected as much from Naya after their acquaintanceship on the journey between countries. He had not expected the king’s heir to display such courage against his father. Vandarian had been helping to keep him hidden, keeping his presence secret even from Naya.

He had been surprised by many things in his short stay in Rindi. He had come to understand much when he learned that the king had let his queen and younger son die, instead giving the limited vaccine to his soldiers and advisors. No doubt to have the needed killers to slaughter the remainder of the Dirsan people.

At least Vandarian had given him a dosage of the vaccine. How the prince had gotten his hands on it, he did not know, for the vaults had been securely guarded. He could only think that someone else had thought it wise not to kill the heir to the Dirsan throne. He had wanted to give it to Naya, but the prince had been stubborn in his refusal. “If she dies,” he had said, “It will not cause war between our people. If you die, there will be no coming back from it.”

The girl was quite sensible and he knew she would have chosen this course herself given the choice. And he knew she would make a good wife and one day a good queen. He might even have grown to love her if the arranged for marriage had been allowed. He had seen strength and courage and heart within her, so much at odds with the man who had sired her. A coward that one; but evil and malicious and with a firm grasp on his people that seemed unbreakable.

Vandarian was late arriving that evening and when he did appear he had a look upon his face that conveyed in no uncertain terms that something horrible had happened. “What is it?” He asked.

“My wife is dead. My daughter is showing signs of the plague. And my father continues to slaughter the innocent. He will not live out this week.” The older man’s hand clenched on his belt, his fingers unconsciously going to his belt knife as he said the word father. Vandarian’s eyes shuttered harshly, cutting off his emotions as he brought his attention back to the younger man.

“This ends now, Vand,” Tiron said putting his hand on the other man’s arm. “You and I, we are the future of this continent. It does not have to continue as it ever has.”

“It will not. The bloodshed will end. If Naya lives, she will marry you. She has agreed to it. We will be tied. We will be brothers.”

“If…Naya lives?” Tiron spoke hesitantly. Vandarian looked into the forest, avoiding his eyes.

“The plague has begun within her. But she escaped with the stranger. I have every hope that his people can cure her,” Vandarian said.

“And if she dies?”

Vandarian shifted his weight and brought his eyes to meet with Tiron’s. “We must consider ourselves brothers regardless, if this is to end.” Vandarian removed his belt knife and made a shallow slice across his palm and Tiron followed suit. They grasped hands, allowing the blood to mingle and made the ancient vows of the Dirindis.

“Brothers in blood, bound to a higher law, unbreakable even in death,” they swore.

Vandarian pulled two lengths of bandages from his pack and the two men dressed their wounds. “Did you find the poison?” Vandarian asked when that task was done.

Tiron nodded sharply, leading the other man to where he’d cached the death fungi. “It will not be an easy death,” said Tiron.

“No more than he deserves.”

Ch. 5:  http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/65614.html