Sword of the True King

I:

Chapter I

The entire city was in motion, everyone was flocking to the parade. This wasn’t any parade though, it was very special. The sixteen year old prince, Altair, was getting married, to the Lord’s daughter, Tarene. Music, fanfare, confetti, merriment, a shining sun and clear blue sky; it was a perfect day for the wedding.

Atop the furthest float were the bride and groom; the young prince in a white suit of armor with his black hair combed (which was unusual enough). The young Lady was wearing a white, elegant dress, her face lightly covered by a veil. Tarene held a bouquet of white roses in her arms. She couldn’t help but smile broad while Altair waved to the citizens. The people cheered, whistled, and applauded over the roaring band that marched ahead of them.

Only the families of the two knew that the marriage was strictly political, or at least it was when first arranged. Tarene and Altair had quickly become smitten with each other, and soon after, deeply in love. The bride and groom had argued with their parents over a more quieter arrangement, but the King and Queen wouldn’t hear of it. But neither could deny that the final arrangement was a lot of fun for everyone.

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“Prince Altair, do you take Lady Tarene to be your wife, in the eyes of Heaven and Earth, for all eternity, until you both may rest?” The judge asked Altair.

“I do.” He answered. His older brother and best man, Virgil, handed him a ring and he slid it up her ring finger.

“Lady Tarene, do you take Prince Altair to be your husband, in the eyes of Heaven and Earth, for all eternity, until you both may rest?” The judge asked Lady Tarene. Her brown eyes locked with Altair’s blue ones.

“I do.” She answered, her maid of honor handing her a ring, which she slid up Altair’s ring finger.

“Until death do us part.” Altair vowed.

“Forsaking all others.” Tarene spoke.

The judge closed the book in his hands, “then I now pronounce you husband and wife; you may now kiss the bride.”

The family and friends of the man and wife who were sitting in the seats of the church began clapping when Altair bent over and kissed his new wife, ready to start their life together.

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The next day…

“What the hell is going on?” Altair demanded, storming into the room. All of the Senators looked up at the prince with somber faces.

“There are Centarian soldiers headed toward this city. There’s no time to evacuate the palace.” His older sister, Lyra answered. She was in a violet gown, with white ribbons. She had brown hair that rested on her shoulders.

“Wait, I don’t understand, the Dominion and Acturus agreed to keep the war between themselves!” Altair said, slamming his fist down on the table.

“Well, for some reason, the Dominion believes they have power enough to not worry about what the consequences may be for this act,” Virgil said, running his hand through his short, white hair.

“How many soldiers?” Altair growled.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Lyra finally answered, “the third fleet, headed by the Armageddon.”

“An entire fleet?! What are we doing to prevent them from walking all over us?” The Prince asked, glaring all over the room.

“We’ve deployed all our available knights, but…” Virgil began, before turning away angrily.

“…We sent most of our best knights on a mission a few days ago. It was a Centarian trap. They all died.” Lyra explained, staring at the map laid out on the table. “And we’ve decided, you and Tarene are going to be smuggled out tonight, while Virgil and I stay to defend the castle.”

“No! That’s not fair!” He cried.

“You have no choice in the matter, as you are not yet a man. You are still a child. The King and Queen have arranged a midnight transport to the Capital, where you are to remain until the Dominion is expunged.” Lyra explained. If there was anything Altair hated, it was the reminder of his age in comparison to his siblings. He was sixteen, Virgil was nineteen, and Lyra was twenty-three.

“Fine.” Altair said, turning and walking out of the room, his cloak waving dramatically behind him.

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Two years later…

I was preparing some food for the boy from the herbs I had collected this morning. It was a few days ago when I found a dark-haired youth laying in the middle of the road, arrows sticking out from his back. I had done all I could to help him, yet for days now he had yet to awaken. He had also been running a high fever, so I had tried to treat him for that, too.

“Ughhh…” A voice groaned. The boy stirred, and I quickly approached him. He opened his eyes with a great difficulty and looked around the room, “where am I?”

“Don’t worry about that now, you’re okay here. What’s your name? Mine’s Cassie, or Cassandra if you like, Vana.” I said, trying to learn more about this boy. He was in his late teens like myself, with a slender build and only about 5’7. I was about 5’6 so he was around my height.

“My name is-…my name is Brandon. I’m a traveling merchant, and I was separated from my group,” he explained, groaning again.

“I find that hard to believe. When I found you, there were arrows jutting from your back. You were very lucky, by the way, that the arrows didn’t cause any irreparable damage.” I said, replacing the wet washcloth on his forehead with a new one.

“It was…bandits. They attacked me and stole my wares,” he explained, trying to remove the rag from his head. I smacked his hand down.

“Don’t you even think about it. You’re running a heavy fever, and until you improve it would be suicide to leave.” I said, placing a stool next to his bed so I could sit.

“I would suppose you are adamant about this?” He asked, too weak to argue.

“Very.” I answered, taking a knife and slicing an apple for him.

Our relationship was a little rocky to begin with. Our conversations were usually short during the first few days because of two problems; Brandon didn’t want to talk about himself, and I didn’t want to talk about me. My excuse was valid, however. But in retrospect, I could understand why his was too.

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A week later...

I woke up in my room, which was right next to Brandon’s, and looked around. It took all the strength I had to rip away my down blanket and stand up. I yawned really loud, stretching my arms high and stepped toward the mirror when I realized my foot was still asleep. The wood floor was really cold, but I wasn’t paying much attention to it. I stared into the mirror, realizing my long, blond hair was a complete mess. If there’s anything harder then brushing hair, then it’s brushing hair that reaches your knees. But after about ten minutes of frustration, anger, and words I prayed Brandon couldn’t hear, I had brushed my hair and tied it into a very long ponytail. I stripped of my pale under gown that I wore to bed, in exchange for a crimson shirt with long, open sleeves and a hole below the neckline for design, as well as tanned shorts.

“How are you this morning?” I asked, entering Brandon’s room, opening the curtains to let light bask the room in it’s glory.

“Ugghh…” Brandon groaned, hiding his face with a pillow.

I smiled, and prepared breakfast for the two of us in the kitchen. I’m a strict vegetarian, a fact that Brandon and I had spent a day arguing over, so I peeled a few bananas and oranges that I bought only the day before from the market, and poured the two of us a glass of orange juice. I returned to his room, our breakfast in hand, and laid it on a table next to the bed. He was sitting up, which he had the strength to do since about two days ago, yet I refused to let him stand while his legs were still in such a state of disrepair. More good news was that his fever had swiftly broke.

“If I’m ever going to get better, I need meat…protein…” He complained, even though he knew I was against the slaying and eating of animals.

“Oh, shut up and eat,” I said, helping myself to an orange slice. And he did, but he made it vocal about how much he missed his precious meat.

We enjoyed breakfast and chatted idly, nothing that concerned either of us.

“Here, turn around, let me change those bandages.” I ordered, and he did. His chest was well built, but I focused on taking the end of the bandage and winding it off of him. It was red with crusted blood, but I noticed that his wounds from the arrows were already scarring over and that he was quickly getting better.

“That doesn’t hurt as much as it did the other day. Are my wounds looking well?” He asked, trying to turn his head and face me.

“Yes, they’re looking quite well. Hopefully this will be the last time they need to be bandaged.” I said, taking the roll of bandaging tape and winding it back around his torso. Soon he’d be healed and gone, and I’d be alone again…

My name is Cassandra Vana, or at least, I think it is. I couldn’t talk about myself to “Brandon” because…I don’t remember anything before a few months ago.