He was in a bed in the old monastery the soldiers had taken over as their home base. Despite the previous day’s attack, most of the interior of the sprawling stone building was still intact.
Unable to bear the thought of falling back into the nightmare, Erich stood and paced the small cell. The sky outside was still dark and he was too disoriented to know what time of night it was.
He hadn’t been scared during the shipwreck itself, but now he was terrified of repeating the experience.
Search parties were still combing the coastline and coming back mostly empty-handed. The thought made him furious. So many of his men—his father’s men—had been murdered by the Majis.
Sleep was useless.
Slipping his captain’s doublet over his loose woolen shirt, he stood and affixed the front clasps. He hated the dark gray uniformity of the Iseldis military. The shirt was designed to make its wearer look intimidating and powerful. Heavily layered bands of leather covered each shoulder, a series of knotted ties slanted down the left front, and a boldly embroidered insignia sat over his heart.
Finally, a small circlet of pure gold was sewn above the Iseldis insignia to mark him as a member of the royal family.
Erich loathed it.
When Ian wore the uniform, he looked older and more mature. People respected him and he deserved it. The clothing accentuated who Ian really was.
For Erich, the gray shirt had always made him feel like he was playing a role, quieting some part of himself to fit in.
He especially hated how wearing the uniform made some of the guards act like they were more important than they were. They used it to intimidate others. Erich vowed he would never allow himself to become like that.
He had forced himself to accept the gray shirt as a mark of his station, while resenting it ever so slightly every time he had to put it on.
Walking through the once peaceful monastery halls felt odd to Erich. It was now filled with soldiers and weapons.
The arched pathways overhead and domed rooms on either side stood tall and proud against the destructive, sand-filled wind constantly rolling in from the sea. But when he looked closer, the crumbling masonry and deteriorating cracks of the structure gave it an air of exhaustion. This was the oldest known building in all of Iseldis, and perhaps even in all the Five Kingdoms. Throughout its entire history, it had housed the good monks, weathering them through all storms and wars. Until now.
King Gareth and the Council in Chendas had asked the monks to leave the monastery a few months prior as the storms from the sea raged ever more dangerously. In return, Gareth had sent a contingent of his men to aid in the defense of the eastern shore. Currently, it was Gareth’s general who was overseeing the monastery.
Walking through the long, silent hall, Erich felt a twinge of remorse. This had always been a place of peace. Though loyal to their king, the monks had never sided with any political power, choosing instead to rule their fields and community in their own fashion. It was said that even the Majis rulers of long ago had respected that.
Now, even in the middle of the night, the old monastery was brimming with as much activity as it had during the day. Guardsmen and farmers from the local communities dashed through the maze of halls, delivering messages, repairing damages, and eating heartily between tasks.
A few of the elite guards who had come with him from the capital stopped and nodded respectfully as he passed.
Erich nodded back at the men he regarded as equals, wishing he could tear the small golden crown from his shirt. Most of the locals didn’t know who he was and he preferred to keep it that way.
Arriving at the center of the complex, Erich knocked on the door to what had once been the study of the abbot who oversaw the community of monks.
A towering squire held open the door of the study and Erich entered. He nodded at the older general seated at the large desk inside.
“Your Highness.” The general welcomed Erich without rising, his eyes tired and shadowed in the lamplight.
“I am merely a captain, General,” Erich corrected him for the dozenth time since his arrival on the coast. The hardened old man insisted on deferring to Erich’s royal title, but something about the way he did it grated on Erich’s nerves.
General Gautho was twice his age and one of the most respected military men in the Five Kingdoms. Just like Ian, he naturally received—and deserved—the respect of everyone in the room.
Erich wanted to have that someday. It would be much nicer than patronizing heads dipping to his face and the whispered jokes of his youth and incompetence behind his back.
“Couldn’t sleep?” the general asked.
Erich’s spine stiffened subconsciously. Did the man know he was having nightmares? “Simply staying alert. Any news?”
“Yes, actually,” General Gautho responded. “Though it isn’t good. A small rowboat was spotted up the northern shore. We think it carried the Majis who controlled the sea.”
Erich crossed his arms. “A single magic-wielder turned the sea upside down?”
General Gautho shrugged. “This is what we are dealing with.”
