Chapter 24: "The Fall of Petraz: The Boy Who Would be King"

Dawn broke over the forested ravine that Petraz rested in. The royal army had set up camp on the northern slopes several days ago. They had observed that whole time, making no moves as they took in the scope of the maze that had been constructed. Waiting to see if they would make the first move.

The maze was round, with a half-mile radius in almost every direction. The walls were tall enough that only the tallest sauropods could peer over them.

“Bloody hell, what kind of trap have they wrought?” General Bartimeus had asked. His hair was a smooth and silky black, as was his well-kept beard. His odd colored eyes, one silvery gray-blue, the other a striking yellow-green, always caught the attention of new faces.

“Indeed,” Nannaya nodded in agreement. The man was in his mid-twenties, his hair tied back in a ponytail. The silver and purple tassels that fringed his leather shoulder pauldrons marked him as a guard and shadow of royalty.

“And look,” another soldier, a fresh greenhorn, Salmonis, pointed. “They made the walls in such a way that the trees keep it concealed.”

Looking through a spyglass, the other men could see that was true; the walls were wide enough to allow multiple trees to stand, overhang and overlap. From their vantage point atop the ridge, it obscured much of the view of the maze paths.

“Do they think we are such fools to fall for such an obvious trap?” Bartimeus’s asked snidely, peevishly snorting. “Our own sauropods could level it all within a day, two at most.”

“As some of them hail from these forests, I am sure they are quite aware,” a new voice said.

The three men immediately turned at attention, raising their right fists in a salute, Salmonis with

a surprised look on his face. After all, he was not yet accustomed to being in the presence of the king.

Caleus dismissed them with a disinterested wave.

“That begs the question,” he continued, “why would they go to such trouble to even construct it.”

“Could it be they want us to destroy it, for some reason?” Bartimeus asked.

“It is a possibility, though I cannot imagine why.” The king furrowed his brow. “We wait until dawn. Then it comes down.”

“But your Majesty,” Nannaya said, “should we not send a messenger to broach the surrender of the council of elders? Surely some of the people will recognize the situation and at least attempt to drive them out?”

That earned some scoffs. “Any citizens that wish to leave and rejoin the kingdom will be allowed to do so, only after the council are drawn and quartered for all to see,” Caleus said. “They will sorely regret using Sophia as an excuse to rebel. I will make sure of that.”

***

As afternoon came and went, giving way to evening, Nannaya found himself yawning as he sat at the archery range. It was hardly impressive, just a few pieces of lumber, the smooth, sawed ends painted with red clay circles.

There was only one archer in the range at present. Sweat was beginning to coat the brow of the boy; he had been at it in the afternoon heat for nearly an hour.

“Caseus, why not take a rest?”

The boy shook his head. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail similar to his guard, his brow furrowed as he looked at the poor scattering of arrows in the wood. “Not yet! There is still ample daylight! I must improve!” Another arrow was let loose, this time completely missing the target.

Nannaya gave a sigh as he stood up and took the bow from the teen’s hands. “You will not improve when you are so angry. If anything, you are more apt to shoot someone by mistake.”

He gave a huff. He drew his knife from the sheath at his hip, and hurled it at the target. Though it did not hit the center, it did split an arrow down the middle.

“But I must be ready! I cannot just sit around and do nothing!”

“You know your father's orders,” Nannaya shook his head. “Honestly, you are lucky he allowed you to even join him this far.”

He grunted. “But they must pay! I do not care whether they resent father's concubine or not, but they must suffer… for u-using… Mother's death as an excuse!” He was clenching his fists, tears at the corners of his eyes.

Nannaya put an arm around his shoulder. The boy had not taken his mother's death well, to say the least. However, it was a hollow gesture, purely for show. In truth Nannaya had grown tired of playing the role of guard and surrogate older brother, as it seemed that was to be his only lot in life. While he could understand his grief, and at one point may have genuinely comforted him, now he was suppressing an urge to say “Just be quiet already!”

Instead, he simply stated, “Come now, they're preparing dinner, we can't keep them waiting.”

***

After dinner, the troops, both Men and Beasts, were dismissed to their tents for the night.

Enormous tents supported by folding networks of rods, and even a few hastily lumbered trees, made the Beast’s quarters. The largest tent, for the long-necks, was at the rear of the camp.

Meanwhile, the tent of the king sat at the very center. Caleus was hunched over the table, looking over a map of Petraz and the ravine surrounding it. He had just dismissed Bartimeus, after an hour of debating the best method to utilize on the morrow, the map covered in the scribbles of quill pens.

“Father?”

Caleus turned to see Caseus timidly enter. He turned to face his son, setting his own quill pen aside.

“Yes, Son?” He already had an idea where this conversation was going. The boy was wracked with anger and grief, no different than him. But he had to be the responsible father here.

“I know we have talked before, but I must ask again: please, allow me to join the men on the front.”

Caleus sighed. He had expected this, and yet still it pained him.

“Son, I have told you before, I cannot allow that. It is too dangerous for one as inexperienced as you.”

“But how else am I to ever gain any experience?” he asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice. “You tell me all the time that I do not take things seriously, that I lack experience to do things, but when I wish for a challenge, for responsibility, you deny me!”

“I deny you because you do not wish for responsibility, not truly.” Caleus did not betray any anger in his voice, nor condescension. Though he was blunt. “No, you wish for blood, and the thrill of battle. You wish for an excuse to kill, and take out your anger.”

He approached his son as he spoke, resting his hand on his shoulder. “I understand, my son. I feel the same. But as your father, I cannot- nay, I will not, allow you to throw your life away, no matter how righteous your anger might be.”

“Then what?! What shall I do? How can I just sit back and do nothing? How can you ask me to do that?”

“I am not asking you to do nothing. I am ordering you to stand back, observe, and hopefully learn. Because, one day, I will not be here, and you must lead in my place.”

Caseus didn't respond, simply huffing as he left, shrugging his hand off. Caleus saw Nannaya trail after him as he left, the older man giving him a beleaguered shrug, as if to say, “I tried to tell him.”

If they were not in the middle of a campaign, Caleus might have disciplined him for such a disrespectful attitude.

But, then, he could not discount the boy's feelings either. After all, was he not taking his anger out at a justified target himself? Would he have treated any other separatist incident at any other time differently?

Still, I will do what the king must. What any other would do.

***

“Please, my Prince, try to understand your father's perspective!”

“I am surprised to hear you talk that way, Cleo. You and Mother were so close. She practically raised us together!”

Cleophilla snorted, shaking her head and long, swan-like neck. Agitated like this, it was hard to not liken her to her closest non-Beast kin, the ostrich. Cleo was a female Gallimimus, or Sprinters colloquially, a bipedal cousin of theropods like the raptors. Though with their long necks, small heads, powerful legs built for running, and fluffy plumage, it was easy to see their ancestral relation to the ostrich as well. And trotting in place, bobbing and shaking her head, she really did resemble an angry, half-plucked ostrich.

“You are right. I loved her as much as my own mother, just as you are little different than my own brother. So that is why I ask you to heed his words and not do anything rash! Do not make me lose another family member!”

Caseus sighed. He and Cleo had been together since they were both tykes, when he was only just versed enough in Shamanism to carry a basic conversation. Both her parents had been well-regarded Sprinters in the royal service, her father acting as a mount in the lancer division, while her mother acted as a messenger and scout. The two had met on the palace grounds during training exercises, and had become fast friends. They had especially loved racing one another; back then, Cleo barely a yearling, with her shorter legs and uncoordinated movements, actually lost more than she won.

Now though, she could outpace the fastest horse and rivaled even the fastest Sprinters in the service. And where Caseus had once been protective of the scrawny chick, she was now constantly pestering and acting “like a mother hen”, as Nannaya had put it.

“Please,” she pleaded again. “Promise me you will not do anything rash. Promise me you will stand down. My heart cannot stand to lose you!”

***

“It is because of her, Shawk.” Caseus said. “I lost her, because of this curse. Because I could not control it. That is why I must leave.”

The Stone Head was silent for a moment. “You hardly ever spoke of this Cleo. You have always seemed to be in perfect control, as long as I have known you. What do you mean you lost her to the curse?”

“Tell me, what do you think I mean?”

Shawk shook his head in disbelief. “No, surely M’Lord, you cannot mean-”

“Yes. I devoured her. The instinct of the predator won over the love of the man, and I consumed my dearest companion, my beloved sister.”

He cast a look towards the girl's room. “I thought I could control it, that as a Beast I was as well reasoned as any other Man or Beast. But, since meeting her, for the first time in years… I fear the predator may rear its head again.”

“M’lord…”

“I know what I have said. I still care not for Father, nor for the mess he has made the Kingdom. But, I am afraid, Shawk. Afraid of what I may do, to you, or to them. And by the Gods, I will not suffer that on my conscience. Not again.”