Maggie of the Mist, Madeleine M. [e book reading free TXT] 📗

the servants were up yet. Keith walked across the eerily quiet yard. Standing in the southern-most corner, he removed the blade from its scabbard which he tossed over by the fence and started his drill. He and Daileas had used it as a game when they were younger, pretending they were fighting another soldier – predicting their next move and acting before it came. He quickly realized the quality of his sword. With each lunge and parry against his imaginary attacker, the light-weight metal fluently moved like an extension of his arm. Moving towards to centre of the yard, he found it easier to grip and strike using this light blade than it had ever been with his old one. Changing directions he dove to the ground, only to roll and end up back on his feet. Keith felt his blood race through his veins as his movements came faster and with more confidence. The feeling invigorated him. He was so focused on his invisible opponent that a flash of light and a familiar chuckle startled him into stumbling to the ground, his sword skittering across the packed dirt. Keith glared at Seaver, who was perched on the fence holding his scabbard that flashed in the early dawn.

 

How did you even get up there? He thought with a smile – the fence was nearly twice the height of Keith – but aloud he asked, “What is it Seaver?” He stood up and brushed the dirt and dust from his sweaty clothing.

 

“That messenger left not long ago.” Seaver said. He turned the scabbard in his callused hands. His finger traced a vine etched into the metal. Keith picked up his sword and noticed the same design on the butt of the blade and the hilt. His eyes followed the intricate vines and leaves that wove around the metal. Keith wondered who had done it, it was beautiful. Remembering Seaver’s bland statement he snapped back to the present.

 

“That’s good. Did he have all he required?”

 

“Indeed, Master Keith.” Keith could tell the old man was holding something back. The man had a playful look in his eyes. He had even used Keith’s proper title.

 

“Is there anything else?” Seaver’s face lit up into a smile and he showed the gaps between his teeth. “Out with it man! I don’t have all day!” Keith demanded, quickly growing tired of the old man’s game.

 

“Indeed you don’t, Master Keith.” Seaver chuckled as he reached into his tattered coat. He pulled out a crisp white envelope that looked extremely bright in the hard worked hand. Leaning down to pass Keith the important looking envelope the stable hand said, “He gave this to me and told me no one else was supposed to see it. He wasn’t too happy to give it to a weak, old man such as myself. He must have feared that I would lose it.” Seaver’s friendly chuckle echoed around the empty yard.

 

“Why didn’t he just give it to me last night?” Keith wondered. Then he felt shame warm his face recalling that he probably hadn’t provided the messenger time to give it to him, walking out the way he had. Looking up at Seaver, he saw the man shrug.

 

“Not my place to say, Young Master.” Seaver shrugged again and Keith cringed inwardly hearing the return of that blasted belittling title. “If you’d excuse me, I must be getting them horses ready.” With that Seaver jumped from the top of the fence, landing on his feet and sprinted towards the gate and the stables.

 

“Um, Seaver, why are you—” Before Keith could finish his question, the old man had disappeared around the corner. Keith rolled his eyes. Seaver was so strange, but was the closest to a loving father Keith had ever known.

 

Suddenly remembering the envelop from the messenger that he still held in his hand, Keith shifted his weight and lifted it up to get a better view with the coming morning light. His name was scrawled across the front in silver ink: Dominic Keith Tine’la. Only the king of Curta used silver ink. Keith felt his heart stop. Only his father and his uncle called him by the name his father had given, everyone else called him by the name his mother gave him. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach. What did his uncle want now? Gingerly, he broke the royal wax seal and removed a piece of paper as white as the envelope. Quickly skimming the formal introductions Keith knew the king never meant, his eyes lit upon the single paragraph.

 

Dominic, you have come of age. As you well know, I have three daughters but was not gifted with a son. Thus, in accordance of Curtian Law, my successor is to be male and of the family line. You, being my brother’s eldest and most experienced in office affairs, shall be named my heir on the eve of the Winter Solstices during the festival of the Maiden. I expect you in the city of Koal by the Warrior’s feast. We have much to discuss.

 

Keith leaned heavily against the wooded fence that enclosed the tilt yard. Camshron was summoning him to become something he knew he could never be. He didn’t want to crave power like his father. He didn’t want to be like his father at all. Koal was where the Curtian kings had resided since the Kingdom’s Divide. Keith growled under his breath. He knew he had to go. There was no way around it. Hoping that he could prevent Daileas from knowing about his future, Keith tucked the envelope and its contents into his boot. If they left today, Keith and Daileas could reach Koal at least a fortnight in advance. Sighing, Keith closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the old wood.

 

The sun was slowly peeking above the mighty trees of the Curtian forest. The Warrior’s rays reflected off of Keith’s new sword, catching his attention again. He took in the stunning detail and pondered anew who had made it. Despite the fact that it had not leather grip, not once had Keith lost control of its movement, except for when he had fallen and let go of it. It seemed to fit his had as if molded that way. He turned it over in his hands, eager to see every angle. Keith’s eyes landed on an odd design. It looked like two rings linked together. There was something about them that made Keith feel stronger. The longer he gazed at the rings the more sure he was that this incredible blade was made just for him. Swinging it around and feeling its surprising weightlessness, Keith somewhat forgot the discomfort of his uncle’s words and grinned. Oh, this is going to be fun.

 

*****

 

“Hurry up! If I didn’t know you better, I would assume that you were a woman in disguise with all the nagging you’re doing!” Daileas called from atop his mighty gray horse, Ash, whose colour had inspired his name. Their saddle bags were loaded on their steads, their bellies full from a hearty breakfast, and their weapons were sharpened, shined and strapped to either their bodies or their packs.

 

“If you keep insulting me, I won’t go!” Keith shouted back with a smile. He and his brother might fight, but they joked more often than not. He was talking to Bruno, the cook and the other head members of staff, making sure that everything would be taken care of while he was gone. Planting season was coming and because of the cool spring they were having there was a chance of late frost. The sun was still trying to climb above the tree tops of the forest when Keith was assured that the planting and all other goings-on would be fine. With a final wave to the staff, many of whom he would consider family despite rank difference, he vaulted himself into his own tan horse’s saddle and raced Daileas to the main road.

 

“Hah! I told you Ash was faster than your Tracer!” Daileas laughed when they reached the road. He had only beaten Keith by a hair, but they were having too much fun for him to be mad, so he just laughed with his brother. Keith tugged slightly on Tracer’s reins to guide him north. Daileas followed suite with Ash. “I can’t wait to reach Tìrbogha! How long will it take us to reach Koal? I hope we get there in time for the Warrior’s feast! Mother always said it was an amazing sight! Do you think we’ll make it there in time for that?” Daileas’s excitement for travelling managed to drown out Keith’s uncertainty of what waited for him in Koal, but just barely.

 

“Yes, I think we should make it there in time for the Warrior’s feast. Possibly even before that.” Keith answered. He tried to mimic the enthusiasm Daileas showed.

 

“Hey, you got your sword didn’t you? Can I see it?” Daileas’s eyes grew when Keith pulled his blade out of its scabbard the bounced at his side. He voiced his approval with a low whistle. “How, under the Warrior’s Sun, did you come across a man who could forge like that? Veils, they must have had one steady hand to draw all that!” The younger boy gestured to the creatively decorated hilt and butt.

 

Keith smiled at his brother’s swearing and shrugged. “I honestly have no idea who made it. Seaver was the one who knew the smith. I really didn’t know what I wanted for a personal mark, but this is amazing! Maybe we could find them and get you one too.” He didn’t want to tell his brother about the linked rings just yet, so he kept that side out of Daileas’s view. There was something special – almost powerful – about that symbol and he decided that it would be best if he kept it his secret for a little longer.

 

“Really? Do you think that we could stop there and get me a blade like that? Of course the mark would be different. Maybe flames or a battle scene, no flames sound better…” Daileas continued like that for a long time. Returning the sword to its sheath that hung on his hip, Keith pulled out the matching dagger. It was similar to the larger blade with twisting vines and leaves but didn’t have the strange image. Twirling the dagger in one hand and then the other, Keith let his mind wander. It drifted past Daileas chattering about what he could do if he got a new sword, past the clam forest that bordered the main road, past the peaceful sounds that filled the air around him. His shaggy hair drifted in the breeze that flowed through the surrounding trees. He could feel the strength from Tracer as they shifted between walking and cantering. He thought about the maker of his magnificent sword and dagger. Then his wondered what would happen to him when he reached Koal.

 

The sun had eaten up the cool spring day and the boys had shed their cloaks. With the sun high in the sky, they stopped under the large trees of the surrounding forest to eat and rest. When they found a brook they tried Ash and Tracer to a tree close enough to water them, then the pair lounged in the shade eating some of the food the cook sent. The forest was alive with birds, squirrels and other little creatures that scurried on the braches above the brothers.

 

“I think I like traveling, Keith.” Daileas declared sleepily from his lazy position across some tree roots. The forest was almost as old as the land itself. The trees could have been hallowed out and made into home if one really desired to live in a tree. Keith sighed and nodded his agreement as he gazed up through the thick green canopy. He thanked the Maiden that it was too early for the bugs to be out yet. The bitters were very annoying.

 

Absentmindedly,