For the Prince! For the Queen! Read online

  FOR THE PRINCE! FOR THE QUEEN!

  © Copyright 2021 | Zachary T. Sellers

  Copyright notice:

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning:

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover Art © Micah Epstein

  Cover Design: Ivan Cakic

  Map illustrator: Tracy Porter aka Pixeleidown

  Art content: Doan Trang

  Editor and Formatter: Kristin Campbell @ C&D Editing

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022901915 | ISBN 979-8-9857045-0-1 (hardback) |

  ISBN 979-8-9857045-1-8 (paperback) | ISBN 979-8-9857045-2-5 (ebook)

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Almanac of Seasons

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  This book has been a long time coming. The roots of this story go back all the way to 2006, when I wrote my first book in high school. From there, the world and characters that originated from that story blossomed, if not in a convoluted way, into this one. I say convoluted, because the story presented in this book wasn’t even conceived in the original story. Rather, it grew out of me going back and trying to redraft it. From one book came a plan for five. Then as more plans and outlines were made to flesh out the world, the individual plots, and characters; one book with multiple storylines had to be split into three. Three stories. Three fantastical, historical events, all happening simultaneously across a fantastical world.

  Thus, the very identity of this book and my hopeful series at large was born. This process took over a decade from the original idea to be worked into a fully realized story. Through that time, many people heard of my ideas, read previous conceptions and old chapters, and wondered if I would ever have something official to put in their hands to read. This is a thank you to them.

  First, to my loving and supporting parents, Clark and Pam Sellers, whom this book is dedicated to. They have always been by my side, supporting me in every endeavor, challenge, achievement, and failure in life, and this book is no exception. They were both inspirational in helping me seek a sustainable, independent career, while always allowing me to pursue my dreams, as well. No one could ask for more loving and supportive parents, to my mother who was always eager for updates, even though she didn’t understand my love for fantasy books, to my father who was my first yet unofficial beta reader, eager to read my stories. I say unofficial, because I knew he would love whatever I wrote, but he swears the story is great. And he doesn’t use that word often.

  Next, I want to give a big thank you to my beta readers: Emily Carrol, Nita Fowler, Donald Gooch, Matt Light, Victoria Medina, Zachary Musgraves, Hayden Redd, Brett Roberts, Clay Sapp, Kirsten Simmons, James Stayton, Forrest Stobaugh, and Elizabeth Talkington. Thank you all for taking time out your busy lives to read my story and provide me feedback to help make this book even better.

  And a special thanks to my fellow attorney at law, Ryne Johnson, who allowed me to use the spelling for his name when I was drawing a blank and needed a name one night. He understands I just wanted to borrow the way his name was spelled, and the character does not reflect his true personality or characteristics at all. I would have had to have created a much more awesome character to capture those qualities.

  Also, this book would not be publish-ready and as polished if it weren’t for the excellent work of my editor, Kristin Campbell at C&D Editing. Kristin did a marvelous job taking my book, which had by then gone through multiple drafts, and editing it with care, professionalism, and reverence. I believe she grew to love the characters as I do and wanted to ensure their story was told as clear and concisely as possible, while also making sure the story’s core remained intact. For that, I feel blessed to work with her.

  I wish to recognize the artists who brought their talents into this book. Doan Trang brilliantly provided the gorgeous illustrations for each character’s chapters as their individual symbols. The master map designer, Tracey Porter aka Pixeleiderdown, took my years-old doodle of a map and patiently worked through a mountain of corrections and added details to bring a corner of my world to life. Micah Epstein created the masterpiece for this book’s cover art, bringing my characters to life. And Ivan Cakic designed the beautiful cover, providing the final touch to making the book complete. A loving thanks to all of them who made this book more beautiful than I could have imagined.

  And lastly, to everyone else whose names are beyond counting who were there for every update, gave me endless words of encouragement, and showed boundless enthusiasm to one day finally read my stories, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. This has been a long time coming for us all. So, to them, to everyone I mentioned above, and to you, dear reader, welcome to my world.

  Map

  Prologue

  18th of Benjamine, 1104 N.F. (w.y.)

  KALLEB KANE SLOWLY STIRRED AWAKE as the early morning sun’s warmth grew on his face. He groaned and shifted in his bedroll. The pleasant call of having a comfortable spot on the ground after weeks of riding was too hard to resist. But the bright, white rays from the Westerly Sun slowly grew brighter against his closed eyes and became impossible to brush off.

  In protest, Kalleb rolled over.

  And planted his face into cold water.

  “Ah!” he yelped in surprise, jumping fully awake with a start.

  Blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he looked around and found the ground, the top of his bed roll, and his saddle that he had used as a pillow covered in dew. He wiped his face in frustration, his bristly stubble pricking his hand, and threw off his bedroll.

  Red Eye, his horse, aptly named due to the large patch of red around his left eye, bayed.

  Kalleb squinted at the gelding staring at him and shaking his mane. “That wasn’t funny,” he told the horse, ruffling his blond hair, shaking the dew out.

  Red Eye bayed again.

  “I know, I know.” He pulled on his boots then pushed his saddle aside to get his provisions. He propped his curved saber against the saddl
e before he dug around and found a large, sagging sack. It had been full of apples when he had left Tradon, but as he reached in and fumbled around, Kalleb found only one left.

  “Last one, buddy,” he said with a sigh as he got to his feet and brought out the squishy, bruised fruit. He held it out for Red Eye, and the horse sniffed it then shook his mane, as if he knew it wasn’t the best of treats. He ate it, anyway.

  Kalleb watched his fingers as the horse took the apple, easily crunching and chewing it down. Then he rubbed Red Eye’s mane, and the horse’s large, dark eye blinked at him as he swallowed his morning snack.

  “Sorry.” He patted the horse’s neck. “But that’s the last of ’em. And you ate all the grain last night, so if you want any more grain or apples, we better make it to Haemsville today, or you’re going to have to make do with grass.”

  Red Eye just blinked at him again.

  Kalleb heard his own stomach growl and turned back to his meager camp. Red Eye’s provisions weren’t the only one’s running low. He went back to dig through his saddlebags, finding some jerky, now rock hard and near impossible to chew. Not wanting to waste any more time, though, he rolled up his bedroll and provisions while gnawing on the tough meat.

  They barely weigh anything now, he thought, piling his roll and saddlebags together.

  Kalleb had thought he had brought enough food to last him, but he had also thought he would have reached Haemsville by now.

  He threw his saddle across Red Eye’s back then tied the girth straps around the horse’s belly as the month-old proclamation rang in his head.

  The Téions, whom the aristos called Téionaropi, but Kalleb and other common folk called them Téions, were marching on Haemsville. Prince Adam Dain had gone against the king and was riding to defend the boarder, with a thousand royal men-at-arms and an additional five-hundred-man contingent of Storm Cavalry. The prince had sent word that he would accept any able-bodied man who wished to join.

  “A fool’s errand.” Amanda’s words still stung. “Lord Haemin brought the Téionaropis’ wrath when he raised his illegal army and invaded them. He made war on them by himself, he can make peace by himself.”

  It had been presumptuous of Kalleb to ask her if any in Tradon were allowed to go, especially with him a lowly lieutenant and she a princess, but he had known her most of their lives. His pa had been her retainer for as long as he could remember, until she announced her . . . engagement and moved to Tradon. He had figured she would give him leave.

  He had been wrong.

  The order came that night, after he had spoken with her—no one was allowed to ride to Haemsville. For most, it was a simple matter of following orders. Not to Kalleb. His pa was leading the Storm Cavalry contingent with Prince Adam, and Kalleb was certain Kenith, his oldest brother, was with him, as well. He couldn’t let them ride to war alone, and he couldn’t ask his squadron to disobey orders. So, here he was, alone in the middle of the woods, riding south.

  Red Eye’s baying made Kalleb blink, snatching him from his daydream.

  He patted the gelding’s neck again. “You’re right; we need to get a move on.”

  He tied his saddlebags and bedroll onto the back of the saddle then clipped his saber to it, hanging the over three-foot-long metal sheath against his horse’s left flank. Red Eye snorted as Kalleb tried to fit the bridle over his head. It took a few tries before the horse settled down and let the leather straps slide around his face and into his mouth.

  In his hurry, it wasn’t until Kalleb was settling in his saddle that he realized he had forgotten to gather the reins, still dangling down to the ground.

  “Dammit,” he cursed, reaching for them. It took a few reaches and coaxes for Red Eye to turn his head just so before Kalleb caught them and was able to guide the horse where he wanted him to go.

  “Okay.” He sighed as he brushed the horsehair from his wrinkled, burgundy coat then nudged Red Eye with his boots to get him moving. “To Haemsville.”

  Despite the early morning, the forest was quiet. Its foliage was slowly returning as the ferns grew new stems, and the grass was starting to green. Many of the trees, however, had yet to bud, and several of the pines were brown.

  This second winter had been the coldest that Kalleb could remember, so he was glad it was finally over. Its snows had even reached Silkhaven this year. Second winter, which happened once every four years, was the only time snow ever fell but rarely reached that far south. This forest hadn’t fared well from it, either.

  As the day wore on, Kalleb rotated from riding to walking Red Eye through the hauntingly silent woods. Occasionally, a sharp chirrup or low honk broke the silence, making him and Red Eye pause to look around cautiously. He worried the lack of wildlife meant a predator stalked nearby and feared the next distant sound he would hear would be the gurgling yawl of a gorro.

  He was thankful when they came upon a trickling brook winding through the trees and ferns. He hopped off Red Eye’s back and ripped his leather water bag from the side of the saddle. Then he leapt over the brook, unplugging the bag’s cork, and dunked the bag into the stream. Red Eye dipped his head down and pushed Kalleb’s hand away as he drank.

  Kalleb grunted and pushed against the horse’s nose. “Don’t be a—”

  He froze. A faint, low rumble had run through the forest. He bounced his eyes here and there, peering through one clump of trees to another while remaining crouched and low.

  Hooves!

  Kalleb’s heart began to beat harder as realization struck. For a moment, the vision of riders bursting through the undergrowth popped into his mind. He had defied orders and taken a horse to come this far, anyway. His captain, or the major, could have sent his squadron after him.

  But no riders came charging through the trees.

  A bubbling gurgle came from his water bag as the last bit of air escaped, indicating the bag was full. Kalleb sighed and shook his head as pulled the now heavy bag out. His arms trembled as he lifted it to his lips, the cool water a welcome relief against his dry throat. He then pulled it away and gasped, water sloshing inside as he twisted the cork back on.

  “All right”—he coughed as he stood up—“you’ve had enough.”

  Kalleb reached down for Red Eye’s reins then stopped. The gelding eyes were wide, his ears up and twitching, his legs stiff. Kalleb followed the horse’s ears.

  South!

  He turned his head slightly, and the low rumble returned. A picture of hundreds of horses entered his mind.

  There’s only one reason so many horses could be just ahead of us.

  He leapt back over the brook then hastily tied the water bag back onto the saddle. Red Eye snorted at him as if Kalleb’s hurrying made him nervous.

  Kalleb threw his leg over the saddle then kicked the gelding into motion. His heart began to race, beating in time with the horse’s gallop, as they crashed through half-dead underbrush and rode under bare tree limbs. The sound of hooves became louder and, growing under it, there was a low hum of thousands of shouting voices.

  Kalleb sat forward in the saddle and charged Red Eye through a thick bush . . . only to be greeted with the sudden burst of sunlight. He was blinded momentarily before realizing the forest had fallen way.

  Red Eye bayed in alarm, and Kalleb’s throat clenched at the sight of them charging straight toward a great drop. He pulled back hard on the horse’s reins, and Red Eye screamed from the sudden jerk, his hooves beginning to slide against the rock. He reared up, and Kalleb’s training and instincts kicked in. He leaned forward while tightly gripping his saddle horn, squeezing his legs against the horse’s flanks and keeping his boots in the stirrups so he wouldn’t be thrown. Red Eye danced about before finally got his footing under him.

  Kalleb wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart pounding as he glanced to see the ground suddenly drop off some forty feet. Then he gaped at the view below him.

  “Where is everybody?” He looked around franti
cally, refusing to accept what he was seeing.

  A battle raged below on the western side of a river.

  Through his training, Kalleb always thought battles consisted of men marching in long columns and formations with cavalry wheeling around them, looking for the enemy’s cavalry or their exposed flanks. This battle didn’t resemble that at all.

  A barricade of spikes lay over a recently made road, which curved around a large hill and led back to a stone bridge over the Temins River. A line of soldiers huddled behind broad shields between the spikes, with an entire Knights Brotherhood, wearing divided green and yellow tabards over plated armor, in defensive lines, thrusting halberds and pikes at the oncoming harassers. Horse riders, thundering in perfect formation, charged the barricade and hurled long spears at the shields and men behind them.

  Javelins? Kalleb pondered, confused. Cavalry using javelins?

  He had never met a Téion before, even though he had lived in Tradon for over a year now. He had heard old Kanes describe them as a race of perfection made flesh, but he had never thought such tales could be true.

  Each rider rode in a column of eight, the sun gleaming off their silver and bronze armor. As each forward line charged up to the barricade, the riders would throw their javelins, puncturing shields or sliding between the gaps to find the man behind. In mere seconds, after the riders threw their javelins, they would turn their horses and ride off to the sides, four to the left, four to the right, before any of the crossbowmen hidden among the knights’ ranks could return fire while also allowing the riders behind them to charge in.

  The persistent yet methodical patience of the Téions reminded Kalleb of a water wheel bringing up a small amount of water, one turn after another. Individually, small, but all those turns together amounted to a great, unending flood. By the number of staggering knights and men crawling away from the barricade, that flood threatened to soon break the barricade defenders. That would allow the column of pristine infantry waiting behind the attacking light cavalry to march in and remove the spikes unless the knights were reinforced.