“I’ll leave studying to the scholars.” Indrid looked away. “I’m a warrior.”
“Many Graleon counts were once warriors,” said Montague. “But to lead people and defend a throne takes more than just the might of a man. It demands good judgment; when to fight and when to yield, when to give and when to take. Good judgment is gained from experience, and when one lacks experience, one must refer to second hand information—the documents and journals I’ve asked you to read hundreds of times. You may be a fine warrior, but your knowledge of history and political affairs is minimal.”
Indrid ignored the comment and walked ahead of him.
At the end of the hall there was an airy sound of a flute reverberating from Gretchen’s room. The door was open. On the opposite side of the hallway was a rack holding a rainbow of dresses. She paraded in and out of the room carrying different colored fabrics.
Montague recognized the melody of the song. It was called The Merlyn Sound, a song about the mythical Mern kingdom that existed leagues under the sea. Then, the progression of the flute stumbled to a crashing stop.
“Again,” said Gretchen. The flute continued.
“I’m surprised you’re early,” Gretchen said looking at Montague. I just came down from waking the birthday boy and preparing breakfast.” She turned to Indrid, who was quick to enter the doorway, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, love. I have a shirt for you. We’ll have to take some measurements to fit it. Come.” She took his hand and led him inside the room over near a tall mirror.
The flute came to a controlled stop.
When Montague walked in, Anna Lott, now a sixteen-year-old lady, stood in his way. Her hair shone as if it reflected the sun. Most Merns had very light hair, almost white. But Anna’s was brilliantly blonde.
“Is Burton Lang still alive?” she asked Montague.
“What?” he couldn’t believe Anna was asking him about Burton. Aside from Gretchen, he hadn’t heard anyone say that name aloud in years. He wished he knew that his sensei was still alive and where he was. But he didn’t. And talking about him made Montague uncomfortable. To the civilized world, the name Burton Lang was synonymous with evil.
As Gretchen buttoned Indrid’s shirt, she gave Montague an I-told-you-so look. She’d warned him that the children would start asking questions once they were educated. Allowing them to use his old textbooks with information that had been deleted from the education system had given them a different perspective of history. The name Burton Lang had been deleted from public records thirty odd years ago. But this was Montague’s way of exposing them to the information.
Unlike Indrid, Anna was a regular reader. It had been only a matter of time for her to start asking questions.
“I read the story of Burton Lang, the one who built the original three kingdoms of men; Illyrium, Grale, and Mern, using sticks and sounds. He supposedly cut off the summit of Ikarus Mountain, creating the plateau,” said Anna. “Greta told me that you knew him. Is that true?”
“I did. Long ago.”
“He was exiled?” asked Anna.
Montague’s gut coiled with nervousness. “He was.”
“When I was younger you told me that you knew a wizard. Was he the wizard?”
Montague forced a laugh. “Bedtime stories, my dear. I’m sure I told you that I went on adventures with trolls and giants too, probably fairies as well.”
“Why was he exiled?”
“You’re next!” Gretchen said to Anna, taking her by the hand. “Monte and Indrid are going to get Rayne while I finish doing your hair. We’ll be late.”
Montague took advantage of Gretchen’s intentional intervention. She glared at him. “Let’s go lad,” he said to Indrid. “The king is waiting.” He stepped out into the hallway then turned back, remembering to tell Anna, “It sounds like that flute is a little out of tune. I repaired yours for you. It’s on my desk.”
“Thank you, Monte!” she replied.
Indrid paused, then looked back at Anna, “I’ll see you there, my lady.” He smiled.
Gretchen passed Montague the king’s room key and shut the door.
As Indrid became older, Montague noticed him acting more and more proper and reserved around Anna. He was a teenager in love.
Up the stairs, on the fourth floor of the Ikarus castle, the door was propped open with a basket of clothes. Handmaids exited as Montague and Indrid entered. Rayne was sitting in the sunroom at a large stained-oak table, generously spread with eggs, bacon, sausage, bread, fish, potatoes, and an array of fruits and cheese for his breakfast. Much more than the children and their caretakers could eat.
The boy reminded Montague of his lost sensei; both outcasts in different ways. They both wore the hoods of their cloaks over their heads to shadow their identities. Rayne didn’t like when strangers stared at him.
“Happy Birthday, Rayne!” Indrid said.
The two adolescent stepbrothers, standing face to face at ten years apart, embraced in a hug.
The young king’s growth rate was at least twice that of a normal person. The eight-year-old looked no younger than Indrid and showed signs of intelligence much higher than most members of the Ikarus council. Some said that he would die young. Truthfully, Montague wasn’t sure what it meant.
The king’s skin had remained a strange tint of gray. Montague had diagnosed him with a skin disease that affected pigmentation. And luckily most people were sympathetic and accepted the diagnosis. Montague’s words were highly respected throughout the land. But he knew that the king’s discolored skin was no pigment flaw.
Others, however, whispered terrible rumors about Rayne. They said he was a curse to the kingdom. ‘How appropriate a name, Rayne Volpi, for a king who brings death by cloudy sky to the world of Men,’ they said. It was he who stole the sun. Luckily for Montague, Rayne didn’t like to go out in public. But today, as every
