Rob the Hermit

Welcome back! Sorry for last week. I had things to do and time ran away from me. That’s how it goes though. Last time, Ben got arrested for the murder of Professor Ferrell, a crime he didn’t commit. But that’s the least of his worries once he’s freed. To the story!
**********
The prison at the Caanom Stronghold held some of the most dangerous and cunning of the war criminals of the time of Sarries. They had been tried for their crimes and had been sentenced to life imprisonment. The kingdoms had built this prison, close to the Caanom Stronghold to hold them. So close to the Stronghold that their master had been killed was a way to break their spirits, a constant reminder that they had been defeated and they had nothing left. Each bore a deep hatred of Trenton the Hero and the people who imprisoned them.

It was probably a good thing that they didn’t know that the Hero’s son was imprisoned with them.

Another three days of being imprisoned since his last interrogation and Ben was about ready to tell them the truth of his name and title. Prison life really didn’t suit him. The food was mush that even rats wouldn’t eat, the accommodations included a cramp cell, straw for bedding, and no privacy. He couldn’t even use the chamber pot without someone watching.

Really, Ben thought, sitting in the corner of his cell. I’m not that dangerous or interesting. During the time of his imprisonment he hadn’t done anything except what they asked. He knew that following their orders would be beneficial for him, but it was starting to get old. The guards didn’t trust him and no one came to visit him. He hadn’t been in the interrogation room since the commissioner had tried to talk to him.

If this keeps up, I’ll be here until my time for the quest is up.

Perhaps he should wait for that. Then he could tell them his name and title and he’d be freed in an instant, with a strong apology to go with it.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the imaginary scene. It would be highly entertaining.

The sound of the keys unlocking his cell brought him back to the present.

Ben was mildly surprised to see the commissioner hold the door open, no one blocking the door to keep him from leaving.

“You’re free to go,” the commissioner said, nearly chewing the words as they came out.

Ben stood up, hesitantly walking out. “I’m free to go?” he asked, quickly leaving the cell just in case they were trying to trick him. That was a tactic he and his cousins had used before.

“We caught the murders,” he grumbled. “You were right. They didn’t want Ferrell to do his research.” He paused, his face pained. “They had plans to attack you as well.”

Ben paled. “Oh,” he said, looking around nervously. The guards of the prison paid them no heed. Why should they? Ben was confined as a mere murder of a single professor. The other prisoners were far more deadly. “They’re here, I’m guessing…”

“They won’t see you leave,” the commissioner said. “So you better leave quickly, understand?”

Ben nodded. “Where’s the exit?”

“This way,” the man grumbled, leading him away from the cell. Ben quickly followed, trying to ignore the other prisoners. They, in turn, ignored him. He was just a kid, after all. They were probably more interesting in escaping than some kid accidentally accused of murder.

It’s a good thing they don’t know who I am, Ben knew. Trenton the Hero’s bastard son cast into the same prison as the war criminals he helped bring down? There would have been a massive prison riot.

The commissioner led him down a flight of stairs to the main floor. There, he was given his supplies and he was given money for compensation for his wrongful time spent in prison.

“I suppose there won’t be any point asking you to stay in town for a while,” the commissioner said as Ben was given his horse back.

“Not on your life,” Ben grumbled, putting his things into the saddlebags. “I had nothing to do with Ferrell’s death and I have nothing else to say.”

The man snorted. “I suppose so. The men we caught are being stubborn and aren’t telling us the complete reason why they killed Ferrell. Perhaps it is best that you get away from here, just in case there are others who don’t want to see you complete whatever you and the professor were planning.”

Ben didn’t say anything as he mounted his horse. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered. “I’ll fail anyway.” Among his things, he found the list that Ferrell had given him. He was going to write the list on another piece of paper, one that wasn’t covered in the professor’s blood.

“Go,” the commissioner ordered. “Go before something else happens.”

Ben didn’t have to be told twice. He kicked his horse into a gallop, never looking back.

Yet another bad memory of the Stronghold, he thought, leaving the area as quickly as possible. Let’s see if I ever come back here.
*********
Two days out of the Stronghold and Ben still couldn’t suppress the memory of Ferrell’s twisted, broken body. Something about it, the utter discard for human life made him sick. While he had been in prison, he was too focused on the situation and the terrible prison conditions to think on the crime scene he had stumbled across. However, now, he had time to think back and the memories of poor Ferrell’s fate plagued his thoughts.

They should have known something was up, Ben grumbled to himself, thinking of the authorities who were quick to arrest him. As he understood it, there were always treasure hunters hanging about and were forever trying to recruit scholars to assist them in their hunts. One of those men were more likely to cause Ferrell harm than a single lowly university student.

Still, well over a week since that dreadful morning and he still had nightmares.

“It’s a good thing that I didn’t live during the war,” he told his horse, riding farther north. “I wouldn’t have been able to stand it.”

The horse only snorted at his observation.

Ben glanced at his surroundings, the field of the Stronghold slowly being swallowed by a forest of aspen trees. It was nearing fall and trees were changing color, a vibrant array of oranges, yellows, and reds. It reminded him a bit of Ferrell’s shop and the colorful kites that had filled it.

He quickly shook that thought and the attached memories out of his head.

However, as bad as those memories were, he still kept the list the professor had given him. He glanced down at it, a new paper he had copied the list onto. It was a list of possible places that Trenton could have disappeared to, places where news was hard to get to and from. Most of the places were up north, back in Sarries lands and where the people were still recovering. There were a lot of small mountain shack towns that had sprouted up in that direction, places were people had fled to escape Sarries terrible rule.

So, he went to his enemy’s own lands, Ben thought, glancing briefly back towards Caanom. He probably wanted to get away from all the terrible memories.

Professor Ferrell came to his mind again. Now he understood a bit about why his father had runaway.
************
“You’re searching in the wrong place, boy.”

Ben sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re sure?” he asked, shivering as a cold wind picked up and threatened to blow through his coat. Winter had come in full force and then lingered in the mountains. “No one has moved into your town in the last twenty years?”

“We don’t like outsiders, boy,” the mountain man spat, glaring at him from behind a thick scarf around his neck. “They come for trade then leave. No one wants to stay here. Not even long enough for a decent conversation. The one you’re looking for isn’t here.”

Ben held his coat tightly around him, trying to ward off the cold. “Alright,” he sighed, wishing he too had a scarf to cover his head. “Where’s Thorton?”

The mountain man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Thorton? That pit of a place?”

Yes, Ben thought. It was the fifth place on Ferrell’s list. The professor had tried to make their journey easier by listing the towns in proximity to the Stronghold. Ben had been moving slowly northeast since the time he had left Caanom.

“I’ll try there,” he answered weakly. This was stupid. There was no way Trenton the Hero would have strayed this far from civilization. Anyone who did was nuts! The winters were harsh and the wilderness dangerous. Since he began wandering around in these unforgiving mountains, he had been attacked by wild beasts eight times and nearly robbed five. It was hard to go anywhere without being followed by mistrustful eyes and cold encounters. Getting information out of the people here was near impossible.

The mountain man snorted. “A weeks worth of riding up that way,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him. “Mountain pass, full of thieves and animals. You wouldn’t make it.”

“These mountains are full of thieves and animals,” Ben snorted. “I’ll get by.”

The man laughed. “Sure you will! With that scrawny beast of yours near half starved to death and you in the same condition. Of course you can make it.”

Ben scowled. The mountain man should talk, he too looked as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in days and a razor in far much longer time.

“Good day,” Ben muttered, grabbing his horse’s reigns and walking away from the laughing mountain man. The man continued to laugh as he walked in a different direction, leading his own mule. Ben wished he had a mule like him. While horses were wonderful, his had been suffering up in the mountains; he hadn’t dared ride the beast in weeks. At least a mule seemed sturdy enough to handle the harsh terrain.

A cold winter wind ripped through him, his ragged coat unable to keep the freezing bite from his skin. Ben shivered. His money was nearly almost gone. He had to cut back on a lot of luxuries he would have enjoyed. Like a decent coat and a hot meal.

“Why am I doing this?” he muttered, looking up at the pass the mountain man had pointed out. “My dad is dead. Everyone knows it.”

However, he doubted his grandfather would accept an answer like that from him. He was charged to find his father, even if that meant finding a grave. Though his grandfather was a kind old man, the king couldn’t allow failure. Especially not in one of his own grandsons. The kingdom couldn’t have that.

“I don’t want the crown,” Ben said through shivering jaw. “I don’t want to be king. I don’t want that authority and power. I don’t want any of it!”

But the cold wind was the only thing listening, and even then, it drowned him out with its own howl. Ben continued on though, leading his half dead horse through knee deep snow, his own health falling, towards Thorton, already giving up hope of finding the one thing that would finish his nightmare.
**********
The pass wasn’t as bad as the mountain man had said. Five days into it and Ben had yet to see a single living thing, animal or human. And once he was over the height of the pass, signs of spring started to show, with melting snow and vegetation sprouting through the patches of clear ground. His horse began to show signs of strength as he began to eat the new grass that had started to grow. A few more days like it and Ben would be able to ride his horse again.

With warmer weather, Ben started to notice more of his surroundings, other than snow and dreary dead trees. He began to notice the small creeks that flowed down the mountains, the sounds of birds greeting each morning, the splash of green on white as plants came back to life. It was actually quite beautiful.

His fifth day over the pass, he finally stopped clinging onto his coat to keep the warmth in. Instead, he just let his coat hang loose, still on to keep warm but no longer from bitter cold.

“Perhaps we’ll get out of this in one piece,” Ben commented to his horse, kneeling down to get water from a creek. It was the largest he had seen, nearly eight feet across and knee deep if he cared to wade into its cold waters. Beside him, the horse just drank his fill, ignoring him. Ben just smiled. The horse had to put up with a lot of his random comments, since he hadn’t had anyone civil to talk to in months.

At least I haven’t gotten to the point where I imagine him talking back, Ben thought with a small smile. He knew he would have lost it if it ever came to that.

Standing up, he put the stopper in his flask, now filled with fresh water.

“And what do we have here?”

Ben froze.

Bandits!

Slowly turning around, he saw five men on horses, cutting him off from any escape on land. Ben chanced a glance at his horse, knowing immediately that the beast wouldn’t make it far if he tried to escape on him through the creek. He turned his attention back onto the men. They were like all the other thieves in the area, dressed in mismatched armor, unshaven faces, and reeking with the scent of not bathing in months. The weapons they carried were out, a bit rusty from neglect, but still deadly.

“You have nothing here,” Ben told them, holding his hands up. “I’m not worth robbing.”

“Really?” one man snorted, riding up to him. Ben focused on him. This man was the only one to carry a sword. He must be the leader. “A lot of people say that this far north. Think that we’ll leave them alone if they have nothing worth taking.”

That’s the general idea, Ben thought, standing completely still. “Believe me,” Ben said, smiling in his most disarming way. “I literally have nothing.”

“Search his horse,” the leader spat to one of the others. “And you, pat him down.”

Ben gritted his teeth as one thief checked him, coming up with nothing. The man searching his horse came up only with his tattered bedroll.

“Honestly?” the leader sneered down at him. “You didn’t even bring a weapon up this far north? How dense are you?”

“Obviously pretty dense,” Ben pointed out. “I don’t know how to use a weapon.” He was a prince of Caanom. What reason did he have to fight?

“Let’s kill him and get it over with, boss,” sneered one of the thieves. “The horse isn’t much, but it’s all he has.”

“True enough,” the boss snorted. He unsheaved his sword. Ben took a step back, his hands still in the air.

“Wait!” Ben said, slowly backing up, his feet splashing in the creek. “There’s no need to kill me!”

“Pah!” the leader scoffed. “A weakling like you should be put out of your misery.” He brought his sword up, holding it above his head. “I’m doing you a favor.” He swung it down.

Ben shouted as he fell back into the creek, barely avoiding the singing blade as it passed over his head.

“Hey!” the leader snapped, “stay still!”

Ben tried to scramble to his feet, but the swift cold water bit at him and the slippery rocks gave no sure footing. He slipped again, ducking under the water. He surfaced with a gasp.

“Annoying brat!” the boss shouted, dismounting and approaching on foot. “I said stay still!”

Ben half crawled, half ran, through the middle of the creek, his breathing heavy as he tried to get away.

“Get him, boss!” one thief jeered. “Cut his head off!”

“We could probably sell his teeth!” another joked. “They looked pearly enough!”

“Seriously?” Ben gasped out, trying to get away. “My teeth have more value than my life?”

A rock slid out from beneath his foot, sending him diving under the water again. When he managed to get his head out of the water, he saw only the flash of a blade. He froze as it came to rest just inches from his nose.

“Now,” the leader sneered, lowering his blade to point at his heart. “Die already.”

Ben closed his eyes, terrified to watch.

“AGH!”

“What?” the boss shouted.

Ben opened his eyes, also looking to the source of the sound. Back on the shore, the thieves were being attacked by a large man with a wooden staff.

“Curse the Great Kings,” the leader growled. “Get away!”

But it was too late for his group. The large man quickly struck at each man, breaking bones and consciousness with each blow. The leader scrambled back onto the shore, forgetting about him and running for his horse.

“Not so fast,” the large man growled, a deep sound from his throat. “I’m not done with you yet!” He griped the staff like a spear and hurled it at the fleeing thief’s back. The man went down with a cry as he fell off his horse.

Ben stared at his rescuer, numb by both the cold water and the quick rescue. The man looked like all the other mountain men he had encountered in the mountains. Fur coat, thick beard, beady mistrustful eyes, and a sour disposition. However, this man was at least a head taller than any of them.

“You okay, kid?” the man asked, turning to him.

Ben blinked. It was the first decent question asked to him in months.

“Kid?” the man shouted at him. “Are you going to sit there until you catch your death?”

Ben shook his head, remembering where he was. Shivering, he made his way back to the shore. He eyed the thieves who tried to kill him. None of them looked dead, but they all looked like they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else for some time.

“Thank you,” Ben said, unable to keep from shivering. While spring was coming, it was still awfully cold, especially with his several dips into the creek. “I thought that they were going to kill me for sure.”

“They would have,” the man grumbled. “You had nothing worth robbing.”

Ben frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The man shrugged. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

“How did you guess?”

The man growled deep in his throat. “Great. A sarcastic kid no less.” He grabbed the reigns of his horse. “Well, come on,” he said, leading the beast away. “Let’s get you warmed up. Looks like you could do with a good meal too.”

Ben stared at the man. “What?” he asked, standing there shocked.

“Come on,” the man snapped, half turning to look him in the eye. It was then that Ben noticed that this man had scars on his face and a nose that looked as if it had been broken a few times and set wrong. “Or do newcomers feel as if they can do anything without some help nowadays?”

Ben felt his shoulders slump. “He rescues me then lectures me on my manners?” he muttered, finally following after the man. “Most would just brush me off as annoying.”

However, he wasn’t about to turn down help. He needed it. As he began to walk, however, his ankle nearly gave out beneath him.

“Well?” the man said, pausing long enough to let him catch up. “What’s holding you up?”

“My ankle!” Ben shouted at him, sitting down on the cold ground. “I think I sprained it!”

The man grumbled and turned back, leading the horse behind him. He knelt down and reached for his ankle. Ben was a bit surprised by how gently he took his ankle, softly pulling on it. He cringed as he turned his ankle inward.

“So it seems you did sprain your ankle,” the man muttered. “Figures. Come on, then, let’s get you on your horse.”

“But my horse isn’t up to it,” Ben protested as the man helped him to his feet again.

“My home isn’t far from here,” the man said, easily lifting him and putting him on the horse’s back. “He’ll make it.”

Without giving him another chance to protest, the man led the horse away, greatly confusing Ben. Why would this man take him to his house? Why bother with him. Everyone Ben had met up in these mountains always turned him away unless he had something worth bartering with.

“What do you want?” Ben suddenly asked.

The man paused, turning his head to look at him. “What do I want?” he repeated. “How about some silence from you?”

Ben glared. He hadn’t talked that much. “I’ve learned a lot in my time in the mountains,” he said. “Everything has a price.”

“Oh?” the man asked, retuning his attention back to where he was going. “And how long have you been in our mountains?”

“It’s nearing three months now.”

The man snorted. “Then you haven’t been here long enough. An outsider like you wouldn’t understand.”

Ben scowled. Not understand? What was there to understand? It was a different society up in the mountains. One had to work for the basics and fight to keep it. Strangers were treated with mistrust and hostility. If there were even a scrape of human kindness, this man was the first to show it to him. Everyone else was bent on keeping to themselves and that was the end of it.

The man kept leading the horse farther into the forest, far from any trail Ben could see, but he obviously knew his way around the uniform trees.

“Have you lived up here for long?” Ben suddenly asked.

“Silence isn’t a friend of yours, is it?” the man asked.

Ben bit his tongue. It wasn’t that he didn’t like silence, but this man at least showed him some concern about him. “No one has been willing to talk to me in a long time,” Ben confessed. “You saved me. I just thought…”

“You just thought that I’d talk to you?” the man finished with a snort. “I’m a hermit, kid. I choose to avoid people.”

“Then why save me?”

Ben bit his tongue again. There he went, talking without thinking. He was a prince; comebacks and snappy remarks were second nature to him.

“I saw a lost kid about to get killed by bandits,” the man said blandly. “I’m not so much a hermit to watch that happen.”

There’s something more, Ben could immediately tell. That bland voice was far too bland. The man wasn’t saying everything.

And there I go again, he thought, shaking his head. Everyone has secrets, Ben. And not all of them are politically tied. He probably just has some bad memories. Knowing it was pointless now to carry on a conversation, Ben let silence fall between them, focusing on their surroundings. Was it just him, or was the trees start thinning out?

Taking a sharp turn around a large rock, they suddenly came into a small glen, a small creek running beside them and a cabin before them. Ben blinked in surprise. Of the huts he had seen in the mountains, this one was by far the best. The other huts had the look of weather and other disasters beating on them, with ill-fitted logs for walls and leaking roofs. It wasn’t uncommon to see cloth stuffed into wholes in the structure to keep some warmth in.

This cabin was different. Yes, it was still made of wood, but it seemed as if the man who built it took his time to fix the logs so that they would fit together. Stone made up one side of the cabin, a tall chimney letting out a little bit of smoke of a dying fire.

“Stoke the fire when you go in,” the man said, helping him off the horse. “There’s already a pot of water on it, so don’t touch it. I’ll take care of your horse while you’re at that.”

Ben nodded in agreement and hobbled his way into the cabin. He glanced back briefly to the man to see him taking the horse to a stable he had missed on his first look of the glen. Judging from the looks of it, it could stable a few cattle, a couple mules, and a few chickens. It was all very simple but Ben could tell that the man had taken great care of it.

Inside the cabin wasn’t much either, but still taken care of. The main room as a combination kitchen, dinning room, and sitting area. There were only two other doors that led to what Ben assumed must be bedrooms. The large fireplace had wood already stacked and ready to be used. He hobbled over and added more wood to the fire and used a metal poker to spark the fire back to life. The task done, he sat down on the stone floor in front of the fire and continued to look around the cabin.

He made everything himself, he could tell. The table, chairs, even the rug in front of the door had the same careful but simple design.

“It’ll be a few days before your horse is ready to go anywhere.”

Ben almost jumped at the sound of the man’s voice. He glanced back at the door to see the man hang his large fur coat on a peg, wondering how such a large man could move so silently.

“We’ve been through a lot,” Ben said, grimacing as he moved his ankle. “I’m surprised he isn’t dead yet.”

The man snorted. “I’m surprise neither are you. Let’s take a look at that ankle.” Ben gritted his teeth as he got back up and hobbled to the chair that the man directed to him. Once he was down, the man sat in another chair and took his ankle up to feel it. Ben flinched as the man’s large hands gently pushed and pulled his ankle.

“Nothing but a sprain,” the man concluded. “But it’s starting to swell. I’ll get some snow to help with that, and I’ll wrap it up. Stay put.”

Ben waited patiently for the man to return with the snow and bandages. He managed to get a glimpse of one of the bedrooms, again noticing that it was simple. A bed with a thick quilt and very little else.

Ben was a bit surprised by how well the man wrapped up his ankle, but then berated himself. This man was probably used to doing everything on his own. Wasn’t his cabin proof of that? He had to learn how to do a lot of things himself since no one was around.

“There,” the man concluded, tying the bandage up. “You shouldn’t walk on it for the next couple of days.” He carefully arranged the foot down on a stool, placing the snow around his ankle to reduce the swelling.

“Thanks again,” Ben said, shivering as the snow did its work. “I owe you.”

“Hum,” the man said, turning away. He walked to the fireplace and checked the pot of water. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry.”

At the mention of food, Ben’s stomach immediately growled. That got a chuckle out of the man.

“Ask a stupid question,” he muttered, checking his cupboards for food.

Ben watched the man for a few minutes, still confused. Why had this man rescued him? Why bothering fixing him up and feeding him? Everyone else he had met in the mountains would throw him out to the bears.

“What’s your name?” Ben asked, realizing he didn’t know the man’s name yet.

“My name?” the man repeated, tossing what looked liked dried meat into the pot. “It’s Rob. Yours?”

“Ben.”

“Ben?” Rob repeated, his face thoughtful. “Short for Benjamin.”

“After my grandfather,” Ben said softly. “He died in the wars.” Truthful enough. Benjamin, the father of Trenton the Hero, had died when the enemy found out about his son and the Great Kings. Princess Marie knew just how much Trenton missed his family and decided on Benjamin to name their son as a connection to the past. Ben didn’t mind. It gave him a connection to his father’s family, people he would never know in life.

“Many people died,” Rob sighed, stirring the stew. “Many friends… family… strangers… A lot of hate. A lot of suffering.”

Ben knew that tone. He had heard it hundreds of times before as old warriors talked of the wars.

“You fought in the wars,” he shrewdly guessed.

“You’d be hard pressed to find someone my age who hasn’t,” Rob pointed out. He sighed, looking around his cabin with fondness. “But I’ve found my peace here. No one to bother me, no one to care about me. I prefer it.”

You prefer it? Ben wondered. Why?
***********
And you won’t get that answer for a bit yet. As you might have noticed, the mountain men aren’t much into the way of conversation. Ben’s going to have an interesting time trying to find answers.

Anyway, I hope you’ve been enjoying this story. It’s a complete change of pace from what I’ve written before and I’ve been learning a lot from it. Sometimes it’s nice to slow down and take thing easy.

Enjoy the journey!

Insight

I need to get back into the rhythm of writing blog posts again. It’s been too long. Anyway, we continue the story of Ben, a bastard prince trying to find his Hero father. He’s at the most logical place to begin his search, the last place Trenton the Hero was seen. Now to introduce a character and a terrible twist. To the story!
*********
It was still raining when he left the inn the next morning. He had quickly grabbed a bite to eat and hurried out of the inn before the innkeeper sought him out. He was in no mood to deal with women who wanted to catch him with his pants down.

He wandered the streets of the town, trying to remember who exactly was considered the expert on his father. There were several experts of the war twenty years before. Several on the battles, a few on Sarries, others who dibbled in every subject, but there was a surprising small amount dedicated to his father. Ben eventually entered one of the other scholar’s offices and asked which scholar was currently the expert on his father.

About midmorning, Ben finally found the shop which housed the scholar. The man he had asked laughed in his face after he had asked. Apparently the expert who studied his father also had an interesting hobby of flying kites, and when he hadn’t found a decent shop for kites, he merely set up his own and sold kites when he wasn’t studying the Hero.

“I’ve come this far,” Ben muttered and walked inside the shop. Inside was filled with color, a stark contrast with the dull rainy day. Kites of all sizes and shapes covered the walls and ceiling, constructed in all sorts of colors. Ben stared at the kites, not realizing just how different each kite actually was. There were kites that looked like boxes, several with long tails, some had no sticks, and there was even one kite that reminded him of a large bowl. He stared with amazement at the color and mastery of these kites.

“A customer?” asked an airy voice.

Ben jumped and spun around. Behind him was a middle age man with a large stomach and thinning hair on top. About the same as every other scholar Ben knew.

“Professor Ferrell?” Ben asked hesitantly.

The man grinned, his eyes lighting with excitement. “That would be me!” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Ben quickly said, lightly fingering his nose. Grandfather was wise enough to give some protection for his wandering grandsons. It was a small medallion he wore around his neck, the same that his three cousins also wore. It was infused with magic, and while it did not disguise the princes’ features, it did encourage people to not notice the more distinguishing features of the princes. In his case, it hid his nose quite well.

“Huh,” Ferrell said, rubbing his upper lip in thought as he tried to see past the magic. “It seems that I should…” He shook his head, the magic of the medallion urging him to forget the prince’s familiar features. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Ben,” the prince started off. “I’m here to do some research…”

“A university student?” Ferrell asked excitedly, his expression giddy.

“Yes,” Ben quickly lied. “I’m doing a project with several other students about the war against Sarries. My focus is on Trenton the Hero and I’ve been told you’re the man to talk to about him.”

“That I am,” Ferrell said with mock modesty. “Please, come back to my office and we’ll talk.”

Ferrell’s office was much like the prince had been expecting. Every available space was covered in books. The bookshelves, chairs, the desk, even the floor had stacks of books. The only space where there weren’t books was the professor’s own chair, a foot and a half square on the desk, though that was covered in papers, and a path leading from the door to the chair.

“Forgive the mess,” Ferrell said, not sounding the least sorry for the state of his office. “I’ve been meaning to move some of my books into storage, but I never know when I might need one of them.” He sighed, sitting down and fondly caressing the nearest book stack. “There is a comfort of having so many books though, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Ben decided not to mention that he didn’t have a place to sit. “About Trenton the Hero?” he prompted.

“What would you like to know?” Ferrell asked in return, sinking down in his chair. “The man was nearly twenty five when he finally managed to kill Sarries. Would you like to talk about his childhood? His encounter with the Thief, the four Great King Spirits that answer only to him? Or do you wish to talk of his life as a general? The battles he fought? His war inventions?”

“Um!” Ben rudely interrupted before the old scholar went on all day. “I know all those. I’ve read the books about him. But…” He paused, quickly thinking up an excuse that would fit in with his story as a university student. “But I want something different in my report. Something my teacher hasn’t seen before.”

“Ah,” Ferrell chuckled, leaning forward in the chair. “You want to know what happened to the Hero after his final battle. You are not the first, and I seriously doubt that you’ll be the last.”

“I understand,” Ben said, flashing a grin. “And I doubt that I can come up with something that others haven’t been able to discover anyway. But idle speculation might help my grade. Especially if I have an expert’s opinion about what happened to Trenton the Hero.” He had spent his childhood in court; he knew how to manipulate people.

“Smooth,” Ferrell said, returning the grin. “You could charm a swindler from his money, couldn’t you?” Apparently the scholar had come across other charmers.

Ben grinned again. “I haven’t tired that yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I could.”

“I wouldn’t be either.”

“Is my charm working on you?”

Ferrell eyed him, once again trying to look past the magic. “You remind me of someone…” he muttered. “You related to anyone associated with the war?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but you’d be hard pressed to find someone who isn’t.”

“True,” Ferrell sighed, giving up with his prodding. “Very well, your charm has indeed worked. Rumors of the whereabouts of the Hero.” The professor’s voice dropped into a dull, low tone, adapted for telling a story. Ben carefully leaned against a bookcase, listening carefully to the details the professor went on.

“It is hard to say what had become of Trenton the Hero,” Ferrell confessed. “Trenton was a private man, not much to reveal his inner thoughts to anyone. Not even his beloved Marie. It is my speculation, my speculation mind, that one of the reasons he was a great general was because he did not reveal his plans until the last moment. Hard to counter a man if you don’t know what he’s going to do, now isn’t it?

“However, it also was a disadvantage. He never revealed his thoughts to others, when he desperately needed other ideas, and no one could really call him friend.”

Ben stood straight at that. “He didn’t have friends?” he asked, a bit shocked. The history books never mentioned that! Everything he heard about his father was about how popular and loved he was. A year wouldn’t go by without some mention of Trenton in the courts.

“No close friends,” Ferrell confirmed. “When Princess Marie first met him, she described him as a closed mouth monster of a man, with the vocabulary of an invalid and an expression of stone. It took well over five years for them to finally admit their feelings.” Ben tried not to squirm. Everyone knew that story as well. Their last meeting before Marie’s death was when those feelings were finally confessed. Once confessed, they didn’t hold back their passion and nine months later he arrived.

“So,” Ben coughed, trying to rid the thought of what made his parents his parents, “you don’t think he disappeared to friends?”

“Nor family,” Ferrell added, holding a finger up. “Remember, his entire family had been killed by the Tyrant shortly after the Great Kings vowed themselves to him. Everything of importance to him was the war and Marie.”

“And both of them are now gone,” Ben said softly. He wished he could have known his mother.

“Yes,” the professor said sadly. “In truth, there was nothing left for Trenton. His love gone, the war ended, he didn’t know he had a son. There was nothing.”

“He must have known there would be something,” Ben argued. “The kings always talked of peace. He must have known any one of them would gladly accept him into their courts.”

“Ah,” Ferrell chuckled. “You don’t know everything about the Hero. He didn’t like courts. He didn’t like parties, or nobles, or the easy life. People often forget what it means to grow up as a farmer. He was used to working with his hands, with the land, and reaping the benefits of his work. Government never had an appeal to him. All he saw were pompous nobles who sat around all day, got served on, and reaped the benefits of the works of others. It was against his farmers’ ethics.

“So I stand by what I said. When the war was over, there was literally nothing left for him.”

He has a point. Ben didn’t like the court himself, though for different reasons. He didn’t like the backstabbing, the insults, the every-man-for-himself attitude. At least I share one thing in common with my father.

“Alright,” Ben finally agreed. “Trenton didn’t see anything worth staying for. So… What did he do?”

“That’s the mystery, now isn’t it?” Ferrell said shrewdly. “And since Trenton was a private man, no one can say for certain that they know what he’d do. Not even me.”

“But you have suspicions,” Ben guessed.

The professor snorted. “What sort of scholar would you think I’d be if I didn’t? I suspect, suspect mind, that he did not commit suicide. That’s a coward’s way out and he was no coward. Nor do I think the Great Kings made him the ‘Fifth King.’ Trenton had no noble blood and he didn’t like nobles, so I don’t think he would take up such an offer. And I don’t think that the enemy captured him and killed him for his actions. That’s something they would have advertised. No, my thoughts on the matter are that he just ran away. ”

Ben shook. “Ran away?” he repeated, not sure if he heard right. “Trenton the Hero ran away?”

Ferrell shrugged. “He had nothing to hold him in society, he didn’t want to be part of the war in the first place, and he had just lost the love of his life. What was he to do? Now perhaps if he knew about his son, he would have stayed, but he didn’t know. He had fulfilled his destiny, he did what the prophecy said. His work was done. Why should he stay?”

Ben leaned back against the doorframe, feeling a bit numb. It made sense. Oh, how it made sense!

“And no one saw him leave,” he whispered. “He just disappeared.”

“One of the gifts from the Great Kings was the ability to be unnoticed,” Ferrell quoted noted history. “Not invisible, but unnoticed. A rather useful form of invisibility, in my opinion.”

“And no clues as to where he might run away to.”

“A private man with private thoughts.” Ferrell stroked the books piled on his desk. “I myself have searched out for the Hero. I went searching in his home town. Nothing. I went searching in all the places he had seen ravaged by war. Nothing. I went searching in all the places were war hadn’t ravaged. Nothing. I must have crossed the kingdoms three times over searching for him. North, South, East, West. Nothing.”

Ben had already felt that his quest was pointless, this just made it seem worthless. If an expert couldn’t find his father, what could a prince with limited funds and orders to not go by his title do? Though his title would probably push others away anyway. Ben froze.

My title… Everyone knew Trenton the Hero had a bastard prince for a son. But what if there was one who didn’t?

“He still doesn’t know about me,” Ben whispered, suddenly understanding. Ferrell said he thought that Trenton would have stayed for his son.

“Prince Benjamin of Caanom, I presume” Ferrell suddenly said. Ben flushed. He had been caught.

“I thought I recognized you,” the professor went on, smug that he finally pieced it together. “I’ve heard about your quest. And I’m glad to see the old king knows how to use that unnoticed trick. You do have your father’s nose.” Ben immediately fingered his nose. “So, your quest is to find your father.”

“Or his grave,” Ben sighed. If the man knew who he was, then there wasn’t any more point to lying. “Grandfather wants me to find some peace about my father.”

“A difficult task.”

“And a near impossible one,” Ben grumbled. “If you can’t find him, how am I supposed to?”

Ferrell shrugged. “You never know.” He leaned forward eagerly, grinning with near insanity. “And you did bring up a point I’ve never thought of. Trenton disappeared because there wasn’t anything for him. He would have come forward for his son. Your father probably doesn’t know about you. There are just a few places where one can live without having any news from the outside world.” He leaned back again, looking excited.

“I always thought that he would want to know what’s happening in the world… but to disappear completely, he would need a place where no news would go out…”

“Or in,” Ben finished.

“Exactly!” Ferrell clapped his hands. “Oh good! I’ve been thumping my head against this problem for years! I should have guessed!” He stood up and shook Ben’s hand with excitement. “You should have come to my shop long before this! Together, we can find your father!”

“I’m supposed to do this alone,” Ben tried to say.

“Pah!” the professor said, waving the restriction aside. “I’m the expert on Trenton the Hero! I should at least lend a hand in finding him!” He let go of his hand and began rummaging through his papers. “Now, let’s see, I’ll need to cross reference all the sort of places where news is unlikely to go with places of his past…. Oh, and I’ll need someone to mind my store while I’m gone… Your Highness?”

Ben blinked. “Yes?”

“I’m likely to be at this all day,” Ferrell apologized, looking too eager to be sorry. “I don’t think you want to be bored with the details. How about you go out and enjoy the rest of the day while I come up with a plan. Meet me tomorrow morning and we’ll head out. Alright?”

Ben leaned out the door and looked at the front of the store, where the rain was still pouring outside. “Sure,” he sighed. “I prefer the rain than dusty books any day.”
***********
Ben’s head pounded as the light from outside woke him up. Groaning, the prince rolled over, trying to forget the sunshine and his head. Why did he drink that much? The night before, after he had explored the town, he relented and visited his mother’s grave. It was as depressing as he remembered. There were no individual grave markers, just a large slab of stone with the names of those who died engraved on it. So many lives had been lost, so many lives destroyed. Ben wasn’t the only one to loose a parent that battle. It had lasted three days before Trenton finally killed the Tyrant. There were too many bodies for the survivors to bury each one individually, so one hole was dug and the bodies piled in. Even then, the mound over the dead was now a hill.

When he returned to the inn, one of the patrons noticed his long face. Acutely guessing that he had just visited the Grave, the man offered to give him something to drown his sorrows in. Ben jumped on the chance. While Ben never said who he was, he did start talking. He talked about how his mother was the one who died and his father had run away. It was a more common story than it should have been. Many of the other patrons felt sorry for him and kept giving him more to drink. By the time he stumbled his way to bed, he was thoroughly drunk and his worries forgotten.

But now it was morning and his head pounded with his hangover. Grumbling, he sat up. He was supposed to do something today? What was it? Cameron wanted him to do something… Then he remembered his conversation with Professor Ferrell and the quest he was on.

“Great,” he muttered, quickly changing out of his clothes for fresh ones. Judging from the sunlight, it was at least an hour past when he was supposed to meet up with the professor. Ben hoped he hadn’t left without him.

He packed quickly, paid the innkeeper her fee, blushed furiously as she flirted with him again, saddled his horse, and rode off for the kite shop, wishing he wasn’t too late. But he was too late.

But not to leave.

Ben reached the kite shop, thinking nothing was out of the ordinary. He sighed with relief to see a horse outside, all saddled and packed. So Ferrell hadn’t left without him. He dismounted, opened the door to the shop, and froze.

The kites which had been hung with care lay scattered on the floor. The delicate creations were broken and tossed aside, as if a wild storm passed through and tore them down. Ben carefully walked through the mess, suddenly worried.

“Ferrell?” he called out. watching his footing. “Are you alright?”

His answer was a low moan toward the professor’s office. As quickly as he could, Ben rushed to the office, only to find the most horrible sight he had ever seen. The carefully staked books were in the same condition as the kites. But his eyes were fixed on the professor, who was laying face down in a pool of blood.

“Professor?” he breathed, dropping to his knees. He had never seen so much blood. Unsure what to do, he reached over and rolled the old man over. “Professor Ferrell?” he asked. He gasped in shock, scrambling back and his stomach rolling at the sight.

The professor was beaten to the point of almost being unrecognizable. His face was bruised and bleeding in a dozen places, his nose broken, and his mouth twisted in a gruesome swollen sneer. In a single glance, Ben knew that Ferrell wasn’t going to last.

“Your…” Ferrell said weakly, opening one eye and coughing. “Your Highness?”

“Professor?” Ben asked, hoping he wasn’t about to heave.

“Here,” Ferrell somehow managed to hold up a sheet of paper, spotted with blood. “They tried to take it. Stop you…”

Ben took the paper, still sickened. “What?” he asked, not able to comprehend what the professor was saying. “Who’s trying to stop me?”

“Find the Hero,” Ferrell sighed, closing his one eye. “My legacy… My greatest achievement. On the paper. Find him. Go…” He coughed pitifully and fell limp.

“Professor?” Ben asked, frozen to the spot. “Professor Ferrell?”

However, the old man didn’t answer. Ben knew he wouldn’t. Someone had made sure of that.
*************
Interrogation rooms are the same the world over, Ben thought, slumping in his chair, adjusting his wrists chained behind his back to a more comfortable position. How many times over the years had he been the one on the other side of the table? At first it was to watch experts ply their craft of getting the answers out of the assassins sent to kill his grandfather. As he grew older, he and his cousins took over, using their own skills to get the answers.

The room was bare of everything except the table and the two chairs, the dull grey stone walls sucking out anything that seemed interesting. The chair Ben sat in faced the door, the other chair currently empty.

They’re trying to make me sweat out my fate, he knew, wishing that someone would just come in and talk with him. He had told them the truth when they came to the shop. He had found Professor Ferrell attacked and that was the end of it. But no… a murder of this extent, involving an important professor, it had to be investigated thoroughly.

It doesn’t help that I can’t tell them who I am, Ben thought with a sigh. It would cut through a lot of crap if he could just explain that he was one of the Caanom princes and that the professor was only trying to help him in his quest. But no, he wasn’t supposed to go by his title. That left him with the story of being a university student doing research for one of his classes.

That small simple lie had the authorities questioning his motives. Oh, they didn’t know what exactly he was hiding, but they knew it was something. The problem was that they thought the thing he was hiding was the murder of the professor.

They’ve waited too long, Ben thought, calculating the time he had stayed in this room without someone coming in. They’re amateurs in this sort of work.

The door opened.

Glancing up, Ben noted that it was the head commissioner for the area, a man he had the brief pleasure of meeting the day he had been captured three days before. He wasn’t much, just an older man with a large gut and short beard. Years spent behind a desk had dulled his senses and he was now merely a paper pusher.

Great, Ben thought, watching as the man sat in the other chair. They think I’ll be intimidated by this guy? One thing he learned about interrogations was that sometimes, power did not intimidate people. Sometimes it made them angry, or stubborn, or even belligerent. For Ben, it only made him roll his eyes. These people had no idea who they were trying to accuse of murder.

“So,” the commissioner said, putting a stack of papers on the table. He glanced at it, as if trying to remember something on it. “Ben.”

Ben rolled his eyes. A stupid tactic. This man wouldn’t have come in here without knowing who he was. Trying to make it seem as if he were too unimportant to remember was a façade of the worst kind.

“Yes?” he groaned, again adjusting his wrists tied behind him. It was impossible to escape these chains, but they were starting to chaff his skin.

“According to the report,” the commissioner said, looking again at the paper, “your relationship with the professor was a short one. You came into town just a few days ago.”

“Correct,” he sighed. “And as I told your officers, he and I were going to go out researching. When I got to his shop, he had already been attacked.”

“So you say,” the man said, rubbing his beard. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell us?”

Ben snorted. “Like what?” he asked. “I had no grudge against Ferrell. By the Great Kings, I only met him a few days ago! He said he’d help me with my school work, that’s all.”

This time the man snorted. “A continent lie. Ferrell always liked helping with school work. Anyone could say that of him.”

“Because it’s the truth,” Ben huffed.

“We’re starting to talk with the other professors,” the man went on, ignoring him. “They say you’ve been asking after an expert on Trenton the Hero. Is this true?”

“Yes,” Ben nearly snapped. “My project is on Trenton.”

“Interesting,” the man said, though not showing any interest. “According to the patrons of the inn you were staying at, you got drunk the night before. Can you be certain that you didn’t just loose your cool and went to Ferrell, got into an argument, and killed him?”

“I stayed at the inn all night,” Ben said as slowly and carefully as possible to make sure he was heard correctly. “I rushed to Ferrell’s shop when I overslept. I was afraid that he was going to leave me.”

“Ferrell would have gone searching for you,” the commissioner snorted. “Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!” Ben protested. “That’s how it happened! I have no idea about who would do anything like this to Ferrell. In the short time I’ve known him, he was the harmless type that no one could hate!”

“Someone must have hated him,” the commissioner said softly, darkly. “Enough to kill him.”

Ben flinched. That was far too true.

Who would kill him though? He wondered. The professor’s last words were that someone was trying to stop him. That led to an uncomfortable thought.

Was the professor killed because of his association with me? Ben wanted to believe that wasn’t the case, but he had been in politics for too long. There were always people who were trying to get ahead, those who would do anything for power.

But no one knows that I’m here, he had to tell himself. I can’t go by my title and no one knows what my quest is about. There’s no way that anyone could know that the professor was helping me.

Then perhaps, it was someone who didn’t want the Hero found?

“What’s with that look?” the commissioner asked, frowning at him.

“I was just thinking,” he said softly. “The professor and I were going to look for clues about the Hero. What if someone didn’t want that?”

The commissioner snorted. “Be serious. The war has been over for nearly two decades now. There’s no way that bitter feelings still remain.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just trying to fool yourself. You know as well as I do that there are still Sarries loyalists.”

For a long moment the commissioner didn’t answer. It was a problem a lot of people ignored, unfortunately. Even his grandfather turned aside on some cases because of the bitterness that still plagued their land.

Without saying anything, the man left, leaving Ben again alone in the room. He sighed, again adjusting his shackled hands. He couldn’t wait for an explanation about this.
************
Yet, you’re going to have to wait for that explanation. Until next week! Enjoy the journey!

A Hero’s Wish

HEY! Welcome back to the blog! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, sorry about that, I’ve been…. Distracted. But that’s how it goes with me right? Anyway, I’ve yet again participated in NaNo and have come up with my fourth novel. (Oh, wow, that seems odd and incredible to me. Four novels! Four!) Though, this novel is considered a novella because it’s about 40K words. I had wanted to write 70K, but I kept getting distracted and the Dawmeria was just not grabbing my attention. It was sad. I like that world and characters, but it just wasn’t working. So I decided to switch gears mid month and try my hand at a stand-alone novel. Perhaps it’s not much in the way of word count, characters, or action, but I really enjoyed this switch. I wasn’t concerned about creating more conflict or even trying to make everything fit. It’s just a short sweet story.

Enough of my rambling. Allow me to present A Hero’s Wish.

The Prophesied Hero fulfilled his Destiny…

And then vanished.

Twenty years later, his son, Benjamin the Bastard Prince of Caanom, is set out on a quest to find his famous father, Trenton the Hero. As Ben searches for his father, he encounters many people he rather wouldn't. Murderous thieves, violent miners, rude trappers, and a hermit who would rather get rid of him. But as Ben deals with these people, he comes to realize each one is trying to forget their painful pasts and to leave the wars behind.

Among these lost heroes, Ben realizes that even a hero wants to hide.
**********
The Prophesied Hero, a brief explanation of the struggle between Sarries the Tyrant and Trenton the Hero.

It all started so simple; but then again, it always does. Sarries wanted power, he wanted control and perfection. However, his dreams were never satisfied. As he rose through the ranks of nobles and armies alike, he desired more power. He saw his fellow human beings as frail, weak things meant to be ruled over. All he wanted was to see them bow under his superior strength and to follow his greater wisdom. At first, the people hailed him as a hero, a champion of their wellbeing and protection. However, they saw him for the monster he was when he killed an entire town to ferret out a single spy.

Sarries wanted to think that he was invincible, but he knew history and legends. The people would rise eventually to end his reign and bring him down. This was something he could not allow.

At the time, rumors of an old witch in the mountains came to him. This witch could tell a person’s fate. Wishing to know who would rise against him, he sought out the witch. He thought that he could end all resistance to him if he brought down all who opposed him. He was prepared for anything to keep his rule over the people.

When he found the witch, the old woman was nearing her own death. History does not tell if the witch told Sarries the truth willingly or not, but her prophecy gave many hope that Sarries rule would come to an end. With her dying breath she told the Tyrant the one thing he did not want to hear.

“So it will be, you will create your own enemy. He will be a farm boy of no great heritage, however, his fate against you will be brought upon him by your doing. He will be assisted by the ghosts of four Great Kings, great men who had lived and died, loved by the people they had protected, their power greater than any specters than has been known. These Great Kings will vow themselves to the farm boy and lend him their power. This boy will grow into a man by your pressure on him, forcing him to grow up before he should. He will rise in power, similar to yours, and bring you to your knees. He will use his wits and skills to end your rule. A single shot will end your life!”

It is not known if Sarries killed the woman with her final words, but her prophecy spread among the people, giving them hope that Sarries would be brought to his ultimate death.

The Tyrant, however, vowed to never allow it to happen. He began to search the lands for the Great Kings, capturing the ghosts in fowl magic and binding them into silence and endless torture. Sarries kept the Great Kings locked away in a chest, constantly moving them to keep anyone from knowing where they were or releasing them.

With the Great Kings captured, Sarries continued his cruel rule, subjecting his people to back breaking labor and endless torment that only death could release them from.

This was when he learned he could take the souls of the dead and prolong his life.

The slaughter of the people increased and Sarries thought he had gained victory over the prophecy. He soon turned his sights outside his own lands in the north to the nations of the south, seeing them ripe for his taking.

Wars raged for a hundred years as the southern kingdoms fought to keep their own lands and their lives. However, Sarries continued to grow in power, taking the souls of the dead with each battle to increase his life.

But still, the prophecy lingered, giving people hope that it would come to an end.

Thus the kings of the south joined forces and came up with a plan to find the Hero. Sending their best spy, they sought to free the Great Kings.

Years passed before the spy was able to find the Great Kings. Using all his skills, he managed to get the chest with the Kings and escape, but not without taking great injury to himself. But the enemy was soon on his trail. Desperate, the spy tried to find a way to hide the chest, even if it cost him his life.

The chase continued for over a month before Sarries’s soldiers caught up with the spy. Knowing that he didn’t have any time left, the spy hid the chest in a barn and fled. He was soon captured and killed, never once revealing the location of the chest with the Kings. Little did he know that he had placed the Great Kings in the hands of the one prophesied to defeat the Tyrant.

Trenton was a simply farm boy doing his chores when he found the chest in his father’s barn. Curious, he opened it and released the Great Kings. Little is known about what happened when the Great Kings were released, but Trenton always said that his life changed forever. Even a farm boy like him knew the prophecy and he knew that he was the one destined to defeat Sarries.

However, he was still just a boy of fifteen. Rather than risk his family to be hurt by the Tyrant, Trenton begged the Great Kings to keep hidden while he considered his next move.

But Sarries was faster. His agents were quick to retrace the spy’s journey and quickly determined where he had hidden the chest. Fearing for the worst, they attacked very possible place the chest could have been, killing hundreds of people in their search for the Great Kings. Trenton’s family was among the last to fall. Trenton gives very little account of the night his parents and siblings died, but it is known that he himself was about to be murdered when the Great Kings saved him and killed nearly all of the men responsible.

This one act thrust Trenton into the world of armies and kings. He was quickly pulled into the army and forced to its head. Ten years pass as he fought as general, making his way through battles and courts. He learned quickly the ways of warfare and weapons. He developed his own weapon, the rifle. No one could match him in battle with his rifle, killing a dozen of the enemy before an archer could kill two.

It was among this bloody conflict that Trenton met Princess Marie, daughter of King Cameron of Caanom. At first, they didn’t like each other, but as they got to know each other, they slowly fell in love. But Trenton and Marie kept their feelings in secret until one night that confessions were made and they shared one night.

Not wishing her to come to any harm, Trenton made Marie promise that she wouldn’t come close to him. She reluctantly promised. Trenton left without knowing she was then carrying his child.

Nine bloody months of war passed before Marie gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Overjoyed at having borne a son for her beloved Hero, she sought him out to tell him the good news. He was doing battle with Sarries himself at the Tyrant’s Stronghold of Caanom. The battle had lasted nearly a month in a near tie. Marie was quick to find out where Trenton was, eager to tell him the news of his son.

She was killed trying to reach him and died in his arms.

Unbearable grief racked the Hero, tormented over the lose of his one and only love. Driven by sorrow, Trenton went alone into the Stronghold to find Sarries. With the Great Kings guiding him, he found the Tyrant lurking in a tower, worrying over his own demise.

Trenton took him out with a single shot with his rifle.

Sarries the Tyrant was killed and his army immediately surrendered.

The celebration after the defeat of the Tyrant lasted for months, cheered through every town, city and community. But one thing remained missing.

It was only a week after Sarries had been killed that it was noticed that Trenton was no where to be found.

Despite the many searches, no one knew where the Hero had hidden himself. Weeks passed into months, months turned into years, and slowly the search for Trenton the Hero dwindled into nothing. He had done his part in fulfilling his destiny and he was no longer needed. The need for the Hero was no longer there and people stopped looking for him.

Rumors, however, have a powerful hold. Some say that Trenton the Hero had been killed the very moment Sarries was, his purpose in this world complete and his death only to be expected. Other rumors say that the Great Kings enveloped Trenton in their own powers, making him the Fifth Great King and he now guards our lands as a spirit. Others claim that the Hero had killed himself, unable to bare the grief of the loved ones he had lost.

And other rumors, told in secret and whispered in darkness, say that he ran away.

But Trenton’s legacy remains. He defeated the Tyrant Sarries and brought peace to our lands. Though we don’t if he is even alive, or where his body may lay, we own him our greatest respect and honor. He had accomplished what no one could do in hundreds of years, bringing peace and ending the rule of a tyrant.

Let us not besmirch his name and legacy. Trenton the Hero is the greatest man to live in our time, a man of legends, a man of strength, a man of greatness. On this, the nearing nineteenth anniversary of our liberation, we should remember the man who saved us.

Trenton the Hero, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, we thank you for saving our lives. May your memory live on in glory forever.

-Written by Professor Ferrell, expert on Trenton the Hero. He currently lives near the Caanom Stronghold of Sarries, spending his days researching the Hero and flying his kites on windy days.
**********
Benjamin, the Bastard Prince of Caanom, stared moodily outside his window at the pouring rain. He didn’t really like rain. He was forced to stay inside on days like this and inside was a place he did not particularly like, especially now.

“Lady Kelsey was by again today,” said his oldest cousin Matthew. He was only a few years older than Ben’s nineteen, but Matt acted as if he were far older than them. This, Ben supposed, was because Matt was the oldest and felt that he should set an example to his younger cousins.

“She’s always coming by,” sneered the second oldest, Patrick. Of his three cousins, Ben liked Patrick the least. He was everything the people envisioned as a rotten prince. Pat enjoyed the high life; drinking, gambling, girls. Pat and Matt very rarely got along well together.

“You know why she’s always coming by,” said the cousin just a few months older than him, Albert. Ben liked Al. He wasn’t as serious as Matt, but he was a solemn fellow with very little to say. When he did say something, however, people listened. Al was very smart and would only speak the truth. “She wants a husband and the four of us are the highest ranked men in the kingdom. One of us is going to ascend to the throne and she wants to be on his side.”

“The three of us,” Pat mocked, in his voice the obvious distain he had for his youngest cousin. “Ben’s a bastard and doesn’t count.”

And this is why I want to be outside, Ben thought sourly. He knew he had little chance of getting the throne, which was fine by him. Leave it to Matt or even Al. They were better princes, and legitimate too.

“He has just as much rank as us,” Matt said, quickly coming to his defense. “Just because our aunt wasn’t married when she had him…”

I wish this rain will let up, Ben thought, not really paying attention to his cousins.

“Princes of Caanom,” announced the valet who banged his staff on the floor three times. “Rise, for your King comes.”

Ben scrambled to his feet, flinging himself away from the window he had been sitting in and joined his cousins in a line as their elderly grandfather shuffled into the room.

King Cameron was defiantly getting older. Nearly eighty, people had expected him to die years ago, but the king refused to die. Now bent with age, his thin wispy hair white, and his eyesight nearly gone, this man used to tower over men with authority. The only reason he still had the throne was because of his quick mind.

It also helped that he had four grandsons who were trying to gain his favor so he would name one of them as his heir. Ben had lost count of all the plots against the king that he and his cousins put an end to.

Accompanying King Cameron was Ben’s three aunts, Carnetta, Matt’s mother, Nareen, Pat’s mother, and Whitney, Al’s mother. His own mother, Princess Marie, had died before the war was over. Before his father defeated Sarries.

As always, Ben felt as if his stomach drop as he thought of his parents. As far as anyone knew, Trenton the Hero knew nothing of him. Rumors had it that while the Hero tired to keep Marie safe by keeping his distance, but she was so glad to have bourn him a son, she did not heed his warning to keep away and died trying to tell him the news of his son’s birth.

And that’s why they call me a bastard. It wasn’t a bitter thought, or even a happy one. It just was.

“Grandsons,” Cameron said smiling as they bowed to him. Everyone in the kingdom knew that while the king did not sire any sons, he viewed the grandsons his four daughters had produced to be even as sons. “I trust your day has been fine?” He glanced briefly at Ben, the smug smile knowing just how his day was going. “Except for yours, of course, Benjamin. I’ve been assured that the weather will clear up later this afternoon and then you can escape this palace.”

Ben bowed, if a bit mockingly, at his grandfather. “You know me so well.”

“Pert,” the king chuckled. He leaned heavily on his walking stick. “Well?” he demanded, his voice still commanding. “Which one of you is going to help me into a chair?”

Matt and Pat were quick to jump forward and helped their aging grandfather to the table that they had been sharing morning tea. Sighing, the king sank onto the chair, grimacing a bit as he wiggled to find a comfortable position. Al quickly poured a cup for the king, although there were servants in the room who could have provided that service.

Ben didn’t do anything to help make the king comfortable. Not that he didn’t love his grandfather, but that he knew it was a bit useless to fight his cousins for the king’s attention at the time. While they tried to prove themselves to the king through actions and flowery words when the king was present, Ben’s relationship with his grandfather was completely different.

He knew very early on that his parents weren’t around, not like his aunts to his cousins. Feeling very alone, he often sought the king to find comfort. His grandfather, in turn, found comfort in his visits, since Marie was his favorite daughter. Together their relationship was more similar to grandfather and grandson than king to prince. When he got older, they exchanged stories and became unlikely friends. Ben wouldn’t change that relationship, even if it did cost him a throne.

It was an over glorified chair anyway.

“Thank you,” Cameron said, waving his three grandsons away. “I need room to breath.” He took a long sip from his tea. His daughters silently glided into the room and stood at the shoulders of their sons. The resemblance between them and their sons were obvious. Matt shared his mother’s long face, Pat had his mother’s slim form, and Al could have been his mother’s twin if twenty years didn’t separate them.

Ben knew he didn’t resemble them. How many times over the years did people say that he resembled more of his father than his mother, though traces of his mother could be found in his chin, cheeks, and slimmer form. His father, from what he heard and saw in paintings, was a large man, nearly always standing a foot taller than most, broad shoulders, brown hair, brown eyes, and a very distinct nose that often reminded Ben of an eagle. He lightly fingered his own nose. No one doubted who his father was with this nose.

“You’re going to flatten your nose if you keep doing that,” the king teased. Ben quickly held his hands behind his back, feeling a bit foolish for having been caught touching his nose again.

“What do we owe the honor of your visit, Grandfather?” Matt asked respectfully.

“It’s an honor the four of you have been waiting for,” the king said, putting his cup back down on the saucer. He eyed each of them, squinting as he tried to make out their features. “The time is coming for me to name one of you as the heir.”

His cousins quickly stood taller, each trying to look more regal than the others. Ben felt his shoulders slump, fighting the urge to groan. He didn’t want the throne; he knew what it meant. He did spend most of his childhood at his grandfather’s knee and heard the horror stories of being a king. He saw Cameron’s tears, knew the aches and pains of kinghood that crippled him more than his old age, the only ear to hear of how troubling it was to run a kingdom. Ben wanted nothing of it.

“I’ve decided,” Cameron said, absently spooning sugar into his tea, “that each of you must go on a quest.” Ben shared confused looks with his cousins. He knew what they were thinking. They thought they had done enough to prove their commitment to the throne.

“I will speak to each of you in turn,” the king went on, stirring his tea. “You will not know the nature of each other’s quest. When you return, I will listen to how you faired during your quest. At that time I will make my decision.”

“But…” Matt started to say. The king held up his hand to silence the young man.

“I love each of you,” Cameron pointed out. “I know each of your strengths and weaknesses. None of you, I believe, would be a bad king. I would be honored to name any of you as my heir. However, there are four of you and I must pick one. This quest will be your proving point. Now, Patrick, Albert, Benjamin, will you leave while I talk to Matthew about his quest. I will summon each of you in turn about your own quest.”

He glanced at his daughters standing at their sons’ shoulders, shocked. “Carnetta, Nareen, Whitney. You are also dismissed. You will not aid your sons in their quests.” If anything, his aunts looked more disappointed than their sons.

“Servants,” the king said, almost as an afterthought. “You are also dismissed. The princes’ quests are theirs alone.”

Everyone but the king and Matt left the room, closing the doors after them. Ben, his cousins and aunts stayed outside the room, waiting for their summons.

“I can’t believe this!” Pat was saying outraged to his mother. “After all we’ve done for him, he wants us to go on a quest?”

“He wants to judge our character,” Al figured out. “And a character is defined by how you deal with others. He knows he only sees his beloved grandsons when he looks at us. He needs to see us outside of that role.”

“Still stinks,” Pat grumbled, his mother gently patting his shoulder. “Why couldn’t any of our fathers survived the war and taken up the throne to put this silly question of succession to a rest?”

“They were fighting the war,” Whitney wisely pointed out. “All of them died bravely. We wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Ben stood apart from them, sulking. This quest was a waste of time for him. His grandfather knew he didn’t want the throne. Surely he wasn’t supposed to go on this quest?

A half hour later, Matt came out of the room, looking a bit pale. “You’re turn Pat,” was all he said, then walked away, his mother quickly following after him. Even as they disappeared from view, they could still hear Carnetta’s pleads for her son to reveal the nature of his quest but Matt refused. Ben felt nervous now. It seemed Cameron was giving ultimatums out. No one ever disobeyed the king when he gave ultimatums. Not unless they were sick of living.

It took an hour for Pat to come out. He too had become pale and his eyes were a bit wild. Nareen took her son by the arm and led him away, quietly trying to consol him.

Al took nearly an hour before he finally immerged from his meeting with the king, also pale. Whitney took one look at her son before squaring her shoulders. “Well,” she said, throwing her head back, “standing here won’t get your quest done. Let’s go prepare.” She grabbed his arm and led him away. Ben watched them leave, wishing a bit that someone would have been outside waiting for him.

“Benjamin.”

Ben flinched. His turn. He quietly entered the room, closing the door behind him. His grandfather still sat at the table. By now the tea was cold and he was eating a piece of cake.

“Well?” Cameron asked. “Come over here. I don’t bite.”

“Are you sure?” Ben asked, walking over and sitting opposite of his grandfather. “I’ve seen your dentures.”

Cameron chuckled, wiping his mouth of crumbs. “Of all my grandsons, I’m going to miss you most. Your humor has never failed me.”

“Except that one time I got caught up in a tree trying to get our kite,” Ben chuckled. The king laughed.

“I nearly had forgotten that!” It took him a moment to regain his composure. Despite his old age, those eyes focused on his face, judging him as only a king with wisdom could.

“I know you don’t want to go on this quest,” Cameron said. “None of you do. But I am afraid that it is the only way I’m going to decide.”

“I don’t want the throne,” Ben said, again absently rubbing his nose. “Let’s face it. I’m not king material. By the Great Kings, half the court thinks I shouldn’t even have a title.”

“That’s because they don’t like your birth,” Cameron pointed out. “They don’t see the great young man I see.” Ben flushed then looked down. It always embarrassed him when his grandfather praised him.

“Your quest,” the king said, “is to find what happened to your father.”

Ben jerked his head back up, staring at the old man in shock. The king met his shocked gaze with a solid one that meant he was saying the truth.

“But…” Ben stuttered, “It’s been nearly twenty years! Everyone gave up searching for him ten years ago! I’ve accepted his death!”

“Then you must find his grave,” Cameron said shortly. Ben flinched at the king’s tone. No one argued with the king when he used that tone. Seeing the discomfort he caused his grandson, the king sighed, slumping a bit in his chair.

“There’s another reason why I want you to find out what happened to your father,” Cameron confessed. “The mystery of what happened to him, I know, has always disturbed you. I don’t just want to see you complete this task, but for you to find peace. It is more for your benefit than for my choice.”

Ben grimaced. There was one problem with the king also being one of your best friends. He knew exactly what bothered him.

“Go, my Benjamin,” Cameron said softly. “Put your spirit to rest.”
************
“This isn’t rest!” Ben bellowed up at the uncaring sky. It was currently pouring down on his poor head and beast and he couldn’t see any shelter on this road. He knew there was supposed to be a town a half days ride, but that was still a half day away and he was forced to keep going in the down pour.

It had been a month since he left the palace, along with his cousins. The king had a few final instructions for them as they waited for his word mounted on their horses. Ben really didn’t like their departure. It had seemed that most of court had arrived to see them off and he couldn’t help but hear the snickering among the younger nobles. He wanted to groan. He did not want to do this.

“This quest,” the king said loudly for the audience’s benefit, “must be done alone. You, my grandsons, are no longer allowed to use your titles until your return here. If you receive help, it is from those who will not know who you are. In one year’s time, you will return. All of the court will listen to your quests. It will be then that I decide which of you, my grandsons, will be my heir. My blessing upon you and may you travel with the wind to your back.”

He and his cousins didn’t even leave by the same gate. Matt took south, Pat went west, Al east, and that left him north. This, he supposed, was the best course of action. The last time anyone saw his father was in the north.

It had taken him a month of using river boats and riding to arrive at this place. Not that he saw much of it. This rain was coming down in sheets and obscured his view. His horse whined underneath him. He patted the poor beast’s neck.

“I know,” he assured the horse. “I feel the same way.” Shivering, he sat back up, trying to adjust his hood so the rain wouldn’t pound on his face. He glanced around again, hoping to see something familiar.

This wasn’t his first visit to the Caanom Stronghold of Sarries. It was a very popular visit for anyone who traveled. It was the place where Sarries was killed.

Also the place his mother was killed and his father disappeared.

Ben had made the decision to not visit his mother’s grave while he was there. Not that he didn’t respect her, but he felt no need to visit that mass grave she shared with the others who died in battle. It just depressed him and he really needed to keep focused if he was going to find any clue about his father’s whereabouts or grave.

That left the town. The Stronghold was a museum now, filled with relics of the time of war and the two men at the very center of the conflict. But the experts about the war were found in the town that supported the visitors. He doubted very much that they might be able to shed some light on his father’s whereabouts, but it was a starting place.

Near evening, the rain finally let up and the town became a beacon to him. He was quick to find an inn for him and his tired horse. Because his grandfather only gave him so much money, Ben was forced to choose one of the lower end inns. After stabling his horse, he went inside. The moment he stepped in, he was glad that he did not look wealthy.

The common room was already full of large working men, drinking the night away. There was a seedy looking musician in the corner playing some lewd song, the men around him singing off key to the verse. As far from the musician were other men who looked like they were trying to drink themselves into oblivion. The middle crowd was just rowdy.

“Well, young man,” said a serving woman, just noticing him. “What can I do for you?”

Ben felt himself blush as he realized who addressed him. She was an older woman, probably the owner of the inn, but she dressed as if she could still attract men’s gazes with her full figure. Ben had no doubts that she did.

“Um,” he coughed, quickly adverting his eyes, only to find another serving girl closer to his own age, laughing as one of the patrons pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly on the cheek. She too dressed to attract. He had to force his gaze back to the older woman.

“A room!” he suddenly blurted out. “I need a room for a night or two. And a stable for my horse.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. Ben felt the blush deepen as he realized that she was laughing at his discomfort. “Is the room and stable all you want?” she asked archly, looking down his length. Ben paled as she considered him. Although he was nowhere near as large as his father, he was considered one of the more robust and handsome men at court. But he couldn’t bring himself to share the bedding his cousins had among court. With good reason, he thought.

“Just that,” he assured her. “Room, stable.”

“No food? Ale?” She was almost outright laughing at his discomfort!

“Food tomorrow morning,” he muttered, wishing the lady would stop teasing him and give him a room for the night.

“Nothing else?” she asked again, tilting her head and casually rubbing the side of her neck.

“Yes!” He was sure he sounded like a child.

Finally she laughed. “You’re cute when you blush. Three bonze for a night for you and your horse, with breakfast promised in the morning.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You can pay me when you leave. Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

Ben followed her upstairs, carefully having to side step the men who were already asleep with drink. She lead him to the last door in the hall.

“Not much,” she admitted when she opened the door for him. “But I haven’t had anyone complain yet.”

He looked inside. The room was large enough for the bed, chair, small table with a lamp and the two feet between the bed and wall. The only inviting thing about it was the window opposite of the door, even if it started raining again.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered. Not that he had much of a choice. If he didn’t ration his money, he wouldn’t survive the year.

“If you need anything,” the woman said, stepping to the side so he could get into his room, “I’ll be downstairs.” She eyed him again, her eyes lingering. “I might even give you a discount for other services.” She laughed at his sudden blush and left.

Ben quickly shut the door, locking it. It was a good thing that she didn’t know he was a prince. He had very little doubt that she would give him a discount on other services, perhaps insisting on giving him those services.

Sighing, he stepped up to the bed and dropped on it.

“This isn’t a rest!”
*********
Ah, poor Ben. Not that I feel any sympathy towards him. He is, after all, my character. I have to make their lives miserable somehow.

I hope you enjoy this novella. It’s the first big project I’ve written without Martin involved in any way. I hope it turns out just as well. Enjoy the journey!