The Source (Creasan #1)

Thea, Merek, and Carac ran faster than they’d ever done before, shoving wayward branches out of their way as they barreled through the forest. Leaves stung Thea’s cheeks and mud squelched beneath her shoes, but she kept on. Just now, she could hear the heavy steps of the ogres, which meant the king was just about to realize she was gone. Thea gritted her teeth—they had to go faster.

Doing her best not to trip, Thea unbuckled the armor she still wore, tossing each piece in different directions as they went and praying it wouldn’t create a trail when The Guard came searching.

They ran until they simply couldn’t any longer, collapsing against the trunks of trees as the gasped wildly for breath. Thea’s heart was pounding so loud that it drowned out the sound of anything else. Her feet throbbed with each beat. She cradled her hand against her chest as a searing heat sparked upwards from it.

Merek looked about to collapse as he leaned all his weight against a tree. Sweat poured down his face and he clutched at his side. “We need to rest,” he said.

Thea shook her head, swallowing hard. “No. We have to get back before the king—“

“If we keep on, we’ll both pass out. And it’s getting dark. We will stay here for the night, and in the morning we’ll head home.”

Thea opened her mouth to argue, but Carac stepped forward and said, “Please, Thea.”

She’d never had a little brother, but if she had, she imagined he’d be like Carac. He looked frightened and exhausted, and she was the reason for both. So Thea sighed and said, “Fine. But we hide in the trees. If we got recaptured because you wanted to sleep, bugger the king. I’ll kill you myself.”

Merek breathed out a laugh.

Fendrel lay in his bed, eyes unfocused as the healer fussed over him. He’d admit his back was a touch sore but not enough to render him incapable of moving from his bed. As for his other injures, his nose pulsed painfully, but not threateningly. She’d made sure not to hurt him.

She’d made sure not to kill him.

Fendrel was certain she could have. He had no doubt about his own abilities with a sword, but she…she had been like no foe he’d faced before. She was agile and swift, yet at the same time strong and overpowering. While she fought, Fendrel could see her mind working, like it was a game of chess and she’d always been a step ahead of him.

Yet she’d only left him with a scratch, a mildly throbbing reminder of her presence.

The healer pressed another warm cloth to Fendrel’s forehead, but the prince ripped it away quickly. “I do not have a fever,” he said angrily.

Queen Ana sat beside his bed. While they’d never been especially close, Ana always knew how to look the part. This way, the servants would spread the word of how the queen tended to the prince in his hour of need.

“I’d like to see my brother,” Fendrel demanded of her.

She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“It was I who was nearly killed today. The least he can do is give me five bloody minutes.”

The healer tried to place another cloth on Fendrel, and he jerked away from him. Fendrel threw the covers off, letting out a sharp breath as a needle of pain sawed through him, and forced himself to his feet.

Ana had risen as well, and she placed a firm hand against his chest. “He is in a rather cross mood at the moment—“

“I don’t care.”

Fendrel staggered to the door, but Ana gripped his arm tightly, yanking him to a stop. She gazed up at him with a haunted look that made his brows furrow in curiosity and suspicion. He’d never seen her look anything other than regally blank. Ana took a step closer to him and very adamantly said, “No.”

Under normal circumstances, Fendrel would’ve brushed past Ana without with a moment of hesitation. But that night, he looked at her and thought the candlelight shone an angry red blotch on the side of her face. What had his brother done?

Ana opened the door and spoke to the Guard standing there. “Please see to it that no one, not even His Highness, enters the king’s chambers tonight.”

The Guard gave a small bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Then he ran off to spread the word.

Fendrel glared ahead at the open door. It wasn’t that he felt trapped so much by the palace walls or the armed Guards as he felt constricted by the etiquette of it. Ana was in his room because that was the rule; he’d been forbidden from seeing his brother because that was the rule; the healer was bidding Fendrel return to his bed because that was the rule.

Yet none of the prisoners had followed the rules, and there seemed to be a certain revitalized color in their faces that hadn’t faded regardless of their struggles.

He shook his head.

He had to get out of this room.

Fendrel lurched forward into the hall, grinding his teeth together as an ache melted down his spine.

Ana watched him disapprovingly. “You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

But like he’d said before, “I don’t care.” Fendrel followed the torches on the walls through the castle, running his hand along the cold stone. It was a wonderful fortress really, unblemished since The Fire War. Impenetrable.

Uninhabitable.

Portraits of past Lance kings adorned the walls, accompanied by the family crest. The mighty leader of the Lance clan impaling the evil dragon, Malum, with his lance. Blood spurted from the wound. Classy, as always.

The cool night breeze floated across Fendrel’s cheeks as he made it to the garden. Their tents were still there. The female prisoner’s words echoed in his head as if she were standing just beside him. When he blinked, he saw her brown eyes searing into his. Go see your people. The way she spoke to him, with the corner of her lips turned up, it was like she knew a secret he’d never understand. And it made him…curious? Interested?

Determined.

He tried to shake thoughts of her out of his mind. She was a rebel, a defector, a prisoner. What she had to say was irrelevant and belligerent if nothing else. The tents waved in the breeze as if they were mocking him. Fendrel supposed they’d been a last priority since the arrival of the ogres. He had tried to warn Favian that they would come; he’d heard of the discontent in the Gentis District. But Favian hadn’t listened. Because Favian was king, not Fendrel.

Fendrel didn’t venture out into the gardens; instead, he went round the castle to where the horses and carriages were kept. Though the building was mostly dark, Fendrel could spot a single candle still burning at the back. He entered the stable quietly, being careful not to crunch the stray hay that littered the ground. Just in case he was asleep, Fendrel whispered, “Rowan?”

There was a loud crash and an equally loud curse from the back of the stable. Water rushed out of one of the stalls, and an elderly man stumbled out. “Blast it, boy, you can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Fendrel winced. “Sorry.”

Rowan bent to pick up the bucket he’d dropped. “The least you could do is carry it for me.”

“Rowan, I was just dropped the height of a house. I—“

“And my back still aches more than yours. Come on, then.” He’d already started heading out of the stable, his arm stretched out in expectation.

Fendrel chuckled and hurried after him, taking hold of the bucket and following Rowan to the well.

Rowan had been apart of Fendrel’s life since the day of his birth. He was somewhere in his sixties now, and he’d been working for the royal family for about fifty of those years. With his gray hair and tired blue eyes, he ought to be retired, but each time Fendrel had offered such a thing, Rowan had refused. “As long as I’m working for the royals,” he’d say, “I’m eating like one.” And then he’d pat his overweight stomach lovingly and get back to the task at hand.

Rowan shuffled along the grass, his arthritic knees making the journey much longer than necessary. But Fendrel knew better than to offer help. Prideful old man. “I haven’t seen you since you were last sent off to fight your brother’s wars,” Rowan said. “Was it as victorious as the wonderful Fire War.”

Fendrel laughed, shaking his head. “Nothing that grand. But it did provide enough funds and grain to help us last the winter.”

“Congratulations are in order then.”

“Thank you.”

They walked on in silence for a few feet. Rowan sighed in frustration. “Out with it, boy. Since when have you ever been hesitant with me?”

He was right. Fendrel took a deep breath and asked, “When was the last time you left the palace?”

Rowan frowned. “Why?”

How to phrase this… “I can’t remember the last time anyone from the palace went into the streets. Just to check on the state of things.”

“Were you not just in Vuterra?”

“No, I mean…without the fanfare and the announcements and the carefully orchestrated show of it. How can my brother know the true condition of his people if he is only allowed to see a select part of it?”

They reached the well and without Rowan’s request, Fendrel tied the bucket to the rope and lowered it into the water.

Rowan gazed at him with watchful eyes. “What’s brought this on, Fendrel?”

It was most likely a waste of his time. He’d seen his people. He knew his people. They were happy and well-fed and pleased with the way things were. The Source did not speak for all of Creasan. Still…

Fendrel stared wordlessly into the water. He couldn’t very well tell Rowan the idea had been planted by a prisoner. He’d laugh at him and remind him how ridiculous it was to give anything a prisoner said merit. And Fendrel knew it was ludicrous. He was a prince, for Aestus’ sake! His knowledge of his people was rivaled only by the king’s.

Rowan sighed as he realized Fendrel wasn’t going to respond. “I suppose the last time I spoke to anyone not under your employment was…” He blinked several times as he thought. “A few months ago? When I went to visit my sister over in Steokar.”

“What did she have to say?”

Rowan frowned. “We don’t speak much about politics.”

“Of course.” Fendrel dragged the bucket back up, not meeting his friend’s eyes. “Well, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know…Are you happy?” Fendrel untied the bucket and offered it to Rowan.

He sighed heavily and sat down by the well, leaning his back against the stones. Fendrel’s brows furrowed as he lowered himself beside him. Rowan gazed up at the night sky. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”

“What?” Fendrel stared at him. “How could you think that?”

“I put it in your head. I should’ve never brought it up. I’m just an old man, you should ignore most of the words that come out of my mouth.”

“No, Rowan, it has nothing to do—“

“Really? Because this concern you’ve suddenly thought up sounds an awful lot like the concerns of a king.”

“I do not want to be king.” Fendrel’s voice was certain and unwavering. He stared straight ahead where the stable was dimly lit a little ways away.

Rowan smiled. “Perhaps. But you know you would do a better job than your brother.”

Fendrel didn’t take his eyes from the stable. His next words were spoken low. “To say such things is treason, Rowan.”

“Right. Lock me up then.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen, boy, if this has you so troubled, why don’t you go have a look yourself? You’d only need a day to walk around. Surely the king would have no object—“

“He would. He definitely would.” He bit the inside of his lip before he turned to Rowan. “Do you think it foolish?”

“To see the people you’re governing? Never. And if your brother would have a problem with it…” He shrugged. “Don’t tell him.”

Fendrel scoffed. “Keep a secret from the king.”

“No. Keep it from your brother. I don’t tell my sister everything I’m up to. Half the things I’d done in my youth, she still has no idea about. He doesn’t need to know where you are every minute of the day. Take tomorrow, observe what you must, then return.” He pushed himself back up to his feet, grunting as he did. “Though I’m not sure what you’d do with that information.”

Fendrel nodded slowly. He could do that. He could go and not tell anyone. He wouldn’t even need a Guard; as his brother had said, he was a war hero. He’d be able to handle himself should anything happen. This way, he could put the woman’s words out of his head.

“Come on, Highness,” Rowan said. “This bucket isn’t going to carry itself.”

Favian was sat in a large cushioned chair beside the fireplace. He was keeled over, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his fingers gripped his head. A knock sounded at the door and Favian cringed. He’d told Ana to make sure no one bothered him. The person knocked again, and Favian growled, angling his body away. Another knock and that was too much. “Go away!” Favian exploded.

“Father?”

Favian cringed. Damn it. “Sorry. Come in, son.”

The door cracked open and Althalos poked his head in, the red in his hair reflecting the flames. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he replied quickly.

Althalos closed the door behind him but didn’t come further into the room, pressing his back to the door. “Mother said I should check on you. I think she’s worried.”

Favian sighed, rubbing his eyes. More like she was curious.

“Father…” Althalos looked at his toes, shy. “Who were those people?”

“They’re called ogres. I would’ve thought your tutors would’ve taught you about them by now. They are our closest—“

“No, I mean…the people you were going to kill.”

Favian wasn’t very good at speaking to children. It was the reason he left Althalos with his mother so often. Though he admitted he shouldn’t have. Althalos seemed…frightened and unsure. Both terrible qualities for a king. Favian held out his arm. “Come here, son.”

Althalos timidly crossed the room, keeping his eyes downcast the whole way. Favian wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close. Althalos was stiff and uncomfortable, and Favian tried to ignore the pang of guilt he felt. It was how he’d always felt in regards to his own father. “Althalos,” he said, “there is something you should always remember. When you are king, people will always be jealous of you. Of the power, wealth, and intelligence you have that they do not. Some people are able to understand that is the way things are while others will try to take it from you, by any means necessary. Those people of which you speak, they tried to kill me.”

Althalos stared at his father with wide eyes. “Really?”

He nodded. “For that, they had to be punished.”

Althalos’ young face screwed up in confusion. “Why do we have more than everyone else, Father?”

“Have you not been taught about The Fire War?”

He shook his head.

Favian made a mental note to fire his son’s tutors. “The Fire War is the history of our people. It is why we were chosen by Aestus.”

Althalos stared at Favian, enraptured.

“Before Creasan, humans and creatures lived separately. They were constantly at war with one another. Humans battled ogres who battled Jöntar who battled trolls. In the sky, the dragons kept mostly to themselves.”

“Because they did not like to fight, right?”

Favian smiled. The ringing in his head had dulled in the face of his son’s excited eyes. “That’s right. They are the most powerful of all earth’s beings yet the most peaceful. Except Malum. Malum saw the division among all creatures and didn’t understand why the dragons did not rule them. The rest of his kind rejected him and he realized he must conquer his own people before he could turn to the rest of us.”

“And Aestus didn’t like that?”

“Well, it wasn’t just that he didn’t like it. He felt betrayed. Malum was his younger brother. He’d taught him the importance of peace, but Malum didn’t listen. He gathered an army and waged an attack on the rest of the dragons. Aestus headed the opposition, and brother fought brother.”

“And Aestus won. That is why we love him.” Althalos smiled widely, glad to know part of the story.

Favian held up a finger. “But he did not do it alone. The destruction of the war in the sky fell to the land below, wreaking havoc on ogres, trolls, Jöntar, and humans alike. Some of the humans realized they’d have to do something to stop the chaos or all land creatures would be obliterated. One of the clans went on a perilous journey to the highest mountain to reach Aestus and offer their help.”

Althalos cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “I thought creatures of sky and land were unable to communicate?”

“That’s right. Except for the leader of this clan. He could speak with Aestus. But Aestus was not quick to accept his help. After his brother’s betrayal, Aestus felt like he could never trust anyone again. So, to prove his loyalty, this leader offered his own life and the lives of his clan in service to Aestus. Should they ever betray him, their lives were Aestus’ to take. Together, they fought Malum. He was unprepared for an attack from below, and after four bloody years, they were able to vanquish him.”

“Yay!” Althalos clapped his hands.

Favian laughed. “Exactly. And do you know who this clan was?”

“Us?”

“The Lance clan, that’s right. In gratitude to the humans, Aestus promised to watch over them, as long as the Lances ruled.”

Althalos frowned. “Why?”

“Because he could only communicate with members of the Lance family. He could not trust anyone he could not talk to. As long as our family remains on the throne, our people will remain safe.”

“What would happen if we weren’t on the throne?”

Favian’s smile faded. It was a question he’d thought about often. “Then he will raze Creasan in a hot white burn.”