The Lull Before - Part 2

They made it to the border by sundown, where the prince said they would rest, at a Simonese inn that was about a mile from Lake Doley. Prince Heikos' presence thoroughly ruffled the innkeeper, instigating abuse to maids and cooks alike to assure satisfactory service.

They were led to a large empty table close to the fireplace as they awaited their rooms. Baptist took his natural seat beside his master, eyeing the unnecessarily large spread of food. While there was only braised boar and boiled root vegetables covered in a thick, brown gravy, there was enough to feed a small company. Mead had no bottom, and each time the beer maid came over to fill Heiko's goblet, the more liberty she began to take. Whether the prince did not notice or did not care, it didn't matter. His focus was elsewhere - it always was.

"We'll be secluded near the forest line at Dolfo." Prince Heiko said to Baptist after a long bout of silence, in which he ate half of his meal. "We'll figure out the guard pattern of my brother's men, work our schemes around it. I do not want you to lose your skill because of neglect, so we will create a makeshift range."

Baptist arched his brow, but let the prince continue without interruption.

"We'll get Geoff to cross the Burkean border and find a bowyer who makes longbows. And a fletcher."

A well of excitement expanded in Baptist's chest. It had been about a long time since he had last shot a proper bow – besides in Ilyos. And to be able to shoot a Burkean longbow – or at least one similar – would be a charge for his muscles, for his meager pride. He was born to be an archer. He was born to grasp the elm bowstave, to draw the string, to feel the brush of the fletching against his cheek. And the breath – the breath of the archer was the most vital aspect. Fear was natural in all men, but proper archers – master archers – were always calm. That was the very philosophy that carried Baptist through his enslavement. Inhale, fill your lungs with all of your fears, all of your doubts, steady yourself, exhale those fears, exhale those doubts. Release.

"But I will stress this only once more, Baptist," the prince said, turning cold, warning eyes to the slave. "My brother cannot know."

"Who can?"

He didn't ask to be impish, but as the prince studied him silently, Baptist wondered if he was beginning to lose his subtleties. Still, he did not mind so much that he was the center of Heiko's gaze.

The slave always liked his master's eyes. They were not blue, not entirely, but to call them anything else was inapposite - like saying water is not clear but the color of the vessel that holds it.

Prince Heiko's eyes were the water. His mood was the vessel. At the moment, those eyes were calculating something Baptist could not imagine, completely frozen over.

"Rudolf," he spoke in his own time. "Geoff. Perhaps Kaifin."

Three people whom he thought privy to this knowledge was an unexpected notion. The prince was an incredulous person, and justifiably so. King Ingo was no fool. Every action he took was purposive, every misstep was an artifice.

Secretly, Baptist was of the opinion that the king had very little in the way of emotions, even if he was an expert in displaying them, and what was more, Baptist thought that Heiko already knew it, which was why when King Ingo made shows of his explosive anger towards his brother's antics, Heiko didn't flinch.

"Finish your meal, Baptist."

Baptist obediently obliged after his master disengaged his gaze. As he chewed a piece of gravy laden bread, he stole glimpses of the prince in hopes of gleaning something. Anything.

It was clear he was no archer. He did not possess inner calm nor compliance. An archer didn't master his bow the way a swordsman mastered his blade. An archer had to submit to the bend of the body, the tautness of the string - to the elements, knowing an arrow would not fly without the blessing of the wind. Prince Heiko had no such submission. He was a man who would try to move a mountain if it were in his way. He was a calculating mind, one that was never at rest, one who could outmaneuver his enemies with sheer wit. And hopefully that was enough for the man who wished to retake Burke.

Baptist frowned.

"How do you know Gunter is still alive?"

"King Gunter." Prince Heiko corrected, pulling his gaze from the hearth and picking up his mug of mead. "And I am not positive he is."

"But you have a strong inclination." Baptist pressed. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have brought it up."

His master chuckled dryly. "That's true. My inclination is strong about this. Perhaps you can say it's a gut feeling, since there is little, if any. I've met Gunter on several occasions. He would often visit Dolfo Manor to hunt boar with my brothers when I was younger. At that time, my brother took me everywhere – Ingo, not Alfred, who, like my mother, has had an aversion to me since childhood."

His tone remained even, if not light, though the comment took Baptist by surprise. He knew that the queen dowager was a severe woman who favored her eldest. Every time the crotchety woman saw the slave, she would scowl and mutter slanderous things that seemed too crass for station and years. But since childhood? What could a child ever do to inspire disfavor from their own mother?

"I first met the man when I was nine. He was ten years my elder, three years younger than Ingo. He regarded me as I was, as far as I could tell, and not as I was perceived."

Baptist sat quiet for a moment, before asking what seemed to be a forbidden question.

"Which was?"

The prince turned to him, as if surprised by it.

"A verboten Muse."

Baptist looked away. It was a simple enough response, but it spoke more words than the prince did. The slave knew of Simonese Muses. Even as a free Burkean child, the allure of them was widespread in his kingdom. They were masters of music and all that followed. A Muse could recite the epics of Simo, they could sing traditional songs without error in key, they could replicate the dances of the gods, they could play the harp, the lute, the drums. They were as godly as a Simonese could be - as a mortal could be. And they were desired.

Baptist could only imagine Heiko – who, as a young man, had features as high and symmetrical as spires of the Simonese palace, hair as golden as the apple of immortality, eyes as cutting as a knife – as a child, body still pliant and soft. He could only imagine such a child being placed within the presence of grown men – master hunters, veteran soldiers. He could only imagine how much those men would crave to touch the velvet of Heiko's chaste and virgin skin.

"Gunter was a Carmodeigh through and through." Heiko resumed, pulling the slave back, watching him with eyes so discerning that the boy blushed, anxious over the impossibility that he read Baptist's thoughts. "Honest and tactful, and above all, a friend of the Achterecht's. He was someone I grew to enjoy the company of. He is too astute to have not seen the betrayal in my brother, or at least the inklings of it. I may be a cynical person, but I know this much – Gunter is alive."

There was a moment where Baptist thought there may be more, but his master didn't continue after his gaze returned to the flame of the hearth.

"Where do you think he's hiding?" The slave asked eventually.

"Hiding? No." Heiko shook his head. "Plotting. Planning. Strategizing." And then, "The Grey Forest. That's where he'll be. Befriending the Forest Clans and building his army."

"The Grey Forest is vast." Baptist pointed out. "It stretches the entire western border of Burke. How will you find him without scouring every mile of it?"

"He'll be near Blatheny – it's the ancestral home of the Carmodeigh's. Burkeans tend to be sentimental in that way." And then he turned to Baptist. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

The boy looked down. There was an old Burkean proverb - 'From the blood, the sword is forged, from the land, the purpose is provided.'

But even if that were true and Blatheny gave Gunter his purpose, his family had all perished. Could Burke be seized with a single sword?