Chapter XV - Guiomar, The King
The Legend of Leanna Page: Vol. I
You’re reading The Legend of Leanna Page, the page-turning mythopoetic queer literary fantasy. *Click here for the Table of Contents and start of Volume I*
Previously: Byrdon confessed to King Petrenair that he acquired the Jewel of Nebulous for Prince Guiomar who was then using it to cause the drought in Masor. At long last, the king believed the truth. Guiomar is confined to his chambers, Byrdon is confined to a cell, and the Jewel is hidden away. Will the health of Masor be restored? Will Guiomar accept defeat? What will happen to Byrdon? Read on!
The little, one-room cottage Esta had left behind in Masor had remained exactly the way she left it. Still, now, all these years later, it had never felt so small. Leanna insisted her mother sleep in the lone little bed, and the child herself used a bundle of blankets to craft a place for her own repose in the opposite corner. Tonight, Leanna slept restlessly, avoiding dreams, same as she had the past thirty nights since losing her home in the cave. In those thirty days, everything Leanna had built in Masor had crumbled into dust. Her work in the castle had been relegated to the stables as King Madrick, in an ever-worsening depression, had entirely succumbed again to his drink. Lief had insisted they themself take over any of Leanna’s tasks that would put her in direct contact with Madrick, for the king was in no shape to be giving orders to a servant, much less a youthful one. Leanna had done all she could to maintain the aid programs she had helped Madrick develop for the commoners, but the need was so great and the resources so little that the aid turned to naught but apologies. This night, she felt a tugging at her mind and knew Kennedy wished for her, same as she had the past thirty nights in which she had kept her dreams solitary. Leanna missed Kennedy dearly, but the shame of her father’s betrayal encroached upon her heart and prevented her from letting her friend into her mind. Still, tonight, Kennedy pulled so strongly that Leanna gave in, stepping into the endless sky of their shared dreamscape.
“Leanna!” Kennedy gleamed, then glowered. “Why hast thou ignored me so?”
Finally, the weight of every calamity was fully felt upon the dreamer’s heart, and Leanna fell into Kennedy’s arms, bursting into tears. She told her of all that had come to pass, raging at the world for its unkindness and bemoaning the uncertain future. The Alquorians of course knew of the drought their neighbor faced, but Kennedy assured Leanna that the Woods as yet had remained entirely unaffected. Leanna spoke of her father, how beloved he was to her, and how disgusted she felt to watch him hand Guiomar the Jewel. Kennedy was naturally shocked at the events and undertook every manageable effort to console Leanna. Among these efforts, she reminded Leanna the extent of her father’s love.
“Thou shouldst speak to him, hear the tale from his own understanding.”
“How would I travel to Pavoline now?”
Kennedy smiled. “Thou needn’t travel an inch. Go to his dreams,” she suggested.
“I have never shared a dream with another,” Leanna realized. “Besides you.”
“Thou shouldst try.”
Leanna looked down, afraid. “What if he is corrupted? What if he is not the loving father I remember?”
“No amount of corruption could lessen his adoration of thee,” the fairy said. “His actions have no excuse, but seek to understand them and he may in time be worthy of forgiveness.”
Kennedy took Leanna’s hand and the young women gazed into each other’s eyes and remained there a time as they sometimes did when words were no longer needed to communicate their care. Leanna tightened her grasp around the palm of her dearest friend and felt the authenticity of the sensation give way to the lesser reality of the immaterial vision. She sighed.
“One day,” they promised each other.
“Tonight, my father,” Leanna said, and Kennedy nodded.
The dreamer closed her eyes and, at her thought, Kennedy faded away, and she heard the voice of her father behind her.
“I knew I would see thee again,” he said.
Leanna looked to him solemnly, saying nothing, so he spoke in her stead. He apologized profusely, named himself king of all fools, and detailed his latest actions that now had earned him permanent residency in the dungeons of Pavoline. Upon hearing of her father’s danger and bravery, the anger in Leanna melted away. She flew to him and threw her arms around his neck. He pulled her close.
“I love thee dearly,” he said, and she responded in kind.
“Leanna, I beg thee, keep thyself safe. I have no faith that Guiomar will cease his villainy here, and he knows now to weed out my kin to hide his secrets.”
“I am safe as anyone in Masor now,” she lamented, “which is to say very little. Although now that Guiomar no longer controls the Jewel, perhaps there is hope for the kingdom yet.”
“All I care now is that he does not discover thee.”
“I will be cautious,” she assured him.
“Good.” He smiled sadly. “That said, dear one, hear an old wretch’s plea: Do not allow anyone who claims to be wise, be them Crown, tutor, or parent, ever persuade thee away from acting, always, in the manner thou knowest to be right.”
Leanna nodded and leaned in for another embrace before waking into another merciless Masorian morn.
*****
Some days passed and Petrenair had yet to arrive at a perfect conclusion to the problem of his son. On this day he was tired of stewing in his own helpless thought and at last approached the prince in his chambers where he had ordered him to be confined until further notice. A guard unclosed the door to allow the king entrance, then pulled it shut again behind him. Petrenair stood in the doorway, looking at the prince who sat childishly atop the face of his desk at the far end of the room, gazing out the window beyond.
“Might I join you for a time?” the father asked.
Guiomar made no motion, and Petrenair sat on the foot of the bed.
“I am going to speak to you of your mother.”
The prince slowly pointed his eyes toward his father.
“I shall not offer continued speeches of her goodness and gentility, for this I know you have heard of, likely beyond the point of the appreciation. I wish to tell you now of her politics, an area in which I so often fail to credit her to the extent that is due. In my arrogance, I tend to forget that it was she who, in our youth, first suggested I connect with the Oxbiens. ‘What a world this could be,’ she would say, ‘if only all those who ruled it made a point to be the best of friends.’ So we did.” Petrenair smiled in remembrance. “It was the loveliest time of all our lives. But then, you say, they murdered her, and for this you must ever be engrossed in a quest for vengeance upon them.”
“I know you don’t believe it, Father. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“Very well.” Petrenair halted him. “Let us suppose today that you are correct in your accusations. In actuality, my son, we may never know the true story; so today, your truth may rise above the rest.”
Guiomar skeptically turned his full attention to the king.
“If, as you say, Madrick Oxbien I and his dear Fionella, indirectly, though with purpose and malice, murdered my Helena, I too would wish all evil upon them. I would wish that they drown in as many tears as I have cried since that day, but as it is, they are no longer here to wish evil upon. The Wood took its own vengeance upon them, and I would accept that in placement of my own. Now, there is Masor afresh, with a new set of Oxbiens, younger than yourself, who have done no wrong to us, nor to any in Pavoline; and thus, as your mother would say, our duty to befriend begins anew. Do you understand, Guiomar?”
The prince remained stoic, a slight scowl in the corner of his eye.
“Wherefore would you wreak havoc on an entire kingdom that has done you no wrong? You must realize, I am certain, you are the sole cause of numerous deaths, the starving of thousands. Do you take pleasure in their grief?”
“I care not for their grief,” Guiomar explained. “I care only for the prosperousness of Pavoline. If one cannot rise without the existence of the other, so be it. That is our duty to our kingdom.”
The father shook his head in disbelief. “Wherever did you gather such a philosophy?”
“Tell me this, Father. The tales held in our record hall of your extraordinary success in extending your command to the society of River Dwellers on the eastern sands of the Gwahanu, are they true?”
Petrenair sighed and dropped his head low. “Yes, my son.”
“And those telling of your recovery of the Serenity Orchard when it was overtaken by a rebellion of fairy lovers?”
“Yes.”
“Your conquering of The Lonely Valley; your settling of Brutivan?”
“Yes! Yes, Son, all of it is true, but I was a different kind of king then. When your mother was dying, I had to assume her qualities as my own if the kingdom was going to have any balance.”
“You changed, King Petrenair. You were once a mighty king, far from the man who now refuses to send even a single knight to reclaim Lifallen Creek, forsaking all your strength out of ‘friendship’ for the people of Masor. If not for your maddening dedication to this politics of friendship, none of their damage to us would have been possible.”
Petrenair lost himself in memories and conclusions as they slowly brought him to a new clarity. He looked to his son, afresh with despair.
“Is it I that you despise, and not the Oxbiens?” he asked.
“One and the same.”
The king found himself again, pushing pain aside to make way for determination. “You must realize, Guiomar, it is not from weakness that I do not enact the same wreckage of my youth. It is from wisdom. Violent actions can never lead a people to peace.”
“It is not peace I seek, Father, but prosperity. This is something that violence is particularly suited to achieve.”
Petrenair sat straighter, his countenance twisted in perplexity. “I believe I understand you at last, my son. It only pains me that I failed to impress upon you your mother’s dreams.”
“I dream of a glorious destiny for Pavoline,” Guiomar reiterated. “I regret that our visions of such a concept do not align.”
The king nodded. “As do I, my son. As do I.”
Petrenair leaned on his knees to make himself stand and moved to the door, knocking so the guard outside would unlock it.
“Are you to release me, then, Father, now that you understand?”
The door opened and Petrenair stood before it, moving only his eyes to pronounce his decision. He spoke with deep sadness, but perfect acceptance.
“Now that I understand you, Guiomar, I will see to it that you never become king.”
The prince’s eyes widened in rage but his shock paralyzed him as he watched his father exit and have the door once again secured with a sturdy lock.
*****
“A messenger is come from Pavoline.”
Esta woke Leanna in the night and they rushed to the castle, noting a number of the lagifs in town hurrying to do the same. They arrived in the throne room with just time enough to see Pavoline’s message-bearer hand an envelope, royally sealed, to Princess Isolda who sat upon the throne. Beside it, on the floor, reclined an exhausted king, inebriating himself to recover from the effects of the same on the previous eve, only a few hours prior. The Vice-Crown accepted the billet and read it aloud for the gathered court. All expected renewed sympathies, given their nation’s elongated malady, and an offer of generous support. All other than Leanna, that is, who remembered her father and thought King Petrenair might have something far more damning he meant to reveal. Isolda began:
“My dear Masorian friends:
“I write to you with portentous tidings. First, I will unequivocally state my disappointment at the state of Masor’s skies, and assure you, if there is any type of traditional aid you would request from us, it would be gladly given. I sincerely hope this generosity will serve to soften the news I must relate to you next.
“It has been long understood between our families the immense strength of our friendship. It has also been long conceded between us that the warmth of our alliance was not felt in the mind of my son, Prince Guiomar. I have come to learn, with terrible regret, that the current condition of Masor is not in fact due to the natural ebbs and flows of nature as we had all so reasonably deduced; instead, it was brought about, and intentionally maintained, by the malice of my son who utilized an unassuming weapon with despicable power which, I have been informed by he who retrieved it for the prince, is called The Jewel of Nebulous.”
Isolda paused and allowed her gaze to flicker over the court as they whispered to one another in wild shock and confusion. For the briefest moment, she met eyes with Leanna. Then she continued to read.
“The moment I was made aware of this, I forced the prince to relinquish the Jewel and confined him perpetually to his chambers. I have the gem locked away whither it can nevermore charm an otherwise harmless soul into the temptations of desolation. If its effects remain active on your kingdom by the time you receive this note, I rue the fact that I myself know not how to reverse them. Under my instruction, numerous attempts have been made to rid the world of this power, but as of yet, the Jewel has resisted destruction. On understanding that your wretched condition remains, I would continue these efforts and pray their success would return the beautiful Masorian summer to what I remember from all those years ago. If not, I am terribly sorry.
“Please be assured, I have made up my mind to revoke my son’s birthright to the throne. I will find some other wise pavol youth to take my place and resign myself to being the last of my name to rule over the kingdom of Pavoline. I ask of you no mercy for Prince Guiomar, nor forgiveness on the level of the heart. The servant who, against what would have been my wishes, discovered the weapon and provided it to the prince is currently imprisoned in my dungeons and, if you wish it, is yours to reprimand as you please. However, I do ask for you to show mercy to myself, and refrain from taking vengeance on a son whose old father may not survive the grief of his loss after so many years of weeping on the grave of a lost wife. I shall take great pains to ensure the friendship of our kingdom’s rulers may remain so that we might have a continuance of peace. I beg of you to do the same.
“Ever yours,
“King Petrenair Ranzentine, last of his line, Ruler of Pavoline.”
The court stood still. Isolda saw only the letter, her eyes adhered to the page as she read its brief post-script, reread its earlier passages, and considered every implication. The gentry, the knights, the servants, and the king, saw only Isolda, each of them frozen in eerie anticipation of her pronouncement. She stood.
“It says here thou art the swiftest messenger in the land,” Isolda spoke low and with care.
“Yes, your highness,” the courier replied.
“Then fly. Fly faster than thou ever hast, and tell thy king to prepare for war.”
Shaken, the messenger nodded and began to flee from the room.
“Hold,” Madrick objected. “With what aim, Isolda? Has Petrenair not done as much for our interests as we could hope for?”
“That old king has done as much as he is capable, but I regret that those efforts are far from sufficient. Kn. Grilliot, —" As she began to address her knights, the pavol messenger dashed out through the grand entrance. “—You will prepare as many fighters as we can spare and march to Pavoline this very dawn. Capture the prince and, out of respect for Petrenair, take him alive out of the capital, then drown him in the Gwahanu. Above all, do not return until you have retrieved this Jewel of Nebulous. If necessary, take the castle with it.”
Kn. Grilliot brushed off the sweat from his brow with growing haste, a grin rising to his countenance at the promise of action. With a brief obeisance, he swore, “Yes, your highness,” then hurried to his mission.
The Vice-Crown addressed the court. “We shall take hold of the Jewel and utilize it – as the foolish king across the River would never dare – to force our Sky to return to its benevolent ways. If we are prevented from this, then we shall instead take the lands in the north, placing ourselves where now sit the people of Pavoline, and sending them into the blistering heat they sent to loom over the South. In either event, I swear to it, the grandeur of Masor shall be returned.”
The gentry cheered, the remaining knights beat their armor, and the servants – most of them – gave great thanks for the promise of better days before the court was dismissed and the hall was emptied. Madrick and Isolda remained at the front of the room while Leanna, having asked her mother to depart without her, stood before the doors, closing them from the inside. She turned to the throne.
“You cannot do this to Pavoline,” she said. Madrick gave her a curious glance.
Isolda scoffed. “What art thou to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
“I am a child of this world who does not wish to see it ravaged by senseless war.” Leanna strode firmly toward the center of the hall, and Isolda took a step forward in confrontation, equal in her strength of will.
“Senseless! Dost thou wish then that our kingdom withers under the power of another? Wouldst thou that we perish?”
“No, but neither do I wish the perishment of Pavoline! For more than a fortnight, people have in fact begun to whisper that the heat might be slowly lifting. Surely, we now hold the reason why! Perhaps we need only have patience.”
“I will not patiently await the knowledge that I have doomed my kingdom, certainly not on the witless plea of a soft-hearted page.”
Leanna filled her chest, standing tall. “The Crown respects my opinion.”
“Not this half of it,” Isolda rejoined.
The king groaned. “What if she is right, Isolda? She was before…”
“Quiet, Madrick.” She snapped to face her brother, then added, “What would you know in your condition?”
The page again stole her attention, treading forward until she was just before the platform of the throne. “I will not allow you to do this. Our knights are now the only well-fed among us and with the mission of vengeance, in the sudden absence of the oppressive air, they will have no instinct to refrain from complete obliteration of every pavol person in the citadel. It isn’t right!”
“Thou shouldst not care so for a people who are not thine own,” Isolda warned.
“How can you care so little?”
“I hold interest in all of our world, sufficient to allow me to make decisions that work towards the betterment of Masor. Thou couldst not dream to have such wisdom. Do not question thy queen again.”
“You are not the queen; you are the princess!” Leanna roared, and Isolda swiftly rose an arm and struck her across the cheek.
Madrick caught Leanna’s gaze as she returned to face forward and gave her nothing more than a mere countenance of sad surrender. He shook his head and took a sip from his flask.
“Leave, page,” Isolda commanded, “before I lose my temper.”
Leanna glared at her then stormed out of the hall. Upon arriving home, she ignored Esta and instantly began to put together a small pack of consumables and took up her canteen.
“Wherever art thou headed now?” Esta asked as Leanna wordlessly returned towards the door.
“I am going to stop the destruction of Pavoline.”
Leanna opened the door and meant to exit but Esta rushed to her and slammed the entryway closed.
“I will not have thee go to that place.”
“By birthright, Pavoline is my home as much as Masor,” Leanna declared. “I shall not forsake it.”
Esta vigorously shook her head. “There is nothing that can be done, not by one of us.”
“I have power beyond my station, and if it shall not be recognized by the monarchs of Masor, I can at least utilize it to retrieve the Jewel. The Masorian knights can then seek me for their prize instead of spilling blood in the castle of my father.”
“No, Leanna, no. Thou mustn’t.”
“I will not be persuaded away from this.”
“This is no persuasion. I directly forbid it!”
“Do you wish Father to be killed?! Or do you expect the knights to spare him?” Leanna asked, dripping with facetiousness.
“Thy father doomed himself when he took the Jewel. I cannot express to thee, or even completely explain to myself, the ways in which that has broken, and hardened, my heart, but I will not lose thee to his mistakes.”
“And I will not lose him to yours. Let me go, mother.”
Esta’s palm flew over her mouth as she stifled the weeping that threatened to steal through her. “Thou cannot, not ever, go near that Jewel. Child, please.”
“I will do what I must.”
Leanna forced her way through the door and started off, while Esta fell to the floor of the cottage and wept.
As she stepped onto the main road, Leanna brought a vision of Pavoline to her mind. She could see the shaded gardens, growing vibrantly under a cool mist. She could see the streams and the green fields and the wheat. She determined, if she could manage it for the weeks-long journey, she would not rest a single moment until she reached it.
As days went on, Leanna surprised herself with how little she felt she needed to pull rations from her pack and, in fact, when it was finally emptied, she gave it no serious thought and continued on. Likewise, in her determination, she pulled herself ever on through the heat, evading the need for sleep, finding she could decently maintain her senses without it. She despised herself once again for shutting Kennedy out, but she could not now imagine sharing her cluttered mind with another. She strode on steadily, through day and night, marching ahead of the Masorian forces, and even, eventually, ahead of the messenger who ran back to his king with news of war, down the long trading road that she knew, if faithfully followed, would lead her straight to the citadel of Pavoline.
She stopped only once, pausing at the Gwahanu River where the road became a small bridge. Stepping onto the ancient planks of sturdy, maintained wood, she was nearly brought to tears by the fresh, cool air that welcomed her into the new kingdom. She turned and looked out at the great Gwahanu which she had only yet known in stories and wondered what it would be like to live at Its edge. Not far off, she could see the sands of the River Dwellers and their huts built beside the water. The construction style was the same on the sands in Pavoline as it was in Masor and she realized these two peoples must be the only in all the world who had frequent communication, even friendship, across the River. She smiled, grateful to have witnessed it; then, again, marched off on her quest.
As she neared the city, she thought of the castle at Pavoline and willed her mind to travel there in visions. She explored its halls and hidden corners, memorizing the unfamiliar architecture and the positioning of the rooms. Seeing the dungeon, her father still trapped within, she spoke to him as he slept to ascertain the location of the Jewel.
The vault, she heard through her father’s unconscious. The king keeps the keys.
She discovered, in mental exploration, where this vault lay, hidden below the castle, opposite to the dungeon, and further found, in the king’s chambers, where the keys to it were stowed away in the night.
Finally reaching the citadel, Leanna entered a little inn whither she waited out the remainder of the day, then, when night fell, made her way to the castle. She discovered an unattended servants’ entrance and, smiling, remembering her youth, entered unseen through the small door. Creeping on, she used her powers to evade the sight of the guards and swiftly stole through the halls until she approached the central chambers of the king. All was silent within, and she risked pressing open the door. Indeed, Petrenair slept, so she stepped inside and closed the door silently behind her. Knowing already the object of her search, she strode directly to the stand beside the king’s bed and pulled open the compartment which held the keys. She retrieved them easily enough, but when she moved to reclose the drawer, it refused her. She pushed again, beginning to panic, realizing it had stuck in its place. With the application of all her force, it flew shut with a bang, instantly rousing the king. He saw her immediately and she dashed from the apartment, charging down the hall with her greatest speed, hearing the bellows of the king fading behind her (‘Guards! Intruder!’), not daring to stop until she reached her destination.
Prince Guiomar too was awoken by the commotion and before long realized the knights posted to guard his chambers – which lay at the far end of a wing – had deserted in favor of aiding their fellows. He gave no hesitation before storming to the hearth, taking hold of the iron poker, and forcing it through the lock, wrenching himself free. He tossed the iron behind him and stepped into the open hall.
“The vault!” He distantly heard his father’s voice in distress, calling repeatedly, “The wretch took the keys to the vault!”
Guiomar smiled.
When Leanna at last, having outrun her chasers, let herself into the strongroom, she halted in the entryway, instantly laying eyes upon a small wooden box. In her visions, she had not been able to locate the Jewel amidst Pavoline’s other treasures, but she now could sense its presence so strongly that there was no question in her of whither it hid. She paced halfway towards it and was then paralyzed in apprehension. Her mother returned to her mind with those desperate pleas that Leanna not go near the brutal weapon. She had come all this way. What would it be for if she could not retrieve the Jewel? And yet, in the same, what good would it be if simply taking the Jewel in hand, even enclosed safely away in its case, were to entirely undo her, as she felt certain now it inescapably would. Her indecision kept her rooted, eyes unwavering, so much so that she did not perceive the prince’s entrance into the vault until he knocked her to the ground and out of his path.
Returned to herself, Leanna grasped at the prince’s legs to prevent him from his obvious intention, but her efforts were insufficient. Taking up the object of his desire, he strode past her again, kicking her to the wall, grinning at his reunion with the Jewel of Nebulous as he paced toward the exit. Leanna, in contrast, was reunited with the greatest of terror as she observed again, now in reality, the Jewel wrapping its growing vines around Guiomar’s hand. They met eyes upon hearing approaching footsteps and remained locked in a stare as they listened to voices beyond.
“Wait!” The nearby footsteps halted as a farther voice called out. “Forget the thief, there are worse tidings. As we speak, knights of Masor are marching on Pavoline. Ready yourself, they have already reached the eastern plains.”
Prince and page were deadly still, waiting until all they could hear was the pounding inside their own chests, then Guiomar sped out at a run into the cleared halls, taking several sudden turns to evade any followers. Leanna ran after him as best she could, tripping over newly regretful and uncertain steps, at length finding herself helplessly outside the castle, atop the stairs of the grand entryway in the courtyard. As she stood, surveying the empty scene, King Petrenair appeared from the shadows of the court and marched toward her.
“Thou thief! What hast thou taken?”
Leanna was far too shaken already to be further disturbed by being discovered by the king. She spoke to him as an ally. “I have nothing, your majesty. The prince; he took the weapon. He escaped.”
Petrenair had not so much as a moment to rage before Guiomar came galloping across the cobblestones and disappeared through the massive gates, which were hurriedly opened just in time by the standing guard in response to his prince’s order.
“The knights,” Leanna realized. “He rides to the plains!”
“One man against an entire army? Even he is not so mad.”
Leanna shook her head, fearing the worst. “He is not merely a man. Not when he has the Jewel.”
She forgot the king and sped away, running at blinding speeds, nearly keeping pace with the horse’s gallop, such that she was present, though breathless, to witness the prince dismount on a great sloped field which overlooked the approaching Masorian front. Masor’s knights were now only a hundred meters away. Dark clouds flooded the night sky and, at the cinching of Guiomar’s fist, lightning rained upon the knights in blow after merciless blow. The thunder was deafening. Leanna looked on in dismay, slowly stepping closer to the horror, watching as every knight was struck and fell dead upon the ground.
The scream of a king in fear is a little-known sound but too well remembered once heard, and the bellows of King Petrenair on this day, as he dismounted his own steed before the scene, would have been remembered above them all, if only any other than the iniquitous prince and the poor page had been there to witness it. All the king’s dread, his terror, his grief, and his guilt were put on display before him as his only son stood smiling before a field of burning bodies.
“What have you done?” Petrenair cried as the thunder faded.
Guiomar turned and paced toward the king. Prideful, he pronounced, “I have done what you no longer could, Father. I have done what is necessary to protect Pavoline.”
The king shook his head, backing away, his countenance twisting in horror as he now grew to detest the sight of his son’s eyes.
Prince Guiomar took in the hatred in his father’s stare and every lonely childhood hour of grief coursed through him in the form of old memories, wishing he could connect with one of his parents after having caused the death of the other, failing to bring any pride to his father’s heart, going mad with anguish on account of his principles, refusing to succumb to the practices of his newly cowardly king, knowing for certain of his destiny, being certain his father would thank him once it was achieved, seeing now the connection he yearned for would never be made, and he was filled with an unadulterated hatred of his own. His fist closed tightly once more, and the Sky was split with a violent bolt, a blinding flash, that struck the father and, after all his long years, finally ended the reign of King Petrenair Ranzentine. Guiomar paused but a moment, expressionless, then mounted his steed, riding down the plain to the fallen knights, taking up one of their spears, and, returning to the king, pierced the weapon through the dead man’s heart. It was only then he looked up and saw Leanna. She was staring at him from mere paces away.
“You killed him.” She gasped for air between phrases. “Your own father; your king!”
“Certainly not.” Guiomar observed his father’s blood trickle down the gentle slope of the hill. “A tragic casualty of war,” he declared, “taken only moments before the merciful Sky came to avenge us.”
“I saw everything. The kingdom will be made to know, I will see to it.”
“Thee? Art thou not the page of King Madrick; clearly an enemy sent to infiltrate the castle ahead of the attack? None in Pavoline would listen to thy words.”
Leanna desperately sought to trap him in reason. “They will believe of your villainy. The kingdom knows you are no longer the heir to the throne!”
“Do they?” Guiomar smirked, and Leanna shuddered, now in question.
“They must,” she hoped.
“Father himself explained to me in private that he was waiting to make the pronouncement of my change in title, or, for that matter, of my ‘wrongdoings’, until he had found a suitable heir to replace me.” Leanna groaned with despair. “Yes, it is dreadfully unfortunate he did not live to fulfill his intentions.” Guiomar looked down and knelt beside his father, closing the corpse’s eyes and taking up the crown that had fallen behind the king’s head. He stood and placed it grandly atop his own. At Leanna’s distress, he smiled.
“Go,” he said. “Run back to thy royals and report to them with certainty: the drought has only begun."
Guiomar, the King of Pavoline, lifted himself again onto his horse, took up the reins of the second steed, and rode with perfect calm back into the citadel, leaving Leanna alone on the field, shivering in the night.
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