A Whisper On The Wind
the dark corner of his chamber, not having worked himself up to moving into the king’s chamber. It had been a couple of days since his father passed, and no one had seen him since the final rite ceremony. Daily operations around the kingdom continued unimpeded, save for the increasing lot of items that required the king’s overview. Garron had been mumbling to himself for hours without realizing. A sudden, resounding knock banged at his chamber door.
“Your Highness, it’s Melkis. Please let me in.”
Melkis’ loud knocks and pleas snapped Garron from his daze. He hesitated and then strolled to the door to open it.
“Melkis, what is it?” Garron asked, looking as though he hadn’t slept for a month.
“Sire,” Melkis started, but at the sight of his forlorn young king, the duty in his voice turned to concern. “Have you not slept at all?”
“No. I ...” Garron trailed off. He wasn’t sure if he had slept or not. Certainly, he was exhausted, but he couldn’t remember much of the past few days.
His bloodshot eyes turned to his old teacher and friend as Melkis grabbed his arm.
“Let’s get you some food, my king.”
The old guardian led his young king through the castle to the kitchen, where he gathered some bread, a hunk of cured meat, and wine. He led the younger man through an anterior hallway that opened to a balcony, which overlooked the rolling hills peppered with monumental stones to the west. He set the plate of meat and bread on the wide balcony railing and poured wine for each of them. Garron broke the bread and ripped the meat, a half for each of them. He stared over the hills. One large white stone in the distance caught his eye. He had camped under that very stone on his return journey home.
Melkis had seen that distant look in others’ eyes. He was an old veteran and had seen much in his years in the Griffin Guard, but King Garron’s look was different somehow. He was a new, but broken king. Melkis released a heavy sigh, but it was covered by the wind. He stood beside his king, pulling apart pieces of meat and drinking wine.
After a long while, he spoke.
“I remember when your father became king.”
The remark startled Garron back to the present. He took a swig of wine and turned to listen to the old guardian.
“He was so afraid. He had just lost his father, your grandfather, and thought he would never be able to live up to his father’s standard.” He laughed at the notion. “He always saw the best in others, but sometimes it’s hard to see anything good in yourself.
“Your father was like a brother to me. I can’t count how many times we fought side by side during our time together in the Griffin Guard. He saved my life; I saved his. We were unstoppable. I saw him accomplish amazing things. He led us to victory in battles we thought we’d lost. He gave his all for those around him. I had no doubts he would make an excellent king. And when he became king, he proved me right.”
Melkis took a bite of bread and looked at the silent king, considering the younger man’s needs.
“Though, as many times as your father surprised me with his goodness ...” A lump grew in the old Guardian’s throat. “All of his best, he saved for you and your brothers.”
Garron flinched. He was the only one left. His two brothers had died in a recent incident against an orc wyvern troop a few weeks prior.
How much loss can one heart bear? Garron wondered.
Melkis turned toward the king and spoke with certainty. “I have watched you grow your entire life. You are strong. You have a heart for others. I’ve seen it. You’ve sacrificed yourself for your brothers a hundred times.”
The guardian laughed as he sipped his wine.
“I remember one morning getting an unexpected shower coming to retrieve you and your brothers for training. The bucket fell right off the chamber door and hit me in the head. I was a little less patient in my younger years, and even though you weren’t the sole culprit, you took the punishment on yourself to save your brothers. Your sacrifice moved me, and I took it easy on your punishment.”
“Ha!” Garron laughed. Relief spread across the old man’s face, and his grin widened as Garron continued. “As I recall, Danella’s wooden bread paddle did not spare me any punishment.”
“You were little. You don’t remember right,” Melkis winked at him. He took a long last swig of his wine and said, “Come, let’s finish this and go visit the training field.”
The two men finished their meal, reminiscing about fond memories and enjoying the westward view. There was work to do, but they could finish lunch first.
The residents of Whitestone milled about busily, accomplishing their business as usual. Their just king had died only a few days prior, but life went on within the white stoned city. A woman rolled her cart down the street toward the market square. A gust of wind caught up the fine linen on the top of the cart and unfurled it onto the ground. She cursed her luck and began rolling it back up when suddenly she stopped to witness what everyone else had paused to see—the new king, Garron. The people were glad to see him out and about.
Though there were many things to take care of, Melkis thought it would be good for Garron to get his blood pumping on the training field with the Griffin Guard. Along the way, people stopped to gawk and smile at their new king. The young ladies were particularly interested in him, as he hadn’t yet taken a wife.
Melkis laughed at their enamored interactions. “You’ll have a lot more time for a wife and family, fulfilling the responsibility of king rather than on mission with the Guard,” he said, nodding toward a pretty, young woman with golden hair.
“One thing at a time, Melkis,” Garron teased back.
They rounded a street corner and stood before the griffin training complex, the Grand Corral. Aside from the castle, it was the largest structure in Whitestone. The white stone walls rose high and were adorned with large blue banners with silver griffins embroidered on them. Just the sight of the complex raised Garron’s spirits.
The men walked to the massive front doors, and without words, two guards heaved them open. An immense field area in the center of the complex was ornamented with various training dummies and obstacles. The entire field was confined within the walls of the structure, which had no roof over the central area. Of course, there were guardians and griffins throughout. Some worked on different battle strategies; others practiced ground attacks. A few on the top of the far veranda practiced diving techniques.
Griffin stables lined the outside walls, opening inward under the terraces. The barracks rooms were all on the second floor and ran around the complex, except for the front side. A large training room, where instructors would teach the trainees, occupied the space above them. Most of the tactical operations were planned in the rooms above.
Garron had spent many years in the place, and in a lot of ways, the Grand Corral was more home than the castle. As they continued forward, they stepped out of the shadows of the entryway and into the sun of the field. All activity in the Grand Corral halted with one horn blast, all eyes on King Garron. Remembering his responsibility to return them to work, he waved them off. The buzz of training continued.
A large griffin flew from above the main terrace behind them and landed hard before the king. The guardian riding it swung his legs over and hopped off in one fluid motion. The large griffin stood statuesque, well trained. Its muscles were taut, ready for any command.
“My King,” the guardian placed a fist over the Whitestone crest painted on his chest armor. “It pleases me to see you.”
The two stared at each other for a moment. Garron breathed a heavy sigh and hugged the guardian with everything he had, glad to see his cousin.
Clanging swords rang out through the complex. Melkis had requested a sword that they might get a round of sparring in, hoping the physical exertion would help Garron release some frustrations. Pernden, Garron’s cousin, was happy to oblige, lending his own sword to the king.
Many of the guardians, who had been resting in their barracks rooms, made their way to the balconies around the training ground to watch the spectacle. Watching Master Melkis in sword combat was a special treat on its own, but seeing him spar the new king could not be missed.
A wide swing from Garron nearly touched the old master. With surprising agility for his age, Melkis sidestepped the attack and countered with his own swipe. Garron deflected with a well-practiced parry, stepping away from his opponent. The move required him to play the defensive, parrying a short flurry from the old master. And then Garron took up the offense.
He launched into a hard and heavy attack routine, hoping to use brute force to defeat the master’s old muscles. Melkis smiled as he parried the first, then the second, recognizing the routine.
Smart, he thought.
He had taught that very routine to the young king. On just the right jab, Melkis rolled out to the side, swiping his thin, slightly curved sword into the armored shin of the young king. Because of his position in the jab, Garron’s weight carried him straight to the ground at the sweeping move of the master. He lifted his head from the dirt and turned toward the grinning old man.
This fool ... the wind whispered in his ear. He’s trying to kill you.
Rage overcame Garron, and he bolted at Melkis, striking furious blows. His movements paired with a wild-eyed frenzy. The old master parried and dodged, surprised at the younger man’s fury. Cuts flew far too close to his throat. Melkis mumbled a magical command through gritted teeth to his sword, Wintertide. The clangs became crashes like lightning as the swords met. The white crystalline stone in the hilt of his sword glowed, and chips of ice flew with each parry.
Finally, Melkis saw an opportunity in Garron’s tiring rampage and took it. He dove past the throttling king, sending him wildly off balance to the side. Melkis rolled, popped, and spun, swiping Wintertide through the air.
A blade of chilled air blasted the young king. Garron pressed forward in slow motion, barely able to move as the freeze covered him. Icicles formed on his sword, cloak, and hair. He stopped a few feet from his old master, the point of the magical sword inches from the king’s throat.
“Well, do it then!” Garron screamed. “If you mean to kill me, get it over with!”
The stunned master wavered with his sword.
“Garron ... What ...”
“It would be better this way!”
Silence. Not yet ...
Tears streamed down Garron’s face, as if he had snapped back to the present from some distant plane. Melkis stared, as did many of the guardians who had been watching the sparring session. Pernden stepped forward toward the old master, laying his hand on Melkis’s arm to lower Wintertide’s deadly stance. He looked to his cousin with empathetic eyes.
“Garron, I’m going to take my sword back now.” He cautiously reached for his sword and grabbed his cousin’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” Garron whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”
After they had sent all the spectators back to training, they brought Garron inside the officers’ dining hall. There, they grabbed some tea and retreated into an adjacent sitting room. The room was nicely furnished with large chairs for comfort and a fireplace that was already burning. Pernden sat the king in one of the comfortable chairs next to the hearth. Melkis grabbed a large fur blanket, made from the pelt of a plains bear. He wrapped it around Garron and rubbed the younger man’s shoulders as Pernden pressed the hot tea into Garron’s hands.
“Thank-k y-you.” Garron shivered but smiled at his friends’ concerned faces.
“You just warm up here, my King,” Melkis said, trying to hide his worries. “Pernden and I will get some food from the kitchen, and we will all have something to eat.”
They left the anteroom and headed through the dining hall toward the kitchen, easily navigating the tables. The concern on Pernden’s contorted face was not lost on the old master.
“I’m not sure,” Melkis said, guessing at the guardian’s question.
“That did not seem like my cousin,” Pernden replied. “I have rarely seen him with that kind of rage, even in the midst of battle. What was that?”
Melkis shook his head and stroked his white beard thoughtfully. “I cannot say, but it is not the first strange outburst of late. I have seen men come back from battles changed, but his extended exile after the battle he survived may have done more damage than I thought.”
“He was out there for a long time. I haven’t had much time to talk to him about it. Come to think of it, he’s hardly spoken to me since his return,” Pernden realized aloud.
“He’s been rather distant, even at the castle,” Melkis agreed. “I thought it more about King Farrin’s death, but now I’m not so sure.”
By the time they had eaten and Garron had warmed up, the hour was late. They stayed in the guest rooms at the Grand Corral, thinking it better to rest and return to the castle in the morning. Long after Melkis and Pernden left him in his room, Garron stared at the stone ceiling in the dark, seeing only what the lights in the blued night sky could illuminate from the small window.
Blankly, he stood from his bed, opened the creaky old door, and made his way to the stairs. The trainees on interior guard duty were surprised to see the king stroll up to the mighty front doors. The two straightened themselves quickly in their oversized armor.
“Your Highness.”
Garron put a finger to his lips and a hand out to settle the young guards, not wanting to draw any attention. “I’ll be making my way back to the castle this evening, instead,” he whispered with a polite smile and nod.
“Oh, sure. Suppose kings’ quarters are much more comfortable than our accommo-, accommodations here,” one of the trainees said with a chuckle, proud of his broad vocabulary.
Garron winced at the mention of the king’s chamber. He still hadn’t slept there. “I’ll take my leave now, thank you,” he directed.
They opened the large front doors of the Grand Corral, and Garron stepped through, into the night of the city. The two exterior guards watched him curiously as he made his way down the street and around a corner.
He walked quietly under the night sky through the city toward the castle. Everything around him seemed peaceful, but inside, a war waged.
When he finally arrived at the door to his chamber, Garron paused.
Not here ... you know where you belong, the whisper guided.
He looked at his old chamber door with a blank stare, uncertain. An impulse roared from deep within his core. He did not belong there. Not anymore.
Yes ...
King Garron strode down the hall of the king’s chamber at an even pace. He did not pause at the door but walked right in. He turned around and watched the hallway, as he closed the creaking door, and disappeared into the dark chamber.