Chapter 1 Part 2: Prince Drustan

"Who are 'they?'" Drustan inquires, brows pinched in confusion. "Was it elves? If you saw an elf you must tell me which direction they went!"

"It was not elves. The sickness is driving us mad," the woman replies, but before she can say more an arrow whistles through the air and pierces her skull with an echoing thunk. The arrow silences the suffering woman once and for all. Much to Drustan's horror, the arrow, steel tip and all, glows a hauntingly familiar green.

"E-Edmund," Drustan calls out to his guard and best friend. His voice is startled and shaky. It seems the sickness isn't just killing people, it is driving them mad, making them kill one another. "Edmund we have to get out of here." Doors of businesses creak open, revealing a town's worth of infected and glowing farmers. Much to his horror, even children are infected, their small hands clawing at his boots as he mounts his horse, intent on riding to freedom. His horse, Brave, needs little urge to run as townsfolk claw and punch at her legs. She kicks a few times, giving herself the space needed to pick up speed before taking off. Most of the townsfolk are unarmed but there is a hunter with a bow. The hunter is relentless, firing arrow upon arrow even as Drustan and Edmund ride out of town. Drustan leans low, chest pressed against Brave's neck and back in an effort to avoid getting pierced by a tainted arrow. Edmund does the same, although Drustan does hear a few arrows clang and bounce off of Edmund's armor. Thank the Forgemaster for strong and reliable steel armor.

Drustan and Edmund ride until the town is out of sight and then some. They ride past family farms, not bothering to stop as they spot glowing people and glowing livestock alike. Thankfully, the sickness only seems to drive people mad before killing them, with it only ever being the people chasing them as they ride past. Drustan and Edmund ride until their horses shake from exhaustion, and until there is nothing around them except trees and wild animals. There is no glow here except for that of the slowly setting sun. Using the fading light of the setting sun, Drustan pulls out this compass, and his map, attempting to discern where they are. Meanwhile, Edmund cares for the horses and sets up camp. Edmund proves to be ever reliable, brushing and feeding the horses, as well as setting up tents and getting a campfire going before checking on Drustan.

Drustan's hands shake and he grips both the map and compass in a stressed, white-knuckled grip when he realizes where they are. "We are close to the border. We rode further than intended. We are just a day's ride from the border, from the Elven kingdom... We should turn back and warn my father of what is happening. " Edmund's hands envelop his own, making him set down the map and compass. Once Drustan sets the map and compass down, Edmund gives his hands a firm and grounding squeeze before he replies to Drustan.

"Breathe, Drustan. In and out," Edmund instructs him and although taking the time to breathe feels stupid when they have a madness inducing sickness to fight, he forces himself to follow Edmund's example. Edmund only stops instructing him to breathe when he witnesses Drustan's breath and hands steady once more. "There would be little point in warning King Alaric of something we can not stop. This sickness is worse than anticipated. We must find an elf to stop it. And the best place to find an elf is the Elven kingdom."

Drustan emits a bitter scoff at Edmund's suggestion. "Just you and I wandering into the elven kingdom? Are you mad? We will get killed before we make it two steps across!" Drustan is a passionate talker, especially when upset, hands moving to and fro as he speaks. "Even if we get past the border guards they have magic traps, magic weapons, and spells! They do not even need weapons to kill us, Edmund. With a few words and the wave of their hands they can kill us!" Panic is bubbling up within his chest once more, making his skin feel hot as a blacksmith's forge and his voice is uncharacteristically loud due to ever-increasing anxiety.

"You must have known we would have to go into the Elven kingdom eventually. Did you really think we would be lucky enough to catch an elf spreading the sickness within our kingdom? No, the elves would never be caught in the act so easily. The elves are sneaky, especially when crossing the border into our territory. They have to be sneaky... The last report your father shared with us regarding the war stated that we were killing elves by the dozen. We are winning the war, Drustan. It's the reason why the elves started spreading the sickness. The would lose the war if not for the sickness." Edmund replies, and although he attempts to maintain a neutral and matter of fact tone, anxiety is creeping into his voice as well.

Panic morphs into anger at Edmund's words. "Report... You mention a report. Father never shared such a report with me. It sounds like he will share all important information about the war with everyone but me. What is wrong with him? He will send me on an important, life or death mission but he will not share war reports with me?" He's angry with his father and not Edmund. Hence, instead of taking his anger out on Edmund, he kicks a nearby rock, sending it bouncing across the ground. The rock bounces and skids with a series of audible thumps, landing near one of Brave's hooves. The ever calm and unbothered horse flicks her ears back in distaste, but otherwise doesn't respond to the unexpected rock kicking. If more people were as calm and thoughtful as Drustan's horse, Brave, the world would be a better place. "We are winning the war? If we are winning the war how come we are gaining no ground? Our forces managed to fight their way a mile into the Northern border but they have made no progress. It has been a month and they have made no progress. Surely within a month they would be able to advance at least a half a mile?"

"I said we were winning, " Edmund insists, voice sharp with frustration and exhaustion from their stressful day. Emdund's arms cross and shoulders tighten as further testament of his own frustration. If the conversation wasn't so serious Drustan would laugh since Edmund looks like a child about to shout in a loud, heartfelt temper tantrum."I did not say were were winning by a large margin. And no progress is better than having to retreat. Besides, it sounds as though it is safer to be on the front lines. No one has died from the magic sickness there."

"Is that where you wish you were? The front lines? Dying honorably in battle instead of at the hands of a strange sickness?" Drustan asks, although he immediately regrets asking. Of course Edmund wishes he was on the front lines. Their beloved god, The Forgemaster, died protecting the human kingdom from magical threats. To die in battle is to bring honor to your family and to ensure The Forgemaster's blessing as your soul passes onto the next plane of existence. Those blessed by The Forgemaster become eternal blacksmiths and knights capable of sending blessings to family members still alive in the material plane.

"You know what? Forget I asked," Drustan adds, stomping over to his tent and yanking the flap closed. Yanking fabric closed isn't nearly as satisfying as slamming a door. The frame of the tent rattles in protest at the rough closure but remains standing. He counts that as a small blessing. After all, the last thing he wants to do when tired and angry is have to put his tent up again. Within the privacy of his tent Drustan sheds his armor, stacking it in a neat pile before slipping on simple, cotton clothes. Although thin and simple compared to his many layers of armor, his sleeping clothes still maintain a royal air to them, the fabric dyed with familiar silver and scarlet dyes of the royal family.

As Drustan falls asleep he does not dream of his bitter, withered grape of a father nor of his two faced, know it all of an older brother, Bertram. Instead he dreams of his sister, Brenna. Although he, Bertram, and Brenna all have the same father, King Alaric, only Brenna and Drustan share a mother. Bertram's mother died not long after giving birth to him. And although Brenna and Drustan's mother loved Bertram as if he was her own flesh and blood, Bertram has always been bitter toward his step-mother and half siblings.

Brenna, the middle child, is the calm one. She is the one that reminds the arrogant Bertram of his duties and she is the one that took on some of the sibling bullying as a means of protecting Drustan. Her selflessness is both admirable and frustrating. He misses her. He feels like he hasn't thanked her enough for her love and protection. He hopes that he can make up his flaws and failures by protecting her from this strange, magic sickness. Drustan's resilient sister may be many things but even she is not immune to magic. Life would be simpler if it was. Out of all of them, Brenna is the only one that deserves to be ruler of the kingdom. She has the kindness of a saint but the strength of a soldier. Fierce but merciful, just like The Forgemaster. In his dreams he sits beside his sister, braiding her soft hair as they both offer a prayer and request for protection to The Forgemaster. Drustan falls into a deep sleep before finding out if the Forgemaster answers his and his sister's prayer.