Jabin shook the feeling of being watched and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. He had begun to have the sensation over an hour ago as if something old and malicious hid just out of sight in the darkening forest watching him like prey. He squinted his eyes trying to catch sight of what lurked in the shadow.

One of the knights took a swing while he was distracted, and the prince swept the feet from under his opponent. Another young knight took a swing at him from behind with a dull pole ax. Jabin caught the ax with a swipe of his practice sword and carried the ax blade to the ground kicking the man in the stomach with a side kick. The third opponent attempted three swings of his sword and a jab at Jabin’s stomach. Jabin parried the first three swings then grabbed the Knight’s sword hand kicking the young man under his armpit and relieving him of his sword mid-thrust. He spun and now wielded two practice swords crossing them on the throat of the first man’s neck as he attempted to get up off his back.

“Do you yield knight?” Jabin smiled looking down at the knight already knowing the answer. It was only then that Jabin could hear the clapping of the crowd of watchers break through his concentration. The distraction made him aware of his sore muscles. How long had he been practicing? He looked over at the violet sky peeking between the trees beyond. He helped the knight to his feet and bowed low to the cheering crowd of onlookers. They liked the confirmation that their prince could stand up for himself if needed. He cared very little of the pretenses, he preferred the exercise and the challenge of his skills. He took one more, long glance at the forest before turning to join the knights walking toward the well.

Jabin received little challenge sparing with his knights or marshals. His father had scoured the nearby cities as far as the rising and setting of the sun since he was a boy to find the best teachers for him. Jabin had never complained of the intense training and preferred the sport more than his studies of the histories and fables.

Astrology and prophecy had been only mildly interesting to him as a boy. Chemistry and arithmetic were a dull roar to his ears as an active youth. He wanted to be in the woods or the fields. He wanted to be on a quest or adventure, he wanted, he needed great destiny. He could care less about running the kingdom or helping his brother run the kingdom. He had to live the legendary life. He wanted his name known through the ages.

His father and his brother were the academic types. His father believed strategy, knowledge, and culture were the best ways to win people. Jabin at least would regretfully acknowledge this truth, but his heart longed for excitement. Politics were a dull roar in his ears. The teachers grew impatient with him as he would often gaze off at the fields and trees beyond. He longed to find destiny. He would find the place he belonged, and it was not sitting in a stuffy room listening to advisers.

His older brother would inherit the kingdom anyway. He would not need to know politics, budgeting, and all the governing principles of his father. At the very least he would be a soldier on the field defending his brother’s kingdom. The hot sun and the wide-open slopes and valleys with a thousand blades clashing. That was the life for him.

Jabin patted the knight on the back and nodded to him thanks. He handed the other knight back his practice sword and grabbed a ladle full of water from the barrel. He drank a couple of swallows to quench his parched throat then poured some on his head. He pushed his long blond mane back from his face and filled the ladle again to hand to one of the waiting knights. “Thank you for practicing hard with me today. I know it was hot. I’m glad you gave it your all.” Jabin made a practice of complimenting and showing appreciation for all of his soldiers. He needed them to feel at home in his ranks and feel like they were welcome in their prince’s presence. They would after all be defending his life on the battlefield one day.

The knight took the ladle. “My privilege, my prince.” The knight took the pole ax and rested it on his shoulder as he drank.

“Tor, isn't it?” The prince stepped to the side of the knight.

The knight swallowed the water and nodded again. “Yes, sire.”

“I heard you had another boy recently.”

“Aye. A week and a half ago. Biggest one yet.” The knight dipped the ladle in the barrel refilling it.

“How many boys have you had now?” The prince asked.

“Makes seven now my wife has given me,” Tor said proudly.

“Your grandchildren will be a kingdom of themselves.” The prince smiled his blue eyes flashing his delight. “You will be well cared for in your old age.” Jabin had little desire for children himself. He had too many desires for glory to burden himself with a family but someday, he would settle down. He hoped by then he would be an old man with many stories to tell the children on his knee and his young beautiful wife.

Tor grinned a mostly toothless grin, “Aye between them and the girls I will have many grandchildren to tell of my great exploits with the prince of Windal in my younger years. They will be a delight indeed.” Jabin chuckled at the irony. He had just been thinking along the same lines. Jabin grinned and was about to speak again when the sound of hoof beats interrupted him.

Jabin patted Tor on the back again as the rider approached. The messenger focused only on the prince careful not to lay eyes on the noble women in attendance. A messenger of Windal would be expected to be focused singularly on the duty at hand, deliver his message and return with confirmation. Jabin approached the messenger as he dismounted.

“Urgent message from the king.” The messenger said removing his cap and bowing low. He replaced his cap with the point sharply forward a single red feather stood from the top declaring him to be a messenger of the first order. “The Vaish have returned from their studies and requested an audience with the king.”

Jabin shielded his eyes from the setting sun. “How does that concern me I am not the king. I’m not even the first prince, you must be looking for my brother Terin.”

“The Vaish have named you and one other as the very ones their audience with the king concerns.”

Jabin stood puzzled for a moment before signaling a servant to bring him his horse. The servant trotted over hastily with the prince’s spotted horse and bowed low. Jabin took the reins and nodded to the servant in thanks. “Well, I shall see what the Vaish would want with the second prince.” He turned in his saddle and searched until he saw the Crull Lian. Lian had promise. Perhaps he could start with someone like Lian to build relations with the Crull. Befriend him. He had to start somewhere. Among his own soldiers seemed the easiest place to start. “Take the men on a hunt Lian I have yet to bag any game for the Fall Fest.” Jabin winked at him. “Teach them some of those legendary tracking skills of yours.” Lian saluted as Jabin turned his horse and trotted off toward Windal.

He gritted his teeth. Of all the politicians he would have to endure the Vaish were the worst. The religious types were always the most gruesome type of boring. The Vaish had been gone for seven years claiming a quest of utmost urgency. Though what form of urgency star readers could possibly have made little sense to Jabin. The stars weren’t going anywhere, they scrolled across the sky marking the change of the seasons every year. It wasn't as if they would fall from the sky.

Somehow the Vaish had managed to convince his father there were messages hidden in the stars by the ancient of days and only the wisest could read the messages hidden within. Jabin believed they were just taking advantage of his father’s gullibility and his obsession with the consumption of lore and legend. They were no more than soothsayers, no different than the magicians. Conning his father out of coin and land for their experiments and “observatories.” It was good for them that Jabin was not to be king. They would be the first order to go.

Jabin’s older brother Terin had been more interested in such fantasies and would be the better choice to dupe. Terin would be king soon why were they not working on their next tall tale with him? Did they just want to break through Jabin’s defenses just in case Jabin tried to overthrow his brother and take the kingdom for himself? He was a well-known warrior. Perhaps they thought he would not be content to be a soldier in his brother's army. They were far from the truth if they thought that. He would have to assure them of that. If they feared him overthrowing his brother, they may try to convince him to remove Jabin’s head. Jabin did not want to die. He rubbed his throat. He wanted to see the world. There was no kingdom far enough away that Jabin wouldn’t eagerly march off to see. He lived for the wide open, not for a kingdom on a hill.

He would have to make sure they understood his desires. They would not have to worry about him or waste their time filling his head with fanciful daydreams of grandeur. He wouldn’t let them bedazzle him. He already had his path of destiny set before him. Terin surely knew he was not a threat. Jabin had never shown interest in power. The Vaish may have overlooked it, but they would be persuaded today.

He settled back into his saddle imagining how he would convince them to leave him be. He practiced a speech he would likely forget in their presence. He could motivate an army with passionate fire-filled speeches in the moment but when it came to political pleasantries, his brother Terin was given all the strengths.

His thoughts were brought to a halt when he saw them waiting at the gate for him to arrive. Old men now with long white beards down to their stomachs. They had been old to him as a boy but now their age really showed. What did they have, ten, twenty years left at most?

What would be the gain of some elaborate scheme? Are those the same robes they had on when they left? He thought. Their robes were no longer a dark tan but now a faded yellow similar to dried straw. Holes were patched over with newer leather patches, yet some holes were not patched at all showing their frail legs through.

Jabin slowed his horse and took in the sight of the frail men holding lanterns on poles at the gate. The light shone in the dusk on their heavily wrinkled faces. Perhaps he had been generous in his earlier assessment of ten to twenty years of life left in the Vaish. They were barely more than bones standing together before him.

He stopped his horse and climbed down walking toward them. He held out the reins to a servant who had run out to take his horse to the stables, then extended his hand to greet the old men. One of them reached out a cold bony hand and took his. Jabin looked at the dark blue veins showing through the stretched thin skin on the back of his hand. Jabin shook himself out of his astonishment, “What is this about?”

The old man spoke so softly, that Jabin feared the man might fall over dead right there at the gate. “It is better spoken of in private prince.”

Jabin looked at each of the old men’s sunken sullen faces and gestured for them to lead the way. He followed them as they walked slowly toward the castle leaning on their lantern poles for each step. A sense of dread rooted down in his stomach as he followed. Something told him this would not be the meeting he had expected. The Vaish were in old worn-out rags and their faces were showing only dread. Sincere dread.