Ashes of the Crown

                                                       The Whispers of Ashes

Long, unsettling shadows covered the sleepy town of Renshollow as the sun, a smear of molten gold, dipped beyond the ragged peaks of the Myralt Range. Between thatched roofs and poorly illuminated windows, the evening mist twisted across the cobblestone streets like spectral fingers. In the town square, Kael Dravorn sat on the edge of the well, his cloak drawn tight against the chilly air.

Though he was not thinking about getting water, he gazed at the bucket he was holding. There was something about Renshollow's calm that lulled him into a delusion of permanence. He had been living here as a farmer's assistant and little else for ten years. Even now, though, he occasionally felt the tug of something more profound, a chest ache that hinted to a past life he hardly recalled.

"Kael!"

He was startled out of his daydream by Widow Tarren's piercing voice. He turned to find the elderly woman limping towards him while holding a basket of clean linens in her crooked hands.

"Are you dreaming again?" Her eyes narrowed as she reprimanded. "That water won't come to you on its own."

Then Kael smiled sheepishly and stood up. I apologise, Widow Tarren. A long day.

She mumbled, "Hmph," but her voice grew softer. If you don't keep up, it will take longer. Go ahead and do it, boy.

Kael let out a groan and lowered the bucket into the well as she shuffled off. He turned the crank, and the sound reverberated in the square's silence as the rope creaked. He stopped and stared into the black water as the bucket splashed down. He briefly believed he saw—no, felt—something move. A slight shimmer, a firelight reflection.

"Kael!"

It wasn't Widow Tarren's voice this time. It was hectic and full of urgency. When Kael turned, he saw a small boy running towards him, his eyes wide with fright and his face pale.

“Loryn, what is it?” With a knot in his stomach, Kael asked.

Panting, the lad skidded to a stop. "Strangers—in the woods—are approaching from this direction."

Kael's pulse accelerated. Visitors were uncommon in Renshollow, and those who did show up were either traders or lost hunters rather than eerie characters hiding in the woods.

"Where?" Kael put down the bucket and demanded.

Loryn gestured to the village's eastern boundary. "Next to the old mill." They have weapons.

Without saying another word, Kael snatched up the little knife he always carried in his belt and jogged towards the mill, Loryn following. Ahead, the deep canopy of the forest threw an impenetrable blackness over the underbrush. Kael slowed as he got closer, listening for anything other than the rustle of leaves.

Then he heard the faint sound of voices.

Kael hid behind a clump of shrubs and motioned Loryn to hold back. He saw three individuals, their faces hidden by black cloaks, peering through the trees. They were standing in a circle, whispering to each other, but Kael could hear bits of what they were saying.

"...verification that it's here?" One asked in a gravelly voice.

Another said, "The mark matches." "The heir is not far away."

Kael gasped for air. His thoughts were racing as he froze. Heir? To what end? Who were these men?

One of the individuals turned before he could interpret it, revealing a scarred face as his hood slipped. The man fixed his gaze on Kael's hiding place.

The man snarled, "We're not alone.

Kael ran away. He heard cries and the distinct sound of chase behind him. His lungs burned with each breath as he ran back towards the settlement, the undergrowth gnawing at his legs. Behind him, Loryn's voice reverberated softly, but Kael was powerless to halt. The others needed to be warned.

Chaos broke out as he rushed into the square. Attracted by the chaos, the villagers rushed outside their houses. Widow Tarren came out, a puzzled expression on her face.

"What's going on?" She made a demand.

Kael doubled down to gather his breath after gasping, "Strangers." Armed. Going in this direction.

It was too late to issue the warning. With their swords shining in the last of the light, the three cloaked men stepped out of the darkness. In order to protect themselves, several of the villagers grabbed whatever weapons they could find as they dispersed.

The scarred man took a step forward, staring at Kael. "You," he stated in a stern and icy tone. "You have to accompany us, but we don't mean any harm."

Kael gripped his knife tighter. "I won't be leaving."

As if dissatisfied, the man sighed. "This isn't how things have to be."

Kael was about to reply when a another voice broke the tension.

"Give him space."

The village blacksmith, Alric, came forward with his hammer and huge frame. "Strangers threatening our own are not well received by us."

Despite the scarred man's hesitation, his friends brandished their weapons. Chaos broke out after the standoff lasted just a heartbeat. One of the cloaked men pounced towards Kael, who dodged just in time to avoid a blade that was aimed for his chest. The villagers battled hard around him, but they were obviously outnumbered.

Amid the tussle, Kael's pocket felt oddly warm. He reached down and took out the little pendant he had worn since he was a young boy; it was a plain item with an incomprehensible symbol engraved on it. It pulsated in tune with his pounding heart, glowing dimly now.

The eyes of the disfigured man grew wide. He said, "The mark."

The man pounced and grabbed Kael's arm before he could respond.

"Release!" Kael struggled against the iron hold and yelled. However, the man's might was too much.

The man was flung backwards as a blinding flash burst from the pendant. He fell hard and remained motionless. The confidence of the other shrouded figures was disturbed, and they hesitated. They fled into the shadows as soon as they saw their leader fall, leaving the community in stunned quiet.

Kael gazed at the pendant, its light going out as fast as it had come on. The locals whispered around him, their curiosity mixed with horror. Widow Tarren came closer, studying the pendant's symbol with narrowed eyes.

"Boy, where did you get that?" She made a demand.

Kael gave a headshake. "I'm not sure. It has always been with me.

The elderly woman's face grew serious. That isn't your typical trinket. It is a symbol of royalty.

Kael felt sick to her stomach. "Queen?"

Widow With a quiet voice, Tarren nodded. “Kael Dravorn, you are not a farmhand. You are the heir apparent to the throne.