Young Writers Society

Hey guys. Here's a chapter. It's kinda short, but whatever. Enjoy and comment, crit, etc!

Word Count: 1286.

Chapter Five

The clearing outside the cottagewas empty and silent. Taranis found it comforting. He was far from the dramas of his old life, even though he had to leave his beloved wife behind. At least he had Kostya. Speaking of the other man... Taranis turned away from the treeline and back towards the cottage. The door was firmly shut, though the window shutters had been thrown open wide. Flowers and herbs spilled over the sides of the window boxes in a brilliant coloured array of petals. Inside, he could hear Koysta moving about.

Taranis fingered the sword at his side, frowning thoughtfully. There was a lot going on outside their little forest clearing, and he wasn't quite sure what he could do about it. He knew his son was alive, but as to where that son was, he didn't know. Taranis was sure Kostya knew, though, but the other man would never tell him. He was fine with that; he'd meet his son eventually, though. First, he needed to find him. Kostya had said he would help with that, and Taranis trusted his bodyguard and friend impeccably.

"Taranis!"

He jerked around, eyes darting to the now opened door to the cottage. Kostya was standing in the doorway, glaring at him. Taranis gave him a fond look, lips tilting up slightly. That made theo ther man's brown eyes narrow and his lips twist slightly. "Kostya."

"Get in here," the other man called, dragging his fingers through his grey-peppered black hair. Taranis found the action endearing, and somewhat predictable. Kostya always dragged his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated. "Food's ready!"

"Alright," Taranas called back. "I'll be there in a moment."

Kostya nodded and vanished back into the cottage. He turned back to the treeline, glancing it over. It was peaceful, as it usually was. Taranis turned away from the treeline and made his way back towards the cottage. Rubbing his fingertips over the hilt of his sword, Taranis mused on the situation. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. There wasn't much he could do right now. He was a king assumed dead and currently in hiding. Sure, he had Kostya, but he couldn't go home. He couldn't return to his beloved wife or kingdom. He had to let the entire realm think him gone and stick to the shadows. That was the price he'd had to pay, so long ago.

"There you are, Taranis." Kostya's voice was closer than he'd sounded a moment ago. "I thought you were going to take forever out there."

He stopped short, glancing up. Kostya was back in the doorway, smiling at him. "I'm worried, Kostya," he admited, searching his friend's face for assurance, or perhaps acceptence. "Very worried.... My son."

The other man sighed, stepping aside so Taranis could enter the cottage. "I know, Taranis. I know." Kostya watched him as he entered the building, quickly following. "Go sit down. We need to talk."

Taranis twisted to stare hard at his friend for a moment before he nodded and went over to the only table in the room; the one pushed up against the far wall opposite the window. He sat on one of the chairs and turned to watch Kostya. Kostya seemed to hesitate for a moment before he moved to join him.

"Why are you so serious, Kostya?" Taranis asked as his friend sat down opposite him. "Is something wrong? Did my son die? The prophecy--"

"Easy, Taranis," Kostya interjected softly, holding a hand up. "It's nothing like that." Taranis exhaled, leaning back in his seat. "Your son is fine, and nothing is wrong. The prophecy will come to pass."

Taranis frowned at him. "Then what is there to talk about?"

Kosyta was silent then, staring back at him. It merely had Taranis worrying more. What was wrong? Kostya has said nothing, but that didn't mean it was the truth. That was a bad sign, right? Taranis planted both hands on the tabletop. He made to stand, but Kostya grabbed his wrist.

"Please," the other man said, "let me explain."

Taranis stared him down for a moment before his sighed and lowered himself back into the seat. Kostya relaxed slight, though he still kept his hold on Taranis's wrist. "Alright, Kostya," he said, rubbing his free hand over his face. "Do explain."

"I...I," Kostya began, stammering a little. Taranis reached out and tapped the other man on the cheek. His friend's eyes darted up to meet his. He glanced down at his wrist meaningfully and Kostya flushed, releasing him and jerking his hand back. "Sorry, your grace. I forgot my place."

"No," Taranis said firmly, but kindly. "You didn't. I'm no longer a king, and so you no longer have to abide by the old, palace social rules." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Besides, you've shared my bed more times than I can count or remember; we are well past this stage."

The other man choked back a laugh. "It's so easy to forget that, Taranis."

"True," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He cleared his throat again and settled into the chair. Kostya stared back at him, hands folded promptly in front of him on the table. "You wanted to talk, old friend?"

Kostya heaved a sigh and nodded, shifting his hands on the table. "Yes, I did."

Taranis gave his old friend an expectant look, waiting for him to speak. The other man looked nervous and worried, and it, in turn, was beginning to make him worry. Kostya seemed to be hesitating, but Taranis knew he was trying to bring himself to say whatever it was he wanted to tell him. "Well?"

"I recieved a note from one of my contacts at the border," Kostya began, avoiding the other man's piercing grey-green gaze. "A Belasian slave crossed the border late last night. Silus says he's an interesting kid. Arrogant, keeps claiming he's Daeron's son, but that the old bastard refuses to believe it." He cleared his throat nervously. Taranis watched him, leaning back and letting his hands slide off the table. "Bastard has always denied all the horrible things he'd done."

"Silus?" Taranis asked, frowning slightly. "Your nephew?"

"Yes, the very one."

"Interesting," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Please, go on."

"Very well, your grace," Kostya murmured, bowing his head, though he still kept it half-turned away from the other man. "He says Kaj interrogated him well. And he believes the boy. Silus, surprisingly, agrees--for once." He jerked his head up a little, closing his eyes. "I have been informed that they're headed to the village near them. They'll probably stay there for a night or two before moving on, back to Verlis."

"The captial," Taranis mused, turning to look out the window. "Kaj and the Belasi boy will be there in a few weeks. We should return. I don't think anyone will recongise us by now. We've been gone a long time."

"Agreed," Kostya breathed, shifting in his seat. Taranis heard the wood creak and turned back, just in time to see his old friend plant his hands firmly on the table top and move to push himself up and out of the chair. "Shall we round up some supplies and get ready to move out, sire?"

"Yes, Kostya. I think that's a good idea." He watched his friend move off towards the bedroom they'd shared for fifteen years. Kostya paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Time to go home, old friend." Kostya nodded and disappeared into the darkened bedroom, leaving Taranis to his musings. The old king turned back to the window, staring out at the clearing and the treeline. "Time to go home."