Omens of Disgrace - Chapter One

Hey guys. So this is my first chapter of my novel for Tenyo's Last Man Standing contest. Enjoy!

Chapter One

The forest was old and dark, draped in shadows caused by the fading sunlight. Devon was unsure of it. The place had a foreboding air, and he could've sworn he saw something move. He hoped it wasn't anything nasty. Hopefully, it wasn't hungry, whatever it was. He'd come too far to turn back now. Besides he was still angry and the rejection still stung. How could he not have known? Devon had the same magicial abilities as that bastard! How could the man not see that? After all, he'd shown him that, too. He could still remember what he'd done, still see the poor kid's face when Devon took his magic.

He wasn't sorry for Brynn, though. It was better that way. Hopefully the lack of magic in the child would make Daeron turn his attention to another. Brynn's father hadn't been impressed. Devon could see him still, standing beside the throne with his arms crossed and a dark look on his face. Whatever reason the man had for being angry, Devon was sure it wasn't all his fault. He hadn't meant to keep the boy's magic; he'd tried to give it back, but it wouldn't budge. The magic had refused to leave. No wonder Brynn was crying. Devon thought he'd borrowed it, but now he knew. All those times before...

No, it wasn't the time, and those were not things to be thinking of now. He was almost there, almost into the forest that covered the border between Belasi and Verlisia. He could have headed for Havarti, but that was under Belasi's control, and he would have been found. No, his only hope was to flee to the enemy and hope they showed him mercy. He knew the magic he did was frowned upon in Verlisia. But really, what choice did he have? He could be hunted down if he ever let them know--or worse. All because his mother confessed to something on her deathbed less than a year ago.

Why had she told him that anyway? What was she trying to tell him? That he was supposed to usurp his own father? Ridiculous! Wouldn't the bastard want to know he had a child, and that his line would continue, along with his family's rule? Devon might not ever know.

Regardless, he was at the border. And the forest was a little intimidating. After over a week of running and hiding, of stealing horses and borrowing food, he was finally there. Or, well, almost. He just had one last obstacle in his way. The Runewood. It was the oldest forest in any of the kingdoms, stretching on for miles and miles. It wasn't that thick here, and it was probably the only thing stopping Daeron the Conquerer from marching an army on Verlisia. At least, it was on this front. Devon knew there was an army further south, though they hadn't moved camp at all in over a week.

He hoped they didn't decide to send a scouting party his way--or worse, a large patrol. That would be bad--or could be. Devon wasn't sure anymore. He just hoped there weren't any soldiers headed his way. He was sure they knew about him by now, and probably had orders to drag him back to the palace, kicking and screaming. Oh, gods. Devon hoped they didn't. It would not be a pretty thing. Besides, he was a prince, wasn't he? Or at least, an illegitimate heir. Unless his mother had been lying, but why would she lie on her deathbed? He sure hoped she hadn't been lying. Gods, that'd be embarrassing.

Devon crouched by the nearest tree and peered into the deepening shadows. The path was well used, as far as he could tell, and there didn't seem to be anything to trip over or fall into. He probably wouldn't encounter any traps or snares, but he'd best be careful regardless. The forest wasn't likely to be nice to him. He'd heard tales about the Runewood. There were so many of them. The most frequent ones were that the forest seemed to be alive, even acted like it was sometimes--things moved in the Runewood, trees appeared where there hadn't been any before, so disappeared. The one Devon heard most often was that the forest seemed to be watching you, always. It knew things, and sometimes reacted to them. Only fools would assume the rumour false and be unafraid to enter it. Fools or crazy people. He didn't know which group he came under right now. Fool or crazy? Or maybe just desperate.

Either way, Devon hoped the forest would let him pass through unharmed. Well, mostly unharmed, anyway. He'd need to leave something for it if he was planning on heading into the Runewood. The forest demanded respect and an offering. He had nothing to offer it. Yet. So he hoped he could find something while he was there.

Suddenly, there was a sharp crack from somewhere behind and to his left. Devon tensed up and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything yet. This area of land was part of the Runewood, but it wasn't very thick yet. Plus the grass was tall and the brush was fairly high in these parts. He briefly considered the soldiers camped south of him, and very nearly panicked. They weren't out on patrol, were they? Hopefully, not yet. Devon doubted that they weren't, though. He'd have to move, and soon.

Just as he was about to turn back, something moved. Devon titled his head slighty to try and get a better look. There was more movement, and Devon realised it was a horse's head. Not the horse he'd stolen from a small town a few days ago, but a different one. His horse was a dull red-brown. This one was been white. Another movement and Devon caught a glimpse of Belasi's colours; dull bronze and deep purple. They were highlighted by the glow of a torch. He was in the trouble. The soldiers were making a partol.

Devon cursed his luck under his breath and shuffled around the tree. Hopefully, he was now out of sight of the scout on horseback. He wasn't exactly inconspicuos, was he? Not in his servant clothing of white and bronze. Even though it was dirty, it still stood out more than the dull brown hunting gear he'd seen in some of the towns he had passed through. He should have stolen something else to wear days ago. They obviously knew what he looked like and what he'd been wearing last. For them to find a palace servant so close to the border? What would they think of him? Nothing good. He was sure of that. He'd best get moving before the scout got any closer or saw him.

The bay he'd stolen whinnied, causing the scout's horse to toss it's head and whinny back. Devon cursed in his head a little more and shuffled back towards the border, and the Runewood. He heard the scout call out something--probablya warning to the main patrol. The man was talking about his horse. There was some more noise--the scout's horse moving through the brush--and then a light thump. That told him that the scout had dismounted. Probably to look at the horse. Devon took the distraction as an opportunity and shuffled back towards the Runewood.

He had just made it into the darker section of forest when he scout finally reached the bay and caught hold of the horse's reins. The torch only lit up a small area of forest, so Devon could see it clearly. The scout had a slight frown on his face as he looked over the horse, petting its neck and speaking softly to it. Well, at least they hadn't seen him. In the half hour he'd been debating with himself and then sneaking away from soldiers, night had fallen. It made the shadows in the forest dark, and therefore made Devon harder to see. He moved further into the forest and slid behind a tree, peering out at the ring of torchlight.

Another soldier had joined the scout. They were talking in low voices and Devon couldn't make out the words, but he was sure they were discussing him. This was not good. He had to keep moving. He shouldn't linger, shouldn't wait too much longer, but he couldn't help it. Devon had to know if they were going to move on or stay.

The scout lowered his torch as the other soldier turned away and shouted, "Make camp!" into the darkness. Several more soldier appeared out of the shadowy forest, both on horseback and on foot. Devon counted twenty overall, including the scout and the soldier with him. That soldier seemed to be the patrol's captain. Some of the me on horseback disappeared into the night while others dismounted and began to set out tents. One of the soldiers on foot set about collecting wood while the others began to set up camp, putting up tents and pegging out a line for their horses.

Devon ducked back behind the tree and tipped his head back against the bark. He stared up at the forest canopy, catching a glimpse of stars and darkness beyond the branches. Soldiers making camp there probably wasn't a good thing, but at least they hadn't seen him. Not yet, anyway. There was still a chance they could. He had to get moving already.

He pushed off the tree and carefully picked his way onto the path. He must have walked for hours and gone several miles in the dark when he saw a flickering light up ahead. Devon squinted at it. The flickering light appeared to be a small camp fire. There were no tents near it that he could see, and no one was sitting right beside it, either. There was what looked like a small wild boar roasting on a spit above the flames. It was only when he saw the boar that Devon realised how hungry he was. He must not have eaten anything at all in the last few days, and now the smell of roasting pork was too tempting to pass up.

After making sure there really wasn't anyone in the camp, Devon snuck towards it. He only tripped up on a rock or branch a couple of times, so he made it to the circle of firelight pretty much unscathed. He glanced back over his shoulder once to make sure there wasn't anyone behind him, and when he turned back, he bumped into something. Something warm and solid, but not rock hard. Devon blinked at the dark green obscuring his vision, then dragged his gaze upwards a few inches. A young man peered back at him, grey-green eyes narrowed.

Devon swallowed. The young man's eyes widened slightly as they stared at each other. Whoever this guy was, he was attractive. And probably no one good. At least he wasn't from Belasi--after all, he wasn't wearing their colours. Devon supposed he should be thankful for that small glimmer of hope. As it was, he had a feeling he was in a lot of trouble.

The moment seemed to stretch on for ages, though it had to have only been a few minutes. Devon wasn't sure how to react to this guy. They were about the same height, though the stranger looked younger than him. He seemed well-prepared, though, for whatever he did. Devon took an uncertain step back just as someone snorted somewhere off behind and to his right.

"What 'ave we got 'ere?"

Devon spun round, gaping at the large, burly man standing behind him. This man was older than him and taller, too. Scars criss-crossed his arms and one stood out over his left eye and down that cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but the handsome stranger cut him off.

"I'd say we have a lost little lamb, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not a lamb!" he protested, sparing the younger stranger a glower. "My name is Devon and I am a prince of Belasi!"

"Looks like a runaway slave to me," the burly man grunted, tugging on one of Devon's earrings. They were bronze and stamped with the Belasi royal seal. All servants at the palace wore them. "What do you say, Kaj?"

"Looks like it," the young man agreed. Devon shifted slighty, eyes darting between them. The young man was still staring at him while the burly man was eyeing him off. He didn't like the big man's gaze on him. Not at all. He turned his browns eyes on the other man.

"I told you," Devon said meekly, "I'm a prince of Belasi."

"Belasi has no prince," the young man--Kaj--said, dragging his gaze off him. Those grey-green eyes darted behind him, and Devon felt the burly man move. Something came down on his head with a sickening thud. Everything began to blurr and his vision darkened at the edges. The bastard had hit him over the head! Devon felt himself begin to fall, but he never felt himself hit the ground.