Young Writers Society

1

Travel & Trees

“You know, Horry, there’s only so many times you can show a boy how to brew a decent cup of tea before you lose the will to live entirely,” snapped Old Murray Quinn.

“Yes, Sir,” mumbled Horry, staring at the moonlight skimming his shoes. “Sorry, Sir.”

Old Murray Quinn sighed and ran his fingers through his wispy, grey hair. He often pondered how on Earth this useless boy had fallen into his possession. Perhaps he was becoming soft in his old age. He chuckled under his breath. Not likely.

“How many times? Call me Quinn. And check again for those scrolls in the bags. I distinctly remember giving them to you to pack! I also distinctly remember telling you that there would be murder to pay if they were forgotten!”

Quinn watched Horry scuttle away to their two horses who were grazing quietly under a crooked apple tree. They had been traveling for six full days and were nearing their destination of Red Tower Keep in the city of Harandale. Quinn was bracing himself for the daily hustle and bustle of the nation’s capital. It had been a long time since he had lived in such close proximity to so many people. He was hoping to find a dark and dingy room within the keep that would match his personality nicely. The boy could do as he pleased.

Until now, Quinn had decided to keep his reasons for traveling to Harandale close to his chest. He didn’t need young Horry shouting off his business to any Tom, Dick and Harry on the way. The boy’s inability to keep a secret was quite astonishing to say the least.

Horry almost fell into Quinn’s lap with excitement when he had finally located the scrolls. Rubbing his face with clumsy embarrassment, Horry dropped onto his knees at the campfire. Quinn knew he was hoping for any tidbits of information he could scrounge. He supposed that now was as good as any to teach the boy a bit about what they were letting themselves in for.

Quinn hovered over the pack of scrolls and then carefully plucked one from the front. He unraveled in slowly in front of Horry's eyes, enjoying the tension and excitement he was creating for the boy. When the scroll was fully revealed, an intricate family tree was staring up at them. The fine lines were professional and precise.

“This, Horry, is the family lineage of our very own Royal Family. The throne of our beloved country has been passed down through the Turene Line for centuries and here are all the names in black and white.

“At the very top is the first King of Eriland, King Ford Turene. He ruled the country for 51 violent years. He conquered city after city across Eriland. The first being Harandale which is still the capital today, of course. Despite all his victorious battles, King Ford was actually beheaded by his own daughter, Princess Bertha, during one fine Summer feast!” Quinn chuckled. Horry’s face was a picture.

Nonetheless, Quinn continued.

“Bertha took her place as Queen and victor of the throne of Eriland and ruled for 12 years until she too, was betrayed by her own family member. Her nephew, Prince Readren laced her wine with a range of poisons just to make sure the deed was done. Readren only lasted a day on the throne before he was stabbed in the back quite literally by his cousin Killian, Son of Queen Bertha who was quite peeved at his mother’s exit.

“The list goes on my boy. A sister stabbed here, an uncle with an arrow through his head there. They are a family of no loyalty and a family of no promises or grace.”

Quinn followed the lines with an outstretched finger, pointing out various dates and important figures out to Horry when he finally stopped at the bottom most name. Queen Liselle Turene. There were no children below her, no husband in sight next to her and all family members surrounding her all seemed to have been written as ‘deceased’ in the the last 15 years.

“Ah! So now we finally come to present day. Our Queen Liselle,” sighed Quinn. “Coronated in 1301 and still ruling over all in Eriland 26 years later. No one has challenged her. No one has dared. Those who even have a wisp of an idea of having a different ruler are swept away in a bloody fashion before they can even finish their thought. Most recently, her most trusted advisor can still be seeing hanging from the city gates for some treason he was or wasn’t about to commit. Liselle trusts no one and kills you off before she can try."

Quinn paused dramatically and looked up at Horry with a twisted grin on his face. Horry knew that look. Horry knew that nothing good ever comes from that look.

“W-w-what are we doing in Harandale, Sir?” Horry asked the question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. Quinn grinned even wider, slapped Horry on the shoulder and said,

“I’m going to be Liselle’s new advisor of course! And you, boy, are going to be right by my side.”

Quinn’s mocking laughter broke through the night air as he watched the colour drain from Horry’s face.

Word Count: 883