Chapter 4: A Small Flame

Colan moaned, his back was one all-consuming mass of pain. His paws clenched the soft covers as he strove to block out the pain. He froze suddenly. Soft covers? Oh great, I must be delirious. Forcing his eyes open a crack, he quickly shut them against the bright sunlight that assaulted them. Then his mind clicked. Sunlight! He shot up on the cot, yelping in pain as the new scabs on his back split. _Flames, I'm late! I'm dead...I'm so dead... _ Rolling out of bed, he yelped in surprise as he dropped to the cold stone floor.

Picking himself up, he rubbed his sore elbows and stood up. Nervously glancing about the room, he took in his surroundings. He was in a stone room larger than the hut he had lived in his entire life. The one window in the room was crossed with thick iron bars. He stumbled over and looked outside. A quick glance confirmed what he already suspected. He was at the palace in a ground floor room. Looking out over the nearly-deserted courtyard, he saw the gate that led out over the moat and to the village. A couple of ratguards stood at the gate, leaning on their spears and chatting as a young mouse swept the flagstones near them. When the mouse got to where they were, she swept around them as if they were statues, which they could've been for all the distance they moved out of the way. Besides for a few guards on the walltop, nobeast else was about.

Turning back to the chamber he was in, he noticed a clean tunic lying folded next to his bed, along with a flask and a small loaf of bread. Picking up the tunic, he noted the softer material it had been made from. Noticing a piece of barkpaper set next to the loaf of bread, he leaned down and stared at it. Picking it up, he chuckled, wincing as pain lanced across his back. He crumpled up the paper and threw it out the window._ Idiots, they should know that I can't read._

Taking a guess at what the note had said, he removed his old tunic and put the new one on, felling uncomfortable with the unaccustomed softness. Picking up the flask, he uncorked it and sniffed it suspiciously. Deciding that it was aright he took a sip. When nothing happened he downed the lot, sighing as the cool water rushed down his throat. Doing the same for the loaf of bread, he ate that as well, eyes widening in wonder as he tasted fresh bread for the first time. After making sure he had eaten every last crumb, he looked around wondering what he was supposed to do now. Deciding to try the door, he was surprised to find that it opened easily. He was equally surprised to find Captain Markul on the other side, frozen in the motion of putting a ring of keys back on his belt.

Quickly recovering himself, the fox glared at him. "Good, you're awake and dressed. Did you get the note?"

"No." Colan replied, which was true, he didn't "get" the note, he couldn't read.

"Well it told you to eat and get dressed and you seem to have done those things." The fox beckoned impatiently as he strode off down the hall. "Follow me, his Majesty is up now and it's time to present you to your new masters."

"Masters?" Colan caught up to him, dropping a step behind. "I thought each slave was assigned to one of the royal family."

Markul rounded on him, slamming Colan against the stone wall of the hallway. Colan yelped, even the softness of the new tunic didn't do much to cushion his back from the wall. "Yore very inquisitive aren't you?" Markul's voice had a dangerous edge to it. "Well, I don't have the time, or patience for the questions of a slave. I will answer this one question, because I don't want you looking like an absolute fool like the last batch, it reflects badly on me."

Markul released him, and Colan pulled away from the wall, fighting to keep the pain he was in from showing. He knew his back must be bleeding by now, and he desperately hoped that the bandages would staunch the flow. The fox continued on without looking back. "Your masters will be the King and one of the Princes. The King is your master because he is King, but you will mainly be answerable to one of the Princes." They stopped by a large wooden door, intricately engraved. Gold doorhandles gleamed in the flickering light thrown by the torches on either side of the door. Captain Markul placed a paw on the doorhandle, then paused. "One more thing. If you value your life, always obey the king first, then your other master." He read the thought unspoken in Colan's eyes. "I'm not trying to be nice." He snarled, "I'm trying to save my hide and put off going through this again for as long as possible." With that, he opened the doors.

Sunlight blazed in through the high eastern window, throwing the figures in front of it into shadow. Colan squinted and raised a paw to shield his eyes, suddenly realizing that the time had been set on purpose to blind him. Walking forward, they passed out of the brilliance and Colan was able to recognize the figures on the thrones. Two of them, the King and Queen, were seated on gilded thrones, while the two princes stood on either side of them. Alspur was at the King's right, while Torrin stood at the Queen's left. Noticing the three other creatures standing before the thrones, he took his place with his family.

As Colan came to a stop, the King waved a paw, dismissing everybeast except the four slaves. King Alcon surveyed them, pondering his son's choice. Sizing up each of them, he said. "My sons have both chosen you and your family to be our servants. You would do well to prove their choices valid." Then he launched into an explanation of their duties. "You will be assigned to one of us as your master. From now on, your sole duty will be to wait on your master. You will attend him wherever he goes and wait on him during mealtimes. Do this well, and you will live in luxury for the rest of your life. Fail..." He grinned at Alspur, who returned the smile, fingering the greatsword at his side. "and we can always arrange an execution or change your title to "practice dummy."

"Now." He said, turning his attention back to the slave before him. "I still don't know your names, which isn't a good thing when you'll be in the constant attendance of my family. You," he said, pointing at Athuran. "Tell me your name, what your duties were before I selected you, and then introduce the rest of your family."

The older otter nodded and began. "Yore Majesty, my name is Athuran, and I have been a fisherbeast all me life." Gesturing to Azure, he continued. "This is me wife, Azure. She was mainly assigned to make clothes for other slaves, but every once in awhile she would be pulled to make clothes for your majesty's soldiers." Moving down the line, he continued on. "This is my eldest son, Runtha. He worked beside me as a fisherbeast and always brought in a good haul." Lastly, he finished with Colan. "This is my other son, Colan. He was a diver until today. He worked out on the rim, and, as far as I know, retrieves a good haul regularly." Athuran finished and fell silent, waiting for the King to continue.

After a moment's pause, the King resumed. "Athuran, you will attend to me. Azure you will attend to her Majesty." Azure nodded in recognition to both the King and Queen. "Runtha, you will attend to Prince Alspur." Runtha straightened up slightly and nodded his acknowledgement. "Colan, you will attend to Prince Torrin."

As soon as the last word had passed his father's lips, Alspur sprang from his seat. "Well, that's over with. I'm late for practice as it is." With that he strode toward the door. Runtha took a step forward, then halted, glancing uncertainly at the King. Alspur stopped at the door and looked back; paw tapping impatiently on the hilt of his sword as he stared at Runtha. The otter was frozen halfway between the Prince and the King, unsure if he was supposed to leave or not.

Alcon nodded thoughtfully, "Aye, we'd better lay down the rule here and now." Addressing all the slaves, he continued. "You are assigned one of us, and when I tell you not to leave your master, I mean it. If he throws himself off the battlements of the palace, I expect you to follow him."

Runtha nodded and hurried over to Prince Alspur, who turned and left. Torrin rose and, motioning for Colan to follow, he left as well. As Colan passed his mother, she brushed his paw. His head swiveled to catch her eyes as he continued to walk forward. A lump rose in his throat as he saw the fear and concern in her eyes, mirroring the fear in his own heart. How long could they last in constant attendance with their rulers, where one wrong word could spell death? "Be careful." She mouthed. Colan nodded slightly, then hurried off to catch up to Torrin, who was nearly at the door.

They walked in silence, Prince Torrin leading the way, but Colan didn't mind the silence. It gave him the opportunity to look around the gigantic hallways and corridors that they passed through, trying to catalog the twists and turns of the Palace that Prince Torrin so effortlessly navigated. The excess wealth of generations of mining and cheap labor were evident here, from the gilded carvings on the walls to the intricately woven rugs laid across the polished stone floor. A few rooms were lit by large window, some closed, others open to let in the fresh sea breezes. But as they ventured farther into the palace, the windows became non-existent, and torches provided the main source of light.

Coming to a door, Torrin opened it and entered. Colan followed him, finding himself on a spiral staircase made of stone, winding both up and down. He followed the prince up, his footpaws padding on the rough stone. Exiting at the next door, they re-entered the maze of rooms and corridors on the second floor. There were slaves cleaning a few of the rooms they passed through, who looked up as they entered, glared at Colan, then dropped back to their work of scrubbing the floors or polishing woodwork. Soon Torrin's twisting and turning brought them to another staircase, this one broad and straight, and as they ascended, Colan began to wonder if all these twists and turns were needed, or if the Prince was just trying to get him lost.

As they entered anther gigantic room, an old mousewife entered from the opposite side of the room. She began cleaning, and Colan looked around. A large fireplace dominated one wall, cold now, but with the ashes of its last fire still scattered over the hearth. There was enough seating for a score of beasts, but only four chairs were pulled close to the hearth. Colan guessed that the King occupied this room with his family during the winter, but it was only a guess. ''I'll find out if I'm right when winter comes around, if I'm still around that is.''

A sudden movement caught his eyes. A sculpture of a ferret with a drawn sword, inlaid with countless tiny gems, was teetering on the edge of an oak table. The old mouse was scrubbing the floor dangerously close to the table, her back to it. As she scooted back to get a spot, she bumped into the table leg, sending the sculpture tumbling towards the floor. Prince Torrin made a leap for it, but it smashed to the floor just beyond his outstretched paws, breaking into a thousand pieces.

As Torrin picked himself up off the stone, the mousewife attached herself to his leg. "Oh please, your Lordship!" She sobbed in terror, "Forgive my clumsiness! Forgive me, I beg you!"

Prince Torrin crouched down and gently disengaged himself from the old mouse. Staring into her panic-stricken eyes, he patted her soothingly. "Stay calm; you might bring guards running with all that shouting. Clean it up and nobeast will notice the difference. If they do, tell them that I bumped into the table and broke it. If they don't believe you, tell them to come talk to me." She opened her mouth to pour out a torrent of thanks, but the Prince held a paw to his lips. "Shh," he said, "I'm the one that knocked it over remember? It had nothing to do with you."

She nodded furiously and began to pick up the pieces as Torrin rose and walked passed her. Colan followed, noticing the tears of relief that fell from the old mouse's eyes. Soon she was hidden behind the door she had come from. After padding down a few more corridors, they came to a locked door. Torrin pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it in the lock. With a soft ''click'' the door opened, leading to a spacious room behind. Torrin motioned Colan through and shut the door, the lock clicking into place. The Prince turned and looked him straight in the eyes. Colan took a step backwards, those emerald eyes were blazing with the truth of the words being spoken.

"If you are like that last slave and run to tell my father every little thing I do, I swear to you on the stars in the sky and the sea on the horizon that I will make you scream long and loud for your tale-telling."

Colan looked into those blazing emerald orbs and knew with a certainty that he had never felt before that Torrin would keep his oath. "I won't tell." He replied, "Why would I?"

Torrin walked over and stared out the window at the distant blue of the sparkling sea. "The last slave did. Anything to get an extra loaf of bread or a drop of beer. They enjoyed it here; they got me in trouble a lot."

Colan ventured a question, wondering if he was pushing his liberties too far. "If they like it here so much, why did they try to kill his Majesty?"

Torrin gave a mirthless laugh, "They didn't. Alspur wasn't happy with his slave, a thin mouse more suited for cartography than carrying swords. In fact, he drew the map my father uses to plan out crops and patrol routes." Bringing himself back to the subject, he continued. "Anyway, as I said, Alspur wasn't happy with the slave he had, so he planted a poisoned dagger underneath Father's slave's bed. A guard found it just before his Majesty retired and accused the entire family of a plot to kill the King. Alspur no doubt bribed him."

Colan's jaw dropped and his heart sank. So this is how easy you can die. He thought_. "You displease me, now die", simple as that._

Torrin turned from the window. "I suppose I should show you around my quarters." He gestured around the room they were currently in. "This is basically where I sit when I'm in here. The only way out of my quarters is by that door." He pointed to the door they had entered by. "Well," he said as an afterthought, "you could go through the food shaft over there." He said, pointing through a door in an adjacent room. "But it'd be cramped."

For the next few minutes Colan was led through a flurry of rooms, most of which, Torrin admitted, were just for show and had no particular purpose. A few had a purpose, such as a bare room containing a handful of wooden practice dummies, notched from use. There was even a special one where somebeast could control it and block the opponent's attacks. In another locked room was the Prince's armory. Weapons of all kinds hung along the walls and on racks scattered throughout the room. Bows of all types, from maple shortbows to yew longbows, hung on one wall. Barrels of arrows lining the base. On another hung a suit of plate mail and another of lighter chain mail.

"You have enough weapons here to outfit an army." Commented Colan. He was quickly learning that, unlike Markul, Prince Torrin didn't mind his numerous question and comments. "They look well-made too, better than any others I've seen." He added, running a paw over a deadly-looking axehead.

Torrin grinned; he was beginning to feel at ease with the otter. "Alspur has twice as many." Walking over to a rack of swords, he selected a saber in a plain sheath. Gripping the hilt, he drew it swiftly, the ring of steel sounding clear and true in the spacious armory. Even with his untrained eyes, Colan could tell that this saber was of superior craftsmanship, better than any other blade present. Torrin swung, the double-edged saber thrumming as it cut through the air. "This is the blade I usually use." Torrin said, looking at his reflection on the flat of the blade. My uncle gave two of these to me, and he also gave Alspur his greatsword. He looted them from a patrol of scouts he killed across the sea to the east. He said that during the middle of the battle he doubted he'd win, but his crew pulled through. The weapons made the battle worth the trouble. Badger-made they are, light, strong, and not easily notched or broken." Sliding it back into the sheath, he turned to leave. "C'mon, we're almost finished."

Opening the last door, they entered a circular room. To the left, a spiral staircase began and curved to the right, upwards and out of sight. A window looked out on the sea at the horizon, and Colan realized that the Prince's entire set of rooms must be on the south corner of the palace.

"This is where you will sleep." Said Torrin, indicating a cot under the window. "There's a cord I can pull if I need you, it'll ring this bell." He indicated a bell over the doorway. "Now for upstairs." He turned and sprinted up the stairs, Colan struggling to keep up, he wasn't used to navigating staircases and he was still in pain. It seemed to him that the longer Prince Torrin stayed separate from other kin, guards, and slaves, the "Prince" part of him faded and he became more like the other slaves he knew during a free day. Colan found himself regretting that the difference of birth had separated them. Then a thought came to him: Does it? Does the fact that he is a Prince and I am a slave matter when we spend so much time together? He'd have to think on that one.

"This is my room." Torrin said as they emerged from the stairwell. The bare stone floor was clean and uncluttered, and a large bed stood against the wall. The room was large, curving in a circle. Colan, curious why the room was shaped strangely, looked out one of the many windows, pulling his head back at the dizzying drop. ''So we're at the top on one of the towers.'' He thought, looking out again. Glancing around the room, he noticed a desk and a stack of books beside it. Torrin followed his gaze.

"Those were found in a cave on the mountain situated at the north end of the island." He picked on up and carefully paged through it, the stiff pages crinkling as they bent. "Alspur doesn't believe it, but there is power in writing and reading. Same goes for history, everybeast is told that my family had ruled here since the beginning of time, but these books say differently. Records, they are, of those who lived here before we arrived. My father ordered these books burned, but I replaced them with some other books." He laughed, "They couldn't tell the difference." Torrin shook his head. "We've only been royalty for a few generations according to these records. It's amazing what this place was before we came. The mines dug by moles supplied many creatures with iron and other metals for their forges, even some creatures from other lands. Travelers from all over passed through, sharing their stories and tales. Many of them are written in these books. The more I read them, the more I realize what we've destroyed, more than just the lives of those living here."

"Then why don't you do something about it?" Asked Colan. "Surely as a Prince there is something you can do."

Torrin shook his head. "No, I am the only beast, apart from the slaves, who thinks like this. If I tried to do something, the King wouldn't hesitate to order me killed, and even if he didn't, either the queen would poison me or Alspur would kill me in a training accident. What good would it do me anyway, even if I set the slaves free and destroyed the army's stranglehold on this island? I am the son of the tyrant, nobeast would accept me, I would be and outcast, hunted by both vermin and former slaves. No." He shook his head. "It is better for me to remain quiet about my ideas and live my life in peace."

Colan pushed on his master's walls of how for he would go. "But shouldn't you do what is right?"

"Right?" Torrin laughed, "What is right? What is wrong? I haven't heard of anybeast with the authority to say what is good or bad. No, it's left up to everybeast to decide for themselves, isn't it? But that leads to creatures doing good in their own eyes and bad in the eyes of somebeast else. Somebeast decides killing is fine to do, and who can say with any authority that he's wrong?"

"I don't think you believe what you're saying." Colan placed his paws on his belt, and touched something with a familiar feel. His knife. Somehow everybeast had missed it in his belt, the only thing from his old life that he still possessed. Turning his back to Torrin, he pulled off his tunic, exposing the bandages. Drawing his knife, he sliced through them, freeing them to fall away from his wounds, damp from the new blood that had leaked from the cracked scabs. In a choked voice he asked the Prince. "How can this be good? Whipped, beaten nearly to death, and I was lucky. I came here the next day instead of having to go back to work. Others don't have that break. Back they go the next day, possibly receiving another whipping to break the scabs of the previous one, and the half-healed welts of the one before that. You may not live or live well, but wouldn't you feel better as you walk toward the gates of the dark forest knowing that you tried?"

Torrin stared at the cracked scabs covering the otter's back, blood oozing from some. Shame washed over him. As much as he tried to deny it, he knew what was right. It just wasn't the comfortable, or logical thing to do. "I'll think on it." He said muttered, "But first you need something on that back."

Colan followed the prince mutely, wondering if he had gone too far. But the direction the prince was traveling reassured him. Heading into one of the smallest rooms, Torrin looked around at the rows of shelves thoughtfully. "Uh-huh." He said, lifting a jar from the top shelf. "This should help." Grabbing a roll of bandages, he pointed to a stool. "Sit."

As Colan sat down he opened the jar. Immediately the small room filled with an overpowering stench. "What's in that?" Asked Colan, coughing.

Torrin wrinkled his nose as well. "Yarrow, but the stuff that stinks is whatever the mouse in charge of medicines used to make it into a cream, smells like rotten fish though."

Colan sat while Torrin smeared the evil-smelling cream on, shoulders tense as he anticipated a flare of pain across his back. He was surprised when it hurt less than he had expected it to. "You get good at putting this stuff on when you practice with swords." Torrin commented as he finished up. He reached for the roll of bandages, then paused. "No, better let the wounds air as long as we can. I'll put the bandage on before we go down for dinner." Colan reached for his tunic, but Torrin caught his paw. "Like I said, let it air. C'mon, I know where we can sit and talk."

"Really?" Muttered Colan as they exited the room. "With all these chairs, I can't imagine where we can sit."

Torrin lounged in a large chair while Colan sat on a footstool, careful to keep his back from touching anything. "I like you." Said Torrin, studying Colan. "You're not like the other slaves I've known, they always call me "Prince", "Lordship", or "Sir" even when we're alone. You speak your mind, and you've already cracked a joke. You should know though, outside my rooms you'll have to address me with all the titles I've mentioned. The King wouldn't be happy if he though you were getting g too familiar with me."

"Yeah," said Colan, "Markul didn't seem to like me being familiar enough to ask any questions at all."

Torrin waggled a paw at him. "Don't let him intimidate you. The only creatures that can order you about now are me and my father." Torrin clapped a paw to his head. "With our debate upstairs I completely forgot. We missed the top of the tower."

So one again they went up to Torrin's bedroom, the ferret slowing his pace now that he knew of Colan's injuries. The otter moved as fast as he could in relative comfort, he wasn't sure how long this kindness could last. As he stepped onto the level floor of the tower room Colan looked around for another staircase, but saw none. Prince Torrin strode across the room and, to Colan's amazement, began climbing up the wall. ''Of course,'' he thought, ''a trapdoor.'' Mentally berating himself for now thinking of this, he began to climb the ladder that stuck out of the stone.

The view from the top of the tower was magnificent. Colan felt he knew now what a bird must see, winging its way high above the heads of everybeast else. The guards in the courtyard below resembled ants to him. Beyond the walls, the vast fields rolled off in all directions, only bordered by the sea to the south and west, and the forest to the north. In the east, Colan could see the smoke from the port, lifting up and dispersing in the cloudless blue sky.

"Sometimes I sleep up here at night." Torrin said. "Mostly when I wanted to be away from the prying eyes of my last slave. It's peaceful up here some nights, although when the wind blows right I can hear the drunken brawling of the soldiers in the streets of the town below." Torrin started as he glanced at the sun. "It's nearly dinnertime; soon we'll have to put that bandage and your tunic on. You'll have to wait on me at the table, and I'll have to order you, to keep up appearances."

Colan nodded, not quite sure what the Prince was talking about, and looked at the sparking sea for a moment. Squaring his shoulders, he followed Torrin down the ladder.