Drien's Story: Chapter 1

 

Drien didn't even flinch as his head was forced to turn sharply to one side. The blow hurt, but he would never allow his father any satisfaction of hearing him cry out or seeing him flinch. Furnvow stood to one side of him, seething in anger. "You should learn to keep comments like that to yourself, Drien," he growled. "You might live longer."

 

"Hn," Drien replied, and put a knuckle to his nose, finding it bleeding. He frowned, disappointed. He thought he couldn't bloody his nose anymore. Furnvow hit him again in the back of the knees, and they buckled but he refused to fall. He scowled at his father, but paid attention now.

 

They stood near the border, having traveled there that morning upon hearing reports of black smoke and war battalions from the border. Furnvow cursed and Drien glanced at his half-brother with disdain. Bikendi only shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Despite the fact that they knew they would one day have to kill one another for the crown, they had come to some sort of an unspoken agreement that it wasn't happening until Furnvow died first. They kind of liked each other. Not really, they tolerated one another and liked the competition.

 

"Well?" Furnvow snapped. "What do you two think we should do?"

 

Bikendi and Drien shared a look of confusion. Drien spoke first though, drawling, "You're the warlord, Father, you tell us." Furnvow bared his fangs at his son but recognized that beating him wasn't working anymore. Drien studied his claws with an air of disinterest. Bikendi nearly kicked him, he was going to get them both in trouble.

 

Furnvow ground his teeth and snarled at his oldest surviving son, and resisted the urge to punch the smirk off of his face. Drien was getting older and as such, his father's beatings didn't have as much effect anymore. It was frustrating.

 

Intervening before Drien decided to take him on today, Bikendi said, "Perhaps we should put forth a draft, gather the forces, evacuate the border towns and set up defenses?" He glanced at Drien in hopes that he would shut up before looking at Furnvow, who seemed to be considering the idea.

 

"The best offense is a good defense," he conceded. "Yes, that's what we'll do. Thank you, Bikendi." He brushed coolly past the two, and they allowed him to go ahead back towards the castle.

 

Drien couldn't deflect or avoid the punch that collided with his arm. "What was that for?" he growled at Bikendi.

 

Snarling at him, Bikendi replied, "What do you think? Are you trying to get us in trouble?" He growled, reminding his brother that he wasn't alone anymore.

 

He deflated and said, "No. I just haven't been myself lately."

 

Bikendi nodded. They considered themselves friends, but not brothers. They shared their father's blood, and were truly half-brothers, but in the Confaown castle, there were so many children that they divided themselves according to their mothers.

 

Quietly, Bikendi said, "You may want to keep your introspection under your hat. He suspects something."

 

"Hn," Drien replied with a shrug. He couldn't care less at this point what his father wanted. He planned on giving Bikendi the throne anyways, he had nothing to look forward to.

 

==...==

 

Drien was the last to enter the castle as they returned. To him, the atmosphere seemed tense. A dozen or so of his half-brothers stood in the front rooms, playing games or strategizing against one another. All of them looked up at him in alarm as soon as he came in. He growled low in his throat, not liking the feeling that they were ganging up on him.

 

Cilin shouted at him from the front of the hall, and his attention shifted to his younger brother. Cilin didn't look as bright as he usually did, more glum than he had ever seen him. He approached his brother, concerned at the way the others had acted around him.

 

Mournfully, Cilin told him, "Mother was sent away to Rorthrenge." Drien felt something deep within him freeze. "She told me that she asked Father to send her, that she was so ashamed of you that she couldn't bear it." Drien saw the tears in his brother's eyes and, not for the first time, marveled at the boy's emotion. He felt the eyes of all of his half-brothers on him, and made an extra effort not to react at all.

 

He took a deep breath and told Cilin, "It doesn't matter, Cilin." He was speaking so softly that the others couldn't detect the lilt of kindness in it. "At least now she doesn't have to deal with Furnvow, and we know that she's safe." He grasped his brother's shoulder for a moment before brushing past him, further into the castle.

 

Following dutifully, Cilin protested, "What if we never see her again?"

 

Drien stopped short, and turned around to Cilin, saying in a low tone, "You are showing weakness, Brother." Offended, Cilin straightened and wiped the emotions off of his face. "We won't see her again, unless you decide to run away to Rorthrenge as well. She won't come back." He saw the emotion in his brother's eyes and sighed, looking away. "We're old enough to be without our mother, Cilin. It's just you and me now." He flashed the boy a grin before he turned towards his chambers.

 

==...==

 

Though Drien never participated in the tournaments, it wasn't because he couldn't. All of his half-brothers knew that for a fact, usually because he had killed the ones that mocked him for not competing. The only competition he participated in was archery, and he had won for the last decade. Bikendi and Cilin sat with him. Cilin had wanted to participate, but knew that he was still too young and that he would easily be overcome. Bikendi was cleaning his knives in preparation for the challenge he knew was coming today, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

 

His gaze was blank as he watched the two demons duke it out on the floor of the amphitheater. Only one weapon was allowed, though most demons preferred to use their bare hands, enjoying the warmth of blood and the sensation of tearing flesh. Cilin cringed every now and again. He was squeamish. Drien counted him lucky that their father had decided not to sit with his highest sons this year, rather sitting above them.

 

The fight ended in a death for one of the demons, and Drien felt no remorse for him. If you were stupid enough to get into the theater fights, you were stupid enough to die in them, especially when you challenged one of the princes. Now dubbed the winner, Drien's half-brother, Adahy, was allowed to challenge someone else. Drien's eyes narrowed as he saw the demon's gaze settle on Cilin. Adahy pointed his sword at the boy and Drien's eyes flashed red. Cilin seemed frozen for a moment before he put on the blank mask that Drien had taught him.

 

As he got to his feet, Cilin glanced at Drien and his eyes were frightened. Bikendi laughed. "Go on, boy. You can't refuse a challenge without being killed for it later on by father."

 

"He'll lose!" Drien snapped. Adahy usually gave Bikendi and Drien a run for their money, Cilin would be a piece of cake.

 

Cilin smirked at his brother and told him, "It's alright, Drien. You can kill him later for me." He bravely walked out of the seats and into the theater. His eyes were haunted, as he knew he was about to die.

 

It took everything in him for Drien to sit quietly in his seat. Only Bikendi noticed that he was clawing the arms of his seat, his knuckles white and his claws ready to spring from his hands. Adahy toyed with Cilin, which only made Drien that much more angry. By the time Adahy killed him, Drien was nearly spitting in his seat. Bikendi observed the fact that his half-brother's eyes were completely red with Rage, and wisely didn't make the sarcastic comment he had in his mind.

 

Rising from his seat, Drien gave an animalistic roar. Adahy looked up at him in surprise, not expecting such an immediate response from the dead boy's brother. However, Adahy only gave Drien a bloody grin. Seeing the blood made Drien slightly proud of his brother, since he had at the very least made his killer bleed before dying. He descended the steps into the theater in one leap, landing with a resounding thud on the floor and denting the hard-packed dirt.

 

His claws grew painfully from his knuckles and elbows, and he headed straight for Adahy. Adahy looked happy to see him, a grin spreading across his face. He could hear Furnvow laughing from his seat above Bikendi, but Drien heard nothing but the blood pounding in his ears. First his mother left them, and now his brother was dead. He had nothing left. Even if there had never been a verbal challenge from Adahy, killing Cilin counted as challenge enough to him. He picked up his brother's sword, intent on killing Adahy with it.

 

Normally, Drien counted on his skill and training to get him by, his slightly stylized fighting easy for Adahy to follow since they had fought so many times before. However, enthralled in his Rage, Drien fought wildly and on instinct, with no discernible pattern, and even used his horns once or twice. He cut down Adahy and stepped on his throat. "Say it!" Drien snarled, Adahy's blood accenting the angry lines in his face as it dripped from his horns.

 

Adahy just laughed at him. Drien put more pressure on the demon's throat until he choked, and growled at him, "Say it!" Adahy grinned bloodily at him, not trying to stop the profuse bleeding from his side. Drien did a series of quick moves that no one saw clearly, though everyone heard the sickening crunches of Adahy's ribs and an arm being broken. His foot returned to Adahy's throat and he roared at his half-brother, "Say it or I will keep you alive so that I may draw this out longer!" That being enough of a threat, Adahy glowered at Drien.

 

"You will be King," he mumbled.

 

Drien put slightly more pressure on his throat and growled, "They can't hear you."

 

The demon's eyes were tinging red in his life-threatened panic, and he shouted, "You will be King!" as loud as he could with a foot on his throat. The crowd roared and cheered at this, excited to have such a bloodthirsty king to succeed Furnvow. They had never seen Drien in the theater before.

 

Nodding in satisfaction, Drien twisted his leg and pushed upward with the ball of his foot against Adahy's jaw. "Any last words?" he asked. Adahy spat at him, and Drien removed his head. He speared the demon's head on the sword and used it like a flail, flinging the head towards his father. Adahy's head bounced off of his father's throne and landed in the demon's lap. Drien was certain that his father had something to do with Adahy's challenge, since the demon normally wasn't as stupid as to do something that would anger Drien.

 

Taking Cilin's sword with him, Drien left the theater to brood and mourn.