XXI. WITHIN THE WHISPERING TREES

  The Triumph left the first neptor at Kinos and marched their large party into the countryside. The prince’s skin reddened and blistered, and then tanned. At dawn, he rose and quickly secured his bedroll to Hellion’s flank. Then he rode for several hours past abundant fields of wheat and barley. At dusk, he trained alongside the legionnaires with the gladius. As he maneuvered around olive groves through the forms of blocking, thrusting, and parrying, the Conqueror watched on with sealed lips.

  Days later, the Conqueror whispered to him the names of the legion’s formation as they sat on the crest of a grassy hill. Turtle: the legionnaires lined up in a defensive shield around the valuable assets. Snake: the men marched four abreast at a fast pace across hard terrain. Shark: the legionnaires marched forward with their swords. Falcon: The army swiftly rained down arrows upon the enemy before advancing. And finally— the maw— where the opposing army was lured forward and then swallowed.

  As they progressed further inland his time with the Conqueror shortened. The emperor left him in charge of his council to attend to matters of the empire. The Conqueror isolated himself in his large tent as the days blended together; scrolls streaming in and out in a steady pulse of purple scrolls.

  The prince shoved his focus into the legions drills. He preferred the burning sensation of his muscles to the sting of the Conqueror’s disappointment. Asho took lessons in history, geography, and politics with the council on their long afternoon rides.

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  As the warm summer nights grew weaker, Asho rolled his bedroll out in the grass. He gazed into the milky abyss of the heavens and fell asleep to the warm comfort of the universe. In his dreams the stars whispered to him, wyrdling, wyrdling. The prince responded that he was coming, but he did not know where.

  The weeks passed into early autumn. The prince waned from their travels. They visited with magistrates and Sugian nobles. He danced late into the night with their sons. He was showered in gold; in silver; in spices. Some threw women or men eager to hunt his way. The prince waved off the cups and companions.

  In Kopperstone, the prince listened to war stories of the lost legion. Everyone had a story of his father, but the prince could never contribute to when he was expected to speak. He had forgotten the sound of Ashen Ayuan Ashiphiex’s voice.

  The prince allowed his beard to grow. He stood up straighter, washed more frequently, and imitated his cousin’s sureness when he spoke. His hands grew steadfast on the spear and gladius. And while he could not cast the line and hook the wyrd, Asho reckoned that it beaconed to him when he rolled out his bedroll and gazed upon the stars.

  The Triumph passed the olive and apple groves into the dark foothills of Iornore Territory. The Conqueror’s mood darkened. They were far removed from the protection of the Stormlord this far north. The forests whispered. Even the hardened centori held their spears close as if expecting a cruel prank from the horned god. The prince gazed out into the rich ironwood trees, fighting the urge to get lost in them. The trees parted to reveal clusters of circular villages with unpaved and erratic streets. Asho dug his gaze into the peasants and cast the line — searching for their fears, but was only ever met with embarrassment and failure.