The nearly deaf sound of cautious footsteps emitted a soft and barely audible echo that bounced off the dark walls that led to the room. The staircase was very steep. It had been built long ago as an escape route, in case of an attack by a potential aggressor though unlikely, given the desirable and strategic location of Castle Kaffre. The landing between each floor was narrow and curved, and its outer flank gave way to a window that looked out to the moat that surrounded the imposing stronghold. A faint glow from the reflection of a full moon, which could hardly filter its light through a persistent blanket of fog, dimly lighted the narrow passage. A distant murmur of voices got him on alert and, in turn, increased the level of anxiety and anguish that tormented his mind.

"Who would command the presence of these guards to the access to my room in the middle of the night?" thought Brannan while lowering the haste of his stride, praying that the information he received was not right. "It is just probably palace gossip prompted by envious evil minds," thought the young man.

Slowly and with increasing caution, he came the nearest to his bedchamber to almost stumble upon two unsuspecting guards who chatted quietly.

"Poor fool" "commented one of the guards while tiptoeing a bottle into his mouth and emitting a guttural sound accompanied by a strong tremor as he swallowed the tangy brandy that it contained. "He is just a poor and ignorant boy," he said while savoring the contents of the bottle.

"Don't dare to drink it all, you idiot," claimed the other guard turning to his companion. "It's cold, and we don't know how long we'll be here."

"Bah!" replied the first one, hurrying a second swig.

A sharp blow from a hunting hammer put immediately out of action the entrusted guard that sat just around the catwalk overlooking the staircase landing. The other man, dormant for the strong drink, barely had time to react, only to follow the fate of his companion.

"I should have killed those traitors," reproached Brannan to himself, even though he knew that those guards couldn't help but to obey whoever ordered this watch.

Then, the young man grasped the handle of the heavy wooden door that led to the rear entrance of his room. He just thought about the surprise his beloved wife would get to see him, imagining the joy that both would feel and share after a year of separation. Turning the knob slowly, he pushed gently inwards just one bit, taking a step in, guided by the glow of the full moon that partially illuminated the stay.

"Damn," he swore as he tripped over a stool that was inadvertently left aside near the entrance. A lantern that was on its top fell to the ground with a thud. Just at that moment, a gust of wind came fully into the room through the open window, making the heavy drapes that protected the stay from the weather to wave, letting the light of the moon cast a faint glow that lighted the chamber.

"Who's there?" asked a hoarse male voice. A silhouette rose from the bed that was on the other side of the room.

Brannan's heart stopped for a moment, feeling dreary to hear in his room the voice of a man.

"Please, don't let it be true!" he told himself bitterly.

"Sshhh love. It's just the wind that wants to make our company," said the seductive voice of a woman imprisoned under the silhouette, emitting a purr that went in crescendo, while the man writhed performing the ancestral rite of sharing pleasures.

Brannan's deception deepened further at recognizing with certainty that unmistakable female voice. Blinded by pain and agony, he drew his sword to face the perpetrators of this vile betrayal.

The man lying on the bed arose, and swiftly took the unsheathed sword he had left beside the bed, just in time to encounter the violent thrust Brannan threw unabated. With a deft flick of his arm, the man got to his feet and took a rapid look at the angry face of whoever attacked him. His powerful torso shone with sweat, as he just emerged from the height of the lovemaking exercise that he enjoyed so peacefully moments before.

The meeting of the two blades made the arm of the young man tremble, but his rage was so deep that Brannan barely took notice of it. Suddenly, the light of the full moon released by the wind from its mask of fog burst stormy into the chamber, lighting a stone-like face that carried the most hateful glare that Brannan could have behold.

"Father!" exclaimed the young man in astonishment, incredulous at what the light revealed. "Father!" cried again with infinite anguish, "Why, father? Why amongst so many women at your disposal, it had to be her?"

"Why not?" Vonegh answered with the utmost blatancy and arrogance he could flaunt, fixing into his son his cold and cynical eyes. "I am the king, and I take whatever pleases me," he said.

"Why Helga?" questioned Brannan again, directing this time his bewildered gaze to the woman, who paralyzed by surprise, did not quite react yet to the unfolding scene.

"Why wouldn't I?" she finally managed to answer, endorsing the same logic expressed just before by her lover. "He is the king, I was alone, and I could not have settled for less."

This response reached deep into the heart of the injured young man, who felt a burn within and rage he didn't know he could possess struggling against the love he professed for that vile woman.

Helga was the only daughter of Alarigo, the powerful Lord of the Duchy of Archelon and Vonegh's ally, recently appointed as regent of the annexed kingdom of Kersia. The young woman enjoyed admiration in all the courts of the southern realms, due to her beauty and voluptuousness, which she usually used to manipulate people and situations to her advantage.

She had managed astutely to entwine Brannan, then just seventeen and quite younger than her with her charms, knowing that he would be the heir to the crown of Kaffre. Vonegh had agreed to such liaison, not only to ingratiate himself with her powerful father but also to get closer to this lovely temptation. He knew from experience that eventually, she would reciprocate him. The fact that his son was in between was by no means an obstacle to his longings.

After a few months of their marriage, Vonegh decided to send Brannan to the southern marshes on the border with Arkadia, to fight against the barbarian tribes of those territories, which he was trying to conquer. His real purpose had been to separate his son from his palatable wife.

Alarigo, Helga's father, and connoisseur of the weaknesses of his daughter brought her to the Castle of Archelon for the whole year her young husband battled in the war front in the south, not wanting to put at odds the honor of his name and that of his family. He only let her go back to Castle Kaffre, upon hearing the news of the return of her young consort.

Very few outside the Duchy of Archelon knew Helga had given birth while her consort was at the battlefront. Once she returned to Kaffre, she left her baby in the hands of a matron. Brannan was not aware of his paternity.

Helga watched the sorrow and pain that surfaced in Brannan's face, feeling a sting of remorse. It occurred to her that she could have well laid with the king elsewhere, and thus avoiding such pain and shame to her young husband, for whom she nevertheless professed particular affection.

"Come here, my precious kitten," Vonegh uttered maliciously, addressing his lover with a surge of his desire expressed with the erection of his portentous member. In turn, he watched with all the malice his face could show, the reaction of his son.

Helga froze, not quite believing this irascible man would try to continue with their lovemaking in front of his son. Her body refused to obey this absurd requirement.

"Didn't you hear me?" rebuked the king angrily. "Come here, fucking bitch!" he ordered.

Vonegh noted the look of sympathy that had aroused in Helga's face for her young husband, who watched stunned the absurd scene.

As Helga did not quite respond to his demands, Vonegh took her violently by the arm, hastily pulling her out of bed. All the splendor of that voluptuous body made for love shone in the dim light before Brannan's eyes. He could not help but to admire her slender and well-contoured legs, her firm abdomen, her perky breasts, and the fantastic folds that wrapped the protruding lips barely covered by her sparse pubic hair. He thought with regret that he could not blame any man who lusted for her.

Vonegh forced her to bend forward by her torso and settled himself behind her. The terrified woman raised frightened her eyes toward her husband, imploring forgiveness and help.

"Now you prefer him over me?" shouted the king, seeing the pleading look Helga directed at her husband. In his egocentricity, Vonegh could not admit that his son could replace him in her affections. "Do you love him?" he asked as he tried to force himself in her violently from behind.

The woman resisted, moving her body sideways to avoid penetration, which angered, even more, the wrathful king.

"It seems you rather fuck him, eh!" exclaimed Vonegh in a rage. "Well, go with him!" blasted the man, pushing her away from him by her tangled head.

Blinded by arrogance and cruelty, Vonegh drove his sword and stabbed the woman from behind, crossing her from side to side while. Then, he tossed her violently towards Brannan, who until then had remained paralyzed as if he had been just a spectator. Helga barely managed to emit a faint cry of death.

A violent spasm of hatred, resentment, and pain shook the young prince, awakening him from his stupor while the dead body of his wife fell into his arms. Taking advantage that the sword of his father remained within the body of Helga, he pounced with all his repressed fury, lifting and swinging his sword after the man who disparagingly, stomped and made spoils of his pride and his manhood. The saber managed to catch his father on the face, opening a horrible deep wound all along the cheek.

"Berard!" the king yelled to the captain of his guard, who stood by the other side of the door, while withdrawing his sword from the lifeless body of the woman, inflicted in turn, a deep cut on his son's leg.

In a few seconds, a large crowd of soldiers barged into the room. The captain managed to observe his boss withdrawing the sword from the body of the unfortunate woman.

"Let's hope Alarigo never gets to know about this," thought Berard as he rushed to cover and protect his king.

Meanwhile and despite his confusion, Brannan recognized Marón amongst those warriors. Brannan himself had appointed the soldier as Helga's own trusted bodyguard.

"Why Marón?" asked Brannan with his face bathed in tears of pain and hatred. "How could you betray me?"

"Forgive me, my lord," said the soldier. "I had no choice. Forgive me, my Lord," expressed Marón with a distressed countenance.

Brannan fleed towards the door he had come in, only to see it blocked by two archers, that stringing their bows, fired their arrows. One went by brushing Brannan's face, while the second one inserted into his left shoulder. Brannan, burdened by the pain of his wound, and an ache of mind and heart headed towards the window. Undaunted, and without much choice, he plunged into the void.

                                                                                             ***

The plump and somewhat gentle face that slowly emerged from the diffuse light that filtered through Brannan's bleary eyes carried the young man back into a world of dreams, in which his mother caressed his golden curls and told him stories before sleep. Soon after, he opened his eyes again to meet the same face, this time accompanied by hands that dried his sweaty forehead.

"No, sir. Don't move my Lord," urged that woman.

"Where am I?" asked the young man partially awake. "Who are you?"

"You're safe for the moment," said the woman. "Fortunately, you're a very healthy guy, so your wounds will soon heal. In the meantime, stay still and rest."

Brannan was a spirited man, barely out of adolescence. He was rather tall with an athletic body and a graceful presence. His features were fine, with a pair of deep blue eyes framed by thick eyebrows. His chin was solid and denoted pride. His golden wheat-colored hair fell in long curls over his shoulders, which contrasted with his slightly dark skin.

Brannan drifted back into a kind of reverie, in which is he saw himself inevitably plunging into a void. A sharp pain spread from his left shoulder, radiating to his torso and abdomen, preventing him from moving his arm. As he fell, he noticed the presence of an immense forest that stretched into the blackness of the night, even beyond where his eye could see. The moon shone above the blanket of clouds that covered the region, blurring its light as if it were a curtain. Amid his confusion, he saw the forest disappearing to be replaced by a gigantic black tapestry that approached him inexorably. In no time, he felt a bang and the sound of lapping water filling his ears. Suddenly, an absolute silence overwhelmed him while a sensation of cold and wetness invaded his body. He realized he was sinking into dark and deep waters. A spurt of water that invaded his throat impeded his breathing. His survival instinct understood that his greatest urgency was to try to reach the surface. Overcoming the pain that seized up the left side of his body and both arms, he stirred the water around him despairingly with his arms, like a duck trying to take off from a lake. Everywhere around was full blackness, so he had no idea how deep he was. The despair of drowning began to invade him, which prompted him to move his arms more vigorously. He felt his consciousness begins to blur, and a great need to breathe invaded his lungs. He finally managed to surface, taking a glimpse of the scope of that body of water. Summoning all his strength, he swam towards the shore. After a time that seemed endless, he finally reached the shore, climbing out of the water with great difficulty. The ground was flooded and slippery, but after several attempts, he managed to cling to a branch that stuck out from a tree that hung over the moat, to finally collapse on the wet ground.

Brannan awakened by noises in the distance. Despite his lethargy, his conscience dictated to him that he should get away as soon as he could.

He had no notion of how long he had been lying in that dark, cold place. However, the memory of the events that led him, there came to his mind in all their awful clarity. He sensed his father must have sent his guards in search for him around the moat that surrounded the castle. He decided that his best chance would be to escape towards the dense gloomy forest. Despite having lived in the castle all his life, he had never ventured on that side of the woods. However, in such a moment, he had no choice. He walked and walked relentlessly for long, to finally fall exhausted in a clearing within the frond lit by the moon. A slight warmth that spilled down his shoulder and leg sent waves of pain to the left side of his body. He had shed much blood, so a fade made him faint. His body simply could go no further. Irrevocably he surrendered, falling into a lethargy that threw him into unconsciousness.

"Now I remember," declared Brannan to no one in particular. "But how come I'm here?" he asked the woman who looked at him. "Where am I?"

"You are deep within the Oak Forest. He won't find you here," said the friendly woman referring to Vonegh. "Thank goodness you came out well on that side of the castle, and you walked into the forest."

"But how did you find me?" Brannan asked, intrigued.

"Many in the castle knew what was going on in your bedroom. However, what could anyone have done to prevent it?" the woman said.

"Did you?" the young man asked incredulously. Did you know about Helga and my father?"

"It's been a while since they understand each other if you know what I mean. I'm sorry," the woman pointed out. "But we're only servants that cannot interfere in the affairs of the lords. When Almaron told us about your encounter with your father, some of us went out to try to find you before the guards did. We entered the forest because we had no opportunity to seek you on the edge of the moat with the guards at our feet. We were confident that you would head into in the forest, as for you good luck you did.

"Damned, Almaron!" cried Brannan with anger. "How could he have been part of such a vicious betrayal?

"What could he have done, my Lord? You entrusted him with the life of my lady Helga. How could he have prevented her from doing her will? How could a simple soldier oppose the will of the king?"

"Your face is akin to me," pointed Brannan. "Where do I know you? I know I've seen you in the palace kitchen, but I can't remember who you are".

"You were very little, my lord," said the woman, "and maybe that's why you find it difficult to remember me. I am Amala, and for long, I was a servant to your mother."

"My mother?" exclaimed the young man wistfully. "What do you know about my mother?" he asked, anxious and distressed by a memory that did not quite settle into his mind. "What do you know about her?"

"My lord," said Amala. "After what has happened to you, I think it's time for you to know your truth."

Her seriousness and the solemnity with which she spoke, made Brannan wonder. However, he had no certainty about what to expect.

"I don't understand what you mean," said the young man, confused. "Who are you, and what do you mean?" he asked again expectantly.

"Probably, you won't be able to return to your former life. Vonegh accuses you of the death of your wife, whom you allegedly killed by her back with your sword. Alarigo has put a price on your head," said the old woman. "For my part, I may never see you again" manifested her, who, despite her mysterious modes, transmitted a sense of security. "You need to know the truth about everything, as there may not be another chance to tell you."

Amala was a mature woman, fair-skinned with a benevolent look, a bit plump but with a poise of great dignity. She had a charming smile that captivated and generated confidence.

"Please sir," request with seriousness the woman. "Pay attention, because what I am about to tell you, most probably will condition the rest of your life," indicated the women solemnly.

Such an attitude was beginning to exasperate Brannan. However, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, preparing to hear what he thought would be one of those stories that seasoned the gatherings of the servants of the castle.

"I was the lady in waiting of princess Lujana of Kersia, the object of courtship by lords from all kingdoms of Pelair as far as Kiria, Nuria, and even Terrara. Vonegh tried to force a marriage with the Princess to get hold of the kingdom of Kersia. However, the young Hektor, Earl of Alor, had already conquered the heart of the girl. A confusing misunderstanding that happened in court the day Princess Lujana had to choose consort arose the ire and wrath of your father. Vonegh was publicly beaten fair and square by the young Earl.

Nevertheless, he never conceded defeat, much less the fact of having lost the possibility of marrying Lujana. His revenge was swift, and a terrible and bloody war followed in the wake of that event. The threat of Vonegh to Hektor came true through a bloody siege to his castle, where the courageous Earl died. Seeing her kingdom in peril, the Princess had no choice but to accede to the marriage's claims of your father, as a condition for restoring peace."

A strange feeling started to arise in Brannan's mind at the hearing of this part of the story. He began to glimpse a pattern that was still elusive.

"You may imagine the grief and distress that this caused in the young princess," continued Amala. "King Berién begged her not to marry, but she felt that she had already failed her people. She thought she owned to her people. Thus, the Princess married your father without delay. The biggest surprise came, however, when in the same ceremony, Vonegh announced the annexation of the kingdom of Kersia. He alleged that the territory had belonged to Kaffre in the past and that he had meanly taken back what rightfully belonged to him. He named Duke Alarigo of Archelon as regent. Your father ordered the imprisonment of King Berién and all members of the court. Soon after, a strange and suspicious fire consumed the wing of the castle where the whole royal family dwelt as prisoners, killing them all. At the time and fortunately, Princess Lujana lived almost like a captive here in the Castle of Kaffre.

"What do I have to do with all this? "Brannan asked incredulously and alarmed, trying to rise from the cot where he was lying down. An immense pain forced him to rest back again.

"I told you my story might change your life, but there is even more" emphasized the woman. "Let me continue," she requested.

Very surprised even to respond, and seized with a strange feeling, Brannan decided to let Amala finish her story.

Staring into Brannan's eyes, the woman continued.

"What I am about to tell you is perhaps the most important part of this whole story," highlighted Amala with a hint of sadness in her voice and her eyes. "My Lady Lujana was already pregnant when she betrothed Vonegh."

The uneasiness that ran Brannan's body was almost physically unbearable. He foresaw that in a few moments, as the woman had predicted, his life would change forever.

"What are you insinuating, woman?" Brannan asked, alarmed.

"It didn't pass much time," she continued with her story ignoring the young man's question, "for everybody to find out that the Princess was expecting a child. Everybody took for granted that the child was the son and heir of Vonegh. Only your mother and I knew that he was not so. And it should have remained untold because that man's ego would not have been able to bear to stand the public shame of knowing that his wife would give birth to the son of his enemy".

Brannan's eyes fought not to spill out of its orbits, trying to discern the consequences of what he had just heard. Vonegh was not his father, and the only other possibility, immediately jumped to his conscious: He was the son of the Earl de Alor, who died at the hands of Alarigo by orders of Vonegh.

"Yes, my lord!" sentenced the woman guessing the conclusion reached by her attentive listener. "My Lady Princess Lujana was your mother and Earl Hektor, your father. But there is more" stressed Amala. "Not only you are the sole survivor of the royal family of Kersia, but Berién, your grandfather, was brother to King Eozen of Kiria. Everyone knows that Eozen has no heirs, and at his age and in his current state of health, it is unlikely that he will have any. This situation has led to a terrible clash that has plagued that kingdom and reached our ears. Your father has taken advantage of this situation, and he now has plans to invade Kiria. His dream is to become the Lord of all the Realms of the South."

"It can't be!" plead Brannan, still stunned. "Why did then my father allow me to be born? Did he ever care for me?" he asked, trying to remember a gesture of his father that could support his words.

"Someday you'll learn," Amala said, "that sometimes the apparent blinds us from the evident. The day will come when you will have to rely more on your heart, despite what your eyes tell you," she said wisely. "You always knew this, but you refused to believe it," said the woman to continue her story. "At first, Vonegh didn't know you weren't his son. But once you grew, it became clear that you didn't resemble him physically at all" related Amala. "Rumors began to spread throughout the kingdom, so he started to harass Princess Lujana with questions, only to torment and see her suffering. Doubt and jealousy gnawed at him, but he let you live nonetheless, knowing that my Lady Lujana would live every day of her life, with the anguish of the damage he could inflict upon you. That almost made her go crazy."

"But..." tried to replicate Brannan, not knowing what to say.

"Don't you remember that day?" Amala asked. "You don't remember, do you?

Gradually, the questions, the face, and the presence of this woman brought to his mind a distant and forgotten memory, a terrible and long-forgotten memory. In a moment, he recalled the recent dream in which his mother caressed his head with love and sweetness, rolling his curls while she told him a beautiful story. He would have been maybe three or four years old, and it was perhaps the only memory he had of her.

Then he remembered. The reminiscence of the last time he had spent with his mother suddenly came to his memory. She was telling him a story of a gallant prince that bravely rescued his people from the clutches of their oppressor. The scene flashed through his mind and in his eyes as if he were living it at that moment.

                                                                                                 ***

"Open the door!" they heard the peremptory call followed by sharp and violent blows banged at the door of the bedroom.

"Amala!" shouted alarmed Lujana addressing his governess. "Take the child and hide in the wardrobe. Don't let him hear anything for the world, and don't make any noise either. Brannan," said then Lujana addressing her young son with the most candid of the smiles. "Do not make any noise, no matter what."

The maid and the child hid in the closet, just in time before the bedroom door fell demolished by the force of a small ram.

"What is that rumor among the servants of the castle, that Brannan is a bastard?" Vonegh asked Lujana enraged.

"A son is a son no matter what," she said, "He is your son, and you raised him as such," she reasoned, trying to protect her little boy.

"That doesn't answer my question," replied Vonegh." Is he the bastard son of that damned fool who vainly dared to challenge me?"

"He was a man you could not have even crawled at his feet," she said, staring at the king with rage and hatred.

"Damn bitch!" exclaimed,  the man infuriated while taking his wife by the neck. "How dare you answer me like that?"

She just could not have helped answer him as she did, so full of contempt she was. Little could she have done to stand against the enormous strength of the man who transfixed as a madman, ruthlessly pressed her neck, cutting off her vital supply of air. Gradually, Lujana faded and finally lost consciousness.

Amala watched helplessly from her hiding place and, to her surprise, saw Vonegh break down in tears.

The violent man realized too late that the hatred he felt for his wife, had been an exacerbated hurt and frustrated love. Enraged by such a revelation, he gently kissed his wife's forehead as he broke her neck.

Through a narrow slit in the wall of the cabinet, the boy witnessed with horror the brutal scene that snatched his mother. He tried to scream, but the iron hand of Amala, placed tightly over his mouth prevented him from doing that. He watched as the blush disappeared from the face of his mother, replaced by the whitish tinge of death.

                                                                                                 ***

"Nooo!" yelled Brannan, awakening from his terrible reverie! "No! No!" was all he managed to say, as his entire body shuddered at the memory that had just been unleashed from his unconscious. An uncontrollable rage gripped his being, and hatred and bitterness settled in his soul.

"Ironically," Amala continued with her story, "you have just lost the rights to the throne of Kaffre, but simultaneously have inherited the rights of Kersia's realm and quite possibly Kiria's. You are, like it or not, the heir to the throne of those two kingdoms.

"Why did you wait until now to reveal all this to me?" Brannan asked, trying to feed his mind into digesting all this revelation.

"Perhaps fate chooses its moments," said the old woman with a sweet and gentle smile.

"I assure you," said the young man with a severe and trembling voice, and eyes full of anger and hatred, "that the least interest me is the claiming of those alleged rights. There is something much more important than I have to do."