Jemriah
Jemriah and Sonavr skidded down the steep hilltop as they made their way toward Sover.
He is walking toward something ambiguous, and I cannot stop him, Jemriah thought. I don't intend to, but if he reaches the Capital, it will do him no good. He felt conflicted, unsure of how to handle his son's growing ambition. He knew he had to speak with Iken and Irene.
"Sonavr, why don't you go and practice some more swordplay with your companions?"
"Companion," Sonavr corrected. "I have only one."
Jemriah knew how difficult it was to make friends in Aravan village, especially for someone with dreams as bold as Sonavr's.
"Well, he could use some practice too," Jemriah said.
"Of course. I'll keep that in mind. I will meet you back at Sover."
"Be safe, and do not go into that forest."
"Of course, Father."
Jemriah watched his son head east toward the home of his only friend. This is not good, he worried.
...
An hour of weary steps carried Jemriah at last to the village. Sover welcomed him like a quiet sunrise. Axles creaked on slow-moving carts, and people gathered in small groups, their voices weaving a tapestry of gossip and laughter. Bards sat upon upturned barrels near the square, their music drifting like warm smoke into the evening air.
The houses were modest, built of pale timber and thatch, adorned with carved lintels and flowering vines. Smoke rose gently from chimneys, carrying the scent of fresh bread and burning cedar. At the heart of the village ran a narrow stream, its water catching the sunlight like polished glass. It was a simple life, but a difficult one—filled with both regret and struggle.
It is good for Sonavr, he reminded himself. I have to keep him away from the past. It was a mistake to let him see the Capital once; it won't happen again.
He made his way through the streets, greeted by herdsmen and merchants at stalls filled with fish and bread. He opened his wooden door quietly and saw his lady making broth for a feast. It was a special day; Jemriah's brother was traveling here from the Red Frost Kingdom.
"How much more time?" Irene asked. Her voice was gentle. She was not yet thirty, elegant and simple. Once a princess meant to draft laws, she was now in this small hold, preparing broth for her family. Her green eyes and long auburn hair remained as distinctive as the day Jemriah first saw her in the Capital.
"Sonavr is in the east with Brumen, practicing," Jemriah replied. "He should be back any time now."
Irene gave him a flat stare. "I am asking about Jorath. He was supposed to arrive an hour ago."
"He is a king," Jemriah said. "It is no wonder he arrives past the appointed time. He is crowned not only in gold but in privilege; the hands of time bend for him alone."
"Your mockery never changes, even for your own brother."
A soft knock sounded at the door. Jemriah strode forward and opened it.
There he is... my brother.
Sitting atop a mount as white as the snows of Aragar, Jorath was the same as he had been the previous summer: tall, fierce, and lean.
"What—" Jemriah gasped. "How did he—"
Jorath slid down from the saddle. He was clad in armor as thick as a fortress wall, plates layered like the scales of an ancient dragon. The metal was dark, burnished by war, yet traced with veins of blue that shimmered like moonlit rivers. On his back, he bore a regal longsword. Its blade was a deep, burning red, as though forged in the heart of a dying star.
"Finally, after begging Father a hundred times," Jorath said with amusement. Behind him, knights held red banners featuring a dragon frozen in silver.
Jemriah embraced his brother warmly. "Why did you come here wearing that?"
Jorath looked down at his massive armor and behemoth sword. "I thought Sonavr could use some motivation."
"I do not want him getting the wrong ideas," Jemriah said. "It is enough that he is in awe of you. If he sees this, he will not stop until he reaches the Capital."
Jorath smiled. "Tell me, does he know about the tombs and the power?"
Jemriah's eyes widened in shock. He glanced back at Irene before facing his brother again. "I am begging you. Do not tell him about the power or this armor."
"Sooner or later, it will happen," Jorath said. "We are all slaves to that power. It attracts us; it makes us go insane and yet makes us feel whole. Has he gone toward the heart of the Aravan Forest?"
"As your younger brother, I plead with you. Do not tell him."
Jorath sighed and waved his knights away. "Fine. I will respect your secrecy, though it will do you no good in the end."
"He is my child," Jemriah said firmly. "I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe."
World of Sumaka: Through the Eyes of Merchants
I once traveled all the way to the Red Frost Kingdom. It was cold and dark. I saw a huge dragon frosted upon the battlements; perhaps that is how the kingdom earned its name. Rumor has it the kingdom was isolated for thousands of years and only rejoined Sumaka after a dragon attacked. Some say Jorath defeated the beast and froze it there as a sign of his might. There are many rumors and very little proof, but Jorath rules there, and that frozen dragon shields the kingdom to this day. Perhaps it is true, or perhaps it is just a tale for the road.