Dan's POV
Donavin was practicing his swordsmanship with his older brother under the tutelage of his great uncle, a big muscular guy covered in scars; and he was meaner than he looked. Donavin hated it. He was forced to practice three hours a day, every day. While his brother only had to practice for one hour. The sparing paring part at the end. Dan hated this part the most and his brother loved it because he obliterated him every time.
He had told his father and uncle that he didn't like sword fighting but his brother did so why not let him do three hours and he could do just one. They laughed at him, then told him it was because he needs the training more. He knew it was true because his brother beat him every time. When he told his uncle that it wasn't fair because his brother was bigger than him and he was always tired by the time his brother joined them, his uncle had just gotten really angry. Then reminded him for the hundredth time, that "life and especially war was not fair and never would be."
He went off on a rampage about his brother's untimely death, how it was his job to protect his brother and the county, and if he was too weak then the whole country would fall. He went on that the ruthless warriors of other countries would not care if he was smaller or tired. Instead, they would strike harder because of his weakness. It made sense but he hated it. Why couldn't someone else be the second prince? Anyone would do better than him.
Donavin was doing his best not to cry because it really angered his uncle but if the lives of everyone depended on him being strong enough to fight all the bad guys; then he knew they'd all be doomed. would It really be his fault if everyone died? Why couldn't anyone else do it? There was no way he could ever replace his great uncle the 'Kingslayer', a great warrior and leader of armies. He was just a nine-year-old boy and he felt anything but great.
"Again!" his uncle shouted at his brother. Dan sniffed and whipped his eyes as quickly as he could to ready himself for his brother's attack. he managed to dodge once, twice, then again and he was getting hopeful he might not get pummeled by the waited stick for once. "You can't run forever; you need to face your enemies and quickly kill them. If you don't, you risk being overrun by more enemies." When he dodged again his uncle hit him hard in the side with the flat of his blade.
While bent over and stunned by the pain his brother took the opening to deliver the 'killing' blow to the side of his neck. He managed to block the worst of the hit by throwing his arms up in front of him. When the waited wooden sword hit his arms with a bruising force; he dropped his sword. "Idiot, you need to block with your sword, not your arms, a real sword would have taken them right off! You'd be useless, and dead! Now pick up your sword and try again!"
He'd never be able to do this right, never. So why should he have to do with this? If he didn't exist, couldn't they just find someone else, someone better than him, to protect the crown and its people?
"Quickly, boy. You still have a lot left to learn." his uncle yelled.
He picked up the sword shaking with anger, fear, and shame.
"Again!" His uncle shouted.
No; he would not do this ever again. knowing both his uncle and brother could and would block any hits he could attempt he threw his practice sword at a nearby horse instead. And ran as fast as he could in the other direction. He could hear the horse whinnying and stomping its feet; then the clanging of armor crashing as his rider fell off. He felt bad, but he'd have done anything to get out of there.
He ran to the stables and mounted the closest horse already saddled for someone else and kicked the horse into a gallop. He headed towards a servant's exit only guarded on the outside by one soldier. At his pace, it was unlucky the guard would be able to stop him. He flew through the narrow doorway ducking down close to the horse then urged it faster, south towards town. He might just be able to lose all the guards that were sure to quickly follow amongst all the people. Maybe, it should at least slow them down.
He rushed past surprised people jumping over and dodging obstacles in the busy streets. People shouted angrily and jumped out of his way, but he didn't stop to apologize. Although he felt bad, he kept going trying to think of a plan. The people would just point the guards exactly where to go to find him. He'd need to ditch the horse and disguise himself then change direction. A minute later, he passed a dark alley with drying clothes, and he got an idea, he turned into another dark alley near the river and hopped off the still running horse into a pile of hay. He rolled down it, jumped up then ran until he found another clothesline.
After stealing a big brown hooded shirt, he snuck to the edge of the river away from the populated area and jumped in. The water was freezing, but the day would be warm so he'd be fine once he got out. He swam with the current hoping the brown shirt would help make him harder to see.
The river turned around a bend and he could no longer see the town. He swam a bit further until another stream met the larger one and he swam to the shore and started up that stream figuring the more he changed directions the better. He walked in the water near the edge to keep from leaving footprints. He'd fantasized about escaping before but didn't think he'd ever have the guts to actually do it. Having studied maps of the area, he knew that if he kept going up this stream it would lead to a small pond not far from the ruins of the old southern wall.
The knights and soldiers trained there every once in a while and the last time they did in late winter he had been forced to participate. Luckily he had been part of the defending team while the majority of everyone else was on the attack including his uncle and brother. The attacking team never won and it was a boost of morale to the people to know that if that old wall still held, then so too would the newer stronger walls against a real attack. While he'd been there he'd found a damaged arrow slit that he could fit threw... if he could climb up to it.
It was four stories up and from the outside, he'd have to climb as there were no doors. The first two would be easy because the wall sloped inward but after that, it would be difficult. He decided he'd risk it because once inside he'd be almost impossible to find and no one would suspect it. Maybe he could live there and never go back. But the thought of never seeing his mother again was painful.
He crouched in the tall cattails on the edge of the pond and looked around carefully. Seeing no one, he cautiously got up and ran the short distance to the wall. After looking around again and still not seeing anyone he began to climb. He moved quickly the feeling of being exposed and fear of being spotted lent him speed and strength. When he got to the steep part of the wall he took out one of his daggers and used it to dig in between the cracks in the stone. He knew the hard stone would dull the blade but he didn't care he pulled another from the other side of his belt and did the same thing but higher.
It was harder than he thought because the daggers would get stuck on the way out keeping him from being able to build up any momentum. When he could just barely swing to the edge of the window he abandoned the daggers for a good grip on the sill and used his lowest dagger as a foothold to push himself up over the sill. He wiggled inside the narrow opening and tumbled onto the floor trembling with exhaustion. It was anything but graceful and if anyone had seen him they would have laughed at him, but he made it up alive. He was safe and hidden. And he was proud at having finally succeeded at something, anything.
His clothes were wet so he went to one of the rooms with open windows on the inner side and stripped down and hung his clothes to dry. The thin brown tunic he'd stollen had mostly dried in the sun so he put that back on and began looking around for things that could be useful. There were a few broken weapons and some basic furniture for the officers. He found a cot and some old wool blankets and laid down to rest his tired and shaky muscles.
Here he'd be safe from his uncle and brother's wrath and his father's disappointment. The urgency and fear that had driven him had drained away, leaving him exhausted. Curled up under the itchy wool blanket, the warmth and safety pulled him into a deep sleep.