The galloping of hooves echoed like thunder on the ground. Like that of a beating drum, their chest pounded with a heavy, unyielding rhythm. 50 men cloaked in black, leaned forward, their capes whipping in the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon. They were now a day away from their destination, eager to take the rest they have been deprived. Travelling for almost a month made their body covered in sweat and dirt, as they have only stopped to make camp or to reload supplies. But the man, who was leading the front, showed no signs of tiredness at all. He insisted on travelling a little bit early but because of some problems in the northern most border of his kingdom, he was forced to travel late.
"Hiyaa!" The man shouted as he urged his horse to run faster.
"Your Majesty!" Another cloaked man, called him from behind. "We should make camp, it is already sunset"
The man halted in his tracks and so did the men behind him. He looked around and saw the evident tiredness of his comrades. Pale and sleep-deprived, another mile and they will surely pass out.
Damn it.
"We will make camp here" He commanded.
He gritted his teeth and jumped down from his horse. He knew that they should waste another time, but he cannot risk his men dying of exhaustion. His heavy armor clangs as he walked towards an opening. He reached out to his waist where a small pouch was hanging, and took out a small wooden whistle. Using the instrument, he made a piercing, sharp high-pitched sound. Then, a whooshing sound came, and a falcon landed on his left arm.
"Ashar, what message have you brought?" He took the bird inside his tent and placed him in the cage, where water and meat await. He then unfolds the small paper that was tied to the falcon's leg.
"clear passage"
The message was from the scout he sent to ride ahead. They cannot risk stopping once they ride tomorrow as it would only mean a delay and encountering bandits will not help them at all. They rode without a proper rest, the west was already in the move and any minute they waste, is a minute the enemy gains. His head felt like a storm raging inside, relentless pounding that reverberated each heartbeat. Waves of sharp, blinding light sliced through his closed eyelids, like bolts of lightning tearing through the thick dark clouds. Perhaps, he needed some rest too.
"Your Majesty," a man outside his tent called. "Supper is ready."
He stands from his chair, strips from the heavy iron armor and went outside. His men had already built campfire and cooked their supper for the night. He sat in a log near the campfire and ate his dinner quietly.
"I heard that the princess of the South possesses an extraordinary beauty" a soldier said.
"Well, it would certainly be a blessing if we are to have a glimpse of this famous beauty" another added.
"I heard that a boy almost half her age is to be named heir, instead of her"
"Tsk, I guess beauty is much of no use."
"Oh its useful, alright."
"In bed!" the men manically laughed. Just then, a soldier raised his sword to the throat of the man who uttered those words.
"Watch your mouth. If you want to keep your rotten head intact" the soldier snarled at the man. His name was Zephyr, the right hand of King Cyrus. The man immediately realized his mistake and slowly turned his head to the king who was now glaring intently, like a wolf ready to hunt down its prey.
Most of the soldiers was not aware that their king is to be wed as they have kept their agreement as a secret as possible in order to prevent the west from suspecting. Cyrus stood up and walked near the man. He looked down at him and said,
"I will not tolerate disrespect for our host. If you want to return in one piece, learn to shut your mouth." His gruff voice silenced the man. "It is late, let us rest now. We shall depart tomorrow at dawn." Zephyr lowered his sword and the man immediately fell to his knees,
"Forgive me you, your majesty" he pleaded.
His men scattered away to their resting place. Cyrus too, went in to his tent with Zephyr behind him.
"Don't you think it is better to inform them, your majesty?" Zephyr asked.
"One shouldn't be too lenient, Zephyr. We do not know if a snake is among us" Cyrus replied. They cannot just spread the information that he is the one marrying the princess. Though rumors that the princess will not inherit the throne is already suspicious enough, adding it will only fuel a fire they cannot put out. It is a risk not worth taking. "Have you received any news yet?"
"None your majesty, the last content they sent was that the Sultan himself, will escort you from their eastern borders."
Cyrus sighed deeply. "You should go rest."
"I shall guard your tent outside, my king" Zephyr insisted.
"No need. Go now" Zephyr remained quiet for a while but eventually bowed and went out.
Cyrus was left alone in his quiet tent.