“Your Highness!- We must keep going!” Amos cried as Iova’s body crumpled to the ground.

  “We should just surrender. I can’t go on anymore,”

  His companion, half-starved as he was, still had the strength to haul Iova up by his lapels.

  “No- No!”

  Iova winced as spittle sprayed his face, “Do you not understand? They catch us, we’re-“

  There was a shout, someone hollering orders to search the forest, which silenced Amos. A looming glow in the distance. Without another word, Iova forced strength back into his spine.

  “There’s not much further we can go…” he said, hushed as they crept through the undergrowth. His toes stung in borrowed boots.

  “Don’t be a fool. Your Highness, there’s always further. We just have to keep going,” Amos said. His voice was firm, if his breaths shallow.

  “And what do you suggest we do when we hit the mountains, take our chances with the savages?”

  Iova was joking; he had convinced himself. Amos shot him a withering look.

  “Don’t worry about that right now. Keep moving and keep your mouth shut,”

  But Iova couldn’t not think about it as the forest grew denser, the terrain rougher with craggy rock.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Iova asked as they clambered over a dilapidated stone wall and a shadow loomed in the darkness.

  A grey-blue monolith, gleaming with damp.

  “Even Prince Marth wouldn’t dare cross this point,” Amos said. He stopped for a moment, leaning, sinking against it for a few seconds before pushing off and on, into the mountains.

  “My friend, do you really think we’re better off out there?”

  “Prince Iova, it’s either follow me, or die,”

  When morning came, Amos climbed a tree and used his spyglass to check on the imperial troupes. Iova leaned against the trunk and teetered on the edge of sleep.

  “It’s as I’d hoped. They’re combing through the low forest, but they won’t cross the boundary,” Amos said.

  “Does that mean I can rest?”

  “Yes, yes, your highness. Worry not, I’ll keep watch,”

  After the night Iova had had, the threat of barbarian’s, evil spirits, or wild animals didn’t phase him. The gnarled tree roots and spongy moss could be imagined into silk sheets and feather pillows if he were strong enough of mind.

  When he awoke, he had been covered with Amos’ overcoat. The scent of several days of stale sweat brought him to consciousness.

  “Are you ready to move on?” Amos asked.

  “More moving?”

  “You don’t expect to live out the rest of your life here, do you?”

  Iova didn’t know how to answer that.

  “We’ve escaped for now… but where can we possibly go?”

  Amos didn’t answer, and Iova followed him through the trees.

  The earth was dry, and soon Iova’s boots were coated with dust. Even on his servants and palace labourers, he’d never seen such filth before. Amos, who had always been a noble and handsome retainer, looked like an old beggar. Iova realised, he must look quite the same.

  The stench of old sweat, dried blood, and damp… Iova felt sick from it.

  Is this how people live outside the palace? In such disgusting circumstances, how do they go on?

  Amos drew his bow, startling Iova out of his thoughts. Before he could ask, Amos had fired.

  “What’s happening?” Iova snapped.

  “Stopped daydreaming, eh?” Amos smiled, “take a look,”

  Amos led him to where the body of a bird lay.

  “It’s been a long time since I last shot an arrow, but we won’t be going hungry,”

  Iova stared at the corpse, “we’ll eat that?”

  “What are you making such a face for? This is a fine bird,”

  “It has feathers…”

  Amos looked like he was torn between laughing and crying, “It’s just the same as the fowl you used to eat at royal banquets, only fresher. Mountain pheasant is the best of the best, just you wait,”

  Iova’s stomach turned as he watched Amos prepare the meat. When he couldn’t look any longer, he went to collect firewood.

  By the time the pheasant was roasting, night was falling. Plucked of feathers, and browning on the fire, the meat finally tempted Iova’s stomach, but what was he to eat with? They had no tableware.

  “Help yourself, Your Highness,” Amos said, tearing off a leg and biting into it.

  Iova did, trying to hold back his revulsion to fat dripping over his fingers.

  He watched Amos eat, heartily devouring the meat, sucking the bones dry. His hair was greying, and he was coping with this ordeal better than Iova. Were princes really so weak?

  “Did you do this often, before you came to the palace?”

  “This? Not this exactly, but I hunted, and I camped, and I explored the wilderness with my brothers. But this is the furthest I’ve ever wandered from home,” Amos said.

  Iova looked at the sky, overcast with clouds glowing under the moon.

  “If you wanted, you could go back over the border. The soldiers are looking for me, not you,”

  “Respectfully, Your Highness, you wouldn’t survive a day out here without my help. Hell, I don’t think you could survive a day alone in the imperial city, coup or not,”

  “There will be no glory in helping me. You should go home to your family,”

  “I’ve no wife nor babes, and my brothers won’t thank me for intruding on them. There’s no future for me at court either. No, no. No more of this, I’ll stay by your side,”

  They wandered for many days, never ascending too far, for that’s where the wildest savages and spirits patrolled. Until, they came upon a track, about as wide as a man is tall, polished smooth by wagon wheels. At this sight, Amos gave out a little cry of joy.

  “We’ve found it!”

  Iova wasn’t aware they had been looking for something.

  “A road?”

  “The road. The only road. The northern passage!”

  Iova hadn’t listened much when the royal tutors had tried to instruct him…

  “It goes north?”

  “It carries the salt from the northern deserts all the way to your table in the imperial palace and much more besides that,”

  My table at the palace? I have no table anymore, not anywhere.

  Amos’ joy was throttled when he caught the look in Iova’s eyes.

  “But most importantly. The soldiers won’t risk offending the savages that live along this route. We can pass safely, all the way to the desert, and they won’t be able to follow,”

  It was as Amos said for the first few days of the journey. They followed this snaking little road without seeing a single soul. Eating the meat Amos caught and bathing in streams wasn’t so bad, now that Iova was getting used to it.

  On the second day, they came across some savages picking berries and were led back to the little hamlet these people lived in. Amos offered them the fur of a rabbit they had eaten that morning, and the savages gave them each a bowl of soup, and a shed to sleep in.

  “How wonderful it is, to sleep under a roof again!” Iova said to Amos, as they were settling down for the night.

  Hard floor under him, a wool blanket to share, and a candle to see by. That night, the bug-infested roof and half-rotten beams were as luxurious as gold leaf and ivory.

  “Sleep now, we’ve got a long walk up ahead,”

  As they slept, Iova dreamt of balls and banquets, of chasing his brothers and sister around the gardens and being chased in turn. He saw his mother and aunties taking tea under the shade of a pavilion. He teased the maids and the scholars while hiding from his tutors.

  Within a single night, all the joys and indulgences of his life flash before his eyes.

  Iova’s ears were ringing.

  Had they marched on his palace? He needed to get out.

  Before he could think he was on his feet. His head smacked against the low beams of the shed.

  “Ah-!” he buckled under the pain as the waking world came back into focus.

  There was noise outside the shed. The savages were being worked up into a frenzy!

  “Your Highness,” Amos found wakeful clarity with more grace than Iova had, “We should leave while they’re occupied,”

  Iova agreed. Whatever strange possession was making the mountain people wail and screech at this hour… It wasn’t something Iova wanted to be involved with.

  The commotion was on the opposite side of the settlement, nearest to the road. The glow of torchlight filtered between the tiny, straw-roofed huts. As his ears adjusted to wakefulness, the mountain peoples’ strange dialect became clear to him.

  “Put your weapons away. Where do you think you are?” a man said, and Iova paused.

  Weapons?

  Craning his neck, he could glimpse the savages, crowding around the newcomers with blades drawn.

  Then, Iova’s blood ran cold. That golden-yellow banner, pointed helmets, southern war houses…

  “Amos-!” Iova gasped in terror when one of the soldiers locked eyes on him.

  “Move!” Amos dragged Iova behind a hut, just as a flurry of arrows rained down upon them, “into the trees. Keep low. I’ll be right behind you,”

  The last week had provided plenty of practice in fleeing into the night, and Iova followed the order mercylessly. The whoosh of arrows, the clang of blades, the cries of their hosts… Iova was deaf to them all.

  He pushed through the undergrowth, thorns cutting him up to his throat. Tumbled into ditches before rolling back to his feet to keep sprinting. Soon the noise of the battle fell away.

  “They marched on the Shak’s mountains, do they have no fear?” Iova laughed when the gravity of the situation dawned on him, to no response, “Amos?”

  He looked back. Deep in the gloom of a moonless night, it was as if Iova was the only person alive. Soaked with mud, bleeding in his borrowed boots, he waited. To the heavens, he prayed that Amos would appear.

  Minutes passed and Iova began to shiver.

  “Amos…”

  Iova retraced his steps, feeling his way through the trees. His flight from the camp had been like a storm blowing through. Now, he slipped through the carnage with the elgance of a cat.

  Amos was lying only a few feet from from the camp, an imperial soldier picking through whatever belongings were in his jacket. Iova crouched in the gloom, terror gripping his heart.

  The shaft of an arrow was standing upright, impaled in Amos’ back. His body was still.

  Iova’s shallow breaths roared in his ears, his heart hammering. He was sure the imperial troops would hear them, and drag him out of his hiding place. But they were busy rounding up the remaining savages.

  There had been warriors among them, but those had all been slain.

  This was a small camp, that lived from foraging and occasional trade. In only a few minutes, they had been brought under heel. The people had been rounded up and were held at spearpoint. Iova looked up and down the line, trying to spot the one who had given them soup before.

  Had another friendly face died that night?

  “Over here!” Like a dog’s bark, a man’s voice.

  Iova saw the whites of his eyes before he was dragged up by the throat.

  Amos, I’m sorry.

  “I have him! The bastard prince!”

  Perhaps it was for the best. Without Amos, how would Iova have continued to navigate these mountains? Where could he have gone?

  Iova’s vision blurred as he heard another voice.

  “What are you waiting for? Finish this so we can leave this cursed place,”

  Iova was kicking thin air. He couldn’t feel anything except his throbbing windpipe… His head back: the stars were beaming at him, growing in intensity.

  A sound of discontent rattled through the camp like Iova’s brain was popping.

  The man holding him let out a shriek, before falling on top of Iova. Starved of breath, all Iova could do was crumple under the weight of the body, and listen to the rattle of blades and cries of anguish.

  It wasn’t until the battle fell silent, that the soldier’s corspe was pulled off Iova, and he could gaze upon the face on his saviour.

  A man, dressed like one of the mountain peoples, one of their warriors, but with the countenance of nobility.

  “So your the imperial rat everyone’s been chasing,” the man said with a grin, “are you really worth all these men losing their lives over?”

  His teeth glistened. warm-brown hair in a topknot, not at all dishevelled from the battle. Skin, clear as a mountain spring. Eyes dark, scheming.

  “My lord, forgive this impudence, I never expected they would follow me here,”

  “This is the most outlandish incident in decades, when will you rats learn to keep where you belong?” the man sneered.

  Iova, in his position on his knees, recognised the smug pride behind those words. He had seen in the eyes of many of his late father’s confidants, corrupt officials, arrogant servants, sly concubines… Seen it in the eyes of his brother Marth, mistaken it for a childish rivalry.

  Men like that loved it when people grovelled.

  “Most right! Most right, my eminent lord! We rats should know our place,” he glanced at the bodies scattered around them, “these rats… you did well to teach them a lesson,”

  The nobleman set his people to work, repairing the camp, and burning the dead. When it became clear they wouldn’t be culling Iova on the spot, he went to see to Amos.

  He removed the arrow as best he could. Over the last few days, he had become far too familiar with the sight of blood. Then, he turned his loyal retainer over, and dusted his face of dirt.

  Amos’ face, contorted in the moment of death didn’t look any less horrible once clean. Most of the blood from his wound was hidden, now he was on his back. Iova sat back, looked up at the stars, and wondered what to do next.

  “He’s not a soldier, was he with you?” his nobleman rescuer asked.

  “Yes,”

  Eventually, some people of the camp came t take the body away. Iova watched them, dull from overexertion.

  The work lasted until dawn, when the community gathered to eat in solemn silent. They fed Iova, but the food turned his stomach.

  After who knows how long, he spoke to the nobleman again.

  “Whoever you are, it’s clear the imperial army is desperate to kill you. Were you planning to live in hiding out here?”

  “I didn’t really… Amos had the plan. He said we would cross over to the desert, and find somewhere safe,”

  “Well, you’re lucky you never made it that far: those desert people are even worse than you imperial rats,”

  “What’s going to happen to me now?” Iova asked, cringing at how pathetic it sounded.

  “Well, you definitely can’t go south. And you won’t make make it further north either,” the man gestured broadly, “something tells me, you lack the constitution for desert life. But you might have something you can offer my people,”

  Someone as spoilt and useless as him had something to offer? Iova stared at him, “like what?”

  “I can see under all that dirt, you’re dressed in yellow silk. Your physique doesn’t bear the signs of hard labour. And you’re hands are as smooth and pale as ivory. I’m guessing you’re from the imperial nobility,”

  Iova swallowed, “Yes, that’s right,”

  “Then come back to my camp, the greatest of all the camps in this area. And be our informant in imperial matters. It’s the safest place you’re likely to find,”

  Iova pretended to carefully consider the offer. But it was like that man said, he had no other choice.

  “One more thing, my lord.,” Iova smiled and preened, “How should I address your eminent self”

  “We, the people of the Shak, don’t appreciate such flattery. Rein it in. My name is Ven Ashem,”

  I have a few ideas for other love interests that could appear, but they might be a bit too much for me to juggle… Anyway, they definately won’t appear until much later, if at all. So please get comfortable with Ven, Sebi, Zott, and Iova.

  * One more thing, Iova and Amos (and Marth) don’t follow the same naming conventions as I laid out in “Naming Conventions of the Shak's People” because they come from a different country. Iova doesn’t have a surname, because he’s an imperial prince. Amos probably did, but it’s too late to learn it now…

  Iova comes from “Iovis” which is another name for Jupiter.

  Amos means "load, burden" in Hebrew. I originally intended for all the imperial characters to have Greek/Roman names (with creative spellings) and I don’t remember why I broke that habit with Amos… But I think it suits him well.

  Marth comes from “Mars”, and is the name of a Fire Emblem protagonist. I kind of assumed it existed as a name outside that context, and am only now discovering it didn’t. And I don’t want to change it now…