"Hanraen! Hanraen!" Hanraen swatted at the hand on his shoulder. "Hanraen wake up! Uncle Tiyrn's dead!"
Hanraen sat up instantly, almost hitting his younger sister Karedi as he did. "Uncle Tiyrn's what!?"
"I told you! He's dead!" Karedi exclaimed. "He died last night. Or early this morning. The healers say it was just old age.
Hanraen started to ask if he'd named an heir, but thought better of it. "How's Father taking the news?"
"I haven't seen him. He left to meet with the Steward when he heard the news," Karedi shrugged. "Mother wants to talk to you."
Shooing his little sister out, Hanraen lept out of bed and pulled on trousers and a shirt, half lacing his boots in his haste.
Ziri, who was watching intently, warbled nervously and flew to Hanraen's shoulder as soon as he'd tugged his tunic into place. She gave a suprised squawk and half raised her wings as Hanraen started off running down the hall to his parent's quarters.
There, he found his mother sitting on her bed. A teary eyed Lady Reathis sat with her, her little blue flit keening quietly and rubbing against her cheek. "I suppose you've already heard about your uncle?" Hanraen's mother asked.
Hanraen nodded. "I did. Karedi told me. I'm very sorry, Reathis. He seemed so healthy yesterday... I would never have thought..."
Reathis looked up and gave him a weak smile. "That's the way it is sometimes. But that's not what Kalrae and I need to speak to you about. Before Tiyrn went to sleep, he died in his sleep, he told me that he'd chosen you as his heir. That makes you Lord Holder."
Hanraen sat down very suddenly in a lavishly draped chair. It was all happening so suddenly. "But... I told him..." he stammered, simply too overwhelmed to speak.
"He told me you were a bit reluctant, but he's named you his heir, and if you don't accept it..." Reathis stopped to compose herself. "There will be more death. That is the last thing anyone wants."
Hanraen sank back into his chair, feeling the weight of his situation settle there. If he became Lord Holder, he'd be doing something he hated, if he didn't, he'd be responsible for the unnessecary deaths of many men. "Faranth," was all he could manage.
As the day went on, Hanraen began to notice the change in his fellow holders. Now perhaps not so much his fellows. Tiyrn had been a good Lord Holder, fair, wise, and concerned with the people's well-being. Everywhere Hanraen went, people were moving in a trance-like state. When they saw him, however, their faces brightened a bit. News of his being heir traveled fast, it seemed, because everyone seemed to know.
This recognition made Hanraen a bit ancy. Many young men had been eager for the job, and they weren't bound to be too happy about Hanraen's getting it. It wasn't until after the midday meal, however, when Hanraen got his first taste of this jealously.
It came, rather unexpectedly, from his three of his cousins, all from Lady Reathis' side. They had shown interest in being Lord Holder, but they'd never been that serious about it. The way they approached him, however, showed anything but that. "Can we have a little talk with you, Hanraen?" the oldest of the three, Lujar, asked, blocking his way.
Hanraen's hand automatically went to the hilt of his belt knife. "Sure. As long as you don't take too long, I've got to meet with the steward."
"I bet you do," Ferdeir, Lujar's younger brother, sneered. "Being Lord Heir, and all."
"Which is what one of us ought to be," Inukur, the same age as Ferdeir but with a much more imposing appearance, said in a low, icy voice.
"Perhaps, but I was named heir, and I don't have the power to change that," Hanraen informed them calmly, eying the older man's hands warily. Only one was visible. Which meant he was holding a weapon in his other.
"We suggest you step down, before someone gets hurt," Lujar purred, stressing someone to make sure Hanraen knew who he meant.
"If I do, then many people will get hurt fighting for the title," Hanraen replied stolidly. "And I don't want to be responsible for that."
"Perhaps you need some encouragement," Inukur snarled, and his other hand flashed out from behind his back. He held a long bladed knife, twice the size of Hanraen's belt kinfe. The blade glinted threateningly in the midday sun.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Hanraen warned, fingers closing around the hilt of his knife. Mentally, he thanked his Father for his grueling training in dueling. He'd thank him in person later if he survived.
Inukur snarled and launched himself at Hanraen, who dodged the blow but felt the knife whiz past his left arm. He whirled to see Inukur charging at him again. Inukur was a much heavier set man than Hanraen, and now the Lord Heir used his cousin's size against him. He let Inukur charge, stepping aside at the last moment while sweeping his knife across the man's side.
Inukur turned and slashed at Hanraen, but Hanraen could see that his knife had cut more than fabric. Blood oozed from a long cut down his left side. "Let's stop this now, Inukur. I don't want either of us to get anymore hurt," Hanraen suggested, eyes locked on his cousin's the whole time.
"Too bad," Inukur replied, hurling his weight against Hanraen. Hanraen felt the wind leave his body and fell to his knees. Inukur kicked him in the side and he fell over, unable to get up. Within a moment, Inukur was on him, pinning him to the ground, knocking his knife out of his hand, slashing his arm in the process. Hanraen watched desperately as his knife skidded away but then had to concentrate on keeping Inukur from plunging his knife into his throat.
Though Hanraen was equally as strong as Inukur, Inukur wasn't as badly injured. Slowly, gradually, despite Hanraen's efforts, Inukur's knife moved downwards to his throat. With a last burst of strength, Hanrean brought his knees up into Inukur's exposed stomach. Inukur groaned and backed away, giving Hanraen time to grab his knife and scramble to his feet. Inukur was charging him again, and Hanraen danced away. As Inukur turned, Hanraen saw that the slash he'd made was bleeding freely. He lunged for the same spot, plunging his knife hilt deep into his cousin's body.
Inukur stopped midstride. He looked in suprise down at the knife in his side, then up at Hanraen. His mouth opened in suprise as he crumpled to his knees and then fell back onto the ground. The knife had abviously cut an important blood vessel, because it was bleeding far worse than any side-wound Hanraen had ever seen. Inukur gave a shuddering breath and then was still.
He'd killed him. He'd killed his own cousin. Hanraen backed away in disbelief. How could he? Was he no better than Inukur?
As he put a hand to his own side, his hand met something sticky. He pulled it away to see it bright with blood. He hadn't even realized he'd been cut there. He looked up at his other two cousins, both seething with anger, and realized that his fight had barely begun. Lujar stooped and grabbed Inukur's knife and began circling. Hanraen wrenched his bloody knife out of Inukur's side and wearily sunk into a fighter's crouch.
Lujar was more of Hanraen's build and quicker on his feet. He lunged at Hanraen quickly, his knife slashing across Hanraen's fingers. He felt his entire left hand go numb and then looked in horror as his little finger fell to the ground. "Too fast for you, O great Lord Heir?" Lujar crowed from a little ways away. Hanraen tried to ignore the pain in his hand and lept towards his cousin, aiming his knife for his opponent's stomach.
Instead of Hanraen's knife cutting into Lujar's stomach, Hanraen felt a burning sensation as Lujar's knife plunged deep into his stomach. Lujar pulled his knife out as Hanraen sank to his knees. Hanraen's world became smaller and darker, and soon it was too much of an effort to keep his eyes open. With a little groan, he felt himself lurch to one side and then all was black.
When Hanraen floated back into conciousness...
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