Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia.
Author's Note: In my humble opinion...this is a pretty awesome chapter. I hope you're satisfied! Enjoy!
Chapter 28 ~ A Traitor's Grave
A banquet was held the night after. All of the lavish lords and ladies that Miraz remembered so well from the numerous other banquets he had to attend as a child were invited, and all of them seemed to have found their most ridiculous looking regalia to wear. The ladies all had their hair knotted and twisted with jewels and gold and their feet were lost within their skirts and the lords wetted their moustaches with heavily-scented oils and perfumes so that the entire room would be violently rank with the scent of flowers. Miraz, however, refused to attend. He would not see his brother and his accursed son be showered with honor and glory. He knew what the future would hold. The young prince would learn his father's ways and become the tyrant his father was. Perhaps Caspian was not quite the tyrant yet, but he would be, Miraz knew. All of the power of the king bestowed upon a man such as Caspian…
Miraz, instead of standing in a stuffy room full of monarchs and frippery, decided to ride out into the cool, cloudy evening. Clad in warm clothing and a cloak, he mounted his horse and rode out of the stables. He rode out of the castle gates. He rode out of the village. He rode out of the village walls until he was in the Narnian hills that surrounded the castle.
The view of the castle was picturesque in the hilly moorland. The banners fluttered and flapped, red against the gray stone, in the windy evening. It stood like an ancient sentinel among the tall grasses of the plains, its windows alight with merriment and flame. For a brief moment, Miraz wished that he was within those safe, secure walls, in the warmth of the burning fire in the hearth, at the banquet, with his wife and even with his brother, instead of standing alone in the gray, bleak hills, surrounded by nothing but wind. But the thought was soon dismissed and Miraz mounted his horse again and continued to ride, going further and further from the castle.
The dark, dismal clouds stretched from horizon to horizon but did not, however, conceal the violent red sun that was sinking into the West, tucking itself inside the mountaintops. Thunder was audible over the ravaging wind as Miraz ascended a hill and dismounted. He looked back. The castle was very small behind him, nearly but a memory to him. He sighed deeply and turned back around to view the hills ahead. He noticed now how close to the forest he was. But that was not what concerned him. What concerned him was what was on the hill he stood on.
A gravestone.
It was small but rather elaborate. The stone was marble, it seemed, very worn by the years and looking old and tired. Tall moorland grass almost obscured it from sight; Miraz was surprised that he hadn't overlooked it. He walked toward it. A shape was carved into the stone over the worn lettering, and Miraz saw that the shape's head was the head of a demon. He knelt by the stone and pushed away the grass carefully to read the lettering carved into the marble.
PRINCE VOSTAD THE RED
LIES HERE
CONDEMNED TO AN ETERNAL GRAVE
AS HE HAD CONDEMNED HIS BROTHER
SLAIN BY HIS HAND
Miraz jumped back in fear, startling his horse. He stood up quickly and backed away. He felt it. The presence of the man who'd killed his ancestor. The man whose blood ran in him. The blood of Vostad the Red.
The wind seemed to pick up, more violent than before. The sound of thunder grew louder, and the sun got redder. Sweat broke out on Miraz's forehead despite the cold wind, and the words on the gravestone seemed to darken, becoming more and more visible until they seemed to erupt in flame.
Lighting carved through the sky. Thunder crashed suddenly. Rain drove down malevolently from the pitch-black clouds. The sun disappeared. Miraz found himself falling to his knees, a shadow leaning over him like a messenger of doom.
"You have my blood, Miraz! You have my blood!" A voice roared. Miraz thought he was dreaming. His eyes were hazed over and his vision was blurred. He did not look up and whoever was addressing him. He only listened to what he said. He felt fear and power at the same time, rushing into his veins and making his heart pulse louder until it filled his ears. His breaths quickened.
"My treachery runs in you!" The voice said, stabbing into his mind. Miraz could not ignore it. He gasped with uncontainable fear. "MY TREACHERY IS YOURS!"
Miraz suddenly jerked his head upward, pulling out a knife and crying out as he thrust it forward to attack the man who confronted him.
No one was there.
But that did not ease Miraz's pain. It did not ease his fear. The fear was overwhelming. His heart was racing faster than the rain drove down. He sheathed the knife and quickly mounted his horse, riding as fast as he could back to the castle, standing solemnly in the rain. With every step his horse took, his fear rose. His hate and anger rose. His vengeance and treachery rose. Vostad the Red was not dead. He was very much alive.
Within Miraz.
TO BE CONTINUED