Children of the Rune: Winterer

Chapter 2

“Hey Brother, give me something to drink, at least. I’ve been riding all day, and I’m about to die of thirst.”

Yulken spoke slowly. “Would you like some dark beer, then?”

“Haha! Working abroad has changed my tastes. I prefer ginger ale.”

Vlado didn’t usually prefer non-alcoholic beverages, but Yulken knew what his brother was thinking as he gestured to a maid to bring the drinks. There was no way that Yulken could not have foreseen that Vlado would eventually return. Vlado couldn’t be sure whether his favorite drink had been poisoned in advance, in preparation for this.

Yulken gave a slanted smile. They both had hair now shot with gray, and they knew that they had identical looks on their faces. They were brothers, to be sure, but they’d been enemies for over a decade. It was clear there was no room for negotiation between them.

Vlado had been away from home for five whole years since Yulken had thrown him out. What had induced him to return of his own accord? What advantage had he gained in that time?

They each drank their glasses of ginger ale, and they looked eerily similar as they did.

“I suppose I should ask you why you’re here,” Yulken said.

“Well, I’ll save you some work and tell you.” The right corner of Vlado’s mouth curled up as if he were his brother’s mirror image. “You know Prince-Elector Khan? I know you’re not entirely in the dark when it comes to news in Ron, our fair capital. I’ll be working for him, you see, to—”

Yulken scoffed at him. “If you’re here to waste my time with drivel, begone. Find yourself somewhere else to roost.”

The smile vanished from his brother’s face, his yellow eyes flashing. “This particular roost here doesn’t only belong to you, does it, my brother? You seem to forget that our parents have passed down the Llonggaard Fields equally to all of us.”

Yulken glared coldly at Vlado, whose brogue from his younger years returned as soon as he grew angry.

“Have you forgotten how you threw away your claim on the territory? Yenichka, who died a wrongful death, as you know, is probably watching you from her grave as we speak.”

Vlado chewed his lip. “How is it my fault that wench died?”

Yulken felt something hot choke him up, and he brought his glass crashing onto the table. Drops of ginger ale splattered over the surface. “If you hadn’t tricked her, she would never have gone to Emera Lake, the mere stories of which set her to trembling ever since she was little!”

“Hmph! Yeni was alive when she returned from the lake! You were the one who didn’t even try to cure her madness and ordered that she be killed.”

“Damn you and your twisted words!”

The liquid left in Yulken’s glass splattered onto Vlado’s face. It trickled down the wrinkles of his cheek, and he wiped it with a sleeve.

A grin contorted his face, and he said quietly, “Hmph… Fine. You do whatever you please. I wasn’t interested in your opinion in the first place. Nothing but a threat to a Jineman’s life could ever persuade them to abandon their political ties. Haha! Our parents could not stop their sons from choosing different factions, and even Yeni chose to join the Flaming Anvils along with her future husband.”

Vlado snickered quietly, then continued, “Aunt Janine was no different. Even now, she takes a leading role in the March Senate. Tell me, do you think your sons will be any different? Just you wait. When they grow a little older, they might abandon your ‘Kacha,’ whom you seem to regard as some sort of god, and demand to join something like the Progressives! It’s not at all unlikely, I’d say!”

Yulken’s eyes burned. A gloom had fallen early in the living room because of the cloudy weather, and there wasn’t a single lit candle inside.

“Hehe! That’s five factions in a single household. Five! Or should we say four, since our parents are dead?”

Yulken did not attempt to argue any further. He said in a low voice, “Get out.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Vlado said, jumping to his feet. He was still grinning mockingly, however, twirling the finger he was pointing at his brother. “You’ll regret it. Don’t you forget that I came here today as a last attempt at reconciliation. Indeed, it was the last chance. If you were willing to give me that Winterbottom Kit, I would have been willing to forgive you and forget the past entirely. What do you say? Would you still consider it?”

Yulken spat, “You’ll never hold it in your hands, not before your skull is split in two.”

“Hmm. Good point. Understood.” Vlado’s wrinkles grew slightly more pronounced as he grinned back, apparently having expected this answer. Then he narrowed his eyes, as if trying to admire Yulken’s face.

“Even a blind dog can tell that Prince-Elector Khan will become the chief elector in the upcoming election. Do you really think there will be any place on this peninsula for anyone who does not support him? And that Kacha, whom you serve, is the person that Prince-Elector Khan hates the most. You are doomed. The moment the elections are over, you’ll be nothing but a piece of meat placed in a tiger’s path. It would have served you well to pretend to be won over while your little brother was generous enough to make you an offer. But then again, perhaps that would not be the way of the House of Jineman.”

“I told you to leave!”

Yulken knew very well what Vlado was saying. There was nothing surprising about it. The prince-elector that his brother served had already been promised the support of half of the fifteen prince-electors. The only opposition consisted of three other prince-electors, including the man Vlado had derisively referred to as “Kacha”—Prince-Elector Katsya. The rest would go with the majority choice, even if they hadn’t made their opinions public.

This election was already lost, and Yulken was aware of this. But any member of the House of Jineman—in fact, any house of repute in the Travaches Republic—valued political loyalty more than life itself. It was a widely known fact that many chose their beliefs over their own lives. In that regard, the House of Jineman had a peculiar reputation. Perhaps the reason that the brothers had come to be at such odds was due to the powerful temptations offered by the prince-electors, who regarded them highly as a result.

When had it all started? When had the entire country become obsessed with principle and political factions, even as people starved for lack of bread? Had it been after Travaches had adopted its odd republican voting system? It was not even a true republic. The entire nation was split into hundreds of factions that caused children to turn against their parents, brother against brother, and friend against friend. It was a nasty, distorted version of a monarchy. Even so, it could not be overridden.

For the longest time, abandoning a master one had chosen to serve was considered an eternal disgrace. As a result, there were now hundreds of factions where there had been only eight at the founding of the republic, and they had no way of stopping the unsightly fighting besmirched with conflict and assassination. Despite knowing all this, Yulken could not join his parents’ faction or his brother’s. He hadn’t been able to win over his little sister’s fiancé, either.

It wasn’t uncommon for households to fall apart due to similar political differences in Travaches. The prince-electors, and the senators who sought to become prince-electors in the next elections, did everything they could to win over the children of houses of any repute. If they were then manipulated to drive out their family and take control of the house, they would gain a vote in their favor. In the process, siblings feuded, married couples became mortal enemies, and mothers and sons turned their backs on each other, but this was of no concern to them. Their only goal was for their faction to take power. That was the only meaningful purpose for any human being born in Travaches.

Vlado disrespectfully walked out, making sarcastic comments the whole way. “If you’d listened to me today, the second son of the Jineman family would not have had to take control of it. Too bad. You do your best to cling to what you have. At least until I come and take it from you, that is.”

The door shut loudly behind him.

Left alone, Yulken sat frozen in his seat like a stone statue. He had lived through a storm of political strife himself. He knew exactly how a faction would go about destroying another in Travaches. Vlado had not come to reconcile—that was nonsense. His real purpose was to declare war.

He wants the Winterbottom Kit? There is no chance in hell! Vlado knew better than anyone that Yulken would not give it up easily. Vlado hadn’t come alone, of course. There would be an army outside the grounds, ready for an ambush, and no doubt he had fitted himself out with some way to protect his body even now.

Yulken had prepared for this, and he’d also known it would be no use. Even if this manor was the place where Vlado had been born, it was enemy territory to him. He would not have waltzed inside without taking precautions. Vlado had also experienced much bitter failure and blood in the political scene.

“Tulkh.”

“Yes, my lord,” said a voice from inside the curtain that covered a wall of the living room.

“Prepare for war.”

“Understood.”

The person behind the curtain faded from view. There was a secret passageway in the wall directly outside. Yulken stared down at the ginger ale that covered the table, as well as the glasses that stood next to each other. Standing up, he pushed open the tall window and gazed downward.

Vlado was getting on his horse, and two squires were bringing out their own mounts. As soon as he was in the saddle, he urged his horse on, racing toward the fields where they had spent their childhood together.

Yevgnen was in a hurry. The servant had offered to help, but he carried his little brother in his own arms and raced toward the manor. By the time they arrived at the front entrance, the rain had started to fall in earnest.

“Where is my father?” he asked.

“On the second floor.”

He’d seen Uncle Vlado on his horse vanishing over the fields a moment ago. Yevgnen put his brother down, who was as stiff as a board, and asked, “Where is Tulkh? Has he come down?”

“Yes. He has already gone out to the training field.”

Yevgnen nodded. “Then I won’t need to go. Boris, let’s go to my room.”

There was no time to take their wet shoes off and put on new ones. Grass and mud slopped onto the clean floors and carpets. They ran, throwing open every door in their way. When they reached the room, Yevgnen spun around and locked the door behind him.

He sat Boris on the bed and opened the wardrobe, pulling out neatly folded clothes and throwing them onto the floor. When he found a small, steel-hinged box, he pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked it. A dark key that was two fingers thick was in the box.

“Boris, go to your room and put on the brigandine Father gave you. Don’t forget your boots and sword. You know what to do.” He felt his brother eyeing the scattered articles of clothing, but Yevgnen had nothing more to say.

Boris stood up and headed to his own room, which was linked to this one. By the time he was fully armed with the help of the nanny who had shown up, Yevgnen was busy at work doing what he needed to do. He pushed the heavy wardrobe aside and tore out the wooden panels that served as a cover. Inside was an iron safe, the keyhole of which he found by feeling with his fingers. He pushed the thick key in and turned it forcefully, opening the lock with a click.