Horses of the South

“I do what I want.”

The last words Draven had spoken to his father before the plague had taken effect, sending him spiraling downward into his bed and soon after the fiery pits of hell.

Now he stood in the rain at his funeral, surrounded by his future subjects. Fat, cold droplets of water plummeted down from the swollen clouds and plopped down into his soot-colored hair as well as his equestrian lower-half.

They were all silent except for a grand white stallion with a matching beard.

“Normally,” He said, “I would be crowning the new king in front of the previous one’s body so that his spirit would hear and be satisfied by my choice.”

Draven narrowed his eyes. Denied an opportunity by his dead dad.

“But the would-be heir, Draven, was denied the position by his father due to rebellious behavior. Therefore, the council must take their time determining who would be the better ruler between he and his brother.”

Beside him stood another stallion with dark chestnut fur and brown hair. His tail flicked every now and then, throwing the water from his hindquarters onto Draven’s leg, making him want to buck. But of course, he was working on his formalities.

“Do both of you two young heirs agree to present only your best behavior while and after the council has made their choice?” Ludwig glared into Draven’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied flatly.

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” his brother, Bramble said. Ugh, he was already off to a better start.

“For this opportunity as well as your kind words,” Draven taped on, hoping it would help.

Honestly, he didn’t even want to be king. He _despised_ the idea of being strapped down to a throne with no freedoms!

As soon as he found a mare he’d marry, and as soon as his son was of age he’d retire. Maybe it was just the competitive spirit of siblings, but he just couldn’t have dumb old Bramble as a king. He’d destroy the kingdom with his rash decisions! Maybe he’d turn to the assasins for help.

No, no. He wasn’t his full brother by blood, but he couldn’t resort to murder.

Ludwig said a few more words, some of religion, and then the highest-ranking members of the kingdom took turns dropping shovelfuls of soil onto the king’s body until he was covered. Now began the long walk home; all bodies infected with the plague had to be buried far from the main graveyards to prevent mourning subjects from being infected. Draven waited for the huge crowd to pass him so that he could walk at the back. The loud clopping of hundreds of hooves against soil filled his long ears, and over the noise he didn’t hear when somebody approached.

“Good luck.”

He jumped and nearly smacked his brother in the face.
“Bramble, you bastard,” he snarled.

“I’m no bastard. In fact, I’m of royal blood. And I act like it, too, unlike some folk,” Bramble sneered in response. Oh, how Draven wanted to pummel that mocking look off his face.



(UNFINISHED)