The Prince of Aragon

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE ASHBROOKS

18 YEARS ago, Kingdom of Catalonia…

The Ashbrook castle was a happy one filled with laughter and harmony. Viscount Ian Ashbrook was a well-known lord in the region of Wellington, a nobleman by blood and an equally just man by nature.

His elder son Isaac Ashbrook was about to become of age, and he was the pride of his father, having inherited the same virtuous principles. Six years younger, his daughter Ilaria was the brain of the family with blue eyes tingling every time a bright idea came to her.

In short, the viscount was quite appreciative of his blessed life, with his lovely wife Alice at his side. They formed the perfect family.

“Isaaaaac,” the little six years old Ilaria cried out with glee as they both ran after the ball with a joyful scream. “Wait up!”

The boy, on the border of manhood turned to his little sister with an arrogant grin. “I am not waiting for you. Catch me if you can!” he taunted with playfulness, and sprinted when spurred Ilaria bulldozered towards him.

In the vast backyard of the Ashbrook land, they were playing cestoball, a recently invented game by a commoner. Normally, the game required six players, but Ilaria and Isaac were just having some fun – they weren’t too worried about the rules.

“Children, please be careful,” the viscountess warned, worried that her two kids would hurt themselves in the process. Ilaria was still very small, and was lacking in physical strength, Isaac would protect her though.

Alice Ashbrook was content with her life, even if they lived far from the city. That year, however, Isaac would make his entry in the ton for he was to become of eligible age. Alice was apprehensive of the change – she’d believed to have left that high society part of her life far behind. That desperate struggle to always maintain a fashionable disposition, to be extremely prim and proper all the time.

In contrast, life in Ashbrook was much laid-back and peaceful.

“We’ll have to leave tomorrow morning if we want to reach in time for the Catalonia ball,” she apprised her husband who’d just handled the matters of the next few days to their entrusted servants.

“Ivan, my brother is going to look after everything during my absence. Please have no worries, my lady. I have informed him of all ongoing activities in the village that might need immediate attention.”

Ian looked down at his wife with love shining in his cyan blue eyes.

Alice smiled, although she wasn’t sure whether she trusted Ivan Ashbrook. Younger to her husband by only two years, the man had something strange that bothered her. Maybe it was the bold stares he subjected to when he thought that the viscount was busy elsewhere? Or the way his cyan blue eyes glittered, so similar to her husband in color, but contained a mean streak?

Nevertheless, she was not one to badmouth a person without actual credence. “Of course, my love,” she replied, widening her smile for real when the children squealed excitedly, as their games became more interesting.

“Alright, children. Enough for today,” the Viscount cried out, swiping his pocket watch from the top of his vest. “Remember, we need to set out early in the morning,” he added when they both wailed in protest.

“Papa,” Ilaria pleaded, with the exact color of her father’s reflecting in her eyes. “Can we play some more? Pretty please?” Even at that small age, she knew how to wrap the males in her family around her fingers, and it was her mother which kept her grounded.

“Ten more minutes,” her father conceded as expected, and the little imp grinned widely at his capitulation.

“Thanks, Papa!” the little girl said chirpily.

“Only ten more minutes,” Alice added warmly, but there was no dispute of the firmness of the reprimand.

Eventually, they went to bed early, and were the first ones to rise the next morning for the long and tiring journey. Catalonia was miles away from their homeland, and Ilaria was the most excited for the trip since it was her first time. She kept pestering her parents with questions throughout, and they finally arrived at the Castle of Monterey – Alice’s birthplace.

“Grandma!!” shouted Isaac with a joyful bounce towards the old lady arrived eagerly at the door right behind the butler who opened it to them. “Have you some Janalyn Voint?” he asked enthusiastically.

The delicacy was known as the most popular cookie of that time, originating from the East, and Isaac was especially fond of the cinnamon sugar topping.

“What are those?” Ilaria wrinkled her nose in a cute way, and the household exploded in a chorus laughter, servants included.

“Come inside first,” Lady Mary Monterey offered benignly, but was stopped when a few horses sounded in front of the main entrance. “Henry,” she addressed her man servant with a frown. “Can you please see what’s going on outside?”

Henry bowed with reverence, with both his gloved hands held rigidly in front.

“Come on inside,” Mary asked her grandchildren, and they both scurried inside in merry trots. “Alice, my darling. How have you been?” the old lady greeted her daughter with a warm hug, but before they could reply, there was another huge hustle in the stables.

“What’s going on?” Viscount Ian asked, already on his way towards the shed to look into the matter.

“Come on in, darling,” Mary advised her daughter, and Alice stepped inside the house without being asked twice. When the nobleman returned, his face was ashen and gaunt like he’d just been announced someone’s death.

Alice’s heart felt heavy against her chest. “What’s happening, my Lord?”

“There is a menace to the main castle. A huge army is coming to the Catalonia Castle set out to conquer the throne. “

“Conquer the throne?” Lady Mary parroted incredulously. “You mean fight against King Robert’s? They do know that he’s infallible, right? Who is foolish enough to lock horns with his Majesty?”

“Someone mentioned an undead man who has already conquered seven kingdoms and is on his way for the eighth one, killing everyone on his path.”

“An undead man? What crap is that?” Lady Monterey was not impressed, she’d heard tales being spun only to inspire fears and panic. She knew better than to believe in old magic and make belief stories.

Lord Ashbrook, however, was terrified. He’d heard of the warrior enough to know what awaited the Kingdom of Catalonia. Ultimate doom. Apocalypse.

“King Robert is as good as dead,” announced the Viscount of Ashbrook morosely. “His army is being trashed on the battlefield right now. From what we’ve heard is that some of the undead man’s soldiers are heading to the big castles for complete usurpation.”

The old lady would have fallen down had Alice not taken her in her arms. “Here?” she asked with dread, and Lord Ashbrook nodded grimly.

“Among others. Some of the King’s men have managed to escape the m******e to warn us about the incoming danger. We must get out of here right now! Let’s all get into the Ashbrook carriage.”

“We cannot all fit in there,” Alice argued pragmatically. “Let me have some boys get some carriages ready for travel.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Lady Monterey protested vehemently. “This is my home, and no brute can force me out of my homeland.”

“Ma, this is not the time to argue. Please. If that man has defeated the King Robert, he might be as powerful as they’re saying,” Alice argued back gently. “Come, mama. Let’s go. We’re getting the children out of here. Where are Javier and Maxime?”

Javier Monterey, The Duke of House Teresina and Catalonia, Lord of the Isles and Seas, Great defender of the throne, the eldest son was heir to the Monterey Castle but nowhere in sight during the crisis. Lord Maxime, the younger brother to the Duke was also not in the castle premises.

“They might have been held up at the castle,” Lady Monterey informed with arrogance. “Javier will make a mincemeat out of that brute. You know how great a warrior he is.”

“Come ma,” Lord Ashbrook simply said, ushering the woman towards the carriage. “Let’s get the women and children out of here.”

“I don’t understand how a man can be undead?” the old lady ranted before mounting the carriage along with the remaining members of the household. Lord Ashbrook was leaving no one behind at the mercy of such a ruthless leader.

Within a little time, ten carriages formed a line, filled with people of highest to lowest rank, when it came to a human being’s life, hierarchy meant nothing.

“Where’s Ilaria?” Lady Ashbrook suddenly asked, searching frantically for her child, running from one carriage to dig out the little imp, the children were unaware of the danger yet.

“There’s no time,” Lord Ashbrook grounded harshly, for the first-time sending a reproachful look towards his wife. “Let them go, and we can follow in another carriage. Go find her now!”

Without wasting time, Lady Ashbrook dashed upstairs directly in her old room to look for her little daughter. Where could she be hiding? From the window of the room, she could see the carriages proceed one by one in a line followed by Isaac Ashbrook who was acting as an escort.

A premonition gripped the woman as she watched her beloved son ride away majestically on a horse. Lord Ashbrook threw an impatient look towards the window, which spurred Alice into action.

“Ilaria? Where are you little one? Please come out, it’s urgent.”

A small giggle sounded in the room, and surprised Lady Ashbrook turned around to the little secret passage in her room. It was a tiny hole where she used to hide when she was a kid herself.

“Ilaria! How did you find this place?” She had thought to be the only one aware of that hiding places, and Ilaria had discovered it out within minutes of her visit.

Jumping out of the hole, Ilaria snuggled in her mother’s arms, and they were making it downstairs when Alice caught sight of horses approaching the castle. Horror filled her at the sight of so many men coming toward them. Lord Ashbrook would be unable to defend them in front of such a huge army.

Tears welded in her eyes for at that precise moment, her beloved husband looked up, and signaled her with his hand to stay put. Hide, he seemed to cry, but Alice could not hear him.

“Mama, what’s going on?” Ilaria asked in a much sober voice now that she could note tears in her mother’s eyes. “Why are you sad?”

“Shhh,” Lady Ashbrook told her daughter in a trembling voice. “Let’s play a game, little one? Let’s see if we can maintain silence for a long long time. If you win, I promise to give you that pretty necklace you’ve always coveted. Okay?”

Ilaria seemed to sense her mother’s distress but she was too young to figure out what was going on. “Okay,” she agreed with the easiness of an innocent child.

 Alice’s attention turned back to the scene on the ground, where millions of men had surrounded the place like ants in the distance. One man approached on a black horse, followed by another. The one who came forward had a scar on the right side of his face, cutting through the eye to the lips, giving him a rugged and dangerous outlook.

His hand to the hilt of his sword at his right, Lord Ashbrook stood fearless and ready to fight. The dangerous man’s eyes gleamed like those of a cobalt in front of such a bravery, and for a second Alice hoped that the man would spare her husband’s life.

That moment lasted too long.

The evil man removed a sword, which illuminated the whole compound with the steel it was made of, and Lord Ashbrook wasted no time in sending a cut towards the Emperor’s head in attack. As he caught the usurper unaware, he got the advantage and Lady Ashbrook watched with relief when her husband pierced the sword right through the man’s chest.

None of his soldiers reacted, even the short bizarre man standing right behind them stood immobile giving no reaction.

Then, with rising trepidation, Lady Ashbrook watched as the stabbed man remained on his feet, removed the sword from his body like someone was detaching a pin from a doll. The bloodless weapon was flung a few miles from Lord Ashbrook who took a few steps back from the approaching angry man.

Both Alice and Ilaria gasped when the man plunged his sword in Lord Ashbrook’s chest. Blood was spilled from everywhere, and Alice whimpered in shock but took both her and her daughter to the hiding place with a muffled cry.

Ilaria too traumatized to speak moved in her mother’s arms, and they remained crouched in that small confining space for a long period of time, through the hustle, through the screams, and through the pungent smells.

By the time Ilaria was trembling so violently that her mother feared she would have a seizure.

“Ilaria, baby. Are you okay?” she asked in a weak voice, her throat feeling like someone had stuffed in a cottony material. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Papa?” the girl whined with tears in her eyes, but like she’d promised her mother, she hadn’t uttered a single word until her mother had spoken to her.

With a heavy heart, the woman squeezed out of the small hole, taking Ilaria’s hand to help her out. Like she had assumed, there were cadavers all over the house – those carriages which they had managed to fill were back in the courtyard.

The man’s soldiers must have dragged them back for Alice winced as most people she knew laid in blood pools, with either their eyes bulging open or their heads apart from their bodies.

Terror washed over her, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. For the first time, she experienced true fear, which became a tangible force, creeping over her as she hugged the infant against her chest to protect her from the horrendous scenes.

She wanted to run for safety, but she wasn’t sure where it was anymore. Alice nearly gagged when she caught sight of her mother’s corpse on the stairs, thrown negligently like a pack of bones. Her legs collapsed near the body, as she caressed the eyes close with a trembling hand.

She then put the hand in her mouth to stifle a scream and waited for long minutes before calming down. Whenever Ilaria raised her head, she would tuck her back firmly but steadily against her shoulder. That first time she’d been caught unawares and had done the mistake of allowing her child to witness the murder of her father.

Her husband.

Reminded of yet another death to mourn, she hugged Ilaria even tighter in her arms, and opened the door slightly to check for any remaining soldiers. It seemed that the place was only filled with corpses.

Once outside, she walked over to her husband’s body, went down on her knees, and allowed the tears to fall. That time, she could not retain her grief – the man she’d loved from the bottom of her heart had just been recently murdered right in front of her eyes.

“Mama?”

Then, when there were no more tears left, she realized that Ilaria had called out to her, and she was in a hurry to leave that place to spare her child the tribulation.

“Yes, sweetie,” she answered in what she hoped was a calm voice and felt a movement on her shoulder as Ilaria twisted her head.

“Is that Isaac?”

Alice’s heart froze and stomach turned icy as all hope that her other child had also survived vanished. With her back to where Ilaria was pointing, Alice took several breaths before turning around to the indicated location.

The shriek that came out was unstoppable.

In the place of the usual Catalonia flag which contained the lion emblem to signal the House’s representation was Viscount Isaac Ashbrook’s dismantled head. Within hours, the name Catalonia was wiped from the surface of the earth to be known as the eighth realm of Emperor Salvatore.