The Thorncrown Prince

Anselm raised a hand to calm the outburst of cheers and cries. His eyes flitted across the crowd in the City Square, thousands of every age gathered all the way to the lapping waters of Westlake. From the rooftops of the buildings wide around, green-and-gold banners of Sythra hung heavily in the still morning, as if waiting. It was some moments before there was anything near quiet. 

Lord Nicholas looked up at Anselm, his hand resting on the golden-horned hilt of his sword. It was time, surely. At a word from Sir Rolfsun, the rebel banner of the Crown of Thorns was unfurled overhead. 

“People of Nidaros, I am Anselm, son of Alboryn!” He raised his voice, high and clear across the Square. A breathless hush fell over the crowd, as all eyes rested on him. 

“I am rightful heir to the crown of Ferastyr–a crown seized unjustly by my father’s steward Gunthar. He is not only a traitor, but a murderer. I have come to reclaim that which was taken, that the tyrannies of his Lordship may be ended, and that honor may return to this stricken land. 

“There is no hatred in my heart for this man, despite what I deem good reason for it. A year and a half past, I, with my sister Keia, was forced to flee Tavaron Castle in the dark of night, while assassins crept to my father’s chambers. They stabbed him through the heart, and meant to do likewise to the two of us. But we were saved by a loyal girl, whose name I shall not tell for her sake. 

“The world thought us both dead, and so the Lord Gunthar claimed before all of Ferastyr. It gave him the license he needed to name himself King. His rulership has been founded on blood and lies from the very beginning. 

“But today I have given you the truth of these events for the first time. 

“Hear me well! I seek not vengeance for myself, but justice for all our good people. His bloodshed must not and shall not go unanswered–that I say with a resolve of iron.”

Cries of “Gunthar must fall!” rose up from the Square, with much clapping and waving of hands. Anselm had never seen so many people as aroused as this, not in all his thirteen years. If there remained a trace of royalist sympathy in Nidaros, it was well hidden. 

“Alas, that the wickedness of our King has torn Ferastyr apart!” he said. “North and south have become enemies, through no fault of their own, and Tavaron has become a byword to many. All here know how Gunthar has raised levies many times over. He has given his soldiers leave to rape the women of our provinces. He has now burned a whole village to the ground; do not forget that what he dared to do to Tarral, he may do wherever he pleases. And what of the poor children starving in the gutters of our largest cities even now? What has his Lordship ever done for them?” 

Anselm’s throat tightened, and his hands shook ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice. “Nothing. Not a penny from the royal treasury, so far as anyone knows! I say to you that we owe the weakest among us our protection. Before all the gods, never had any people juster cause for war than we have. 

“I shall not remain silent any longer. I am not afraid, nor should you be. The time has come for Ferastyr to speak against this reign of horrors, to stand as one kingdom under heaven.”

He paused for a moment to regain his breath. Drawing and slowly raising the Lady of the Dawn high and straight above his head, his eyes to the heavens, he said: “Arise, Ferastyr! I entreat you to join me, to join us, in this righteous rebellion.”

A great roar rose from the townsfolk, along with hundreds of swords and spears; children screamed and ran around their elders, and some of the women dabbed their eyes with kerchiefs. To Anselm, it was like standing at shore’s edge before a surging sea in an autumn storm; he himself felt almost swept away.

“Long live the king! Long live the true king!” Either the men or some zealous boys started the chant, but soon it had spread through the whole of City Square, such a noise as could've been heard for half a league around. Lord Nicholas, Lord Ruan, and Sir Rolfsun stood up behind the dais, voices raised with the rest.

Sheathing his sword again, Anselm drew his right hand to his chest. “I swear before all the gods above that I shall not abandon you, my people–now or ever. And if this war against tyranny be lost, my own life shall have been lost with it. I can do no more as your king.”