A Princess of Sorts

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  | Chapter 7 |

  Shock turned to turmoil. Both Mako and Coltic were now surging around the mule, yelling. Everyone was yelling.

  Sorrell was gone. Soldiers from all directions converged and a tight group now surrounded the princess’s mule and Sorrell’s frightened, rearing horse with its empty saddle. Dust flew, men shouted, horses and soldiers scattered in all directions. Some scaled the rocks and disappeared into the forest, weapons at the ready.

  Even if Sorrell had not been trampled by her own mount, it was not possible that she could escape now from the thudding feet of the soldiers’ horses.

  Scylla gave a despairing wail. “Sorrell! Sorrell!”

  “Where is Sorrell?” Coltic shouted at her, inches away from her face. The arrow was still in his shoulder, and his arm hung limply, with a thin stream of blood running from the wound.

  “Back there! She fell under the horse!”

  “Oh, dear goddess!” He turned his horse away and Mako was suddenly there in his place, his eyes wide open and raking her up and down.

  “Are you injured, Princess?”

  “No!” she screamed. “But Sorrell! Find Sorrell!”

  He grimaced. “They are picking her up... Did you recognize that man? ...An excellent defense, Princess.”

  She shook her head, covering her face with her hands. She could still feel the shock of the blade ramming into the attacker’s skull. She began to gag. He put a hand on her shoulder, then was gone. He raised a cry, echoed by a multitude of voices. “The queen is safe! The queen is safe!”

  Around her, the dust was drifting, starting to settle. Scylla’s mule was surrounded by the soldiers, a tight group protecting her from the danger that was now over.

  “Are you all right, Princess?” one of the soldiers was asking her urgently.

  “I’m fine! But Coltic has an arrow in his shoulder... and Sorrell...!” She had to stop thinking about the blade going into the attacker’s eye.

  The group was moving towards a more open area, still enclosing the mule and Sorrell’s horse with a double row of soldiers. Then they stopped, all on full alert for further danger.

  “Stay here, Princess. I believe it’s all over,” the soldier said. He was standing in his stirrups, checking back towards the narrow section road between rocky outcrop and the drop to the river. “What a place for an ambush...! Who were they? Did anyone see who that was?”

  “How many?” shouted someone else.

  “One!... Three...! Are they all dead? We have two dead and Captain Coltic injured, and the queen’s handmaid down...!”

  Of such is the misery of our lives... thought the princess in despair, echoing Sorrell’s statement from earlier that morning. If the massacre of King Tobin, Queen Maris, and the twin princes Torin and Togin could only be imagined – because she had run away – she now had in firsthand experience yet another nightmare. She clasped her arms around her upper body and leaned forward over the front of the saddle, closing her eyes in despair.

  Around her, things were quieting down, with less shouting, less commotion.

  “Princess.” It was Mako, motioning the soldiers’ horses to give way and coming up beside her. “Sorrell is alive.”

  “No, she must be dead,” she moaned.

  “Injured but alive,” he said. He was calmer now, but horror still lived in his eyes. “The physician is with her. She has a knife slash and a broken arm, maybe some broken ribs.”

  “I must see her!”

  He took the mule’s lead rope and urged it forward. It uttered a groan and followed.

  “The mule’s gashed,” said a soldier. “How bad is it?”

  Mako looked back and Scylla leaned over to look at the mule’s side, where the skin gaped, exposing muscle, a flash of rib bone and a steady drip of blood.

  “Oh, the poor mule,” she gasped. “I will get down!”

  “Wait, Princess...! Soldier, hold my horse!” Mako slid off his horse, which gleamed with health and sweat. He helped her to dismount from the mule.

  “You’ll need the cane,” he said. “Is it on Sorrell’s horse?”

  “I won’t have it,” she said firmly, holding his arm while balancing on her good foot and the toe of her injured side.

  “Yes, you will.”

  “No, I won’t, the top is skewered into that man’s head.”

  There was silence. “Oh, yes,” he said after a moment. “Did I mention that was an excellent defensive move?”

  “Do not speak of it! I... I will faint.”

  “Please don’t, Princess.” He beckoned for Sorrel’s horse, which was far less stolid than the mule. Someone led the mule away. The princess was assisted to mount by Mako and another soldier. She clutched nervously at the saddle.

  “Can you make this horse stand still?”

  “Just think,” Mako ignored her request, waiting until she was settled on the horse. “Just think how much better to see him lying there dead, instead of you with your head struck from your shoulders.”

  There was a chorus of agreement from the soldiers surrounding them.

  “That was close, far too close, Princess...” He shook his head. “A desperate attack and the luck almost went their way...”

  “It was a suicide mission,” said the soldier in charge of the group. She thought his name was Gilliver. “He couldn’t have hoped to get away.”

  “He aimed to strike down the queen and die with her. What was it he said?”

  “He said it was a blow for the House of Rellant,” she answered. “I said it was a blow from the House of Rellant!”

  “I bow to you, Princess Scylla.” Mako gave her a bow, standing next to the horse. She looked around, realizing she was getting beams of approval and admiration from the soldiers surrounding her.

  “A blow from the House of Rellant,” one repeated quietly to his neighbor. “Our queen has a cool head in battle! The House of Rellant thrives!” The mutters spread, became voices, cheers, even shouts in the distance as the motto spread, almost as quickly as the wind blew. Mako winked at her and said under his breath, “Your legend grows, Princess!”

  “Oh, stop! Where is Sorrell?”

  He led the horse back towards the narrow place in the road. They had to pass the group of soldiers encircling the dead man lying spread-eagled on his back. Scylla cast her glance the other way, over the pretty river. She did not want to see the blade sticking out of his eye.

  Mako, curse him, stopped at the huddle of soldiers.

  “Is it Tawler?” he asked.

  There was agreement all around. “The brother of Darwyn’s wife, Princess Neyella. The bowman was his brother, Aric. They were with Darwyn at the forestry village, but they split up and we lost them.”

  “Where is he?”

  The soldier gestured to the ridge above. “He was cut down up there. He had only three arrows, and two hit their mark. Coltic and one of our men.”

  “But missed the princess, thank the Goddess!”

  There was a shout from above.

  “Chancellor! We have found two others at a hidden camp.”

  “And?” roared Mako.

  There was a moment’s silence. Two other soldiers now peered down from the rocky outcrop, one leading a horse.

  “What news, man?”

  “The Princess Neyella is dead from a self-inflicted...” His voice trickled away into silence.

  “Spit it out, man!”

  The horse was led forward and turned broadside to exhibit a female form slung across the saddle. Neyella’s head hung down and her arms swayed loose, with one displaying dark bloody slashes.

  There was silence from the crowd of soldiers, Mako and the princess below. She resolutely looked away from yet one more of the day’s dreadful sights. They all knew Neyella from the court – she had been a lively, laughing beauty until Darwyn had wed her a couple of years before.

  “Oh,” said Mako slowly. “Well... who is the other?”

  Yet another soldier appeared in the side of t
he princess’s vision.

  There was an odd silence. Despite herself, Scylla’s eyes flew back to the scene on top of the rock.

  “Who is that?”

  “I believe it’s Darwyn’s son,” replied the soldier. He was holding a small child. He indicated a swathe of blood that had soaked across the child’s clothing. “He is not injured... this is his mother’s blood.”

  “The nephew of Tawler and Aric as well,” Mako said. Across his face was spreading a look of regret.

  The princess contemplated the scene, looking from face to face. For some moments, there was silence from those present against a backdrop of the sounds of the river and the birds, while some ways away the babble of surrounding voices continued.

  Mako raised his eyes back to the soldiers atop the rocks. He gave an odd sort of jerk of his head towards the forest. The soldiers nodded agreement and began to move away.

  Princess Scylla worked it out.

  “Soldier! Bring that child down here!”

  Mako turned his head to look at her, and his eyes searched her face. “Princess... that is Darwyn’s son and Tawler’s nephew.” He indicated the dead man lying in the road before them. “Traitors... who massacred the king and the princes... and you now have just barely escaped slaughter yet again.”

  “You... we... I, that is! ...I cannot blame a child of two for the sins of his elders.”

  “Darwyn and Tawler did not spare our young princes,” Mako grated.

  “We do not need to be equally as foul.”

  The soldiers hadn’t moved. Mako looked back up at them. He said nothing. The look of regret had changed to one of pained resignation.

  “Bring that child down here,” Scylla said again. The soldier, with a glance at Mako, knelt down to lean over the edge. He handed the child down to a soldier on horseback who then put him down on the road in front of Mako, swinging him by one arm like a piece of baggage.

  The boy was small and thin and bore a stunned expression, as if he was in shock, but stayed on his feet.

  “He may be closer to three years,” said Mako. “Princess, this may be very unwise.”

  “He does not look like his father. I will admit, if he resembled Darwyn, it would be difficult to look at him.”

  “He could grow up to betray you, like his father and uncles.”

  “You are forgetting something,” Scylla told him. “This, after me, is the only member of the House of Rellant that remains. Are there any others?”

  Mako was thinking. The soldiers who were watching nudged each other, shook their heads, or shrugged.

  Mako said reluctantly, “I don’t believe so. Inquiries will have to be made.”

  “So if I die, this is our only blood that remains of the House of Rellant.”

  The chancellor looked as if he had eaten something very unpleasant. “Good goddess! Princess, you have a duty to reproduce!”

  She glared at him. “Oh...” Shut up! She didn’t spit out the words, but she was sure he caught the thought.

  “How many times have I almost died in the past few days?” she leaned over and spoke quietly.

  He gave her a bleak glance. “Three... possibly four.”

  They all looked back at the boy, who sat down in the dust as if the weight of all their eyes was just too heavy.

  “What is this, Chancellor?” It was the welcome sight of Coltic, who was rather pale but bore his usual cheerful expression. The princess looked at his arm, to see his shoulder padded with a bandage.

  “Captain,” she interrupted Mako. “You look much better with the arrow removed! How is Sorrell?”

  “Not too bad,” he responded, checking back over his shoulder reflexively. “Is this not...?”

  “This is Darwyn’s son. I do not recall his name,” said Mako.

  “What’s your name, boy?” asked Coltic, addressing the child.

  His worried eyes went to Coltic’s face. There was a sniff and a babyish response.

  “What was that...? Oh yes, young Prince Leon.” Coltic’s glance traveled to the corpse lying on the road. “I thought that was Tawler who attacked. An excellent strike, Princess. My apologies for having been caught off guard.”

  “His brother Aric was the bowman,” said Mako. “The brothers of Darwyn’s wife, the Princess Neyella.” He nodded upwards, and Coltic winced at the sight of Neyella’s body.

  “There are those who will say the traitorous branch should be pruned,” Mako continued, with a glance at Scylla.

  “He is only two. I shall ask Minda for advice. When he is six he can become a page.”

  “As you wish,” Mako said heavily. “I hope we don’t regret this in the future.”

  Coltic was again eyeing the child.

  “That’s his mother’s blood on his clothing,” the princess said. “He is not injured, I believe.”

  “Hmmm...? Oh, I see... You know, I do not believe the king would have pruned this branch.” He pulled Mako aside and spoke into his ear, too quietly to be overheard.

  Mako’s head swiveled back towards the child Leon. There was a look of shock on his face before he wiped it off.

  “Ah...” he said. “Ah... I see.” There were a few moments while his thoughts reshuffled. When he spoke, it was to Coltic. “You will take charge of the... the prince Leon for now, Coltic, if that is all right with you, Princess?”

  She nodded. “Wash him in the river and find him some clean clothes. There must be some that can be found among the people,” she said, gesturing at the halted cavalcade snaking back along the road further than could be seen.

  “The princess takes the prince Leon under her protection!” Mako raised his voice to reach the soldiers near enough to hear. “Let that be known. Prince Leon, despite Darwyn’s betrayal, is the blood of the royal House of Rellant!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Coltic scooped up the small, thin boy with his good arm and carried him away. Mako led the horse in his wake toward a group of people, presumably surrounding Sorrell. Beside the road lay two figures, covered with their cloaks: the two soldiers who had died in her defense.

  She gave them a nod, and Mako stopped the horse for a moment in silence. Then they moved on.

  “Chancellor! What did Coltic say to you just now?”

  “Ah... Princess! May I ask that you allow me to investigate some matters before I pass that on?”

  “Even to me?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, I suppose! Where is Sorrell? I want to see she is alive!”

  But Sorrell lay still and white as if she were dead. Minda and the physician knelt with her, wrapping her arm with a splint and bandage.

  “They have just straightened her broken arm, I believe,” said Coltic over his shoulder. “Come on, young fellow, we’re going to play in the river for a few minutes.” He went over the bank with the child and down to the water.

  “Ask one of these soldiers to go find some clothing to borrow,” the princess said to Mako. “The danger is now over – you can spare one.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Mako beckoned to a soldier on horseback and gave him instructions. He rode off.

  “How are you feeling, Princess?” asked Minda.

  “Quite well at this moment,” she answered with some surprise. “Although what will happen when the shock wears off, I am not certain.”

  There was a new sound approaching, along with a cloud of dust. A small four-wheeled carriage was racing towards them, drawn by a brown pony. On board was a boy, who was yelling, “Whoa, whoa! Stop, you son-of-a...”

  A couple of soldiers on horseback wheeled around and headed off the pony between them. It pulled up some hundred feet away, just as people began to clear the road to make way.

  “Good goddess, is that the rig you sent for, Minda?” asked Mako.

  “I believe so.” She stood up. The boy jumped to the road and began to unhitch, aided by soldiers who went to the pony’s head.

  “Why is he unhitching?” Mako raised his voice.

  “The
pony won’t stand still!” came the answer after a moment.

  There was silence.

  “This is a problem,” Mako said after some thought. “The mule is out of the picture, it’s injured. Sorrell will be unable to ride; her broken arm is one thing, but the broken ribs are another. This pony seems uncontrollable, so how is the princess to ride in the carriage? And the wagons are too rough – as we know, there would be far too much jolting. Who knows what further danger lies in wait on the road?”

  Minda looked disturbed. “The sooner the princess is back in the castle the better. And yet... how? Maybe she should lay over at the roadhouse overnight. She and Sorrell may be more able to travel tomorrow.”

  “I will not lay over at the roadhouse,” said the princess.

  Everyone’s attention turned to her: Mako, Minda, all soldiers in earshot, the physician, and even Sorrell, who had opened her eyes.

  “Princess,” Mako said soothingly. “You sound dangerously calm.”

  “Do not humor me, Chancellor,” she warned him.

  “We are in a bind, Princess. You are excellent... in fact, admirable... under pressure, but in your current state, quite fragile. We need to present a live queen at the coronation tomorrow, not a dead one.”

  “I will return immediately to the castle! I am sorry I ever left it.”

  A man approached them diffidently. Minda said, “This is my husband Orwen Miller, Chancellor... Princess Scylla.”

  “We have met many times,” said Mako. They nodded at each other. The man, a red-cheeked, barrel-chested figure in well-made traveling clothes, surveyed the scene with interest.

  Scylla hoped he would not be too loud. She recalled him being a regular at the court, one of her father’s many cronies.

  He met her eyes and offered her a polite bow. “Princess Scylla, may I say I am very glad to see you safe?”

  She nodded stiffly in return. “Thank you.”

  Minda said, “The problem we face lies in how to transport the princess back to the castle safely. And her handmaid is now injured as well, in the attack.”

  He was nodding, his bright eyes traveling to the small carriage down the road. “The carriage is well sprung and a smooth ride.”

  “What a pretty carriage,” said Scylla, eyeing it. It had large front wheels and smaller rear wheels, and between them was hung a delicate seating box woven from wicker. “The pony, however...” Her voice trailed off.