Twice a Prince

by Sherwood Smith

  He touched my cheek and gave me a crooked grin. “I had a choice. I could go right out of the world, someplace where time stops, and I would not age, nor would I know what was occurring at home. Or I could sleep in body, but in mind I could learn how to watch. I chose the latter, though my body aged, and though it took me a long time before I could master the art of wandering in the…the realm of the mind, I guess you would say.”

  “Then—you know Randart is after me?”

  “Yes.” Papa winced. “I have been watching him for several years, now. I eventually even learned to hear his thoughts, a little. This summer, though, suddenly I could hear them all, as plain as if I were with them.” He shut his eyes and cocked his head. “Could hear their thoughts. But those voices are fading. His is already gone. Perhaps it is because I’m back inside my own skull, so to speak. How limiting it is! Soon all I’ll hear is my own yammer. I’m yammering, aren’t I, Sasha?” He gave a wheezy laugh. “Never mind. I do know where we had better go, because there are two others I’ve been listening to, and they are also here, as it happens.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I’d better show you.” Dad drew in a deep breath. “But I don’t know how fast I can walk.” He peered down and wiggled his toes. “Especially barefoot. When I chose to sleep, I made myself as comfortable as possible and that meant kicking off my shoes. They’re back wherever Glathan hid my body while I slept.” He waved a hand vaguely.

  “Well, why don’t you ride? I’m tired of riding. I’d as soon shake out the kinks in my muscles.” I handed him the reins to the mare. “You point the way, and we’re outa here.”

  Dad gave me a pensive smile. “This way.”

  Some of the men reacted with questions, but Randart raised his sword. “Are you some kind of damned mage spy? What are you doing here?”

  “I was sent to this mountain this summer, to further my studies in history,” the boy replied. “You saw me at your games with some friends. Just now I discovered that other humans were approaching. You can see the outer accesses from certain vantages within,” he explained, pointing behind him.

  “Other humans, like a tall girl who has no business being on this world at all?” Randart was angrier than ever at the unsettling situation, the sense that he was swiftly losing control. When the boy did not answer, he snapped, “Get out of my way.”

  For a long moment, as the boy gazed steadily up at Randart, the only sounds were the plop-plop of moisture from the trees, the snort of a horse, and in the distance, the sweet, melodic song of a lark.

  The boy said, “I really think you should reconsider. Return to your royal city, as you promised. There is no cause for you to meddle here—”

  A low growl of inarticulate rage began in Randart’s chest and came out as a cry. He flung the sword like a spear straight at the boy.

  Who sidestepped, raising an arm from which the loose sleeve fell, revealing a metal-linked wrist guard. Swifter than sight his arm whirled in a circle, deflecting the blade, which rammed into the twisted holly trunk, vibrating.

  Randart gasped, “Who are you?”

  “My name is immaterial to your purposes, but for what it is worth, it is Sven Eric.”

  The mage gasped, his cheeks blanching.

  The boy looked his way, saying quite kindly, “Not a modern version of that name. I would hardly be named after a fool. It’s the modern version of my Aunt Svenrael’s name.” He turned his attention back to Randart. “Will you return?”

  The war commander, goaded by his own action as well as the result, by the implied secrecy of some name he’d never heard but which the mage obviously recognized, said distinctly, “I will not permit anyone to interfere with a lifetime of work. Anyone. And if you do not get out of my way I will kill you or this mage or whoever is in reach, and not stop until that access lies open.”

  The boy stepped aside. “Then ride within.”

  When they passed the shimmer and their eyes had adjusted enough to reveal purplish blotches along the tunnel walls, they discovered the boy was gone.

  Randart turned to the mage. “What name was he talking about?”

  The mage said flatly, “Sfenaraec. The one who Norsunder was…founded on, over four thousand years ago. A name not used since.”

  Silence.

  Randart said, “Be ready to shoot.”

  Dad and I and the mare walked in silence until cool air currents wafted up the tunnel, bringing the smell of running water and the low, steady rumble of a waterfall. Above the sound we heard voices.

  Dad put out a hand. “The last thing I heard from Randart was his order to have us shot on sight. We cannot be seen.”

  I gazed at him in surprise. “Randart is already ahead of us?”

  “I think he’s near. There are some others as well.”

  We walked the last few steps and stared down at a vast lake under another domed ceiling, this one about the size of one of those super sports domes in the USA. Again, it was painted with gleaming, even glittering stars, in constellations so specific I had a feeling they were astronomically correct, and I was cast back for a moment in memory to childhood, standing on the stone edge of the lake, looking up and thinking I was outside.

  Then memory was gone—thought was gone—when I recognized two of the voices.

  One was my mother.

  The other was Canardan.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dad slid off the mare, wincing when he landed on his bare feet. For a moment he leaned against the animal’s neck, his face hidden behind the wild tangles of his hair, which, uncut for at least ten years, frizzed out spectacularly, ahem, almost as wild as mine.

  The eerily perfect acoustics carried the voices up to us as if they spoke from a few yards away.

  Canardan exclaimed with a surprised laugh, “Is that really you, Atanial?”

  Mom replied, “I could say the same to you.” She wasn’t laughing.

  I laid my hand on my father’s bony shoulder. “Come on, Dad, we gotta tell them we’re here. You’re here.”

  He turned his head. “I’ve been out of her life all these years, darling. What I owe her now is a clear choice, not an impossible one.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, but my voice collided with Canardan’s. “Who are these companions you’ve gathered about you?”

  My mother stated in her Parent Night Voice—pleasant, even bright and social, but quite determined. “Canardan, we have two missions. The first, I am searching through here in case there is any chance, any possible chance, I might find my husband. Yes, you may laugh, but at least we’re out of the rain. Our second mission was to confront you. Once we’d made a circuit of the kingdom gathering more women.”

  “Confront me?” His laughter sounded forced. “What is this? War in the bedroom? Except we are not quite there, are we?”

  She said in a loud, clear voice, “The mission is to prevent you, if we can, from creating a war in spring. Everyone here has children, or nieces and nephews, or brothers and sisters, friends and lovers who enlisted in the army in order to protect Khanerenth. Abrogating the treaty with Locan Jora by invading it is not protecting the kingdom.”

  During the silence that followed, Dad moved slowly the last distance, with me at his side. We found ourselves on a kind of cliff, really no more than a slab of granite forming an outcropping, directly opposite the waterfall. There was a jumble of rock below it, a scree slanting down to a lower natural balcony.

  Dad stood well back, in the shadow of the fissure that made our tunnel.

  Canardan and his force were ranged up alongside the lake, a huge broken-walled cavern behind them with the faint glow of day stippling the rock. Apparently the lake was not part of the geliath, or at least not any more. An ancient avalanche had opened it to the outside, so people could come and go freely. During that long silence, I noticed that most of the surrounding walls had been shored up, built, torn down, temporarily housing all kinds of people, from thieves to political opponen
ts—“people” constituting what the morvende called sunsider humans, like us. The morvende had abandoned this lake cavern way back when, leaving only that marvelous ceiling.

  Mother’s army appeared to be in the hundreds, far outnumbering Canardan’s force. They spread all along the edge of the lake until they were quite near the waterfall, which thundered directly into the lake from a fissure high above. The women seemed to have reached the place within the last day or so, for I saw signs of a campsite, and many had wet hair, and clothing spread over flat rocks.

  As Mom spoke across that leg of the lake, they gathered behind her in silence.

  Canardan said, “Who is there? I cannot make out faces. The light from this end runs reflections upward, making it difficult to see you.”

  Mom said, “Never mind who, if you’re thinking of removing people from their places in life, for there are far more of us even than you see here. Some are on the way, others are gathering ahead, waiting for us to catch up. I can assure you, if something happens to any of us, your troubles will only begin. And that’s before you start your war.”

  Canardan laughed again.

  Then he said, “Atanial sunshine dancingstar from the far-off world, will you marry me?”

  I nearly choked, but Dad did not react at all.

  I whispered to him, “Speak!”

  “She has to have free choice, darling. If I pop up right now, the choice is not free.”

  I tried not to groan as I peered down. Canardan stood among his warriors, tall, strong, with long waving hair. From the distance across the lake he looked as handsome as I remembered him—unchanged.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, his voice the warm, kingly voice I remembered from childhood, and had learned to distrust and even to hate, with all my single-minded childish passion. I’d thought Mom hated him too, but obviously I’d not perceived a lot of things. “Marry me, Atanial. Marry me and show me your right and my wrong. There’s never been a queen like you, and maybe that’s what the kingdom needs.”

  “I am already married,” Mom said, her voice high and tight.

  “To a ghost? If you really believe Math is alive, then set aside the marriage. You’ve waited longer than most would have. He’d understand, especially if it was for the good of the kingdom. Come! Come, I ask you before all these people, make peace and take your place beside me as my queen.”

  Mom’s voice caught. “Canardan, that is probably the most generous offer I’ve ever heard from you. But it is impossible.”

  “No, it’s not. That’s the fun of being king. And queen. You can do things you want to do. You give the orders, make it happen!”

  Mom laughed, a kind of half laugh, half sob. “If you truly want my advice, why not make me your adviser? You could do a lot better with me than with Dannath Randart, I promise you that.”

  “He’s right,” Dad whispered. “And she knows it. She’d make a wonderful queen. She might even save the kingdom. If not Canardan.” He shut his mouth, frowning down in unhappy intensity.

  “As adviser, you’d argue with Randart every day.” Canardan laughed again. “As queen, you would give him orders, and he must obey.”

  “Again he’s right,” Dad murmured. Adding in a less neutral voice, “Until Dannath has her killed.”

  I fought not to yell out, Mom, he’s here! “Dad, you have to do something.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t you see? The important thing for all is the kingdom. Your mother would make a better queen than I would a king. The second most important thing is her happiness. He does love her in his fashion. And I abandoned her.”

  I kicked at the rubble in frustration, sending rocks skittering back toward the mare, who snorted and backed up a step or two, tossing her head.

  Then Dad’s hand gripped my shoulder, and he pointed below us. I heard vague sounds, mostly muffled by the water. Randart and his warriors had arrived through another tunnel which gave out onto the natural balcony right beneath us.

  Mom’s and Canardan’s people were completely unaware of them. They were too close to the waterfall. Its noise covered everything but their own voices.

  Most of Randart’s force began making their way down to the lake, midway between Mom’s group and the king’s. Canardan and Mom were too intent on one another to notice.

  I could only see the back of Randart’s head, but even from that distance it was easy to make out how angry he was. And oh, he was angry. No, he was enraged. When I saw him bend a little to address one of the men following behind his horse, the man’s reaction made it clear Randart’s words were upsetting.

  I couldn’t hear it at the time, but he said, “Why did I not know about these women? I will flay whoever was responsible.”

  As always, he meant it.

  He jerked up when Mom spoke. Her conviction was audible to everyone. “It will never happen. I would be your adviser gladly, but I will never be your wife.”

  Canardan stilled, watched by his men, the gathered women and (though he still did not know it) Randart.

  Randart’s eyes narrowed. Dad and I could see his profile. He raised a gloved hand, and his men stopped, everyone quiet.

  Canardan’s force gradually became aware of Randart’s men through surreptitious nudges and head tips, but Canardan’s attention was divided between Mom and memory. Atanial had spoken in exactly the same tone, the same gentleness, that Jehan’s mother Feraeth had used so long ago. Though he’d ended the marriage, he’d tried to talk her into staying—they were still friends—they shared a child. But Feraeth had said, “I must go, Canardan. Your choices are no longer my choices.”

  Who knows. Maybe he had never really considered Mom would turn him down. Maybe he thought if he could get her to agree to one term, he could convince her on all the others. Maybe he had to seem to be the good guy, in her eyes, in the women’s eyes, in his guards’ eyes—in his own eyes—but he laughed again, head back, teeth flashing.

  We were all watching him now, including Jehan, who had arrived from another tunnel, unseen by any of us.

  Canardan threw his hands wide. “Atanial! If you will come back with me to the capital, I promise, my gift to you will be an end to any invasion—”

  “You idiot!”

  The roar of fury was almost unintelligible.

  Everyone’s attention snapped to Randart—who had yanked a loaded crossbow from one of his men, and fired.

  Canardan jerked around, mouth open in surprise. I don’t think he even saw the bolt that had been meant for his back. When he turned, it smacked straight into his chest.

  Canardan’s long silver-touched auburn hair flung back. One hand groped futilely at the shaft protruding from him, until he began to fall, slowly, slowly to his knees as two or three of his men who were obviously as shocked as the rest of us belatedly sprang forward to catch him.

  The clang of a sword rang out, the echo ricocheting. There was a flash of white hair as Jehan leaped down from the rock fall from another of the many tunnels, unseen until now by any of us. He flung his way through the warriors ringing Randart and attacked the murderer of his father.

  Randart’s men had fallen back, shocked at the death of the king, but I didn’t trust them. I yanked my sword from the mare’s saddle sheath and vaulted down the rocky scree until I ranged up behind Jehan, whose blades whirled.

  In the time I’d taken to run up, Jehan had gotten Randart off the horse, whose hooves slipped in the rubble. Randart jumped clear and the animal plunged away, ears flat, as men reached to catch the reins.

  Randart backed up two steps under Jehan’s furious attack, almost skidding in the rubble as he warded off blow after blow with his heavy cavalry blade. He bumped up against a flat rock and hopped up, now striking down at Jehan, who braced himself in the gravel before the rock, his cavalry sword and someone else’s rapier humming.

  Randart yelled over his shoulder, “Take him! Take him!”

  Randart had chosen his crossbow men deliberately. They were willing to kill in cold bloo
d. The one with the still-loaded bow yanked it up and took aim at Jehan.

  “Touch him and you die,” I bellowed as I dashed forward.

  The man yanked the bow toward me. I snapped off a sidekick to his hand that sent the bow hurtling into the air. It smashed against the ceiling and the bolt fired—straight into the ground in front of the other riders, sending up a spurt of gravel.

  Horses panicked, men in the narrow tunnel mouth fell back, some shoving, everyone yelling and slipping and sliding, as Randart glared past Jehan at me. “Kill her!” Randart yelled, with a flourish of his sword.

  Most of the nearby men just pressed back, but two came at me, blades raised. I kicked up gravel at one and met the blade of the other, flinging it off. The first lunged in, but I snapped a whirling time bind with my rapier round his heavy sword, and slid the point past it straight into his shoulder. He staggered back, and as the second guy brought his blade down at me I swung inside, caught him by the wrist and used my judo to yank him off-balance. I kicked out his knee and slammed him into the first man.

  Two of Jehan’s men had reached me and stood over the attackers, swords upraised.

  I leaped to guard Jehan’s back.

  Unfortunately he caught the flicker of motion at the extreme edge of his vision. He glanced back—but just as he reassured himself that it was me and not an attacker, his heel skidded.

  In the second he was off-balance, Randart brought his hilt toward Jehan’s head in the backswing, and brained him from behind. Jehan crashed to the ground.

  Randart’s men leaped forward to finish Jehan off. I whirled, sword out, to keep them back.

  Randart stepped down from the rock, swinging his blade back and forth. “No, no, keep him alive. He’s now the king. And he’s going to take orders from me. As for her.” Randart pointed with the sword directly at me. “Everything, everything is her fault. Get away,” he ordered the men still ringing us, and they backed up, staring from him to me and down to Jehan. Randart bared his teeth. “This pleasure I reserve for myself.”