Prince on the Run

by Guy Antibes

  “I understand, sir.”

  “You are dismissed, Arcwin.”

  Trevor left the general’s office with a roster of his men, and it appeared he wouldn’t be making the selection other than retaining Boxster in his unit.

  Boxster, as usual, sat in one of the office chairs, waiting for Trevor to arrive.

  “New orders?”

  Trevor nodded. “We are getting the opportunity to follow the West Moreton army to the border.”

  “And if they stop before they reach the border?” Boxster asked.

  “We will make life a little more miserable for them.”

  Boxster sat up a bit straighter. “That could be dangerous work.”

  “It will be, from what I can tell. There were two instances in the scout journal about similar actions—”

  “Did you memorize the book?” Boxster asked.

  “Just the first. I took detailed notes on that one. I still have the journals if you want to look at them.” Trevor turned his chair to the back wall and retrieved the journal from the bookshelf. He laid it on the desk. “I bought two other books as soon as I was released from confinement. I haven’t made it through the first one yet.”

  “And they are about…?”

  “Books on practical military maneuvers. The kind of stuff we are doing. We won’t have time to look at the other ones, but the small scout journal has two expeditions toward the back where they followed a larger force.”

  “Were they all scouts?”

  Trevor nodded. “They were, but we will become scouts—everyone in our unit—when we are in the field this time.”

  Boxster leaned back and smiled. “You are picking things up, Lieutenant Arcwin, sir. You won’t need me much longer.”

  “If I don’t need you, I will want you unless you choose to become an officer.”

  “That isn’t for me. Foreigners are not made officers in the Presidon army, by the way.”

  “Does the army know you aren’t from Presidon?”

  Boxster nodded. “I showed up to join the royal guard, and they wouldn’t take me, so I took the army instead. I’ve told you this story before.”

  “You have. Have you always bounced from army to army?”

  Boxster frowned. “No. I’ve been a bodyguard, and I worked for a crime lord doing special projects, but I didn’t last very long doing that, and neither did the crime lord. I’ve done other things in my wanderings. If you ever get tired of the army, we can always put together a little band of soldiers of fortune and take jobs that come our way.”

  “But you won’t work for any more crime lords?”

  “No,” Boxster said. “That is a definite no.”

  “Something to think about in the future,” Trevor said, “especially if there are more assassination attempts.”

  “You don’t think there will be?” Boxster asked. It was the kind of question where the questioner knew what the answerer was going to say.

  “Of course there will be more. At some point, I’ll have to leave Presidon unless I find out who is sending out thugs to end my charmed life.”

  “Charmed enough,” Boxster said. “This kind of expedition will make it tough for a group to attack, but it only takes one good shot of an arrow to kill you.”

  Trevor shivered. “I’d rather that not happen. It isn’t pleasant being a target.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  ~

  B oxster rode at the back of the column while Trevor talked to each of the sergeants. With everyone mounted, they made better time.

  “You have been a scout before,” Trevor said to Angry Sender. Sometimes soldiers adopted the wrong first name. Anger wasn’t quite what Trevor sensed in the man, but it wasn’t deep respect for his superior officer since Angry spoke a bit too casually to him. It was impolite to ask a military man about his name. If Trevor wanted to know, he would have to get Angry drunk sometime, but he could see a less civil side to his sergeant.

  “I have. I’ve already talked to Sergeant Crookwell. We have a training program that will get everyone up to speed. At least the powers that be gave us good men. I heard you didn’t fare so well on your previous patrols,” Angry said.

  Trevor frowned. “I won’t speak ill of my men, but they did lack a bit of experience. They all fought with valor.”

  Angry nodded his head. “Goes without saying,” the man said, but there was much implied with that nod. “What will Master Sergeant Boxster’s role be?”

  “As you were told, Boxster is second in command, and he has the experience that I lack. I want Crookwell and you to go over your plans with him. I don’t think he will have much to say about them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Angry said. “It might be time to send out the men as scouts, for training purposes, that is.”

  “Whatever you decide. We will spend the night in Washingfalls. The training will start in earnest when we leave tomorrow morning. There haven’t been any reports of the West Moretons anywhere near this far west.”

  Angry frowned. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t near.”

  “Will the enemy fear a twenty-man company?” Trevor asked.

  “I suppose not,” the man said. “Permission to return to my squad, sir.”

  “Granted,” Trevor said.

  He turned to watch Angry Sender ride back. The man picked up Crookwell, and the pair of them let the column pass them until the end where they fell in with Boxster. The more he thought of the conversation, the more convinced he was that Angry was an appropriate choice for the man’s name. As he had talked to the sergeant, Trevor had felt the man’s disapproval of his command increase. Boxster would be frank with him once they settled into an inn at Washingfalls. One of their assigned scouts should have arrived in the small town to secure rooms.

  Just as Trevor turned back, an arrow glanced off his helmet, careening into the brush on the other side of the road.

  “Attack!” Trevor said.

  He looked back, but there were no other arrows, and no men attacked. The men turned their horses toward the forest, every other man facing a different direction, but nothing happened.

  Trevor dismounted and sought out the arrow, finding it farther into the forest than he expected. The shaft had cracked, but it was intact enough to show Boxster.

  Sergeant Sender reached Trevor first. “Are you all right?”

  Trevor took off his helmet and showed the deep scratch in the painted finish. “New, just a minute ago,” he said.

  “Should we ride into the forest?” Sender asked.

  “No,” Trevor said. “The faster we get to Washingfalls, the better. Everyone is to keep their eyes on the forest—both sides.” Trevor put his helmet back on and mounted. “You ride in the front, and I’ll be back with Master Sergeant Boxster.”

  “We didn’t finish our plans,” Sender said.

  “I’ll be the judge of when you can finish your plans, Sergeant,” Trevor said.

  Sender sat up a bit straighter. “Of course, sir.” He saluted and headed to the front as Trevor rode to the back of the column.

  “You weren’t hit?”

  Trevor shook his head. “No. My helmet might need to be touched up, though.”

  Boxster leaned over and traced the mark with a forefinger. “The point didn’t catch the metal.”

  “And that is why I am riding next to you. Look at this,” Trevor said, handing the arrow over to Boxster.

  “Polehand,” Boxster said. “I might have guessed him.” He looked more closely at the arrow. Polehand was one of the permanent scouts. “You will remember my trick to mark the arrows before you leave the garrison in the future?”

  “I am sure you realize that only works part of the time,” Trevor said.

  Boxster grinned. “But this was the right time. What do you intend to do?”

  “I’m not sure, but I am open to suggestions. I will return to the front since the assassin knows who I am. I will wear my shield on my back, however,” Trevor said.

  He stopped his
horse and strapped the shield to his back at an angle. After adjusting his helmet, again, Trevor rode to the front.

  “You can resume your discussion with Boxster.”

  “If you please, sir.”

  “I do. Dismissed.” He saluted Angry Sender and watched him move a little more smartly down the line. Trevor wished he knew why the sergeant’s behavior improved.

  Eventually, Trevor rode to the back again. Trevor and Boxster drifted back a bit before Boxster spoke. “What do you intend on doing?”

  Trevor snorted. “I’m not going to have Polehand shooting at me all the while we are traipsing around the south. What do you propose?”

  “I asked first,” Boxster said.

  “I know.” Trevor frowned and said, “I’m not very good at executions, but we don’t have time to do anything with him other than kill him.”

  “And you are loath to do that?”

  Trevor nodded. “I am loath. Perhaps we can confront him first if he shows up.”

  “So you can kill him in self-defense?”

  “That does make a difference,” Trevor said.

  “It does. I suppose you will want me to follow the scout? I’m better at executions than you are.” Boxster looked out on his side of the wood as they traveled.

  “But you aren’t happy about it. Like working for the crime lord?”

  Boxster made a face. “Not as bad as that. Polehand is guilty of treason, as far as I’m concerned, and he will need interrogation.”

  “You can handle that?”

  One of Boxster’s eyebrows rose. “Interrogation? I have no qualms doing that. What follows is what follows,” he said.

  “Then, you can leave me.”

  “Not yet,” Boxster said. “Go up front. If there is another arrow and it hits its mark, you will need a healer’s attention. If you stay in the back, it may be too late to save you once the column notices.”

  “Especially if Angry Sender is in front?”

  Trevor pursed his lips as Boxster nodded in agreement. “I think we are together in worrying about one of your sergeants,” Boxster said. “I’m not so sure about the other. If Polehand and the sergeants are in this together, the first one I would try to break would be Crookwell.”

  Trevor sighed. “I’ll send Crookwell to bring up the rear.” He snapped his horse’s reins and rode ahead, leaving Boxster alone. The archer wouldn’t be paying attention to Boxster but to his quarry, Prince Arcwin.

  An hour later, the column had just passed a sign declaring Washingfalls a mile ahead. Boxster emerged from the trees on the side of the road and took up Trevor’s pace.

  “Interrogated and eliminated,” Boxster said.

  “I thought you were loath to do that?” Trevor said.

  “He tried to escape. As you said, provocation makes it easier.”

  “Did he say anything,” Trevor asked.

  “Polehand didn’t try to kill you, he claimed, but his arrow was a warning.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Two inches to the right, and I’d be lying by the side of the road.”

  “Not so. That arrow would have a hard time piercing your cranium,” Boxster said with a smirk.

  “Who put him up to it?” Trevor asked.

  “An officer at the garrison. That was as far as he got before he bolted. I’m not convinced he is out here alone,” Boxster said.

  “Then we are back to watching our backs,” Trevor said.

  “Not to mention our fronts. Is it allowable to sleep together in Washingfalls?”

  Trevor looked ahead with narrowed eyes. “It is. I want to wake up tomorrow morning.”

  ~

  Washingfalls didn’t show as large on their maps, and if anything, it was smaller than indicated. The inn was almost full, but the scout sent to make reservations was successful in procuring five rooms. Trevor and Boxster took one while the sergeants divvied up the other four among themselves and their friends in the unit.

  The food was good, but not excellent. Trevor was full when he walked up the stairs with Boxster behind. Both men checked the room before retiring. The company was still in the common room with the inn’s staff given strict orders to stop serving alcohol within half an hour.

  Trevor took most of his clothes off and laid on the padded cot that served as a bed in the village. Boxster went to sleep more fully clothed, and Trevor was so tired he didn’t care. He didn’t know why he would care, either, as he let his mind wander before falling into a deep sleep. At least, everyone said how thoroughly he slumbered.

  Something was wrong in Trevor’s dream, and he began to cough. His eyes opened in the darkness of his bedroom, and he woke with the conviction that someone was in the room who shouldn’t be there. He made a vague sound and rolled over on his stomach, letting his hand drop to the floor.

  His naked sword had been slipped under his bed before he went to sleep. He grasped the handle and flipped it up in front of him. He made out a black form standing up next to Boxster’s bed. His sergeant was snoring, not knowing how close to death he was. Trevor lunged at the intruder. His sword slid into the back of the intruder who dropped to the floor.

  “What?” Boxster said, sitting up in bed. He struck a light in his tinderbox and lit the candle.

  “We are down a sergeant,” Trevor said, looking at the sightless eyes of Sergeant Crookwell. “So much for my judge of character.”

  “Don’t feel so bad, Prince Arcwin, sir, I shared your opinion of the man.” Boxster leaned over and took the thin-bladed knife from Crookwell’s hand.

  “First me and then you,” Boxster said. “I’m surprised he didn’t attempt to kill you first.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t his target,” Trevor said.

  Boxster stared at the body. “I suppose I’m not entirely surprised, given that we ran into a trio of my countrymen.”

  “Should we find them?” Trevor asked.

  Boxster shook his head. “No. I’m sure they are long gone, collecting data for the kingdom of Brachia. Who knows?”

  “You are as much on the run as I am,” Trevor said.

  “Perhaps we can make it into a race; we run in front of the mass of assassins after both of us.” Boxster said as he opened the window. “Let’s get him wrapped up and dropped to the stable yard. I don’t want to sleep with a corpse in the room.”

  “Sleep!” Trevor said. “How can you sleep after this?”

  Boxster shrugged. “I close my eyes and relax.”

  “Shouldn’t we be calling the innkeeper?”

  “Are you going to lie about what happened?” Boxster said, yawning.

  “No,” Trevor said, angry that he had to yawn as well.

  After disposing of Sergeant Crookwell’s body and wiping the blood off the floor as best they could, Trevor tried to settle down and woke much later. This time dawn lit up the room. Boxster was gone.

  When Trevor was in the middle of getting dressed, the door flew open. An officious looking man wearing a sword belt and a steel pot helmet barged in followed by the innkeeper and Boxster.

  “This is where the death occurred?” the helmeted man asked.

  Trevor sighed when the man used the term death rather than murder. “Yes,” Trevor said. “I woke up and could barely make out the man standing over Sergeant Boxster’s bed. I slept with a sword under my bed and ran him through.”

  “How did you know the intruder was going to attempt to murder Sergeant…” he looked down at some scribbles on the back of an already-used parchment.

  “Boxster,” Trevor said.

  The man nodded. “Ah, yes. Sergeant Boxster. Back to my question.”

  “It just felt that way. When we lit up the room, the man had a knife in his hand.”

  “Can I see the knife?” the officious man said, holding out his hand.

  Boxster went to the little table at the side of his bed and retrieved the knife. The man squinted as he looked closely at the blade.

  “I don’t see any blood,” he said.

  “An
d a good thing, don’t you think?” Boxster said, drily.

  The man looked up at Trevor. “You knew the intruder?”

  “Sergeant Crookwell. I have two squads under my command. He leads, uh, led one of them.”

  “Do you have any idea why he would want to kill a superior officer?”

  “Not quite an officer,” Boxster muttered.

  The man gave Boxster a dirty look. “Superior?”

  Boxster flashed a quick smile. “That works.”

  Trevor was going to speak, but Boxster stepped partway in front of him. “I have lived an active life and have made a few enemies—powerful enemies. I suspect one of them found out where I ended up, in King Henry’s army, and decided they could even a score.”

  “You didn’t intend on evening a score yourself, Sergeant Boxster?”

  “Not in Washingfalls,” Boxster said. “If I were to do such a thing, I would do it out in the forest where I would have no problem getting rid of the body.”

  The investigator stepped to the window and looked down at the stable yard. “I can see your point,” the man said, sighing. “I will write a report and send it along through the nonmilitary channels. I suppose you will have to do the same?” He looked at Trevor.

  “Of course,” Trevor said.

  They would have to explain Crookwell’s and Polehand’s deaths. Trevor knew he’d get blamed for both circumstances by General Greenwood, but it was better being scolded by his commanding officer than lying on the side of the road, dead.

  The man left the room, leaving the innkeeper behind. “You’ll be paying more for that,” he said, looking at the bloodstain. “There is always trouble when I let rooms out to the military.”

  “Did any West Moretons come through here?” Boxster asked before he shot a look at Trevor.

  “Three nights ago, it was. The soldiers put yours to shame. They broke three of my tables!”

  “How many in the party?” Trevor asked.

  “Ten? Fifteen? There were some sleeping outside of town, but not many as I recall. I don’t get too nosy when the enemy comes to play,” the innkeeper said, “if you know what I mean.”