Prince on the Run

by Guy Antibes

  “Not much to tell. We had been in squads of three or four testing your alertness. My group ran into a cluster of sentries, and a fight ensued. We would have withdrawn, but your men made that impossible. The Lieutenant was shadowing us, observing our progress at the time. When the fighting began, he joined us and commanded us not to kill but to make sure we weren’t followed. Two of your men had dropped torches onto the brush, so rather than leave them and the forest to burn, the Lieutenant ordered us to put out the fires before withdrawing, which we did.

  “And which got you caught,” Periwinkle said. “If you left the torches to burn, we wouldn’t have thought to follow you to your camp. Your mistake.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake, Commander,” Trevor said. “We don’t like our forests to burn.”

  “So much, you are willing to give up your life and the lives of your men?”

  Trevor felt his face heat up. He didn’t like being called a failure, but in his mind, his biggest failure was being incapable of maintaining the loyalty of his men. He decided not to answer the question, and looking at the commander, it looked like Periwinkle was looking for one.

  “We will talk about your fate at breakfast.” The commander yawned. “I am allowing you to live, for now. Stay in your tent, and you won’t suffer my wrath.”

  ~

  After a fitful night on a stinky cot, Trevor looked over at Boxster, who had instantly fallen asleep when they had lain down. Trevor couldn’t understand how the sergeant could do such a thing. Perhaps it was something that came from experience. He was too tired to think of anything past that.

  The flap was thrown open as three soldiers filed into the tent. “Time to meet with the commander.”

  Trevor stood, and after shaking the sleep out of his head and running his fingers through his unruly, dark hair, so did Boxster. They were taken to a different tent than the one that held the commander’s sleeping quarters and were told to sit at a long table toward the end.

  They didn’t wait long before the commander, fully dressed this time, walked in with a group of officers behind him. He sat at the end of the table.

  “What am I going to do with you? I had thought you were lying about the assassination, but my men who visited your former camp say it looks like you probably spoke the truth. It is the only thing that makes any sense. What were your orders regarding us?”

  “Follow you out of Presidon,” Trevor said. “If you needed a little prodding, we were to do that without getting in a skirmish.”

  “That didn’t happen, did it?” Commander Periwinkle said.

  “No,” Trevor said. “We had just arrived and were scouting to learn where you were going. It isn’t hard for a small mounted company to do what we set out to do.”

  “Not hard?” Periwinkle laughed. “Not so easy, is it? You were caught out on the first encounter.”

  “Second, sir,” Boxster said. “We picked up a company staying in a village and followed them here.”

  “What village?”

  “Washingfalls, if you must know,” Trevor said.

  “I must, and why is my business. It appears you may be a tiny bit more competent than you appear, Prince Arcwin.”

  “Lieutenant Arcwin. I’d prefer that, especially since I’m sure my father or my brothers initiated a series of assassination attempts.”

  “And they’ve all failed?”

  Trevor gave the commander a bow of his head. “I sit before you as evidence. The fact that you know my name might be some more.”

  “It is,” Periwinkle said. “We received a communication; I won’t tell you from whom, that warned us you were headed our way.”

  “So, when the sentries were engaged, you knew it was my company, sir?” Trevor said.

  “Betrayed on both sides, I would say, Arcwin,” Periwinkle said. “Eat breakfast with me, and we will see what I must do with you.”

  Trevor couldn’t be more surprised with the manner that the West Moreton army had treated him so far. He had expected to be killed or at least beaten, but he felt the commander seemed to be calm, to the point, and not at all hostile.

  Breakfast for the West Moreton army wasn’t any different from Presidonian breakfasts, although Trevor hadn’t been in a large force. He ate all he could handle since he didn’t know when he’d have the chance to eat again, and he noticed Boxster doing the same.

  “I’ll see you later in the day. For now, you are restricted to the tent you slept in,” Periwinkle said. He nodded at two soldiers, who escorted Trevor and Boxster out of the officers’ mess tent and back to the old tent with smelly cots. Now that Trevor had a full belly and was awake, the place wasn’t nearly as welcoming as it had been in the early morning.

  “At least we are alive,” Boxster said.

  “Did you know about Sender’s true orders?” Trevor asked.

  “I suspected, but Crookwell’s attempt on my life threw me off. I will admit to that. There was always something dodgy about Angry Sender, and the way he reacted to the scout’s attack on you seemed odd. I hadn’t expected the entire company to attack you. That must have been why you were never allowed to interview the company. The five who didn’t fight might have indicated their intentions.”

  “Cowards?”

  Boxster shrugged. “Maybe, but they are the ones heading to Red Forest Garrison not Sergeant Sender.”

  Trevor put his head in his hands as he sat on the cot. “I can’t go back.”

  “That is a wise decision. Whoever is behind all this is a bit cowardly, as well. Having the army kill you in action is too indirect an approach.”

  “The direct approach didn’t work either,” Trevor said.

  Boxster smirked. “You do live a charmed life, don’t you?”

  “There are two charmed lives in this tent. Crookwell tried, and we were both attacked by the company.”

  Boxster looked at the entrance to the tent. “We aren’t free yet.”

  “In a sense, I’ll never be free,” Trevor said.

  “I can empathize with that,” Boxster said. “Now you know how I’ve lived my life since I left Brachia. I think my time offering my services to regular armed forces ends here, no matter what happens.”

  “I never even got started,” Trevor said. He sounded a bit too truculent and bit his lip. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like whining.”

  Boxster chuckled. “I know you well enough to understand that.” He reclined on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. “We might as well rest up. There isn’t anything else to do in this tent.”

  “I will follow your command, Sergeant Boxster,” Trevor said.

  “You did just fine commanding troops on all three of your expeditions, Arcwin. I would say you had an adequate start, considering what little training the army was willing to give you.”

  “I’ve been training in the army since I was still a boy,” Trevor said.

  “Not real training in the field. They let you play with weapons, and you became an expert, but you never led until your assignment to Red Forest Garrison.”

  Trevor thought for a moment. “I will give you that. My eyes were opened when I studied the scout’s journal.” Trevor sat up. “The two scout’s journals are in my bags. Will General Greenwood punish me for taking them off the garrison’s grounds?”

  Boxster laughed at the joke. “I’d like nothing better than to have you able to return that book. That will mean we’ve survived our capture.”

  Trevor nodded, but Boxster’s words were fading in his mind as he closed his eyes.

  ~

  “Out! Commander Periwinkle wants to talk to you,” a soldier said, standing in the doorway.

  They were marched to the commander’s tent and shown inside. A few officers were seated, but Trevor and Boxster weren’t told to sit.

  “I’ve verified as much as I can of your stories and have decided not to execute you,” Periwinkle said.

  Trevor could feel his body relax a little with the news he wouldn’t be killed immediately.
He looked over at Boxster, who didn’t look back but nodded his head, almost imperceptibly.

  “Will you work for West Moreton?”

  “Work, sir?” Boxster asked.

  “I won’t impress you into our army. There is still a matter of trust, but you two might still be useful as advanced scouts.”

  “Are you headed out of Presidon?” Trevor asked.

  Periwinkle exercised his lips a bit. “Not immediately, but eventually. Your mission was to harass us, and our mission is to harass Presidon. If you can commit to keeping your mouths shut, I can use a couple of Presidon scouts. We aren’t here just to rape and pillage the citizens, since that is what the Presidon army does when they travel in the south.”

  “You mean in West Moreton?”

  “No, in south Presidon,” Periwinkle said. “And attach a ‘sir’ at the end of your comments, Arcwin.”

  “Yes, sir.” Trevor looked at Boxster. “Did the Presidonian army attack the citizens?”

  Boxster nodded. “Both armies do. The farther from Tarviston, the more it happens. Remember the villagers seeking work in Red Forest?”

  Periwinkle cleared his throat to stop Trevor and Boxster’s conversation. “You really didn’t know?”

  Trevor shook his head. “My father permits such a thing?”

  “He probably thinks it is good for morale,” Boxster said. “The West Moretons certainly do.

  Trevor lost a breath. “That isn’t right.”

  “That might be, Arcwin,” Periwinkle said. “If you take me up on my offer, you’ll be able to verify it in the field.” The commander looked at Trevor and Boxster. “You don’t have much of an alternative, and if what you say is true about the source of the assassins, I suggest you think again if you anticipate you’ll be welcomed back to Tarviston carrying this intelligence.”

  Trevor didn’t need any reminding that his time in the royal castle was at an end. He would like to know why, but that might never happen.

  “I am guessing I don’t have an alternative,” Trevor said.

  “No need to guess,” Periwinkle said.

  “I’m in, sir,” Boxster said. “If it is the same on both sides, you will provide us with funds and civilian clothes?”

  Periwinkle smiled. “I’m not giving you this opportunity so you can immediately escape, but you need tools to do the job.”

  “Good. When do we leave?” the sergeant said.

  “Tomorrow. Your missions will be short and focused on a simple objective. Captain Harpy will be your contact. The tent that you are currently using will be yours until the West Moreton army crosses back over the border. When we do, your employment with the army will cease, and you are free men…as free as hunted men can be.”

  “Harpy, see that these men know our ways and have access to their bags. I don’t care what kind of civilian clothes you get for them, but they have to fit in. Do you understand?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Trevor looked at his new commanding officer. Harpy didn’t even measure up to Trevor’s shoulders, but he had the look of a disciplined man with a lean face creased by time out in the elements. His back was straight, and he walked with confidence. Trevor shot a glance at Boxster, who gave him a nod back.

  “You won’t be eating with the men,” Harpy said, “but you will get supplies from the food wagons. I assume you can cook for yourselves? When in the camp, you will be guarded at all times.”

  “We can bear that, sir,” Boxster said as they followed Harpy through the tents in a different direction than their quarters.

  “Good. Boxster is in charge. I don’t give a damn if you are a prince or not, he is senior to you in experience and age.”

  “I accept that, sir,” Trevor said.

  Harpy stopped midstride and put hands on hips. “Well, that warms my heart. Feel free to tell me when you don’t feel you can accept something. There are those of us who aren’t thrilled by Commander Periwinkle’s indulgence.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trevor said.

  “That’s better.” The man turned back to the direction he was headed, and they entered a quartermaster tent.

  “Presidon civilian clothes for both of them. Something suitable for mercenaries, for that is what they are now,” Harpy said to a man behind a rude counter, “but nothing scruffy.”

  The quartermaster looked them both over and returned with shirts, tunics, and cloaks. “You can muddy up those military boots. There are plenty of wanderers who are ex-army. Use your underwear.”

  “Since you are mercenaries, you can use your weapons. We’ve looked at them, and one looks to be a Jarkanese sword,” Harpy said. “Count yourself lucky, Arcwin. I didn’t think you would carry a sword of such worth, but you chose your blade well. It is plain enough to pass.”

  Harpy showed them to the picket line and the latrines before he turned back into the camp toward the tent that was Boxster and Trevor’s new home on the road.

  “I will summon you for your first mission and have guards escort you to the food wagons. You will eat before you leave the camp, and you will use your own money on your mission.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  ~

  P eeker’s Flat was situated on what had been a large meadow amid the forest. It was south and west of the West Moreton army. Boxster and Trevor rode into the large village wearing swords on their backs and bits of dented armor the army had given them. They had donned two different styles of conical helmets.

  Trevor was unsure if his mother and siblings would recognize him dressed as he was. That also gave him some comfort that assassins wouldn’t either, but then Captain Harpy had claimed Commander Periwinkle had let slip to the Presidonians that he had killed Boxster and Trevor in the forest. That would be a great diversion, if true, but Boxster had agreed that the West Moreton commander wasn’t to be trusted. They both acted as if there was a company or two watching their every movement.

  They were assigned to check out the village to see if Presidonian forces lurked nearby. Ironically, they were assigned to do what General Greenwood had commanded except the forces were reversed. Periwinkle had been sending uniformed squads to do the checking, and it hadn’t worked with Trevor and his company.

  The village was busy when Boxster and Trevor walked through the door to one of two pubs in Peeker’s Flat. Each of the pubs had a few rooms to rent, but no one recommended one over the other. Boxster told Trevor that a response like that meant they were equally bad.

  They walked inside and sat, ordering local ale and whatever food the pub had for sale. Trevor looked around and didn’t see anyone else eating. It didn’t take him long to find out why. A cold gruel with congealed fat floating on the top was dropped onto their table along with greasy wooden spoons to eat the stuff.

  “Death is preferable to this,” Trevor said.

  “I’m not as picky as a member of the Presidon royal family, but I agree with you this time,” Boxster said, dipping the spoon into the mixture and turning over the top layer of solid fat revealing a spoiled meat smell. “Periwinkle could kill us with this stuff.”

  He leaned over and looked at one of the other patrons, making sure the server had left the room before he spoke. “Is there a place in Peeker’s Flat with edible food?”

  The local chuckled. “You’re a sharp one. You won’t find anything here to eat, and thank Dryden that Occam doesn’t make his ale.” He glanced at Trevor. “What brings two mercenaries to Peeker’s Flat?”

  “Through Peeker’s Flat,” Boxster said. “My partner and I have a job in Lilyton, and we hope to show up before tomorrow noon. We were thinking of spending the night. I’m guessing the rooms here are no better than the sludge on my table.”

  “Worse. I doubt if the sheets have been changed since the plague ran through the village four decades ago.”

  “The road is better, then?”

  “For you? Maybe. There is a boarding house that might be able to put you up. Food is tolerable, and the widow who runs it treats her guests fairly
. Just tell her Ren sent you.” The man gave them directions, and Boxster pulled Trevor out of the pub.

  “Why didn’t we stay at the pub and get information?” Trevor asked Boxster.

  “It would be too easy to give two strangers bad information in a place like that. The locals would get a good laugh out of us. A boarding house has more established patrons, and they will likely be more honest. I say more honest, not honest. Strangers are always fair game,” Boxster said.

  Trevor shrugged. This was all new to him. He looked upon this mission as if he were living a chapter in the scout’s journal. “Lead on,” he said.

  The boarding house wasn’t too far from the pub but in a section of the main road that had multistoried buildings lining each side. They found the boarding house and tied up their horses before entering. Both of them made it a point to scrape the bottoms of their shoes before entering, obeying a little sign tacked to one side of the door.

  A bell hung in the small foyer to the building, which Trevor rang. In a few moments an attractive but harried-looking woman opened one of three doors leading out of the entry hall.

  “Ren sent us,” Boxster said.

  The woman narrowed her eyes and looked intently at Boxster before she broke out in laughter. “That low, good-for-nothing. I suppose you want a room. If you don’t mind sharing, I’ll rent one to you despite being sent by Ren.”

  “We would appreciate that. A good night’s sleep is what we need for a long ride tomorrow.”

  “Seven nights paid in advance. This is a boarding house, not an inn. I don’t take nightly guests.”

  Trevor sighed, suspecting they were being taken advantage of. He looked at Boxster, who winked at the woman. To Trevor’s surprise, the woman winked back.

  “This establishment serves tolerable food, I imagine,” Boxster said.

  “Not at midday,” she said. “The cook doesn’t show up until after her feed shop closes. Occam’s lunch is pig swill, and I mean that literally. You did run into Ren at Occam’s pub, didn’t you?”

  “We did,” Trevor said. “Any way we can stay for less than a week’s rent?”

  The woman smiled at Boxster. “Three nights.”