“I’ll just make it up as I go,” Relam muttered to himself as he stepped up to the oak front door. A large silver knocker framed a small peephole at eye level. The prince hesitated briefly, then grasped the knocker and slammed it against the door several times, listening to the sound echo in the house.
Relam stepped back smartly and waited, expecting the door to fly open and the old man to thrust his grizzled head forward and demand to know what he was doing. The prince wasn’t sure how to answer such a question, but he was ready to get this encounter over with.
The only problem, was that Oreius did not come to the door.
Relam knocked again, starting to feel rather foolish, wondering if Oreius was even home, or if the house was empty. Most of the windows were covered by drapes, but there was a gap between two curtains that allowed Relam to see part of a sitting room. The space was in nearly complete darkness though, and as far as Relam could tell the rest of the house was the same.
The prince put his hands on his hips and contemplated the closed door, thinking. If Oreius wasn’t here, no amount of knocking would summon him. But if he was here, where was he if not in the house?
Then, Relam remembered the garden that Tar had mentioned, the one which put the palace gardens to shame. The prince looked around and quickly identified a gravel path running around the side of the house and along the high stone wall that separated Oreius’ property from his neighbor’s. Relam took a deep breath, then stepped onto the path and strode quickly and confidently around the side of the house.
The structure was far deeper than he had expected, the sides stretching towards the river even longer than the front facade. Finally, Relam came to a wooden gate that blocked his passage and filled the space between the fence and the house completely. He tried the latch and was surprised when the gate swung inward, creaking slightly.
“He’s a trusting sort it would seem,” Relam muttered to himself. Then, he pushed through the gate, closing it behind him, and turned around.
Nothing about the ordinary construction of the house could have prepared Relam for the sight that met his eyes. The house was not as large as he had thought. Rather, it was U-shaped, the wings only a single story for most of their length and rather narrow, most likely a single room wide. The space between the arms was filled by a merrily splashing fountain and several low flowerboxes, set in a perfectly symmetrical pattern around the fountain. Precisely laid paving stones filled the gaps between flowerboxes and fountain, creating a series of smooth, unbroken paths.
There was nothing remotely symmetric about the flowerboxes themselves, save for their rectangular shape. Their contents were not organized in any which way. Instead, a dozen species of flowers grew side by side, their stems and blooms drooping over the sides of the boxes and tangling around each other in a surprisingly picturesque mess. Bees droned lazily from flower to flower, tending the blossoms.
Beyond the end of the wings the ground sloped gently downward to the river. There were no paving stones filling the space here. Instead, there was a single gravel path that originated at the center of the paved garden’s edge and ran straight as an arrow towards the river. About five meters along, it split in two and ran in a slightly squashed ring whose bottom edge came up against the stone edge of the river.
Massive shade trees grew on the outside of the ring, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Between the rustling branches and splashing fountain, Relam quite felt like he had stepped into another world, leaving the busy capital city behind. Birds and squirrels darted among the branches, chattering at each other as they intruded on their neighbors’ space. The inside of the gravel ring was lined with more flower boxes, spaced at regular intervals, their unorganized mass of blooms spilling over the walls just like the boxes by the fountain. The space that was not occupied by tree trunks or flower boxes was covered in short, thick grass, well-kept and recently trimmed.
At the edge of the ring closest to the house was a single, stone bench with a high back. Just visible over the back of the bench was a man’s head with a mane of gray hair. The solitary figure had taken no notice of Relam yet, and did not seem in any hurry to do so. In fact, he sat perfectly still.
Relam advanced slowly, moving noiselessly over the paving stones, then wincing as his first step on the gravel sounded loud enough to alert a blind and deaf drunk to his presence. He wondered briefly if that had been the intention when the path was laid, then carried on, cautiously approaching the man sitting on the stone bench.
Finally, the prince had drawn level with the bench. Glancing sideways, he saw Oreius, sitting with his back against the bench, his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap. For a moment, Relam thought that the old man may have been asleep. Then, he noticed that Oreius was breathing lightly and evenly, and that every so often his hands twitched involuntarily.
Relam waited, confident that the old man knew he was there. How could he not after Relam had come traipsing noisily down his path, and come through the creaking gate before that? But if he knew Relam was here, why did he wait? Was there some code phrase that Relam was supposed to utter to let the old man know he was a friend? Was he suddenly going to stand and throw the prince into the river?
Finally, Relam could stand the suspense no longer. “You have a beautiful garden,” he said quietly.
The old man said nothing for a long moment, then stirred slightly but did not open his eyes. “It was more beautiful a few minutes ago,” he replied gruffly.
Relam, somewhat taken aback by the blunt reply, struggled to find his voice again. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I have an urgent request. You are one of the few people I could go to with this problem, and Tar Agath recommended I go to you first.”
The old man stirred again, and this time Relam thought he detected a spark of interest. “Tar sent you, hmm? That’s interesting. What is it you want, boy? Training? I haven’t taken a student in twenty years. Some hopeful trainees have sought me out, you know, and I rejected them. Tar recommended a couple of those lads as well.”
“Well, I was after something beyond ordinary training,” Relam said carefully. “You see, I’ve been given a mission by my father.”
“A mission? Of what sort?”
“Military,” Relam replied immediately, his confidence growing with every moment he stayed out of the river. “A raid on some bandits along the Furnier Sea. My force will consist of a hundred cavalrymen.”
“I pity the cavalrymen if they put a boy in charge of this,” Oreius muttered grimly.
Relam sighed. “I can fight, but you are right. There are things I still must learn. About leading men, planning battles. I believe you can help me there.”
“I could,” the old man said evasively. “But haven’t you heard? I’m old now, all but retired some would say.” There was a bitter edge to his voice that surprised Relam.
“I still have faith in you,” Relam said quietly. “If you are the man Tar says you are.”
Oreius finally opened his eyes and looked up at Relam. “I am,” he said simply. “And I know who you are, Prince Relam, heir to the throne. Not ready for the throne yet though. Probably trying to avoid it, really.”
“And you know this how?”
Oreius snorted. “Tar Agath. He’s been telling me for a while that you might be worthy of my time. Or at least that training you would not be a complete waste.”
“I’m honored,” Relam said, a little stiffly.
Oreius gave a short, derisive bark of laughter. “We’ll see. Now about this mission of yours. You’re given a hundred cavalrymen. What are the enemies’ numbers?”
“Between sixty and seventy.”
“Position?”
“Camp along the west side of the Furnier Sea, in the Midwood. My father says the trader can give us the precise location when he comes with us.”
“Not bad. Tell me, Relam, how would you handle such a battle?”
The prince thought for a moment. “Well, traditionally, cavalry are used
in charges,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t seem like a great strategy here. Too many trees in that region for a frontal charge, and it would give the bandits a fair bit of warning and maybe enough time for some to escape.”
Oreius stared at him, unblinking. “Go on.”
Relam, having thought that he had done an excellent job already, quickly started thinking again. “I think I would try to hit them from multiple angles, attack from the west first, drive them towards the sea, then send in another force from the south or the east. That way, we drive them east or north, towards areas with less cover where the cavalry would be more effective.”
Oreius nodded thoughtfully. “Your instincts are good, I’ll give you that. But can you handle yourself in a battle?”
“What?”
“Defend yourself!” Oreius roared, springing forward and drawing his sword in a fluid motion.
Relam ducked the first blow and jerked his sword from its sheath. Without thinking he parried low, blocking Oreius’ second attack. The old man was incredibly quick, and strong too. The force of the collision shook Relam’s arms.
Oreius bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “Come on princeling,” he said as he spun his sword upright and locked blades with Relam. “Show me what you have.” Then, he began pushing forward, slowly shoving Relam’s own blade back.
Relam disengaged with a snarl, ducking and spinning, slashing at the old man’s legs. Oreius parried easily, then attacked again, a quick thrust that nearly had Relam. But the prince hurled himself to the side and landed catlike, left hand and both feet on the ground, right hand still clutching his sword.
“Are you going to run all day? Or are we going to fight?” Oreius asked quietly, narrowing his eyes.
Relam lunged forward and struck from the side, pulling the blow at the last moment. Oreius’ blade slammed into his own with immense force. Relam used the old man’s power to spin a complete circle and whip his own sword around at head height. His blade met Oreius’ yet again though, less than a foot from his grizzled head.
“Not bad,” the old man observed. “Timing was a little off though. Let’s see how you handle this!”
The warrior launched a powerful overhand cut, which Relam sidestepped neatly, retaliating with a thrust. Oreius deflected it then struck from the side, forcing Relam to parry awkwardly. As Oreius continued to attack, flowing from one stance to the next effortlessly, Relam took his sword in a two-handed grip. He was able to parry the blows faster this way, but he was also more restricted in his range of retaliatory strikes. All the time, Relam was giving ground, backing slowly around and around the garden, desperately trying to hold the warrior off.
Finally, they fought their way back to the stone bench, right where they had started. Relam jumped up on the seat, then to the narrow back, still parrying blows from Oreius. Then, he dropped down behind the bench, putting it between them to achieve a moment’s respite.
Oreius nodded and sheathed his sword. “Not bad,” he said, sitting down calmly. “Not bad at all.”
It took Relam a moment to realize the fight was over. He blinked in surprise then, still breathing heavily, he sheathed his sword and walked around the bench to face Oreius again. The old warrior was still breathing lightly, and had not even broken a sweat.
“You were toying with me,” Relam growled.
Oreius looked up at him and raised one eyebrow. “Well, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t have lasted but a few seconds.”
The prince scowled. He could feel a burning rage building within him. He was about to speak again, when Oreius beat him to it.
“If it makes you feel any better, few would have lasted that long, even though I was toying with you.”
Relam stopped, frowning.
“I needed to know how skilled you were,” Oreius explained. “What your potential was. And, to some extent, your character.” He looked Relam up and down. “Not a classic warrior build,” he observed, poking Relam in the chest. “No brutish strength here. More of a whipcord feel. Like me, like Tar. Very interesting. Handy with a blade. May I see your sword, Relam?”
The prince drew his blade and handed it over wordlessly. Oreius took it and examined it, paying particular attention to the hilt. “No jewels?” he asked.
Relam shook his head. “No. They’re worse than useless in a real sword. Mess up the grip and the balance.”
“Precisely,” Oreius agreed. “A hand-and-a-half sword, hmm? That’s a peculiar choice, your highness.”
“It comes in handy,” Relam said shrugging. “That way I can fight one or two handed as needed.”
“Which you just did against me,” Oreius said, nodding. “Yes, I noticed that little detail. You spent most of your time on one-handed technique with Tar, yes?”
“Yes,” Relam agreed.
“I thought as much. That is his usual approach and your two-handed work needs practice and refinement. You tended to leave yourself open to backhands. I could have killed you a half-dozen times in as many seconds with those openings.”
Relam said nothing, merely stared straight ahead, determined not to rise to the sword master’s bait. After a long moment, Oreius looked up, smiling slightly, and handed Relam’s sword back to him.
“And even-keeled. Very unusual for a noble. My compliments, your highness.”
“Thank you,” Relam said graciously, sheathing his sword. “Have you reached a decision?”
“Oh, not remotely,” Oreius said, waving the question aside. “There is still much to do in that regard.”
Relam sighed, losing patience rapidly. “The mission I have been sent on is time critical, sir. I must be there and back within the week and the location is two days’ ride from the capital if all goes well.”
“You misunderstand me,” Oreius replied. “I will accompany you on this mission of yours. I want to see you in action, see how you hold up in rough circumstances. If you wish, I will advise you and help you with your battle plan. But I will not do it for you. Have I made myself clear?”
Relam frowned. “Except for the part about not having reached a decision yet.”
“I have not decided yet whether I will agree to train you long term,” Oreius said, standing and stepping into the sward overlooking the river. “That is not a commitment I make lightly. And it has been a long time since I had a candidate remotely worthy of consideration. But, you come recommended from Tar and he thinks highly of you. Very highly actually. And given your other options . . .” Oreius’ voice trailed off and he began murmuring quietly to himself. “Yes, yes, I think it is the right thing to do. Must be done, perhaps will be done. We will see, I suppose.”
“Sir?” Relam asked hesitantly.
Oreius turned back to face Relam, looking surprised to see him still standing there.
“Was there something else?” he asked mildly.
Relam shrugged, not sure how to respond to that question. “I . . . don’t know.”
“Well, I think that’s everything. And if we are leaving tomorrow you had better get your forces together and prepare for the march ahead, yes?”
Relam opened and closed his mouth several times, at a loss for words. “I- yes,” he finally managed. “Tomorrow morning. At dawn. West gate.”
“Splendid,” Oreius said, turning back to face the river and dismissing Relam. “I will be there. Ready and waiting.”
Chapter 16
The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of planning, packing, and worrying. First, Relam sent a message to Aven, informing him of Tar’s approval to start training. He would have preferred to talk to the boy in person, but he simply did not have time to do so with the thousand and one details of commanding a mission demanding his attention.
The first of these details was picking the men to accompany him. That meant three hours of looking over rosters of squadrons and divisions with his father, learning about the workings of the army and what different types of soldiers were good for. At the end of the session, Relam settled on one-hundred lig
ht cavalry, all professional soldiers. Most had experience in the Vertaga War, and a few had fought in the Orell War. Every man was armed with a sword and dagger, and nearly half carried bows as well. And every one of them was under Relam’s command.
The prospect of commanding so many was a daunting one. The youngest of the soldiers was eight years older than Relam. The oldest, nearly three times his age. They had not been told what their mission was yet for security reasons. That could wait until they were on the road south, headed for the bandit camp.
Throughout the day, Relam’s father bombarded him with advice on commanding soldiers, how to put them in positions to win battles efficiently, how to inspire them to follow their leader to victory. Relam took mental notes as fast as he could, but he was still woefully unprepared for the difficulties that lay ahead. Finally, an hour before midnight, Relam realized he had done all he could to prepare and went to bed, passing out from exhaustion almost before he lay down.
The next morning came entirely too soon. Relam’s father knocked on the door an hour before dawn, setting the morning into motion. Relam bathed one last time, dressed, and checked his gear, which he had packed the previous day. Everything was just as he had left it, perfectly in order, every item exactly where it was supposed to be.
Relam shouldered his pack and went out to the main room, where his parents were already eating breakfast. His mother was sitting stiffly in her chair, as though trying to ignore the fact that it was nearly time for Relam to leave on his mission. She had only found out about the raid the previous evening, and Relam had listened to his parents argue about it ever since. This morning though, they seemed to have put that aside, instead showing solidarity and support for their son.
“Everything is ready,” Relam said by way of greeting, picking up two thin pancakes and rolling slices of ham in them. He took a big, delicious bite before continuing. “The soldiers are gathering at the west gate as we speak.”
“Good,” his father replied around a mouthful of eggs. “You’ll be fine son. Just remember your training. And make sure you’re back in time for the meeting with the Assembly. I’m hoping that if you are successful it will appease them for the time being.”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 19
