The commander nodded. “Excellent. Was my list helpful, your highness?”
“Most helpful,” Relam said, smiling thinly. I’ve never had so much fun ripping something to shreds, he thought privately. “I have selected Wil, Johann, Eric, and Galen.”
“They were not on my list,” Eckle said, recoiling.
Oops, Relam thought.
“I went to the guard barracks and interviewed some of the men,” Relam said, shrugging. “These four seemed to be the best qualified, and I have known them for some time. They will serve me well.”
“Take them, then,” Eckle grunted. “They’re of no use to me.”
Relam nodded. “Thank you, commander. I feel much safer already.” He turned to his father. “Is there anything I can help with, father?”
“No,” the king replied, stirring briefly.
“Then I’ll be going,” Relam said, dipping his head slightly.
As he turned towards the exit, Lord Clemon stepped forward nervously.
“Your highness?” he called. “Might I have a word with you, in private?”
“Of course,” Relam replied. “Walk with me.”
Relam’s father made no move to stop the chatelain so Clemon hurried across the audience hall to join the prince, his soft shoes whispering on the floor. Relam waited until Clemon was level with him, then began walking towards the outer door once more.
Once they were out of the audience hall and the door closed, Clemon sighed.
“This can’t go on, your highness,” he whispered fiercely. “I don’t know what ails your father, and I have never seen him like this. He refuses to attend to anything, small matters or large, and sits there all day every day, sometimes through the night.”
“And you’ve stayed with him constantly?”
“As much as I can. I’ve missed a couple nights of sleep this week,” Clemon complained. “I mean, I don’t blame him with your mother’s death and all but-”
“Blame him,” Relam snapped. “He lost a wife, I lost a mother. Am I sitting, staring into space all day and warming a stone seat? No, I am training with Oreius, the sword master, and trying to manage that fool of a commander he appointed!”
“Eckle may be a bit . . .” Clemon trailed off uncertainly as Relam glared at him. “He has shortcomings,” Clemon admitted finally, straightening his stoles.
“Thank you,” Relam muttered. “As though I had not noticed that myself.”
“The point is, your highness, that your father can’t keep doing this forever,” Clemon said. “Something has to change. I would suggest that you take over for him but-”
“Absolutely not,” Relam said flatly. “If I am seen taking over the kingdom people will wonder if my father’s ailment is my doing. Or, worse, if I had a hand in my mother’s death as well. No, now is not the time to be filling in for my father. Appearances are everything, and if I am not careful my innocent attempts to help would be construed as something sinister.”
“But, your highness-”
“How much of the work can you take on?”
“I’ve been taking on almost all of it!” Clemon protested. “But there are things that have to be done by the king himself. Things to be signed, council meetings to be held, court cases to be adjudicated. Then there’s the matter of some troubling reports from the south . . . the Assembly is ignoring them of course, but your father should be doing something about them.”
“What sort of things?”
“Raids,” Clemon replied promptly. “Organized raids, apparently, maybe by - well, never mind by who,” the king’s chatelain amended hastily. “Anyway, so far, I’ve managed to postpone or cancel almost everything with the flimsy excuse of mourning for your mother’s passing but that happened nearly two weeks hence now and sooner or later people will demand access to their king. As they should!” he added with some feeling.
Relam sighed. “I know, Lord Clemon. I know. But what can we do?”
“It seems nothing,” Clemon said sadly, looking back towards the audience hall. “He was such a good man. A good friend. A good king.” The chatelain shook his head. “I know I can be tiresome, but it’s the nature of the job. I have to bother him constantly if I want anything done. But he’s always been patient with me and tolerant and we’ve worked well together to manage the kingdom through good times and bad.”
“And he appreciated your help,” Relam assured Clemon. “Without you holding the details together, we’d be in serious trouble.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Clemon said, mollified. “But we wouldn’t be as well off as we are now, that’s for sure.”
“How much longer can he keep on like this?” Relam asked. “No, wait, don’t answer that. I have a better question. How long can the kingdom afford for him to carry on like this?”
“A few days, maybe,” Clemon said shrugging. “We’ll have chaos among the nobles before too much longer, and the Assembly has never been friendly. They’re still upset about being humiliated at that meeting last year.”
“Then we’d better snap him out of it,” Relam muttered, pushing through the doors and back into the audience hall. The doors slammed back on their hinges, crashing against the wall with a resounding boom.
“What are you doing?” Clemon asked worriedly. “Do have any idea what-?”
“I’m making this up as I go,” Relam muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“Be careful, he’s armed-”
“So am I.”
“Your highness!”
“Stay out of the way, Clemon.”
Clemon fell back and Relam continued to march forward, until he was directly in front of the dais, his father a few steps above him, staring into the distance. To one side, Eckle was hovering nervously, eyes darting back and forth between Relam and the silent king.
“Look at me!” Relam shouted forcefully.
The king raised his eyes. His gaze slid across Relam for a moment, then slid away disinterestedly.
Relam drew his sword with a hiss of leather on steel. He heard Clemon’s and Eckle’s warning cries. Then, he slammed the flat of the blade down on the edge of the stone dais, a few centimeters from his father’s feet. A pure, clear note reverberated around the hall, vibrating and wailing. “Look at me!” Relam roared.
The king recoiled into the throne, shrinking away from Relam.
“You are in pain, I know,” Relam said, still shouting. “I feel it too. She’s gone, and there’s no bringing her back. But we are still alive. You are my father and I am your son. Her son, too!” Relam heaved a deep sigh. “We have mourned, both of us, what we have lost. But it is time to move forward. Celebrate what we had and cherish her memory, but live as well. Live, as I have chosen too,” Relam pleaded. “I still carry her with me. The pain. The memories. But I am moving forward with my life, and you must too. You have a duty, father, to the people beyond these walls. A duty to lead them, to rule them, to protect them.” Relam paused, taking a deep shuddering breath. “It’s time you remembered that duty. It’s time for you to live again.”
The king’s mouth sagged open and he leaned back in his seat. His eyes were fixed on Relam for a change, not sliding back and forth lugubriously, not darting furtively.
Had he given his father time, Relam might have won the day then and there, but he pushed forward relentlessly, fueled by the raw emotion of the moment. “Find some courage,” he spat. “Be a king again. Be a father again. Or stay here, a coward on a sad and silent throne, your kingdom crumbling around you. What will it be, your majesty?”
The king’s eyes blazed with fury. Slowly, he rose, leaning on his sword. “You dare mock me!” he roared. “You mock my pain!”
“He didn’t mean it, your majesty,” Clemon said quickly.
“Silence!” Orram bellowed. “I am your king!”
“Then act like it!” Relam shouted back.
With an incoherent yell, the king stumbled forward, down the dais, towards Relam. The prince backed away smartly,
keeping a few paces between him and his father. Stung by his words, the king followed, shambling forward, still hunched over, left hand clenched against his side, right hand holding his sword point downward, the tip nearly dragging the floor.
“You dare,” the king shouted again.
“Yes, I dare!” Relam replied. “It this is what it takes to make you remember who you are, so be it.”
The king roared and attacked with a looping overhand cut. Relam parried reflexively, smashing his father’s sword aside. The king stumbled, off balance, and Relam put more space between them. He stared at his father, shaken. He had never thought his father could be driven to attack him.
Orram lurched forward again, slashing this time. Relam parried again, their blades screeching off of each other, the sound filling the hall. The king struck again, and again, but each blow was clumsy and slow to develop and Relam had no trouble parrying them. Normally, Relam would have been afraid. But it was clear to him that his father was in no fit state to fight, certainly not the way he used to.
The king kept coming though, his sword thrusting and sweeping, cutting and hacking. Relam parried each blow, but he was slowly being backed towards the wall. He would have to try to escape soon or risk being trapped, at his father’s mercy. And there didn’t appear to be any of that at the moment.
The next time his father thrust at him, Relam darted past, so that he was between his father and the throne. Then, he stood facing him again.
“This isn’t you, father,” he said urgently. “Remember who you were.”
The king attacked again, eyes flashing, sword darting and weaving. Their blades crashed again and again, each impact shaking Relam to the core, physically and emotionally. He could hear Clemon and Eckle in the background, both calling for the fight to stop. None of them had the sense to go for help, apparently.
“Usurper! Traitor!” the king roared.
“No, father,” Relam gasped. “I am none of those. I am your son!”
“Then why do you mock me?” the king roared. And, like lightning, his gauntleted left hand lashed out, catching Relam across the face. “Why do you attack me?”
The blow sent Relam staggering, falling back against the dais, to one side of the throne. He dropped his sword and clutched at his face, feeling hot blood streaming between his fingers. He pulled his hands away, and saw that they were dyed crimson.
He looked up at his father, saw the anger within him, the wounded pride, the pain.
“To save you,” he whispered, holding out a bloody hand. “To save you.”
The king recoiled, his eyes clouding for a moment as he looked around. His sword fell from his grasp and he stepped back a pace, looking down at Relam.
“No,” he whispered. “No.”
Then, strong hands were grabbing Relam, lifting him to a sitting position. He heard Clemon’s voice, and Eckle’s, but their words were meaningless. They hauled him to his feet, trying to drag him out of the audience hall. Relam did not resist them. He didn’t have the strength, even if he wanted to. As they approached the door, Relam looked back and saw his father watching him go. He could have sworn the king mouthed the word, ‘son’. Then, his father turned and collapsed against the dais, head bowed. The crown went skittering away, ringing on the stone floor.
Between them Clemon and Eckle managed to drag Relam to the royal suite, propping him up in his chair, telling him to lean forward so the blood would not fill his lungs or stomach, shouting for healers, sending guards running through the palace on all levels. Then, soothing hands took over and Relam yielded to their tender ministrations. He felt a terrible, searing pain from his nose at one point, and there were voices muttering throughout. None of it made any sense, and the prince passed out moments later.
When he woke, Relam found himself slumped forward in the same chair, tied to it with a pair of thick bands. There was something thick and fuzzy covering his nose and part of his face, restricting his breathing and his sight in a few places. There were blood flecks on the floor in front of him, and on his clothes and the chair as well. He tried to look around, but his head had been immobilized as well somehow.
“Hello?” he called uncertainly. His mouth felt thick and awkward, and talking didn’t come as easily as it should.
“Is anyone there?”
A door opened swiftly behind him and several people entered. The first was a healer, judging from the brown tunic and the satchel he carried. The second was Clemon, hovering anxiously behind the healer. Others were there as well, guards, judging by their armor. One leaned in close, peering at Relam, then backed away at a word from the healer.
“What happened to you, sir?” Wil asked curiously. “That’s the worst break I’ve seen in a while.”
“Training accident,” the healer said, glancing at Relam. “He was sparring with a friend and it got a little out of control.”
“Ouch,” Johann said, peering at Relam too. “You may want to pick weaker friends in the future, sir.”
“Back away, let me speak to him,” the healer muttered, shooing the inquisitive guards back to their positions by the wall. “How do you feel, your highness?”
“Like I’ve been pounded flat and left out to dry in Mizzran at noon,” Relam muttered. “What’s going on? Why am I tied up like this?”
“To restrict movement, and keep your lungs from filling with blood,” the healer replied. “Your nose is broken badly. I’ve reset it and you should be fine before long. In a day or two the pain will go down but it will still be swollen. Once it stops bleeding the worst of the danger is over. You’ve got a couple of good scratches below your left eye too. A little higher and we would have had real trouble.”
“I would hardly call this fake trouble,” Relam muttered. “Any other damage?”
“Remarkably no,” the healer said. “You just need to rest, take it easy.”
“That’s what I was supposed to be doing when I got hurt,” Relam muttered, glancing at Clemon. The chatelain’s face was impassive, betraying nothing, but he gave Relam a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
The healer leaned closer and inspected Relam’s bandages, peering at his damaged nose. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but we’ll be a little overcautious with this,” he announced. “Can’t be too careful, your highness. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Thanks,” Relam said. “Can I speak to Lord Clemon? Alone?”
“Of course,” the healer agreed, withdrawing.
Relam looked up at his guards. “You too,” he said. “I’ll be fine for a few moments.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric said. “Come on,” he added, ushering the others out.
Relam waited until the door latched behind him and Clemon had moved to stand in front of him. “Do you mind sitting?” Relam asked. “All I can see of you from this angle is your legs and chest.”
Clemon sat cross legged on the floor, arranging his robes fastidiously. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” Relam agreed.
“Nobody knows this is your father’s doing,” Clemon began. “Except myself and Eckle, that is.”
“Good,” Relam muttered.
“To everyone else, it was just a training accident.”
“And what of my father?”
Clemon hesitated. “You got through to him,” he said finally. “We’ll see what happens next. He was in the audience hall, weeping, when I sought him out after finding you a healer. I took the crown and your swords and hid them away for now. His majesty is in his room now.”
“Thank you,” Relam said gratefully. “Do you think that he will be all right?”
“Time will tell,” Clemon replied. “The good news is, you suffered no lasting harm.”
“Yes.”
They lapsed into silence, each thinking back on the emotional confrontation. Relam still couldn’t believe it had happened. It seemed like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. But if it had snapped his father out of his black mood, then it would all be worth it, no matter how rough the comi
ng days might be.
“I should be going,” Clemon said finally, getting to his feet again. “There is business to attend to, and you need rest.”
“Yeah,” Relam muttered. “Take care, Clemon.”
“Good day, your highness.”
The king’s chatelain let himself out and Relam slumped against his restraints with a sigh. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his position was extremely uncomfortable and sleep would not come. One miserable, pain-filled hour later, the healer returned, poking at Relam’s wounds and eliciting grunts of pain.
He pulled several layers of gauze away from Relam’s nose and removed two hard plugs. “I think it is safe for you to move around a bit now, stretch out some cramps if you need to,” he said finally.
The healer loosened the restraints and they fell away. Relam lifted the bands over his head and stretched his arms out to the side, wincing as his joints popped and cracked in protest. Then, he moved his legs a little, making sure they were in good working order before he tried to stand.
When he finally did get to his feet, the effort was almost too great. Relam stumbled, steadying himself against his bed, and walked around the bed twice, one hand resting on the mattress in case he needed to catch himself. The healer watched him critically, then nodded.
“You’ll be fine,” he announced. “Thank the gods for the healing powers of the young. I’ll stay in the main room in case you need anything, your highness, but I think you should try and get some sleep now.”
Relam nodded wearily and collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep again before the healer had even left the room.
Chapter 30
Relam did not wake again until late that evening, just after the sun had set in the west. He heard movement from the direction of the door and frowned, turning his head slightly, stealthily reaching for the dagger on the bedside table-
And realized that his guest was Aven.
Relam relaxed immediately. Aven turned around, some sixth sense telling him he was being watched, and grinned with relief when he saw the prince was awake. “He lives!” the boy crowed, waving a bucket and brush triumphantly and sloshing water over the floor.
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 36
