The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “It’s shameful the way the miners are exploited,” Relam muttered.

  The king looked up at him. “I agree,” he said. “But the supremacists are growing stronger all the time, and this would be a move directly against them. There are a fair number of nobles who would not take kindly to that.”

  “Like D’Arnlo?”

  “Well, he’s not in the Assembly,” his father said, shrugging. “But yes, I imagine he wouldn’t be too pleased, seeing as he is one of the more vocal supremacists.”

  “Are there no voices for peace and treating people like . . . well, people?”

  “There are,” his father said. “They’re just not as loud.” He frowned suddenly. “Can’t recall you being this interested in politics before,” he observed.

  Relam shrugged. “Some of it’s from studying with Oreius. He was in the Orell War, you know. A supremacist war if there ever was one.”

  “Ah,” the king said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes. I was too young then to know what was going on. But I remember hearing that the Orell were wiped out. I doubt that was my father’s intent, but it happened under his rule so he is to blame. He always contended that the Orell’s strict codes of honor were the real reason the war was so bloody.”

  “There shouldn’t have been a war at all,” Relam pointed out. “At least, that’s what Oreius thinks. The Orell were peaceful, good neighbors. They never moved against us and there was no reason to invade.”

  “I think,” the king said slowly. “That the lure of ruling the whole world was reason enough for my father. Imagine for a moment, Relam, if you were in his place. It had never been done before, never been possible. He could write his name into our history, be remembered for all time as the man who brought all peoples under one banner.”

  “All remaining people,” Relam amended.

  “I’m not saying I agree with the method,” the king said, holding up his hands. “But I think that I can understand why he did it.” He set down the last report, then leaned back and yawned hugely. “Got any plans for today?”

  “Rest,” Relam replied ruefully, rubbing his upper left arm. “Oreius worked me pretty hard yesterday.”

  “As he should,” his father replied, grinning. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be much of a master.”

  Relam rolled his eyes. “Right. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Relam retreated to his room and shut the door again, crossing to his desk. He sat down and pulled out the dragon carving, studying it critically. The shape of the dragon had long since been finished. More recently, Relam had been working on the detail work, carving scale patterns into the wood to give it a rougher texture, more like how a dragon would actually feel. If there was such a thing as an actual dragon. Wooden scales covered the dragon’s legs, neck, and tail, as well as part of the back. With a contented sigh, Relam picked up the tiny carving knife and began painstakingly etching lines into the wood, adding scale after scale. The work was simple, slow, and repetitive, a good way to calm himself on empty weekends.

  At noon, Relam set the carving aside and went out to join his father for lunch. They dined on massive sandwiches, more meat than bread, and ignored the vegetables that had been set in a prominent position. After the satisfying repast, his father returned to work and Relam returned to his carving, adding still more scales to the miniature beast.

  The rest of the day passed in a similar manner, and the second day of the weekend was no more eventful than the first. Nothing remotely interesting or exciting happened, and there were no visitors to the royal suite, leaving Relam totally to his own devices. Having nothing to do quickly got old, and Relam found that he was quite glad when the first day of the new week came around and he had to rise early to go to training.

  The morning was still cold, and Relam’s breath steamed as he moved quickly along the River Road to Oreius’ house. He wondered if the old man had an indoor space they could use for training, rather than freezing outside, or if Oreius had even ventured from his house that morning.

  Relam rounded the corner of the sword master’s house, shedding his guards along the way. Amazingly, Oreius was sitting on the stone bench, even though it had to be freezing, maybe even slick with ice.

  “Good morning,” the sword master called without turning around. “Enjoying the change of weather?”

  Relam shivered and looked around. The once beautiful garden had been blasted badly by the frost, faded petals littering the ground, twisted wiry branches extending every which way. The enormous shade trees had shed their leaves, carpeting the glade and creating a red and gold island in the river.

  “About as much as your plants are,” Relam said finally.

  Oreius chuckled. “Not very much then.” He stood and turned around. “They will grow back in the spring. They always do. And there is no time more beautiful and full of life. But in order for that to happen, winter has to come first, to give them a chance for a new beginning.”

  Relam nodded, stomping his feet against the ground to keep them warm. Or, at least, less cold.

  “You’ve never been north,” Oreius muttered. “The winters are far worse there.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Relam replied thickly. “What are we doing today?”

  “Today marks the beginning of the next phase of your training,” Oreius announced. “First, we will start the day by sparring. You will use what you have learned of battlefield awareness and fighting skill to try to defeat me. You have reached the point where we must move past theory and gain experience. In order to accelerate this process, I will fight using many different styles.”

  “Different styles?”

  “Yes,” Oreius said, nodding. “There are many different ways to fight, boy. You should know that by now. Some fighters are aggressive, charging in. Some prefer to defend, let the attacker wear themselves out needlessly. Some,” Oreius added, eyes twinkling mischievously, “Prefer trickery.”

  “I think I know which of those categories you fall into,” Relam muttered, thinking back to the snares the old man had placed all over the garden during one of their sessions.

  Oreius nodded. “Guilty as charged,” he replied gruffly. “There are other things besides strategy, though. Choice of weapons, technique, strength, skill, and speed - you must use your skills to understand your opponent, how he fights, what his weaknesses are, and his strengths. Some people believe that knowing weaknesses is most important. I disagree. Knowing your opponent’s strengths is just as critical to success. If you know his strengths you know which attacks will be particularly difficult to counter, what he will fall back on if hard-pressed.” Oreius turned and looked back at Relam. “Such knowledge is the difference between life and death in a battle between highly skilled warriors and masters.”

  Relam nodded gravely. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Oreius said, drawing his sword. “Then let’s put you to the test!”

  The master leapt forward aggressively, blade flashing as he slashed left and right. Relam dodged around Oreius, drawing his own sword and preparing to defend himself. As he focused on the master’s blade, he realized something was different. This was not the straight-bladed, double-edged sword that Oreius normally fought with. This sword was single-edged and slightly curved, the hilt studded with jewels and chased with silver wire.

  Oreius followed Relam’s gaze and nodded. “Good, you noticed,” he said smiling. “But how will you use that knowledge?” The master ran forward again, slashing and hacking. “And how well can you think on the move?” he grunted.

  Relam parried desperately, giving ground rapidly, cursing his slow mind and the numbing cold. The single-edged blade was light and quick, made for slashing.

  But not for thrusting.

  And in that moment, Relam realized how limited his master’s arsenal was. Without the ability to thrust effectively, there was one less way to attack. Relam smiled grimly and deflected the latest blow, returning with a swift thrust.


  Oreius jumped back, swaying to the side of the blade, and Relam followed with another thrust. The action was awkward and unfamiliar, but by stabbing repeatedly at Oreius’ chest and legs Relam was able to drive the warrior back, keeping him at arm’s reach and with no opportunity for retaliation.

  Then, the master deflected Relam’s latest thrust, slowing him down as he tried to recover and strike again. And just like that, the tide was turned. Oreius attacked again and again, slashing and hacking, cutting at Relam from all sides. Relam parried, stabbing between blows to buy time, but Oreius was moving forward constantly now, driving Relam back, down towards the river. He had all the advantages at the moment, and there was nothing Relam could do.

  Relam swayed back to dodge yet another attack and an idea came to him. Instead of parrying Oreius’ sword, he struck at it after it had passed by, batting it in a circle, building speed and momentum. Just before he was able to strike it from the master’s hand entirely though, Oreius withdrew and lowered his blade.

  “Enough!” he called.

  The prince stopped abruptly, letting his sword drop slightly. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Oreius replied. “You did well. You found the weakness, the thrust, and exploited it on offense and defense. But you did not find the strength!”

  “Slashing you mean?”

  “Yes! What can you do to counter that?”

  “Dodge instead of block,” Relam said ruefully.

  “Exactly,” Oreius said grimly. “Exactly. So why didn’t you try it until the last moment?”

  “I don’t know,” Relam admitted. “It just sort of came to me.”

  “It needs to come to you quicker,” Oreius growled. “Much quicker. That is why we are doing this, boy, to get you to think on your feet. Now, let’s try again.” He set the curved sword aside and pulled his normal sword from under the stone bench, tossing aside the scabbard.

  “I’m thinking weaknesses none,” Relam said, remembering the many bouts that he had fought with Oreius in the past weeks.

  “And that is where strengths come in,” Oreius said, nodding. “And by anticipating, you can turn strength into weakness. Defend yourself!”

  Relam lost the next bout in minutes, prompting a second, and then a third attempt. Finally, in the fifth fight, Relam managed to hold his own long enough to satisfy Oreius. The old warrior was far from pleased, but it was progress at least.

  They broke for lunch just before noon, a little earlier than usual due to the terrible weather. Relam practically ran to the back door and stumbled inside, eager to find warmth. He was not disappointed. A large fire had been built in the stone fireplace, a pot of soup bubbling over it. Tending the fire and the soup was Narin, looking decidedly worse for the wear. There were bags under his eyes and shallow scratches across his cheeks. Other signs of trouble were evident as well, a dark bruise on his neck and a couple more on his arms.

  “What happened to you?” Relam asked without preamble, staring at the former commander.

  “Good morning to you too,” Narin grunted, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon.

  Oreius stumped in the back door, then closed it firmly, shutting out the wintry weather. “It’s only getting worse out there,” he said to nobody in particular. “Pity, I had hoped everything would warm up some this afternoon.”

  “I told you it wouldn’t happen,” Narin said, shrugging as he turned away from the fireplace.

  Oreius snorted. “This is starting to remind me of the weather down on the southern peninsula, back in the Orell War. Now those were a cold few days.”

  “It’s not that bad yet,” Relam countered. “The fountain just froze over today.”

  “Yes, but it’s frozen solid,” Oreius grunted, moving closer to the fireplace. “Earliest in the year that has ever happened. We’re in for a long winter.”

  “Aye,” Narin agreed. “And it was a short fall. I hope the harvests were finished in time.”

  They lapsed into silence for a moment, all of them standing around the flames, basking in the wonderful, healing warmth of the fire.

  “So, what happened to you Narin?” Relam asked again.

  The former commander’s expression darkened. “I was betrayed,” he replied sullenly.

  “Betrayed?”

  “You remember me telling you that I had two meetings with informers last week, on the fourth and fifth evenings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I made it to the meeting on the fourth night. The informer was there too, but I had barely sat down before the place was swarming with guards wanting to arrest me. Fortunately, the place was extremely crowded and I was able to start a few fights to add to the chaos, and then slip away.”

  “A couple of the guards followed me for a while, but I know the city better than them. I escaped capture and came back here, without being followed.”

  “Then the next night, all hell broke loose,” Oreius put in.

  Narin nodded. “Yes. I met with another informer, who gave me decent information on a group that procures poisons here in the city. But as I was coming back, by sheer chance I ran into some of the guards from the previous night.”

  Relam winced. “What did you do?”

  “I fought of course,” Narin replied. “But there were four of them and they beat me badly. Even though the fourth didn’t do much, just watched their backs and kept anyone else from intervening. He didn’t seem too keen to jump into the fight and he was pretty young.”

  “They eventually handcuffed me and were dragging me to the Citadel. Then, the young guard slips up behind me and tells me to be ready to run, that he never really believed that I had been executed. Then, before I even realized what had happened, he had stolen a key and unlocked my cuffs.”

  “Did he give you a name?” Relam asked, thinking that he would have to see about a promotion for this guard.

  “No,” Narin said. “But his face was familiar. Maybe I’d seen him around the palace before, but I can’t imagine why.”

  “Do you remember my servant, Aven?” Relam asked. “Was it him?”

  Narin threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, it was! I’d nearly forgotten about him. Good thing you got him into the guard, your highness. Helped me out of real trouble last night. Instead, I was able to surprise the other guards and beat them with my cuffs. I knocked Aven over, didn’t really want to bash the kid too, then ran for it and let the city swallow me up.”

  “And then you came back here,” Relam guessed.

  “No,” Narin said shaking his head. “So don’t interrupt, because there’s still more. I didn’t dare come back here straight away. If I led the guard to Oreius’ place, there would have been all kinds of trouble and I would have had to find a new hideout at the very least.”

  “You could also have ended up back in the execution room,” Oreius grunted, sniffing at the soup. “Not quite done yet” he reported, glancing at the others.

  “Anyway,” Narin continued, glaring at Oreius, “I moved around the city over the weekend, never staying in one place too long lest I be discovered. And it’s a good thing, too. Oreius told me when I got back-”

  “That the city guard was going door to door and searching the area,” Oreius finished.

  Relam winced. “That’s not good.”

  “No,” Narin agreed. “It’s not. If word of this reaches your father, we’re all in trouble.”

  “What are the odds that the news reaches him?” Relam asked.

  “I would say extremely good,” Narin said, frowning. “I’m not sure what to do about it though.”

  “Lay low,” Oreius advised. “Relam, is there a way that you can run interference on this?”

  “Maybe,” the prince said, shrugging. “I could contact the city guard and master D’Arnlo, tell them that they are to bring any reports on this matter to me and not my father because . . .” Relam hesitated, groping for a plausible reason.

  “He has more important things to worry about with
the regional trade conferences and seasonal festivities,” Narin supplied.

  “Yes! Good thinking,” Relam agreed.

  “Take the afternoon off,” Oreius urged. “After lunch, go and seek out the commander of the city guard. It’s still Hadere, is it not?”

  “It is,” Relam confirmed. “Their headquarters is at the north gate, by the river, not far from here.” Relam leaned over the soup pot, sniffing. “How long until lunch is ready?”

  Oreius checked the soup as well. “Now,” he said briefly. “Did you make the bread, Narin?”

  “Of course,” the former guard commander replied. “Did you really think I would forget to make the bread when I’ve been under house arrest all day?”

  “Just making sure,” Oreius grunted, ladling soup into three bowls and setting them on the counter. “We might as well just eat in here, it will save time and we’ll be warmer too. That’s my one complaint about this house, no fireplace in the dining room.”

  “When we have winters like this, it makes you want to have a fireplace in every room,” Narin muttered. “I don’t fancy being in the guard barracks through this season.”

  “Does it get cold down there?” Relam asked, spooning soup into his mouth, gasping at how hot it was.

  “Extremely,” Narin agreed, nodding. “And damp too sometimes. Most of the time, actually.” He blew on his soup to cool it, then gulped down a large spoonful. “Excellent recipe, Oreius. I may keep that one.”

  “You can have it, I memorized it a long time ago,” the old warrior muttered.

  “What’s in it?” Relam asked, eating another mouthful.

  “Potatoes, cream, some bits of bacon, onion, a few different spices, a dash of wine-”

  “That’s the secret,” Narin interrupted. “Good for a cold day.”

  “And a bit of this and that,” Oreius finished.

  Relam scraped the last drops out of his bowl. “Right, I’m off to try and save all of our necks. Any last-minute advice?”

  Narin and Oreius exchanged a glance, then both looked at Relam. “Don’t mess up,” they chorused.