The Reincarnated Prince

by Danny Macks

  “Call me Wulf,” the lord said with an easy grin.

  *****

  Once Chad caught his breath, he broke back into a jog. He wanted to help with the fire as more than a messenger boy, but the king needed to be informed. As he ran, he saw watchmen, guardsmen and even soldiers unpacking equipment from locked armories around the city. Long pikes with curved hooks on them, grain-bags full of sand, and wagons with hoses and great bellows-like contraptions that could draw water from a well or cistern faster than any bucket.

  At the drawbridge, a guard stopped him. “M’lord, the king wants you at the western wall.”

  Why would the king want him on a wall that did nothing but face the ocean?

  Chad started to head for the stairs, but the guard stopped him again and pointed. “At the base of the wall. On the beach.”

  Without a big column of smoke for a guide, Chad got lost three times in the winding roads. A silent stillness had settled across this section of the city with all the inhabitants elsewhere. The watch was finally moving and herding people east to assist their own trained efforts. The few stragglers ran away upon spotting his lordly clothing. The king had decreed it illegal to ignore a fire in his city and there were no exceptions.

  No exceptions but the king himself, Chad thought bitterly.

  When Chad finally got out of the city and to the water, he found King Oberon, Prince Pious, and several others standing on the ridge near the base of the city wall, while two soldiers helped Lord Ravnos, dressed in only undergarments, out of the surf at the bottom of the cliff, far below. The tide had come in to cover the entire beach and waves were smashing the remnants of a small boat against the cliffside.

  “Can I try now?” Pious asked plaintively. “I know I can do it.”

  “I know you can,” the king replied with a short chuckle, as his frowning eyes watched Lord Ravnos. “I climbed all over these cliffs when I was your age, but these incompetent ninnies seem to think we will break our necks if we try.”

  “His majesty isn’t nine any more,” Lord Ravnos said as he pulled his houppelande over his wet under-clothes. “And I have never seen the sea this cold in my life. Perhaps if we wait for the tide to …”

  “No waiting!” the king interrupted, then muttered, “He’s taunting me, you know.”

  “Who, your majesty?”

  “The Grey. He never forgave me declaring him traitor when the regency council was killed. I can see him up there, when a cloud passes in front of the sun. Mocking me.”

  “The regency council died sixty years ago, your majesty.”

  “We have long memories, he and I. Now that Pious is found, I worry that he’ll …” The king looked wildly around. “Where’s Pious? Was no one watching him?”

  As Chad and several soldiers raced to catch him, Pious was already on the cliffside, foregoing the shortest route from the sea and climbing down diagonally from where the ridge met the city wall. Several soldiers were faster runners, but Chad was an experienced climber. Low mountains surrounded the valleys of Thesscore.

  “Hey there,” Chad yelled when he got close. “Where are we going?”

  Pious glanced back, then back down at his footing. “You can’t stop me.”

  Chad saw another route that took him below the youngster and took it. “I didn't say I was going to. But it would …” Chad swung one-handed and grasped a finger hold. “... it would be a really good idea if I knew I was going the right way.”

  “Toward that bramble. There’s supposed to be a cave behind it."

  Chad saw an easier route if he dropped down and took a path that ran beyond the bramble before it switched back, but that would take him out from beneath Pious. “Why didn't somebody just make a rope ladder and climb down from the castle wall?”

  “They are making one. The king didn’t want to wait that long.” Pious didn’t seem to be struggling, and wasn’t taking any unnecessary risks, but Chad didn’t want to take any chances with the surf pounding below them and stayed directly below the young prince.

  “So why aren’t you waiting?”

  Pious reached for the bramble and jerked back his hand as it poked him. He looked around for a different route. “Um. I think I’m stuck.”

  “Wait right there. Promise me you won’t go anywhere. Okay?” Chad swung back, dropped the seven feet to the path he had seen earlier and scrambled up it to the far side of the bramble.

  It took several tries for Chad to stomp down the woody briar enough with his boots to reach over it and lift Pious over the thorns. The cave entrance was only knee high but widened inside. As the two crawled past the bramble, a soft grey glow illuminated the cave’s interior.

  Hi, Chad signed to the grey ethereal that waited inside.

  Speak when [something, something]. I can hear.

  “Hello,” Pious said aloud as he signed. “I’m pleased to meet you. Are you the one I saw the other day?”

  [something] is [something] one. I am [something, something]. You can call me Nimbus.

  “The Gray. It sounds very officious. I am the prince. King Oberon taught me to sign.”

  Nimbus didn’t reply.

  “I’d like my sword now.”

  Look. Learn. Then the grey floated back, inside the cliff wall.

  Black powdery stuff was everywhere. The King’s Sword was embedded in a brigandine. It looked like it had pierced the armor, passed all the way through the wearer’s chest before exiting the back and pinned him to the wall. The body that should have been inside the armor was missing, completely powdered. On the other side of the cave, Pious poked at a pair of trews and the leg inside made a crickling, crackling noise.

  “What’s this?” Pious asked as he pressed on the leg with the flat of his hand and it crushed into powder.

  “I think that used to be a person.”

  Pious poked another pile of the black crusty stuff with a finger. “Really? Cool. Do you think this is his head? I think I see some hair.”

  “Grow up.” Chad sighed and inspected the sword closer. Look, the grey ethereal had said. Look for what?

  Chad blew on the sword and a fine coating of black dust fell off, leaving a small circle on the forte of the blade. Breathing deeply to control his trembling, Chad wiped at the circle with a bit of cloth. It fell off the polished metal easily. He held it up to the light: dark red, dried blood.

  “Pious, is your finger still bleeding?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Nevermind.” Chad took a slow, calming breath, pulled his sturdy leather gloves out of his belt and put them on. He should be fine if he stayed away from that wicked sharp blade. With a firm grip on the hilt, he pulled the sword free from the cave wall just as a ladder fell into view.

  “Hey! I was supposed to do that!”

  “Maybe when you’re older.” A cold shudder ran through Chad’s spine: a chill that had nothing to do with ethereals.

  Chapter Eight – An Appreciation of History

  Jeb was exhausted, but happy when the sun again rose on the city. Baron Thesscore and his men had been amazing. Coordinating people and equipment with the ease of years of practice, fires quickly died under the onslaught of the lords. Thesscore himself was everywhere, inexhaustible and energetic, with a voice that rang out clearly no matter how chaotic the din.

  “How can you smile?” Jeb had asked earlier that day, after delivering messages and yet another report from the bay’s back.

  Thesscore’s amused smirk became a grin as he indicated the fire with a sweep of his arm. “I’m a warrior with a worthy enemy! What else can a man hope for? Back into the fray, lass, we have work to do!”

  Hours later, when the fire had mostly died, the soot-stained lord handed Jeb a little less than an ounce of gold, pieces from divided gold coins, and told Jeb to find stabling for his horse and himself.

  “I think Foxfire is ruined as a warhorse, lass.” Thesscore jested as Jeb limped, saddle-sore for the first time in memory, beside him. He patted his bay charger fondly and took
a deep weary breath. “You becalmed him. Before today, no one else in the kingdom could ride him. You rode him, into smoke and fire.”

  He turned that smile toward Jeb, but something in Jeb’s eyes turned his expression serious.

  “I tried to get people to help.” Jeb said. “They didn't listen … some guards grabbed me. The bay -- Foxfire ran by and had to save me.” The watch’s delay had been his fault. They were searching for him instead of fighting the fire. Most of the people had survived, but Jeb had stopped counting lost houses when the number of people now homeless exceeded the number of books in the royal library. The blacksmith who had fought his neighbor to protect his shop had burned to death defending it. His worst fears about taking the throne, about assuming command, had come true. Even wearing Thesscore’s tabard, he had to fight to get the other lords to listen and never got them to look past what they saw: a short, thin, dirty, peasant girl. He hadn’t saved anybody.

  Thesscore reached over and tousled Jeb’s short black hair. “No shame there, lass. Let the lords be lords and you stick to what you do best.”

  Yeah, he could do that. Jeb considered the odd assortment of solid gold clippings in his left hand, then held them out to Thesscore. “I’m sorry, m’lord, but we both know that Foxfire can get better stables with Lord Equus than anything I can buy with this.”

  Thesscore closed Jeb’s fingers over the money then held his hand there for a moment. “Keep the money, it will give me an excuse to find you when we both don’t look like we have been through a fire. And call me Wulf.”

  Jeb halted. “No.”

  Thesscore’s laugh was sudden and loud. “Okay, perhaps I‘m too old for flirting. I am serious about speaking to you later. I can use a horseman like you up north in Thesscore.”

  *****

  As a guild lord and recent friend to the king, Lauren was housed in the queen’s room, named after the queen of Cormeum, who lived in the room as a forced guest for several years during the thirteenth twelftury. It was in one of the highest towers of the inner keep, with pleasant breezes that blew in through the arrow-slits that served as windows, a curtained bed, and two chairs for receiving visitors.

  Although Lauren was allowed visitors, the room had a thick door with metal reinforcements and a guard both outside the door and at the base of the stair. Chad was ordered to surrender his sword and dagger and then thoroughly searched before he was allowed inside the building. They even leafed through every page of the books he brought to verify there was nothing inside.

  Once Chad passed the second guard and was allowed in, he immediately noticed two things. First, that Lauren had been allowed several personal items from his own apartment next to the library, including an impressive selection of books. And second, that the chamber pot needed emptying.

  Lauren grinned when Chad wrinkled his nose. “They only empty it at the shift change. I could throw it out the window like they do in some of the towns outside the capital, but I consider several groundskeepers among my friends. How goes the fire?”

  “Once the king unlocked the armories and allowed the soldiers to help, the bulk of the blaze was knocked out pretty quickly. A few hot embers remain and patrols will be out all night to make sure.”

  “Good. So the boy was found?”

  “The Grey found the sword in a cave below the castle and I saw what looked like the remains of two bodies.” Chad failed to suppress a shudder. “I had heard stories, of course. Pious thought it was funny.”

  “How are your studies proceeding?”

  Chad grumbled, secretly glad at the change of subject. “He had me memorize some dates on the night you were arrested and was a little surprised I did it the same night. When Pious ordered hoperoot planted along the sides of all royal roads, when King Oberon ordered it all dug up and when he started fining people for having it growing on their property. The list went all the way back to the time of the ancients. I did it, but who cares?”

  “Do you know why King Oberon ordered the hoperoot dug up?”

  Chad shook his head. “Wes thinks it was a mistake. He’s pretty vocal about it. According to Wes, if King Pious did something, it must have been a good idea, even if we don’t understand why.”

  “Yes, criticizing King Oberon -- loudly and often -- is not a way to earn friends in royal circles.” Lauren chuckled, then stared out the window as he said softly, “I was a child before the fires. It was mid-summer and it was blazing hot every day. A kind of heat that you’ve never seen in your lifetime. Famine was a problem and people fought over water. Out in the country, the hoperoot brambles were great hedges, ten feet wide and nearly that tall. People assumed they had been planted for defense. Then, one day, somebody lit one on fire.”

  “Imagine a pile of kindling miles and miles long. The only way to put out the fire was to chop a hedge apart before the fire reached it. But, no matter how dry it got, the roots always survived and something about burning made hoperoot grow back faster. There was so much of the stuff. Water levels -- already low -- dropped even further in any well near a hoperoot hedge after a fire. Ripping the stuff up, roots and all, was one of the most expensive projects King Oberon undertook in his entire reign.”

  “So why was the stuff planted in the first place?”

  Lauren smiled. “I’m old but I’m not that old. I don’t know. When was it planted?”

  “During the seventy-fifth year of the fourteenth twelftury.”

  “In what season?”

  “Mid-autumn.”

  “And this is mid-autumn, on the second day of the seventy-sixth year of the fifteenth twelftury, correct?”

  Chad gave Lauren a rueful smile, “And that is why dates matter. I’ll shut up and learn what Journeyman Wes wants to teach.”

  “No, you won’t.” Lauren fixed Chad with his stare. “You will be an immanent student. Wes has information tucked in his head that you will need in the coming years, but you don't have a lifetime for him to tell it all to you. Wes knows about the hoperoot fires, but he didn't live through them. It doesn't matter to him … not the way it matters to the king and anyone in the kingdom significantly more than forty years old. From the books, I don’t believe water levels were ever a problem during winter and maybe we will need the defence a hoperoot … “

  “No,” Chad interrupted. “I’ve stepped on a hoperoot plant with my boot. They are thorny and, if they grow that tall, they might make a decent fence for cattle, but they aren’t a worthwhile defense.”

  Lauren nodded. “Good. You are now starting to learn from your studies instead of just memorizing facts. You have the entire royal library at your disposal.”

  Chad frowned and chewed on his lip. “Pious should be learning this, too.”

  “King Oberon is personally seeing to Prince Pious’ education, as he has for the last year. Your role is to be at his side, whenever he needs information that Oberon can’t provide him, as my father, Lord Erroll, was before us.”

  Chad pulled his kerchief out of his pocket and showed it to Lauren. “When Pious and I were in the cave, this was on the blade.”

  “And this is not Pious’ blood, I take it.”

  Chad shook his head. “I pulled the sword, with gloves, like you did when you killed the last Midnight.”

  “That was a stupid, stupid thing to do. The king would have been well within his rights to execute me that day, but luckily seemed more concerned about my father and whether, in my rash foolishness, I had executed myself by accident.”

  Chad grinned. “Like father like son.”

  The pleased surprise on Lauren’s face was more than Chad could have hoped for.

  *****

  When Jeb trudged into the L-shaped courtyard in front of the Dancing Goat, he was still thinking about Baron Thesscore’s offer. Now that the city was safe, what remained for him here? Nimbus? Bess? Certainly not the throne. Every lord in the kingdom would do a better job leading people than him. The farther he was from the crown, the better for everybody.

 
“We meet again.”

  Jeb looked up. The chirurgeon he had tried to stab only two days ago was sitting on one of the benches in front of the ale house.

  “If you want to call the guard, I saw a patrol only half a block back. I’m too tired to care.”

  “I’m tired too. There’s been enough death today. I’ll not go looking for more. Do you know Bess?”

  Jeb nodded. “Hark--” Jeb choked a bit on the name. “Her father died. I haven’t told her.”

  “She mentioned a stable boy named Jeb ...”

  “He died too.” Jeb looked up at the sign on the front of the ale house. He felt like he was supposed to cry, but couldn’t. A knot in his chest throbbed painfully, but he ignored it. “Please let her know.”

  He lowered his head and kept walking. He’d find rest elsewhere tonight.

  *****

  Jeb didn’t know why, but his feet found their way to Red Cap Stables. Other than a few charred fence posts, the corral was gone, as was the top two floors of the barn. Somehow, this felt like Jeb’s fault too.

  “Jeb, that you? What are you doing in a dress?” Pol was digging through the debris, seeing what could be salvaged. He had lived on the third floor of that barn.

  “I’m in disguise, can’t you tell?” Jeb did a little curtsy. “Somebody lit a fire and I didn't have time to get particular in what I was wearing.”

  Pol dug around in a pile and threw some wet clothes at Jeb. “Put those on. You look ridiculous.”

  Jeb looked around as he slid the pants on under the dress. Ropes hung across the entrances to the remnants of the barn’s stone first floor and, despite the damage, all of the horses seemed accounted for, even the four-week old colt Nimbus had shown him.

  Pol followed the direction of Jeb’s gaze. “Do you know if Harker is buying? What feed I have after the fire will wet-rot in a day or two.”

  “Harker died.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. Is the Goat okay?”