by Anna Mendell
the coming of the crown.
“I had never heard the full song before.” Seeing the Grey Hawk’s questioning eyes, he continued. “My mother was a westerner.”
The Grey Hawk nodded. “Yes, you have that look about you. But your speech is that of a Midlothian. Tell me your name and what has brought you to my woods.”
Dunstan snorted. “Your woods? Surely these woods belong to the Lord of Westhane.”
“Quiet, Dunstan,” Erik said. “This man has a claim. If I am not mistaken, we are sitting before Gavin, son of Lord Biron, the dispossessed lord of Westhane.”
The Grey Hawk threw back his head and laughed. “You are a perceptive young man. I did not expect a molly-coddled boy from Midlothia to know me.”
“Watch your mouth,” Dunstan retorted, causing the men around the campfire to grumble and eye him dangerously.
“Don’t, Dunstan. We are this man’s guests.”
The Grey Hawk laughed again. “You have an unfair advantage over me. You know who I am, but I am still in unhappy ignorance of your identities. I gather that your hot-headed companion’s name is Dunstan, but whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“You may call me Erik, though I would not say that we are in an advantageous position.”
“Erik?”
“Just Erik.”
“Well, then, ‘Just Erik,’ why don’t you tell me of the pressing errand that drives you to sneak into an outlaw’s camp and steal their horses?”
“We were not stealing anything, but simply taking back what is rightfully ours. I may ask you by what right you have, true lord of Westhane or no, to waylay innocent travelers on the road and commit other similar acts of wrong-doing, if the stories are to be believed.”
“Silence, Midlothian boy,” cried the man called Corwin. “Or I will slit you from the navel to the throat where you stand.”
“No, that is all right, Corwin,” said the Grey Hawk. “These young men have a vested interest in the answer. My acts of ‘wrong-doing,’ as you call them, depend greatly on from which side of the river you hear the tale. I do prey upon the false lord’s men, as well as unsuspecting, self-important Midlothians such as yourselves; though I grant that I may have misjudged in your case, but you owe that, in part, to the fine lad Dunstan there.”
“You still have no right to waylay innocent men from Midlothia,” Erik said, “and your father lost the western lands through disloyalty to the king. You will have no recourse to the law if you act like an outlaw, nor will you have your rights restored to you.”
Some of the men cried out and leapt to their feet, their hands on the hilts of their swords.
Dunstan whispered furiously to the prince, “Erik! Even I know you’ve gone too far.”
The Grey Hawk’s eyes had grown hard, but Erik’s gaze never left his, and the dispossessed lord lifted his hand, and his men settled back down.
“You speak of loyalty and of the law, but a Westlander knows better than to expect justice from a Midlothian. I claim that we uphold the law against the false lord and his unjust thievery of our lands. My father’s disloyalty, which you refer to, was his refusal to let the king bleed his land and his people dry, though he was a fool to make a stand on his own. Yet someday our injuries will strike too deep into the heart of our land, and we will rise up with one voice and throw off our northern oppressors. That is what the king fears most.”
Erik spoke abruptly. “I would see firsthand this injustice of which you speak.”
The Grey Hawk raised his eyebrows and said in a low voice, “You are hardly in a position to make demands.”
“You know that you have done us an injury by waylaying us on the road. We are not the Lord of Westhane’s men, nor are we in any way involved in your struggle. We are not leaving without our horses, so you are left with the difficulty of what to do with us. You claim that there is injustice being committed in this land by the current lord, and I would see this for myself. It is the least that you can do, and, despite your outlaw ways, I can see that you and your company are honorable men.”
“Your request is a strange one, but I will grant it. You will ride with us tomorrow. But this one,” the Grey Hawk motioned to Dunstan, “will stay behind to ensure you do not attempt escape.”
Dunstan began to protest, but Erik assured him, “Do not fear, Dunstan, these men will treat you well, and you know that I will not leave you behind.”
Dunstan mumbled under his breath to the prince, “Forgive me if I am not as assured of their good intentions as you are.”
Erik patted his friend’s back reassuringly, and they were both led to a tent where a man kept watch over them outside. The two of them lay down on the hard ground, and Dunstan whispered in the darkness, “In all seriousness, Erik, these men are just as likely to slit our throats as the northern raiders were up at Castle Wallstone. And their hatred is more personal.”
“Don’t worry so much, Dunstan. We have the Grey Hawk’s word that nothing will happen to us. He would not command the loyalty of so many men if he did not keep his word.” Then the prince added in a more thoughtful tone. “If there is injustice being committed in the kingdom, then I want to know of it. Not to mention that I want the Grey Hawk to let us go with our horses.”
“I don’t know how you expect to convince him to let us go… and if he finds out who you are, you may as well have signed your own death warrant. The best thing to do is to make plans for escape. Do you hear, Erik? Erik? You aren’t asleep are you?… Incredible!”
Erik had rolled over onto his side and fallen fast to sleep. Dunstan mumbled under his breath, then tried to do the same.
THE next morning, Erik joined the Grey Hawk’s band as they journeyed down one of the many long roads cutting through the farmlands and the woods. The area was deserted, but Erik got the sense that every man was ready to dissolve into the forest should a party appear on the road. A lone rider emerged on the horizon, galloping toward them. It was one of the men the Grey Hawk had sent to scout ahead.
“I sense trouble,” one of the men muttered as the rider reached them. The scout reported that there was a company of men headed toward the nearby farm and that the Lord Clovis was riding with them.
“Is it not unusual for the Lord Clovis to visit a farm?” Erik asked the Grey Hawk.
The man’s eyes gleamed hard. “The tax collector was there last week and probably told tales of the farmer’s pretty, new wife.”
Erik looked warily at the men surrounding him, swords in their hands. “If the Lord of Westhane falls into your power, will you slay him?”
The Grey Hawk grunted. “Nay, for I do not have the power to defend against the king’s reprisal, which would be swift and merciless, and the country folk would suffer alongside my men. There has been many a time when I could have thrust my sword into that false coward’s belly, but better judgment stayed my hand. However, talk is idle. Come and witness, ‘Just Erik,’ what royal oppression does to my people.”
They rode onward and took the narrow byway at the crossroads that led to the farm. Dismounting near a cluster of trees, two men were set to watch the horses, while the rest moved stealthily through the wood until they reached the nearside of the farmhouse overlooked by the trees. There they took cover, with Erik at the Grey Hawk’s side. They observed the farmer and his wife at the gate, exchanging heated words with a burly, heavily armed man, whom Erik assumed was the tax collector.
The Grey Hawk pointed out five armed men on horseback further up on the road, and Erik recognized Lord Clovis’ sharp features. He hadn’t changed much since Erik remembered seeing him in the throne room receiving orders to quell the western uprising all those years ago.
“We can give you no more and paid you in full last week. I still do not understand why you are here.” The farmer’s words called Erik and the Grey Hawk’s attention back to the scene closer at hand.
“A farm your size should have yielded a greater crop. All you farmers are cheaters. You better deliver unle
ss you wish us to seize the farm.”
The farmer ran his hands desperately through his hair. “I swear we have held nothing back. Search yourselves.”
“Oh, we can do that if you insist, greedy lying swine that you are. But then, I cannot guarantee what could happen. One of the soldiers might accidently set your fields ablaze… you know how clumsy those brutes are.”
The farmer groaned, and the tax collector smiled with his teeth. “I have another proposal for you, one that meets with the Lord of Westhane’s approval. Why not have your pretty little bride pay off the debt? The Lord is a generous man and will let you off with such a trifle. Who knows, you may even get her back.”
The farmer’s wife started sobbing even louder and clutched at her husband’s sleeve.
“This is an outrage,” Erik whispered in repressed fury and turned to the Grey Hawk. “I am going to stop this. Will you give me a show of men if I need them? This should not turn into a fight, but I am not afraid of a skirmish if need be.”
The Grey Hawk narrowed his eyes and curtly nodded his head. With that sign of approval, Erik moved rapidly through the wood. When he reached the line of trees, Erik sprang forward, swiftly drawing his sword and knocking the blade out of the surprised tax collector’s hand. Erik saw that the sound had alerted Lord Clovis and his men and that they were rapidly approaching.
The prince pointed his sword threateningly at the tax collector’s throat. “Halt! You are close enough! Do you recognize me, Lord Clovis of Westhane?”
The sharp eyes of the lord appraised the youth. “Indeed, Prince Erik, you bear your own likeness. But I am at a loss to understand why you threaten one of my men and interfere in my affairs.”
Erik released the tax collector and sent him back to his master with the flat of his blade. “Are your affairs to extort unjust taxation and defile women, my Lord? Your affairs stink with corruption.”
Lord Clovis spoke coolly. “Your highness is naïve if you believe that rebellious provinces can be governed with other than a rod of iron. What would the king think if he knew you were overstepping your bounds and interfering with my governance?”
“What would the king think if he knew how harshly you were oppressing the western peoples? He wants peace in Lothene, not a land pushed to its breaking point. How do you know he has not sent me to look into your affairs?”
The lord gave Erik a knowing smile. “Alone? I think not. Why don’t you come with me and we can both send word to your father.”
He signaled to the guards, but suddenly the wood came alive with men as the Grey Hawk and his band emerged and, with their weapons drawn, took their places around the prince.
“You take a stand with my enemies!” Lord Clovis hissed in outrage.
Erik spoke sternly. “Go back to your castle, my Lord, and leave this farm in peace. I will hear of it if you continue your outrages against my people. I swear to you that my father and I will uphold the laws of Lothene.”
Lord Clovis glared at the prince in rage and seemed to be calculating if he could pin the blame on the Grey Hawk and his men if the prince was slain in battle. The Grey Hawk must have read his mind. “We outnumber you three to one,” he said, “and the prince and my band are all battle-hardened men. Can you say the same of your soldiers? Or do they only raise their arms against the weak and defenseless?” Apparently the lord was not confident in the odds, for he shot a single venomous look at the Grey Hawk and then turned his horse back in retreat, his men following after him.
The prince and the Grey Hawk returned to their horses at the top of the hill with the farmer and his wife’s abundant thanks still echoing in their ears. They rode side by side back to the camp, and, after they dismounted, the prince turned to the Grey Hawk. “Lord Gavin of Westhane, will you let me and Dunstan go now that you know who I am, or will you hold us for ransom?”
The Grey Hawk’s eyes sparkled, and Erik saw that his use of the Lord’s title was not lost on Gavin.
“Do you think I would have let you have your way and ride with us and then take your stand against the false Lord of Westhane, if I did not know who you were?” the Grey Hawk asked.
Erik felt mystified. “How did you know?”
The Grey Hawk gave a short laugh. “First this.” He reached into his jerkin and pulled out the prince’s money bag and took out a single golden coin. He flipped it in the air and caught it, revealing the stamped profile of the king. “Your coloring may be of the western peoples, but your profile bears a certain family resemblance. Secondly, no one could mistake in your bearing other than what you are. You are a little imperious, my dear prince. You need to do more to disguise yourself than simply change your apparel.”
Erik felt ruffled.
“Yet you show concern for your people and a love for justice that bodes well for the Western Lands. It may be that fate led you to my camp so I could do you the courtesy of aiding you in your journey.”
“So you will let us go?”
“Do us the honor of spending the night with us as our royal guest, and your horses will be supplied with provisions for your journey tomorrow.”
THE knowledge of Erik’s identity quickly spread throughout the camp, and many startled glances were directed toward the prince and the Grey Hawk, but the men followed their leader absolutely and did not question Erik’s presence among them. Corwin went so far as to approach the prince and stiffly bow. “My apologies to the prince for any rudeness I may have committed.”
Erik returned the bow. “Do not mention it. You had no way of knowing who I was. It is all in the past.”
The Grey Hawk joined them. “Corwin is a gem of a man, the first to blaze to anger, but also the first to reproach himself if he has done wrong. I would count my life safe in the hands of any of my men.”
“That is a treasure, indeed,” Erik agreed. “When such nobility is outlawed, then the foundations of a kingdom must crumble.”
“I counselled my father against civil war. I knew failure would be the only result. But my father was a rash man of the old way, while I and my men are weary of bloodshed.”
“I too have lost many precious to me. If I restored justice to the land, Lord Gavin, would you follow me?”
The Grey Hawk’s eyes gleamed. “The line of the old kings died out long ago, and all of the western clans vie each other for leadership. If you defend the Western peoples and bring them peace, then you would be a king I could follow.”
“Then you must stop waylaying innocent travelers on the road… though this time it may have fallen to the advantage of us both.”
The Grey Hawk smiled and left to tend to things in his camp. Dunstan came over to Erik and pulled him aside. “Don’t you think your father will question your loyalty if you side with the Grey Hawk instead of the lord he appointed? The Lord of Westhane will have tales to tell the king, and you should return to the castle before he turns the king against you.”
Erik gazed at Dunstan. “I cannot go back,” he said softly.
Dunstan shifted uncomfortably. “But surely this matter is more pressing than your dream princess. We can always set out again once things are settled.”
Erik shook his head. “You may go back and bear a message for me, if you will. But I must go on.”
“Go back and say what?” Dunstan exploded. “The prince is not really inciting revolutionaries in the Western Lands, but is too busy searching for a princess he saw in his dreams to tell you so himself? Someone has to go with you to help you search for your lost wits!”
Erik gave a quiet laugh. “I admit that this is difficult, Dunstan, but, if I turn my back on the princess now, then the quest will never be fulfilled. I feel it. I would be condemning Princess Rosamund to eternal sleep, and I would rather die first.”
Dunstan shook his head in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? What has happened to the reasonable and serious prince?”
“If you believed what I believed, my friend, you would know that I am being very serious. But enough of this.” He
clapped Dunstan on the back. “I see food is being prepared. Shall we feast on venison and ale as honored guests?”
Dunstan grumbled and then nodded. “The least we can do is get a decent meal out of all this. I’m famished.”
THEY all enjoyed a hearty meal by the glow of the campfire. Toasts were made, music played, and a newfound hope stirred in the heart of the Grey Hawk’s band. The Lord Gavin leaned back and said to the prince, “Now tell me of your journey and with what I can assist you.”
Dunstan looked down in his cup, but Erik spoke to the Grey Hawk with an unwavering voice. “We are seeking the Shadowood. Can you lead us there?”
An uneasy murmur rippled through the men, and the Grey Hawk looked troubled. “What is it that you hope to find, young prince, that is worth traveling through the accursed wood?”
“I wish to find the sleeping princess of legend and wake her.”
Someone laughed, but Erik’s gaze did not falter, and the Grey Hawk must have seen the conviction in his eye.
“I will not deny that I dislike what I hear. I know many stories of the Shadowood, a few ancient, many new, and I cannot help you, for I do not know the truth behind them. The sleeping princess is merely an old tale meant to keep the west from losing hope and to foster the dream of a return of a golden age. I do not believe in such tales, and I also do not wish to lose the newfound friendship we have forged by chasing myths and legends. Yet I see that you are resolved and that nothing but force will move you, and friendship does not move by force. Aymer, do you have anything to tell the prince?”
The minstrel shook his head. “After the fall of the kingdom of Aurlia, the minstrel Neiren, ancient father of the golden tales, wandered throughout the fallen land, singing of the sleeping princess and how her wakening would bring back the Golden Kingdom. His songs kept hope alive in the hearts of the fallen, and many in the west wait for the princess still. But nowhere in his songs does he say how to wake the princess, or where she is sleeping.”
A somber silence had settled on the camp at the mention of the Shadowood and the princess. The men looked at the prince as though one dead, and even the prince began to feel a chill in his blood.
