The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1)

by Fuller, James

  Rift flared red. "Fine, if that is how you want it, bring me a rope. You will die a traitor's death, you vermin," he snarled as he kicked Saktas in the face, knocking him back to the ground and the men around cheered.

  "What are you all standing around for? They are in the town - now find them and bring them to me," Rift ordered to the soldiers.

  "Well? Will you not spare your own life and tell me where they are? Or would you rather…" Rift stopped his sentence and looked from the rope back to Saktas.

  "Death does not scare me and neither do you," Saktas spat at him, knowing his fate already was sealed.

  "You will regret that you foolish bastard!" Rift hissed.

  "I regret nothing," Saktas answered, standing to his feet with pride as he awaited his death. "But one day you will for your mistake."

  4

  An imposing labyrinth of conquering roots reigned absolute throughout the dark, humid tunnel. Roots of all kinds had forced their way through every crack and knot in the sturdy boards that encased the passageway, rupturing or tearing them clean from the corridor sides in several locations as they continued their conquest. Each breath the group took was thick and bogged their lungs, leaving their mouths filmed with pungent, stale mildew.

  Adhar led the way with torch in one hand and a sinister shaped hatchet in the other. With sharp, fluent swings, he cut an easier path through the dense, entangled web that obstructed their journey. The trio awkwardly followed behind, twisting and turning their bodies so they could maneuver around the mesh of roots that reached out for them. Trying to stay as close to the soft light of the torch as possible, for the tunnel had an eerie gloom to it; they bunched up together, standing on one another’s feet or robes. Ominous sounds of wooden planks - being disrupted and violated by the weight of the world above - echoed drearily down the never-ending channel. Several small, murky pools had accumulated along the seams of the soggy floorboards which could soak up no more of the drips that bombarded them from the rooftop, making the floor slick with an algae film.

  As they hurried through as best they could, Meath had to give Saktas credit for being as well prepared as he seemingly was. However, in his kind of business one could never be too well prepared. The tunnel was propped with sturdy wooded beams and they had been encased entirely in quality wooden boards. Though, after the apparent decades the tunnel had remained, nature was taking its toll. It must have cost a fortune to build and even more to keep those many workers who built it quiet. However, from what he had gathered of Saktas, the man was well adapted to proving payment in all forms of the word. So he was sure the workers were all paid fairly - in their own way - and would take the secret to their graves, if that had not been where they had been placed after the work had finished. Meath shook the thought from his head - he knew Ursa would not befriend a ruthless murderer.

  Nicolette held tightly to Meath's hand. She had never liked the dark, or the things that might dwell within it. Every now and then, he would look back at her and give her a reassuring smile. It raised her spirits a little more every time he did. She was glad he was with her, and knew he would not leave her side. He never did when things went sour and she needed someone. Like at the Spring Renewal Festival many years ago when they were still nothing more than children.

  It had been halfway through the annual, fortnight-long festival - the sun had just set in the west and a long night of drinking, dancing and celebrating a new year was ensuing. Nicolette and Meath had spent the day at the fair, watching all the spectacular magic shows, plays, archery challenges and the many other performances that were of worth. Let alone the many hours they spent at the gaming booths playing darts, bobbing for apples, egg toss, sack racing and many more games that they played every day of the festival.

  They were almost never apart - King Borrack had always joked around, saying Meath was more like the Princess's Champion than Rift. They were sitting off to the sides nibbling on some sweet meats watching everyone dancing and enjoying themselves. The Princess' Royal guards had been a dozen feet away, chatting up with several ladies - but their eyes drifted back to where the Princess sat every couple of minutes.

  Victor - the son of a very wealthy silk merchant - approached them pompously. Victor was a handful of years older than Meath and a respectable size larger. He was arrogant, egotistical, and most fell for his superficial charm, mostly to be in good favor with his father in hopes for some form of personal gain. He had asked her to dance with him, but she had refused - her legs were tired and she did not want anything to do with him.

  Victor was not used to being turned down and the snarl that spread across his face displayed it. He almost walked away, but his pride just would not allow it to end there. He swung back to face them, a new fortitude set in his jaw and posture as he grabbed the Princess' hand and pulled her to her feet unwillingly, dragging her toward the dancing.

  She tried to pull away, but his grip was too firm. She remembered the confusing thoughts that flooded her mind when she turned back to look at Meath, only to find he was not there anymore. Where could he have gone? She was about to yell out for help when she realized she was no longer being pulled along against her will and that her intimidating capture no longer grasped her wrist. She turned to see what had happened and realized Meath had not abandoned her – instead he now stood his ground in front of them, not allowing Victor to pass by. She was sure she would remember the exchange of words that followed, until her dying days.

  "How dare you step in my way, you little orphaned bastard!" Victor cursed at him. "Remove yourself before I do it for you!"

  "She said no - leave her alone!" Meath barked back, his hands balled into tight fists.

  "What do you plan on doing?" Victor laughed, seeing Meath's knuckles turning white. "You going to fight me, you little freak of nature? Do not make me laugh." He tried to push Meath aside but Meath refused to budge and slapped away his arms.

  Victor's face flared red and he charged Meath in blind rage. Meath's fist was ready and collided hard with Victor's jaw, stunning him in his place. An instant later, his own fists flew wildly, battering Meath to the ground. Meath had done his best to defend against the overpowering blows of the much larger boy, but he was losing.

  Nicolette had tried to push Victor off Meath before he could kick him anymore. But Victor easily swatted her aside. She had cried out in pain and crashed into the bench that she and Meath had been sharing. Murmurs and gasps from the crowd alerted the Royal escorts to the events that were unfolding outside of their notice. That cry had triggered a newfound strength in Meath and he kicked his own legs out, smashing bitterly into Victor's shins and dropping him to the ground beside him. Like a cornered dog fighting for its very life, Meath dove on top of Victor, enraged fists raining down hard.

  Meath's victory was short-lived, as by now all those around were fully aware of the drama and two of the guards were pulling Meath off Victor. Another took care of the Princess. Had it not been for a few onlookers who had witnessed the full event, several lashings would have been dealt out to Meath for attacking someone of such higher class. Instead, Victor was forced to apologize in front of everyone that evening - to King Borrack, for disrupting the festival and not honoring his daughter. Next to Princess Nicolette, for ignoring her decision and forgetting his place, and worst of all, he had to thank Meath for defeating him so that he had not been able to worsen his mistake further.

  "Meath!" Nicolette cried out, tightening her grip on his hand pulling him to a stop.

  "What is it?" he asked turning to see what the problem was. He realized it was just a large black spider crawling on her shoulder. "Hold still … it is okay. This will only take a second," he assured her pulling out his dagger and flicking it to the ground. She exhaled loudly, hugging him tightly.

  "Thank you - you have always been good at saving me from those things." She shivered at the thought of the creepy arachnid that crawled off into the consuming darkness.

  "Hurry up - we do not have all ni
ght," Ursa called back to them. He had stopped a few feet in front of them to see what was holding them up, and was now waiting impatiently.

  For most of the way, everyone was silent - listening for intruders from behind, talking echoed bleakly off the damp, planked walls but traveled forever down the passageway. The tunnel seemed to go on incessantly as Meath counted each board they passed by. They had been walking for what seemed an endless time, when Meath finally broke the silence.

  "How much farther until we are out of this foul smelling place?" he asked, spitting out the tainted saliva residue that had coated his tongue.

  "Should not be far now," was all Adhar said, not slowing his pace. His demeanor was as though the tunnel were no different from being outside in the fresh air.

  Almost on cue, they came to a large root enmeshed square room, and the torchlight pushed the darkness back into the corners revealing several other passages.

  "Stay here a moment," Adhar motioned to them while he walked over to the far tunnel on the right and went in several feet. There was a soft click and he returned. "It is safe to go down the far left tunnel now…you go alone from here. I must get back. You are only a few thousand paces from the exit," he told them.

  "Thank you, Adhar. I will never forget this, and tell Saktas I owe him," Ursa said.

  "You will be a half mile from the road to the north. There will be a small path that will take you most of the way," Adhar explained, handing the hatchet to Meath, whom swung it several times to get the feeling of it. "May the Creator guide your footsteps and simplify your quest." Adhar bowed to them before leaving.

  Meath lead the way with the hatchet, cutting the easiest path through the throng of roots he could for the others to follow -though many of the roots were far thicker here than they had been back at the beginning of the compound. He was thrilled when he realized the wall had diminished the torchlight's path and the ladder that now stood in front of them.

  The opening at the peak of the ladder came out of a hefty old stump that lay in the middle of the dense jungle. As soon as they were out, they all filled their lungs with the fresh, sweet night air. Though they had all bathed only hours before, they felt grimier than they had before they had arrived at Sakar’s.

  "I did not know how much longer I could have taken that smell." Meath coughed, taking in another deep breath, clearing his lungs of the heavy feeling, before stretching his arm and shoulder. Clearing the path had been harder than he had expected and he had to wonder how Adhar had done it for so long without slowing or complaint.

  "We will not be stopping to rest tonight. We must keep going and get as far away as we can. That was too close back there," Ursa explained, glad to be out on the surface again. "We will rest come morning."

  Meath pulled his new sword out of its sheath to examine it. It was the most striking sword he had ever laid his eyes on. The blade was long; it arched ever so slightly outward for half the blade, then it flared upward to a furious point. The sword was only sharp on the front side and was made from the uppermost quality of steel. The hilt was an unusual design and one Meath had never seen before. The guard was crafted into the blade itself and not the handle like most. Two steel claws jutted out from near the bottom of the blade at different distances, strategically placed for defecting and stopping enemy blows. The handle itself was made of a solid wood, one that Meath did not recognize. It was angled vaguely downward, and was large enough to place both your hands on, yet it was light enough that he could swing it using one with ease.

  Never in Meath's life had he seen a better weapon, nor did he think he would ever hold one that matched its beauty and power. The sword felt so right in his hands as he swung it. The swings were so flawless and fluent it was almost as if it was an extension of his arm. Meath knew that crafting such a sword must have taken months. It was made of the finest materials, only the most talented of blacksmiths could have forged such a piece, and only the deepest of pockets could have afforded it.

  Ursa stretched his lengthy limbs one last time before beginning to lead the way down the dark path, not wanting to waste any more time. Meath and Nicolette followed close behind - the jungle was a dreadful place to be alone at night. You never knew what might be stalking around or what snake you might stir. The path had not been used in a long time and had become vastly overgrown. A few times, they had to stop and search for where the path continued.

  Nicolette found Meath's hand again and their fingers intertwined contentedly. She felt protected when she held his hand and she loved the way it made her feel. Even in the deep jungle, in the dead of night, when death could find them from any direction, she felt safe.

  It was not long before they had reached the road and Ursa stopped them once again so they could catch their breaths. They had traveled quickly through the woods and had luckily avoided any beast that might be lurking about.

  "We will rest for a few moments but not long - without horses, travel is going to be dreadfully slow. We will stay close to the side of the road in case we need to hide. Trust no one, and try not to be seen. Anyone traveling will surely be looking for us or have heard the rumors," Ursa said, pulling off his water skin and taking a drink before handing it to the others.

  "It sure is humid tonight," Meath moaned, wiping the sweat from his brow and fighting away the bugs.

  "I wonder what is happening back in Darnan," Nicolette speculated aloud.

  "Saktas has gotten out of worse in his days." Ursa untied the black lace that held his long hair in a ponytail and let his hair free. "We should get moving."

  They traveled long into the night and more than once had to hide from passing patrols. Meath could tell that Nicolette was beginning to tire. She held onto his arm for support and was having difficulty keeping up. He knew she was not accustomed to all this traveling on foot, but they had no choice but to keep moving. Even Meath was beginning to stumble - it had been a while since his days in the army, and since he had traveled this hard.

  Daybreak came and the trio found temporary shelter under a rocky overhang from a small hillside. The shelter was far enough off the main road that Ursa doubted anyone would know about it or be able to see or hear them. Meath covered the opening with large leafy branches to help camouflage them and keep the heat of the day out so they could get some sleep.

  As much as Ursa wanted to keep traveling, he knew they needed sleep. During the day was the best time for them to sleep and be off the roads. This was the time people travelled and the more they exposed themselves, the more likely they would be caught.

  They ate sparingly, not knowing how long their small supply of food would have to last. They slept into the better part of the day. When they woke, they ate a small meal and began making slow progress through the jungle's dense growth in the fading light of day. Once it was nearer to dusk, they ventured onto the road again for faster travel.

  "We will stop here so the Princess can catch her breath," Ursa called back. He turned around and realized he was a fair distance ahead of them. Since they had gone back onto the road, they had made good progress, and had not needed to hide from sight.

  "I am okay - I can keep going," Nicolette said weakly, her feet dragging across the ground.

  "We will stop anyway. I am not as young as I used to be and I need to rest my weary bones," Ursa replied.

  They had not rested long before all three went dead silent, straining their ears to the night.

  "Quick, get into the trees, someone is coming!" Ursa whispered urgently.

  *****

  "Do you really think that what everyone is saying is true?" said a male voice that Meath thought he recognized.

  "Of course not, you dolt. Meath would never have a part in treason. Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?" Another male voice boomed in defense.

  "But why else would it all have happened. People just do not make up stories like that, and Meath always did have a thing for the Princess, you know. He always used to talk about her and such," The first voice spok
e again and now Meath knew for sure.

  "How could you ever think something like that of our friend?" Zehava growled as he slapped Dahak across the head, catching him off-guard. "Smarten up, Dahak. We know Meath better than most and I say something fishy is going on here with this whole thing. The story and facts do not add up, or even make sense for that matter. Something is wrong with it all."

  "Ouch. Why do you always do that? It hurts, ya know," Dahak whined, rubbing his head from the light blow he had received.

  "Good, that is the point." Zehava laughed, looking over at his friend who was still complaining.

  "You are probably right. Meath would not have done such things," Dahak agreed with his friend. "Though it has been a year since we have seen him, a lot could have happened to change him."

  "It is okay. They are friends of mine - they will help us." Meath whispered to Ursa climbing out from his hiding place and back onto the road. He stood in the middle, waving his arms slowly.

  "Stop you fool!" Ursa called trying to grab him, but missed.

  "Sweet phantom mother!" Zehava yelled, pulling back on the reins and stopping the horses just shy of Meath. Both men goggled, before turning to look at one another.

  "Please do not kill us, Meath. We are your friends, remember?" Dahak whimpered finally, as he hid behind his arms and peered out to see what might be coming his way.

  "I am not going to hurt you, Dahak. How did you ever make it into the army with a girly scream like that?" Meath teased. Zehava jumped down from the wagon and clasped his arm.

  "Meath, are you a sight for sore eyes! Please tell me that what they're saying is not true - you had no part in the King's death did you?" he asked, but was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  "Of course not, Zehava!" Meath said, looking into his friends eyes to assure him.

  "Well, we may as well go and join them," Ursa groaned, shaking his head.

  "It is a trap - get down!" Dahak yelled again, bailing off the side of the wagon taking cover behind the horses.