Third Prince (Third Prince Series)

by Toby Neighbors

  “So what do you do when you aren’t with them? Do you return home to Penamere?”

  “I have no home. My father died when I was serving the King. I had no desire to keep the home or take up the family business. Some people make a living by their craft; for me, archery is my life.”

  “I’ve spent my life living through the written words of other people,” Kain admitted. “I never dreamed of ever leaving the Monastery at Aquista. And I wonder if my craft will suit my new life.”

  “You will make a good king. You are quick to listen to those who know their business. And a quick learner, too.”

  Kain smiled, but he knew there was much more to being a king than he was ready for. How did some men do it? He wondered how his father had done it, watching his brother die, stopping his men from saving his own father. Kain decided to change the subject as they turned around and headed back toward the camp.

  “How long until we reach Royal City?” he asked.

  “We could be there in six days, even at this leisurely pace. That should give you time to get ready for the Council.”

  “What’s it like? The Council, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. I’m just a common born man. I’ve only been in the Castle twice.”

  “Oh, I just figured… I mean, I heard about the tournament the King gave. Didn’t he award you some sort of title?”

  “Yes, Master Archer of Belanda.”

  “Well, there you go. What is the Master Archer of Belanda?” Kain asked.

  “Just a title. No lands, not that I’d have wanted them. I did get an arrow made of bronze with my name etched into the shaft. But I traded it for some twine and a bag of salt in a border town.”

  They had reached the place where the others were waiting for them. There were camp chairs set up, and stew was once again bubbling over the fire. Kain wondered how the stew was prepared so fast. At the Monastery, the monks would take all day to make a stew. As they ate, the men talked of women and horses, and the lands they hailed from. But it was just casual conversation, the kind people made when the silence was too uncomfortable to deal with. After they ate, Gorton stood watch while the others lounged around the clearing. They would wait until the afternoon to press on. Tooles napped under the tree, and Devlyn explored the trees. Kain supposed he was looking for some particular kinds of wood, but he returned empty handed. Fairan studied maps and rechecked his weapons, although Kain was sure he had done so the night before. Slowly, as the serenity of the camp worked its magic on him, Kain fell asleep. And once again he found himself in the nightmare that had so often plagued him of late.

  He was lying under the great spreading branches of the tree they had camped by. He was bound, hand and foot, and as he turned his head he could see the lifeless bodies of his companions. His heart thundered in his chest as the grief of this tragedy seized his heart and squeezed it like a vice. He looked back into the trees, and there were his attackers, faceless and horrifying. He knew what was coming and began to strain against his bonds, but it was no use. The dark man, his captor, his tormentor, appeared. The dark, oily strands of hair hung down and shrouded his face. Kain tried to scream, but there was a gag in his mouth. He strained forward to see this man who haunted his dreams, if they could be called dreams; there was no misty, vague detail as in most dreams. Yet he knew he was sleeping. And even while the knowledge of his reality rang in his mind like an echo, the details of the dream were so sharp, so vivid, the emotions so powerful, that he accepted this perception of reality without question. As he lifted his head and shoulders off the ground, he saw something on the dark man’s face; it was a reflection in two black orbs.

  It was his eyes! Kain thought to himself. The man had black eyes, as if they were all pupil, with no irises or white to them at all. Then Kain saw the sword, it had blood dripping from its curving edges. The man lifted the sword and Kain sought to roll away, to avoid the strike he knew was coming. But suddenly he was once again in a freshly dug grave. He felt the icy chill of fear. The next few moments passed so slowly, he began to wish for death. He could smell the freshly disturbed soil, felt the dampness soaking into his clothes. Above the sword, the leaves swayed gently in the wind, and the sunlight seemed to trickle through them like water from a spring rain. The sword became the snake and its black scales glistened where the blood had not covered them. The blood began to fall on him; he felt the pressure of the drops on his chest. He looked down and saw that he had no clothes on. What had happened to his clothes? He thought. And then the snake was striking out at him, the tongue flicking up as the fangs reared. He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t. The snake grew larger as it neared him. Wake up, he told himself, wake up, wake up! But he didn’t. The snake sank its teeth into his chest and blood erupted. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced, it was a cramping and tearing feeling that made him scream in agony. And then the world turned inside out.

  His friends where there, they were alive. He looked from face to face, assuring himself that his dream had really ended. Then the pain thundered into his consciousness again. He convulsed, straining back over the ground. He could feel their hands on him, trying to hold him. His eyes had rolled back, and there was a roaring in his ears so that he could not hear the voices of his companions, yet somehow he knew they were urgently shouting his name. He didn’t know why the pain was so real, it was only a dream. And yet there was something hot and wet on his chest. He cried out again as rough fingers forced his mouth open. There was a taste of bitter, fibrous material being forced under his tongue, and then cool darkness overcame him.

  He was aware, yet seemingly unconscious. He felt his body go limp, knew the pain was still searing into his chest, but the knowledge of it was disconnected from him in this cool, dark world. He felt his hands being raised and his body lifted as his shirts were pulled off of him. Slowly, through the darkness, he could hear their voices.

  “He’s bleeding,” said Fairan.

  “How?” cried Gorton, his voice full of guilt. “There was no one near him, I swear it.”

  “No, this is no physical wound,” hissed Tooles. “He is under the spell of some dark sorcery.”

  Kain, in his detached state of mind, considered this information. He didn’t believe in sorcery. Of course, it wasn’t that sorcery didn’t exist; it was just that the One God forbade his followers from dabbling in it. He wondered how he had managed to be ensnared in this pagan mysticism.

  “He is bleeding!” came Fairan’s frantic voice. “We must stop it.”

  “Hand me that rag!” ordered Tooles.

  Kain felt the pressure and the coarseness of the fabric as it was swiped across his chest.

  “Where is the blood coming from?” asked Gorton.

  “This is an evil thing,” came Fairan’s voice.

  “Let me get it off of him, and I think he will be okay,” said Tooles in a breathless voice.

  The wiping continued and then, like a switch being thrown, the pain ended.

  “We must wake him. Take a firm hold of his arms and legs,” Tooles said.

  Kain felt the hands of the warriors holding him. Then suddenly, like a giant hand had jerked him physically from the cool, detached place, he found himself sputtering and coughing from an odor that burned into his nasal passages. Then the odor cleared and he relaxed, opening his eyes.

  “How do you feel?” asked Tooles.

  Kain took a deep breath. There was no pain at all. He felt fine.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  The three warriors above him relaxed, their brows glistening with sweat, their skin pale. Kain sat up and looked around him. Nothing had changed; he was still in the clearing, the horses, clueless to their panic, stood munching the green grass. He felt a cool breeze blow across his bare skin, and he looked down. There was nothing on his chest, no dent, no cut. He looked up.

  Tooles was sitting in a camp chair, with a bag made from heavy canvas on his lap.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” asked D
evlyn in a concerned voice.

  “Yes, help me up.” The men pulled him up easily. Kain moved his arms and walked a little bit to see what, if anything, was hurting. He felt fine. He could feel the effects of his exertion, like one often feels after a nightmare. But there were no lingering effects from the pain in his chest, no trace of anything that would explain what happened.

  Fairan stalked angrily over to Tooles and demanded to know what was going on.

  “It is not wholly within my realm of understanding,” said the old man. The others approached to hear what the aged councilor had to say.

  “I have heard of a power, a very dark and deadly art that was thought to be lost, once used to torture and control victims. It required a vast knowledge of dark sorcery. But I have never heard of anyone who could use it.”

  “What of the Iglish? Could it be…” Fairan was interrupted before he could continue.

  “We will not speak of that now!” said Tooles, his voice as grinding as glass under rock. “All we do know is that he was for a time in the hands of Derrick’s men. They must have done something to him.”

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here!” Kain demanded.

  “Have you been having strange dreams?” Tooles asked him.

  “Yes, nightmares. I dream I am bound and looking up at the man who stabbed me before Fairan arrived and drove them off. There are variations, but he is holding a curved sword that turns into a snake. I usually wake up just as it’s about to bite me.”

  Tooles nodded. “The snake worshipers of Velain.”

  “I thought that was just a myth,” Devlyn said.

  “I’ve never heard of anyone worshiping snakes,” said Gorton.

  “Nor have I,” Kain added.

  “They were a sect from the dark druids of Ganterland,” Tooles said.

  “But Ganterland was never found,” said Fairan. “King Dextol sent ships to find this Ganterland, but the ships never returned. No one’s ever been there.”

  “I’ve read that, too,” said Kain, “from the Chronicles of Belanda. It was about 200 hundred years ago, wasn’t it.”

  “Yes, a small band of men and women arrived in a strange ship at the port of Sirris. They claimed only to be worshipers of the earth and sought to learn more of our lands. They settled near the coast and began to teach people their religion, but a few of them traveled throughout Belanda. They were able to do dark and terrible things. Then they disappeared, but strange things continued to happen, things no one could explain. There were rumors of a cult of snake worshipers with dark power, but there was no more proof they existed than there was that the island of Ganterland did.”

  “It seems there is more to it than that,” said Gorton. “It was real blood we wiped off Elkain’s skin. There is still blood on the rag.”

  “Yes,” said Tooles, “we shall have to be more careful.” He was stuffing some dried, grassy looking materials into a leather pouch. He tied it to a thin strap of woven canvas and hung it over Kain’s head.

  “What is this?” Kain asked.

  “Just a little something to keep away bad dreams,” Tooles said. “It seems we will all be fighting this war, some enemies we can see, some we can’t.”

  Chapter 11

  The troop pressed on after Kain had rested from his nightmare for a short while. The day wore on, and they camped for the night in a little valley near the stream. They ate and talked, the crackling fire lulling them all into a sense of ease, as if they were the oldest of friends merely out on an early summer outing. Kain lay back and looked at the stars. His doubt and fears were momentarily forgotten. He felt free and was having more fun than he had ever had in the Monastery. Perhaps it was the newness of his surroundings or being away from the monotony of the regimented schedule at Aquista. He felt a closeness and brotherhood with these men, although they had just met, that he had never experienced before. And regardless of the future, he was happy.

  When the fire died down, and Devlyn took the first watch, the others fell asleep, but Kain was nervous. What if the dream came again? he thought to himself. He tried to relax, to quiet his mind, and yet, when he felt sleep slowly approaching, he stirred himself back to wakefulness. It was a long night. Kain merely dozed, never really resting. When the sky lightened, and Fairan, who was on watch, returned to camp, Kain rose and helped to prepare breakfast. They ate and pushed on.

  The second day was much like the first, the only difference was the scenery and that Kain’s lessons became more in-depth. Fairan rode beside him in the morning, discussing military tactics. They talked about everything from hand-to-hand combat to the strategic uses of foot soldiers and cavalry, to the defense of castles, towns, and military outposts. When they stopped early for lunch, Fairan continued Kain’s lessons with the sword. When they finished and sat down to eat, Kain was exhausted. He was sweating, and his muscles were trembling lightly from the exertion, but he thought he had never felt better. There was something within him that was drawn to this wildness, to this danger. It was not a super-macho self image, but rather a hearty, salt of the earth feeling. It connected him with a side of his life that had lain dormant at the Monastery. For the first time he felt like he was living, although he had never before felt that he wasn’t.

  After they ate, Devlyn continued archery lessons, beginning with target practice. Kain’s aim was shaky from practicing with his sword earlier, but he was beginning to grow used to his small bow. After target practice, they hiked to a large grove of trees, with Devlyn once again grilling Kain on the best uses for the types of wood and the desirable parts of each of the trees. They completed their lesson with Kain climbing a tree to cut some wood for arrows.

  They resumed their journey as soon as Kain and Devlyn returned to camp. There would be no chance for the dream to recur this day. They rode until dusk, with Gorton taking the first half of the afternoon to teach Kain more about horsemanship, including how to fight from the saddle. The Third Prince nearly lost his seat at one point as he leaned out to practice striking an imaginary foe. The last hour of their journey that day was spent learning about the Council of Nobles. Kain was surprised how much of Belanda’s governing was decided by the council. Tooles began explaining about the nobles whose families had been on their land for hundreds of years. These ancient houses held more power in the Council, but there were also recent additions, knights that had been honored with lands and titles by kings such as Kain’s father.

  When they camped for the night, Kain walked and stretched his tired and aching muscles. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat. Then he wrapped himself in his cloak, his muscles like jelly, his mind saturated with new ideas, new information, and without any thought of bad dreams, he drifted off to sweet and restful sleep.

  ***

  The next three days were much the same, and Kain began to notice little changes in himself. Most obvious was his ease in handling his horse. When he had set out from the Monastery, his mount had seemed very tall, and sitting in the saddle was chancy at best. As the horse walked, Kain would grip the saddle tightly, feeling very much out of control. But now, his horse seemed a part of him, he was comfortable with the height and with the movement. He had learned how to use his legs as he rode and how to command the animal. He now felt very much in control of his powerful steed, which gave him a boost in his own confidence. In the same way, he had grown to feel comfortable with the sword that swung from his hip. He was not a great swordsman, nor would he ever have the strength that Fairan or Gorton possessed, but he learned what he could do well and how to turn a fight to his advantage. He had made his own arrows, which filled him with a sense of accomplishment that paralleled what he had felt when he finished copying a manuscript in the Monastery. His arms were stronger, the pain in his back and legs had evaporated, and the swelling in his face was nearly gone. The bruise was now turning yellow, and he was slightly concerned about his appearance when they arrived at Royal City, but that concern was quickly forgotten.

  The morning o
f the sixth day dawned bright and beautiful. They expected to reach Royal City by nightfall, and the group seemed in the best of spirits. There was a festive mood, with everyone talking and smiling. They passed an oddly shaped, very steep, little hill. Fairan explained to Kain that it was once a lookout tower, from a time before any written record of Belanda’s history. Little did they know they would soon be sheltered on the ancient knoll.

  They had ridden for a little over an hour after passing the hill, when in the distance they saw a large group of men riding toward them. To Kain, it appeared as a dark smudge on the horizon of the rolling plains. Still, Gorton called for a halt as they discussed the situation.

  “Looks like soldiers, with a few knights,” stated Gorton.

  “Could we go around them?” asked Tooles.

  “No,” said Devlyn. “If those men are soldiers, and I believe they are, then they know we’re here.”

  “What makes you say that?” Kain asked.

  “This is an old farmer’s trail,” Devlyn explained. “It has always been used by the people of Penamere, but since the Royal highway runs through the heart of these plains, there is no reason it would ever be used as a route for merchants or soldiers. There is absolutely no other reason why a group of men that big would be traveling this way.”

  “How big?” asked Kain.

  “It looks like forty or fifty men on foot, and maybe, with a group that size, three or four knights,” said Fairan.

  “Unless there is more,” said Gorton. “If Devlyn is right, and he usually is, there might be more knights if they know we’re here.”

  “Westfold men,” rasped Tooles. “The boy in my village said Derrick was in Royal City. Fifty foot soldiers would be an impressive entourage without seeming like he was expecting trouble.”

  “Fifty men?” said Kain incredulously. “Why would anyone need fifty men-”