Waking the Prince

by Shawn Lane

  But as they stepped inside, along both sides of the wall, torches suddenly came alight with flames lighting their path.

  “What is this? Sorcery?”

  “Of a sort,” Magnus agreed. “We are expected.”

  He shook his head and followed Magnus down the path. He supposed it was all related to the prophecy he could not read about himself. The path spilled into a main hall that also became lit with torches the instant they approached.

  There, just inside the main hall, stood two guards, fully armored, their legs spread in preparation for battle, their swords and shields at the ready. Roland drew in a breath, for they were as clear as glass, still, frozen and unmoving. Their bodies made of ice.

  “Madness,” he whispered.

  Magnus nodded, his expression one of great sadness. “Yes, the curse. It has turned them all to ice, as you will see. Everyone here is like these two.”

  His throat tightened. “How horrible. They have been like this hundreds of years?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is no way to break this terrible curse?”

  “None that any know of. And it is said when first they became ice, someone shattered a soldier to see if he would become a man once more, but he did not. He melted into a puddle of water.”

  Roland shuddered. “You can see their faces, their expressions, even though they are ice.”

  Magnus touched his arm. “Let us move on, Roland.”

  They passed more people made of ice and Roland tried not to look too closely at them, for his heart was sick for their fate.

  “Allies of the king sought to protect the palace from the curious who would do harm to those trapped here, so the dragon was brought here and the forest of thorny vines created,” Magnus explained.

  They reached two heavy doors and it took both of them to push them open. In this particular room there was a large amount of ice soldiers, and in the middle of the group stood one with a crown upon his head, now also made of ice.

  Roland stopped to stare at this man for some reason. His features were quite beautiful, almost ethereal. He glanced at Magnus, who stood nearby. “The king?”

  “Nay, the king was older. This would be the prince.”

  “An ice prince.”

  Magnus nodded. “Yes.” He gestured to the soldiers around them. “They were protecting him from whatever evil plagued them.”

  Roland shook himself. If he were not careful, his fate and that of his own kingdom would be similar. He had to focus on the Sword of Montcrief and the destruction of the sorcerer, Veronious.

  They picked up their pace, hurrying through the room and through several others, searching the palace for the sword. In each room they came across more people who’d been turned to ice, but no sword.

  “There is no sword,” Roland declared, stopping in frustration. “We have been all through this castle and there is naught.”

  Magnus shook his head. “It has to be here, Roland.”

  “Very well, you go to the right and I will go left. We must have missed something. A secret room, maybe.”

  “I am not certain it is wise to separate.”

  “There is no one here but the two of us and those affected by the curse. Call out if you find something and I will do the same.”

  Magnus frowned. “Shout out at the slightest sign of trouble.”

  He nodded. “And you as well.”

  Roland headed to the left of the castle, holding his shield and sword at the ready. He still feared that somehow someone had beat them to this palace and taken the Sword of Montcrief. Either that or perhaps it was mere legend and did not actually exist despite what the prophecy said.

  Shaking his head in frustration, Roland ran through another room and up some steps to another floor. They’d already been up here before. He was about to go down the hall when something caught his gaze. Movement. He turned to look but saw nothing. He continued to stare at the spot that had seemed to move, waiting.

  A set of stairs appeared, then flashed away.

  “What is this?” Roland asked aloud. He stepped closer, touching his hand to the stone as it shifted. The stairs appeared once more, only this time they did not disappear. “Magnus!”

  ::You do not need to wait for Magnus. Go up and look for yourself.::

  Roland blinked and shook his head. He started up the stairs.

  ::That’s it. You are the one who will use the sword anyway. You do not need him to obtain it.::

  He paused on the steps, trying to figure out where the voice came from. Was it really inside his head? Frowning, Roland continued up the winding narrow steps. They kept going and going and he was not certain how high he had climbed.

  Finally, in front of him, stood an old wooden door barely on its hinges. Roland rested his hands on the door, feeling the old wood. His heart thundered.

  “Roland?” Magnus called from down below but it was distant, faint.

  ::Go in.::

  He pushed on the door and it swung open to reveal a small circular room. In the middle stood a glass container inside which lay an enormous glowing sword. The handle was encrusted with jewels.

  Roland approached the glass case.

  ::Open the case. The sword is yours. You are the chosen one.::

  He lifted the lid of the case. The sword, giving off an odd white glow, lay on a shiny red cloth. Roland reached in and lifted the sword. It was so heavy he had to grip it with both hands and the glow poured up from the blade and into his body.

  “Roland!” Magnus’s voice much closer now.

  ::The sword is so pretty, so sharp. Touch the blade.::

  He shook his head.

  ::Touch it, Roland. There is so much power. You must touch it. It will not truly be yours until you touch it.::

  The voice in his head now sounded urgent, almost angry.

  ::Just the tip. A little touch. That’s all you need.::

  He slid his hand down the cold steel, his fingers gliding over it, thrumming with an odd pinprick of nerves. Tilting his head, Roland touched his index finger to the point, just barely. He drew it back quickly at the sharp sting.

  “Magnus,” he whispered, and then all went dark.

  Chapter 10

  “You want another?” the barkeep asked him, eyeing Magnus’s ale.

  He sat in a seedy little establishment on the outskirts of a village he’d long forgotten the name of. He stared into the pewter mug, still half full from when he’d ordered it earlier that afternoon. “No.”

  The barkeep moved away from his table in the corner of the dark pub to tend to business elsewhere. Magnus knew not what since he was presently the only person in the establishment. He closed his eyes, willing numbness to overtake him. It did not. The sight of Roland dropping to the tower floor would haunt him forever.

  He had not seen Roland since dropping him off at the palace a fortnight ago, though he’d heard rumors that the king and queen had laid him on a magnificent chaise in a chamber so that all could pay homage to the sleeping beauty.

  Magnus wondered how he’d miscalculated so badly. He’s been sure he was taking care of his charge, watching him, making sure he would be able to complete the prophecy.

  Cursing under his breath, he wished his long dead father had never pushed the prophecy on him and then he wouldn’t have pushed it on Roland. Like as not, Veronious would have found Roland in Amir and killed him then. Magnus could not regret taking the prince from Amir, but he should have taken Roland far from any trace of this madness.

  And now what good had the prophecy done anyone? Roland was dead…or as good as dead, lying in eternal sleep none seemed able to wake him from. Veronious had won and soon the kingdom would lose all hope of ever being rescued from his tyranny.

  He rubbed his chest where his heart had once been. Surely it had been ripped from him when he’d had to carry Roland to the king and queen and declare his failure. At the cost of Roland. That more than anything pained him.

  “You came from the palace?”
>
  Magnus opened one eye and stared at a rather short red-haired man cloaked in a too large black cape. He closed his eye. “Go away.”

  “Are you Magnus the warrior?” the man asked in a hoarse whisper.

  He opened both eyes and gave the man his best baleful stare. “What do you wish, knave?”

  “Are you the warrior, Magnus, who…who traveled with Prince Roland?”

  “I am. Speak before I run you through.”

  The man looked behind him, toward the barkeep, then he turned once more to Magnus. “I have come with news about how to break the curse that has felled the prince.”

  Magnus narrowed his eyes at the man. “Who are you?”

  “That does not matter,” he insisted. “I was sent here from someone close to the sorcerer. That is all you need to know.”

  “The news you have?”

  “Prince Roland will sleep for a hundred years.”

  Magnus growled.

  “Unless, he is awakened by a kiss from his one true love.”

  He snorted. “What nonsense.”

  The man bristled. “It is not nonsense. That is how the spell is broken. Try it for yourself. In fact, the king and queen have already heard a rumor of this and they have had a bevy of ladies sent to the palace to kiss the prince.”

  He frowned. “Truly?”

  “Aye, but they have been unable to find his one true love.” The man smirked. “Perhaps you know why?”

  Magnus stood abruptly, dislodging a nearby chair. “Be gone. Pester me no more.”

  The cloaked man scurried away and then dashed out the door of the pub.

  Could it really be true? Was that how the curse could be broken? And if so, did Magnus really believe he was the answer to breaking the curse?

  He swallowed a large lump lodged in his throat, and then tossed down coins on the table.

  Magnus knew he had deep feelings for Roland, Could it be that the young prince returned those feelings and it was up to Magnus to wake him from this slumber?

  He knew only one way to find out.

  * * * *

  Magnus had to request an audience with the king and queen, which had not been any trouble, since they had been grateful to him for finding their son in Amir in the first place. They had been parted with Roland when he was a mere babe, and though they mourned that he was in endless sleep, they were hopeful they could eventually bring him back to them.

  “There has been no change in our son,” the king said, his face a twisted mask of pain and sorrow. Roland resembled his father except that the king wore a full beard.

  They met with Magnus in an anteroom. They both appeared tired and forlorn, with the queen keeping her eyes downcast.

  “This is all our fault, of course. If I had been a stronger ruler, then Veronious would never have taken over the kingdom.”

  “It does no good for regrets. At least he has kept the royal family alive,” Magnus said.

  The king shook his head. “I fear he is going to have us all executed soon. There have been rumors he no longer cares to appease the people. We have an army but we are no match for his powers.”

  Magnus could not help but think if they had a warrior like his father in charge matters would be different. “I have come to see Prince Roland.”

  “He does not wake,” the queen whispered.

  He nodded. “I believe I may be able to wake him.”

  She frowned. “How?”

  “I need to see him alone, your majesty. You must trust me.”

  A loud commotion came from outside the anteroom and then a soldier ran in.

  “What is this? How dare you interrupt us?” the king said angrily.

  “Forgive me, your majesty. But Veronious approaches with an army. It appears the intent is to attack the palace.”

  The king and queen paled and glanced at Magnus.

  “Take the royal family to the secret passage and hide them there,” Magnus ordered, remembering the passage he and his father had been through so many years ago. “They will be safe for now, and then prepare the army.”

  “Roland?” the king asked.

  “I will protect him,” Magnus vowed. “Go and gather your daughters and seek shelter.”

  The king and queen hurried off with the soldier and Magnus opened the door to the chamber where Roland had been laid in slumber. Two guards stood on either side of the chaise the prince lay sleeping on.

  “Go and prepare for battle,” Magnus told them. “The palace is under attack.”

  They hesitated, uncertain.

  “Go. Under the orders of the king.”

  “But the prince—”

  “None will watch over him with greater care than I. Go now. Do not expect that I will tell you again.” Magnus took a menacing step forward.

  “Aye, Sir Magnus.”

  When they had fled the room, Magnus approached the chaise where Roland rested. They’d laid him upon his back with his hands folded on his chest. He’d been dressed in a royal purple doublet. There was color to his cheeks, as though he truly was merely sleeping, and it really seemed that he would wake at any moment.

  Magnus moved his cloak aside and removed the Sword of Montcrief he had brought with him. He laid it beside the chaise and knelt next to Roland.

  “My prince,” he said softly, awed by the young man’s beauty even now. His chest constricted, doubt assailing him. What if this did not work? What if a kiss from him did not wake Roland? He brushed a lock of blond hair off his beloved’s forehead.

  His beloved.

  Yes, he could not deny the love he felt for Roland. He had fallen in love with the prince when first he’d come upon him barefoot in Amir. Roland had lain asleep then, too.

  “I love you.”

  Then Magnus leaned over him and touched his lips to Roland’s slightly parted ones.

  Golden lashes lifted over sky blue eyes and Roland met Magnus’s gaze. He caught his breath at the love he saw alight in Roland’s eyes.

  “Magnus.”

  Tears pricked at Magnus’s eyes, but he had no time for tears of relief. Later, when Roland…when the kingdom was safe, then they could be reunited as they should.

  He stroked Roland’s cheek with his thumb. “How do you feel?”

  Roland blinked rapidly. “A little sleepy. What happened?”

  “You’ve been asleep for a fortnight. You are at the palace.”

  The prince sat up. “What?”

  “How much do you remember after you picked up the Sword of Montcrief?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not even sure I remember that very well.”

  “You pricked your finger and fell under Veronious’s spell, which put you to sleep for a hundred years.”

  “A hundred years?”

  Magnus smiled and rubbed his thumb along Roland’s cheek again. “Unless awakened by a kiss from your true love.”

  “True love?” Roland smiled, touching his fingers to his lips.

  “We have no time, your highness. I have good news and bad news.”

  Roland grimaced. “The good news?”

  Magnus picked up the Sword of Montcrief. “I have your sword. And we do not need to seek out Veronious.”

  Roland stood and took the sword from Magnus, who also stood. “The bad news then.”

  “Veronious and his army are on their way to attack this palace.”

  “Holy hell,” Roland said with a shake of his head. “Could you not have awakened me in time to prepare for this?”

  Magnus sighed. “I only learned of it myself just a moment ago. I will worry about the army, you worry only about Veronious.”

  Roland breathed in sharply, then exhaled. “I am ready.” As though in agreement with the words of its master, the sword hummed, then glowed with a white light. The prince looked at it, but did not seem particularly shocked or surprised. Magnus supposed some of it was not entirely in their hands.

  He placed his hand on the prince’s arm. “There is little time but I would say th
is in case we are parted.”

  Roland bit his lip, but nodded. “What, Magnus?”

  “The kiss—”

  Roland smiled and shook his head. “I know. I love you, as well.”

  The door of the chamber burst open and the guards hurried inside. “Sir Magnus, they come.” They stared at Roland. “Prince Roland!”

  “We meet them at the gate.” Magnus spared one last look for Roland and then hurried off with the guards to begin the battle.

  Chapter 11

  The door of the chamber opened. Roland braced himself, sword at the ready. He did not know if it would be Veronious or a soldier of his coming to attempt to dispatch Roland so that the sorcerer would not have to deal with him.

  He’d heard the battle raging outside, the clash of steel, the cries of the wounded, and had been tempted to join them, but had reminded himself the prophecy said he was to destroy Veronious. He could not risk an injury that would prevent him from such a purpose.

  A man stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, dressed rather elegantly in forest green rather than chain mail or armor.

  “You are punier than I expected,” the man said with a small smile. He closed the door behind him and stepped more fully into the room. His fists were clenched at his sides.

  “And you are uglier than I expected,” Roland retorted rather childishly, he admitted. The hilt of the sword grew warm against his skin; a strange power surge seeped through him.

  The man laughed. “Nevertheless, you will soon be on your knees worshipping me, Prince Roland.”

  He shook his head. “I think not, Veronious.”

  “I am rather surprised. I expected you to be surrounded by men waiting to prevent me from getting near you.”

  “They are fighting off your men.”

  Veronious nodded. “And losing rather badly, I should say.”

  Roland did not know whether to believe the sorcerer, for he felt sure the man would say anything to win some sort of advantage. Nevertheless, he tried to push aside his uneasiness at thinking Magnus might be in serious trouble.

  “You are a beauty, as I have been told,” Veronious said. “I think I will very much enjoy making a slave of you.”