The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  “Almost certainly,” responded Barin with a nod. “I left Hakkenon to Corin. We got parted. Whatever followed, I doubt the little shithead made it back to the serpent. Those maggots won’t go far without their leader, and his other ships must be lurking close by.”

  “Let’s hope Corin slew the bastard,” growled Cogga, fingering his jewelled dagger. “Corin’s efficient with that longsword of his.”

  “So is the lord of Crenna—with his rapier,” responded Barin with a bleak stare inland. “Too efficient.”

  To their north, Barin could see the turrets of Port Sarfe’s barbican peering-hazy in the distance, over the rocky ridge beyond the river. The rest of the city was hidden from view by dunes and surging surf, and the sounds of the harbour drowned out by the rush of urgent water beneath them. Barin hoped Corin was safely reunited with the others. He would know soon enough.

  “This will do fine, Fassof,” Barin told the mate after dispelling his gloomy thoughts. They were leeward of the river’s southern shoreline, as close to its sandy banks as they dared venture without grounding on hidden shoals.

  “Await me at the arranged point,” Barin said. “And keep a wary eye out for our pirate friends. I will return as soon as I’ve spoken with the merchant and have some answers regarding our next voyage.”

  “I thought we were heading north again later, wintering at home.”

  “That’s the plan, Fassof—but you know what Silon’s like.”

  Without further ado Barin turned to face the shore. He straddled the rail, linked his brawny arms together, holding them high over his head. Seconds later he’d plunged headfirst into the salty embrace of the bay of Permio. Within moments his bold strokes were cutting water towards the nearest stretch of beach.

  The mate and his companions watched their captain swim otter-lithe towards the sandy shore. “What’s this latest business with the merchant about?” Cogga asked him.

  “Buggered if I know,” muttered Fassof. “He don’t tell me much.” He turned, awarded Taic a hard stare. “You still here?” Taic took the hint and returned to his chores.

  “He’s not a bad lad,” Cogga whispered as Taic left them. “Just a bit misunderstood. Sveyn too. I was a bit wild at that age.”

  “You still are a bit wild.”

  “Hmm. And I thought I’d mellowed.”

  Just before last light Fassof steered The Starlight Wanderer through narrow jaws of sandstone into the hidden cove they’d used in earlier years. It was scarce more than a jumbled collection of sandy rocks forming a wide circle, fenced shoreward by a stubby coppice of stunted cedars, and seaward by low sandy bluffs. Well hidden from prying eyes.

  The crew tossed anchor. Early next morning they would be about their tasks, the hale repairing and shaping new oars and the injured resting up, while they awaited the return of their captain. Fassof took first watch. He crested the nearest knoll, and shielding his eyes, gazed far out across starlit water. Nothing stirred on the watery horizon.

  Barin was a strong swimmer. He’d wasted little time reaching the sandy beach and hadn’t spotted any sharks. He coughed and spluttered his way up the bank, shaking off the excess drops of salt water as he went.

  From here Barin could avoid Port Sarfe easily enough. He’d lope up stream for some miles, ford the rock-strewn river at a place he knew, and then make his way northwards to Vioyamis—Silon’s villa.

  Barin glanced up as gulls swooped and mewed above his head, their sharp eyes watching him with avaricious curiosity and their harsh cries berating his efforts. Barin ignored them. By dusk he had crossed Kael’s stream and was heading north in great bounding strides. To his left the square, distant walls of Port Sarfe bulked skyward. Barin was too far away to see the guards patrolling the battlements. Not that he cared about that.

  ***

  Ariane tensed as the guards led her and her companions into the murky gatehouse. She felt panic welling up inside, remembering the trap at Kranek Castle, and fearing another.

  But there was no alternative. The queen steeled herself. It was so gloomy in the gatehouse, hard to see anything clearly after the bright sunlight of the street outside. They entered a back room where a fire crackled on an open hearth despite the heat.

  Huddled by it on a bench was a man, his features hidden by the deep folds of a heavy hood. He was slight in build and slouched idle in his chair. Ariane frowned. There was something familiar about this hooded stranger. Behind her, Bleyne silently slipped his knife into his palm.

  “That knife won’t be necessary here,” said a voice she recognized instantly.

  Goddess be praised!

  Ariane laughed in relief. The stranger stood with hood cast back. His face was hard and sun-darkened and his eyes shrewd glints of jet. The hair close-cropped and silver. In his left ear sparkled a diamond.

  “I’ve been expecting you, your Highness,” Silon smiled coolly. The guards shifted awkwardly and Bleyne watched on without expression. Cale wondered if this was the merchant they were meaning to visit, Galed’s relieved smile affirmed it.

  The captain of guard looked puzzled; he exchanged a questioning glance at the merchant.

  “It’s alright, Dornal, I’ll conduct matters from here.” Silon nodded towards the door. The captain hesitated for a moment then took the hint. Dornal motioned to his men to follow, and po-faced closed the door behind him.

  “Corin is in danger,” blurted Cale before anyone else could speak. “And Captain Barin. The Starlight Wanderer has been attacked!” Silon’s gaze drifted over the boy.

  “And you are?”

  “This is master Cale—a loyal and trusted aide,” announced Ariane. Silon raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “You are familiar with Galed,” continued Ariane, “this is Bleyne of the forest, a skilled archer and good friend.” Silon nodded towards Bleyne who for his part barely shrugged. Again Silon looked slightly puzzled. Then the door opened and a guard brought in piping hot cups of tea. Ariane waved him away. “There is no time for this nonsense.”

  “Relax, my Queen. Enjoy your tea.” Silon motioned they take rest on couches in the corner and imbibe at leisure. “Everything is in hand. The city guard has put paid to the surviving Crenise—though I think Barin did for most of them. The Black Serpent was last seen fleeing the harbour with the Northmen hard on its tale.”

  Ariane glared at him. “Please, take a seat, Ariane. This is excellent tea and will sustain you.”

  “What about Corin?” Ariane reluctantly seated herself whilst motioning the other three to do the same. Bleyne remained standing.

  “There was confusion at first to who exactly the enemy was,” Silon explained in a quiet voice. “Some of the militia here aren’t that bright. But when I arrived I soon straightened things out.” Silon paused sipped his tea again. He studied their anxious faces and smiled.

  “As for Corin an Fol. When is he not in trouble? I’ve known that one for years, why do you think I’m so grey? He has a talent for surviving so I daresay he’s alright. I sent someone to recover Corin from whatever mess he’s gotten into, so don’t worry, young master Cale.” Silon motioned for the boy to drink his tea.

  Cale was unconvinced. And he wasn’t impressed with the tea. Beer would have been preferable. “He was fighting the Assassin, the one that killed poor Roman.”

  Silon nodded slowly. “I assumed Roman was dead since you haven’t mentioned him. A sad loss. But Corin is still alive—that I promise you.” Cale subsided.

  “What of these soldiers, are you sure they are trustworthy?” Ariane hinted towards the door. “Port Sarfe militia aren’t beyond taking bribes. Hakkenon knew we were here so most likely Caswallon does too.” She sipped her hot tea and traded a worried look with Galed, who was clearly thinking along the same lines. Meanwhile, Bleyne’s cool gaze surveyed the street outside.

  “Their trust is assured, Ariane, please relax,” replied Silon losing patience. “As you know, I possess a certain privileged position hereabouts. The captain
and his men answer to me and nobody else. Caswallon’s insidious reach has not yet filtered into Port Sarfe’s streets. People are rough in this town, that I grant you. But they’re loyal. Anyone asking pert questions and I’d know about it. We are safe for a while.”

  “Are we?”

  “For now. Certainly we’ve little time. Caswallon’s web deepens. His dark mentor feeds his ambition and furnishes him with Groil creatures, and other even more unsavoury troops. My brave contacts inform me that Kella is an evil place these days.” He forced a smile. “Rest here a while, you’ve had a busy time. And don’t fret. We shall await that rogue Corin in this very spot. He shouldn’t be too long. Once reunited, I will escort you all to my villa. The distance is short, as two of you know. There are enough horses stabled nearby awaiting our needs.

  “Get what rest you can, there is much to discuss tomorrow. I will be holding council in Vioyamis. Among the guests will be General Belmarius and Duke Tomais of Vangaris. The latter arrived in very poor state late last night, accompanied by his sad-eyed daughter, Lady Shallan.”

  Ariane felt a cloud cross her when she heard that last name.

  Lady Shallan of Morwella.

  As young girls they had been rivals in love. Shallan was so beautiful men were stupid around her and yet she never paid heed to any of them. Proud, dreamy and aloof. Ariane had never liked Shallan.

  Another thought darkened her mood further.

  Corin.

  And Shallan. Ariane knew his reputation with women. He was such an idiot on that front. She stared sourly into her tea cup. If Corin was still alive (and Goddess please let that be so). If he so much as glanced at that willowy waste of space tomorrow, she’d kill him herself. Ariane might be promised to the Sea God but she wasn’t ready to lose Corin to another. Especially her.

  ***

  Corin sped up the hill pursued by half a dozen puffing guards waving an array of nasty weapons, and cursing in their southern accents. Despite his predicament and aching bones, Corin grinned.

  This was just like old times. He wondered if Lania still kept a room on the Street of Dark Vales. She’d been a rare one, that Lania. He must be somewhere near her place. Those had been the days! If only he had more time. Then Corin thought of Ariane, the lad Cale and his other comrades. Corin’s face grew sober again. Those foolish carefree days were gone forever. He had responsibilities now.

  Corin knew most of these streets. He led the soldiers on a merry dance up towards the barbican. He hadn’t a clue how he would escape from the city, but would worry about that later. What mattered was to keep moving—don’t let them get too close. He’d have a hard job explaining his actions with a pike shoved up his arse.

  And this lot were angry.

  Crossing into another street, Corin lost his pursuers for the moment. He crouched, gulped in deep breaths then cursed when excited shouts announced he had been spotted again. This time it was a colourful troop of horsemen cantering noisily down the cobbles towards him, the riders’ long lances held ready.

  Bollocks! They’ve unleashed the bloody cavalry.

  Cursing this new development, Corin ducked back into the street he had just emerged from. Blocking his way was a soldier sporting a wicked-looking halberd. The man grinned at him and swung. Corin caught the halberd’s shaft with his left hand, he pulled the guard towards him and rammed his head hard into the soldier’s nose. The guard crumpled and Corin booted his groin.

  That’s you done, big lad.

  But then three others appeared and jabbed their pikes toward him.

  Can’t go forward, can’t go back. This was getting tricky. Corin slammed Biter in its scabbard and reached down warily to retrieve the groaning guard’s halberd. A bloody great thing but they had their uses. Corin jabbed back at the guards jabbing at him. They backed off and looked at each other. No one wanted to tackle this lunatic single handed, and there was scant space for a rush upon.

  Corin grinned at them; he thrust the weapon forward and spike down into a crack in the cobbles. They watched, confused. Corin took a little run up then launched his lean frame upon it, and then hoisting himself skyward let go one hand, this he waved about like a flag before grasping the iron gutter above him. He dropped the halberd and swung the other arm up until his free hand caught the gutter. Corin grunted and swung about like a horny gibbon, legs dancing, arms straining, and face reddening. Despite all that he pulled himself higher.

  But unfortunately the gutter was rotten.

  Fuck…

  Corin crashed to the ground with the broken gutter accompanied by feathers, mud, sand, dust, sparrow shit, and brackish water, most of which connected with the closest pikeman’s face.

  Corin followed that up by kicking said guard while he thrashed about, then seizing his chance, Corin leapt skyward again, this time without the aid of a halberd, instead he rammed a foot into a window ledge and scampered frantically up the side of the building. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. So is incentive. It’s amazing what a man can do with a bunch of hairy arse militia bearing down on him with spiky things.

  Corin’s legs started slipping, he swung his arm out just managing to grip the eaves of the roof with three fingers. Tiles cracked beneath those fingers as Corin hurled himself up onto the sloping pitch. It was a hard thing to do what with Clouter, Biter and a steel shirt weighing him down. The soldiers milled and cursed below, poking their pikes and halberds up at the madly dangling feet above their heads. Falling really wasn’t an option at this point.

  Corin heaved his long frame out of their reach, ripping more tiles off for better grip on the trusses beneath. These he hurled down on the cursing soldiers until they backed off again.

  “Bunch of tossers!” Corin yelled down at them.

  Tenuously and cautiously, Corin crawled up the fragile gable like an ungainly spider. At last he gained the ridge and swung a long aching shank over to straddle the rooftop.

  Phew…

  Corin stood up carefully, holding his arms out on either side for balance. The guards were still shouting but he could no longer see them.

  Corin reached the far end of the roof ridge, and quickly half slid, half clambered down the other side. Grabbing the eaves he leapt, arms flailing, onto a slightly lower adjacent roof, landing with a painful thud and cracking more tiles. He shakily regained his feet after a struggle. At least this roof looked stronger. Corin dared run along its edge. This time he hurdled the ridge and leaped onto the next roof.

  Progress at last!

  “He’s getting away!” a voice shouted somewhere behind him.

  “After him!” boomed another. The sound of heavy feet and hooves passed beneath him. Corin rested for a moment, regained his breath behind a severely cracked chimneystack. There weren’t that many chimneys in Port Sarfe (it being hot), but Corin was grateful for this one.

  For several minutes he waited until the footsteps faded and the voices trailed off. Then Corin laughed—he had lost them again! He rose too quickly. Lost his footing and took a wild grab at the stack, cursing as the sandstone bricks came free in his hands.

  Whoops…

  Down Corin tumbled, arms flailing, crashing to the floor. He cursed and covered his head with his hands. Bricks rained down upon him, bruising his already sore body and nearly knocking him senseless. Dazed and somewhat giddy Corin stumbled up, shook the dust from his soot-stained body and spat a tooth across the street. That had hurt. But at least he’d lost them. Then he heard that familiar sound. Hoofbeats approaching. It seemed the cavalry had found him again. This was becoming tedious. Corin studied his options. There weren’t many left.

  He turned, watched as a single rider approached in a leisurely manner. Corin had no idea where the others had gone.

  Corin freed Biter and wiggled it about but he was exhausted. His right arm hurt from where he had landed on it and he was a mass of cuts and bruises, but nothing appeared broken. Corin waited sour-faced for the horseman to arrive. He couldn’t see very well, the sun was in his eyes
.

  When the rider emerged out of the sun’s glare he glanced down at the filthy scowling swordsman with an amused expression on his face. Corin’s gaze narrowed. This horseman didn’t look like one of the city guard; indeed he didn’t resemble a Raleenian at all. This rider was dressed in an elaborate green tunic, laced with gold braid that covered his frame from broad shoulder right down to the soft suede riding boots with their decorative silver spurs. He looked like a proper ponce in Corin’s opinion.

  The stranger’s long hair was as gold as barley and it sparkled in the afternoon sun. The face was young, good-natured and handsome. The rider had a smug look as though pleased with himself.

  Up yours too.

  Corin spat blood and waggled Biter at the rider who still watched him in amused silence. He assumed this was some rich nobleman’s by-blow who had decided to join in the chase, purely for larks.

  “Are you going to sit there like a pompous twat or challenge me or…what?” Close by came the shouting again. Mainly swearing announcing the watch had collided with the horsemen and both were blaming each other.

  The handsome rider cupped an ear and smiled. “They seem a bit unorganised,” he said, ignoring Corin’s challenge. His big horse snorted and clumped the cobbles. The gaudy rider leaned forward in the saddle and grinned raffishly.

  “Actually, I’ve come to help you, Corin an Fol,” he said, then turned in his saddle to watch the street behind him. “We had best hurry else they sort themselves out and get a plan together. They are quite decent fellows normally, but seem to be holding a grudge towards you. I cannot think why.” The rider held out a gloved hand for Corin to mount. His smile was welcoming. “Don’t you remember me? I’m disappointed.”

  Suddenly Corin laughed, recognising the rider. It had taken a long hard stare, the horseman looked different from when he had last seen him, weeks ago among the ruins of Waysmeet village.

  “Tamersane, yes, I remember,” grinned Corin. He leapt onto the chestnut stallion’s broad back behind the rider. The horse gave a derisive snort and turned to stare reproachfully at this added burden he now carried. Suddenly Corin found himself laughing.