The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  “Thunderhoof, you old bugger! It’s good to see you, my fat friend. Have you missed me?” Thunderhoof rolled his eyes and snorted again. At a word from Tamersane he started to trot along the narrow street. There was no sign of the soldiers anywhere and the shouting had subsided. They must have given up at last.

  Thunderhoof led them up to the barbican gates. The cheerful Tamersane chatted as if they were on an afternoon’s jaunt through the country, and not risking certain incarceration if spotted. His face darkened once, when Corin informed him of Roman’s death.

  “He was a fine man,” said the rider, “like an older brother to me.” Corin added nothing. He thought of Rael Hakkenon—wondered if the Assassin still lived. Corin hoped so; he was not finished with him yet.

  ***

  Ariane leapt up in joy when she saw her cousin arrive with the Longswordsman intact. She hugged and kissed Corin, and Cale laughed at his dishevelled state. The queen turned to Tamersane.

  “I have missed you, beloved,” she said. Corin was not sure whom she meant. He cast a dark look in Tamersane’s direction but the blond horseman failed to notice.

  Silon waited inside. Corin greeted him coolly; the merchant seemed as amused as everyone else at Corin’s shambolic state but chose not to comment.

  Instead, he ushered them all through the gate to where the other horses were tethered. They mounted swiftly, Cale took a seat behind Tamersane, whilst Corin reclaimed Thunder. Silon saluted the captain and his men, thanking them for the assistance. They said nothing, just stared reproachfully at Corin.

  Dornal recalled the tall ruffian from earlier days. It seemed he was still a troublemaker. He shook his head and wondered why it was that handsome ladies were always drawn towards these worthless scoundrels. It vexed him but in a week he got over it. He scratched his arse, and then returned to get the latest report from his men. Rael Hakkenon of Crenna had escaped them for now. But if he returned with his marauding filth, the soldiers of Port Sarfe would be waiting. Their vigilance second to none.

  They cantered down the dusty road. Behind the sun set crimson and the red roofs of the distant city gleamed as though on fire. Wispy strips of cloud raced across the darkening sky as evening descended. The miles passed with relative ease. Soon they had entered a fertile valley of olive trees and vines, swaying gently in a light breeze as nightfall descended. They wove their way through the valley. Grapes still clung to the vines hanging above the road despite the lateness of the year. Corin gazed up at them as they rode beneath. Silon had always been fortunate with his crop as he had with most other things.

  Some moments later they crested a hill. Cale gasped when he saw the merchant’s glistening villa. There it stood in stately splendour, serene and tranquil under the watchful gaze of the waxing moon. Cale decided this Silon merchant to be very important. The thought pleased him. Cale liked important people. One day he would be important too.

  As ever Corin was impressed by Silon’s villa. He’d always been slightly envious of the white marble manse, surrounded by its cut lawns and ornate statues. Vioyamis, it was called; named after some obscure wood nymph Silon claimed had frequented this valley in distant olden times. It was a ridiculous story that Corin had always refuted. Now he wondered.

  Ahead, sharing the road with Silon’s mare, trotted Ariane’s horse. She was so relieved. Only two things nagged her: how had Barin fared? And just what would she say to Shallan when she saw her in the morning? Still, they had done well yet again, Ariane told herself, and at last had arrived at their next destination.

  Tomorrow they would finally glean some answers.

  When they arrived at the villa, Zallerak was waiting with crystal glass in hand. They all chose to ignore him. Far behind a single horn sounded the all clear. Having seen the pirates off, the bold citizens of Port Sarfe resumed their visits to the copious hostelries, filling them swiftly and talking of the eventful day that had passed.

  In The Crooked Knife, its patron Rado was surprised to receive some silver coin from a stranger who mysteriously announced that the ‘queen’ was in his debt and would call again to thank him. Queen? he thought, whatever next? then quickly forgot as voices demanded beacons of ale. The Crooked Knife was very busy that night, and for several long nights after.

  ***

  The lone figure waited on the clifftop watching as the sun set like oozing blood beneath the ocean. His ravaged face still stung and his mood was blacker than ever. High above dark clouds scurried westward over water. The evening wind whipped the frayed sleeves of his studded tunic, but Rael said nothing as he brooded beneath that sullen sky.

  Hours passed. The Assassin watched in silence until his black ship slid ghostlike into the bay below. It was not over. It had scarcely begun. He would start with his captain who had left him stranded in the city, a simple flogging would do for now as the man had his uses. Rael laughed, thinking of Scarn and the other fellow’s head adorning the castle walls some miles to the south of him.

  They should have kept up with their leader, fat bastards, instead they had let themselves be caught by the vengeful watch, and had met their fate, the fools.

  It had been a mistake entering Port Sarfe alone but then he hadn’t trusted that goblin, and had bade his other vessels patrol the Raleenian and Kelwyn coasts. It didn’t matter. They would be joining him soon enough.

  Rael raised the storm lantern high above his head. In slow sweeping motions he swayed it back and forth, at last seeing The Black Serpent’s lanterns answer in turn.

  He would sail north, gather his fleet and then the hunt would resume once more. This time there would be no escape for The Starlight Wanderer and her barbarian crew. Then after that victory he would go ashore and seek out the renegade who called himself Corin an Fol.

  Chapter 9

  Vioyamis

  That night Corin bathed in scented water as servants scrubbed his back and tried valiantly to get a comb through that tangled maze of hair. Afterwards he thanked them and bid them begone, rising steaming from the piping bath and glimpsing his reflection in the polished silver mirror. The blue/grey eyes staring back at him had a haunted look. His face was leaner than before, the scar whitened beneath the deep tan. He looked older.

  Corin sighed, he reached down to the crystal basin, retrieved a sharp knife and tugged at his beard, sawing at the mass of curly dark hair until more of his face was revealed. Satisfied, he dressed swiftly in new garments given him by Silon’s retainer, and then joined his companions in the main hall.

  Cale laughed when he saw Corin, and Ariane raised an eyebrow at his smart apparel.

  “I knew there was a face hidden behind all that hair,” she told him.

  Corin shrugged and managed an awkward half smile. He accepted a cold glass of wine from the merchant and without more ado took seat by the vine-draped balustrade overlooking the magnificent gardens.

  Vioyamis. Silon’s villa. Stately and grand and spacious and serene.

  All wasted on Corin. As always Vioyamis left him with a feeling of emptiness, as though Silon’s wealth mocked him and found him wanting. Everything was order here, so precise it irritated him. Corin looked around at the sumptuous furnishings, the crystal statuettes and ruby-studded vases that paraded the airy hallways, cooled by breeze-driven ceiling fans. No dust mote dare settle here. There were bright ornate tapestries on the walls and paintings of intricate designs. Priceless rugs from far off lands carpeted the floors. Vioyamis never failed to impress. For that reason alone Corin disliked it. Silon was one of the most successful people he knew whereas he, Corin…

  Two swords, a horse, a gold brooch, a bow, and a pair of stolen boots that still leaked.

  Capacious and airy, the villa was built on the flat crown of a gentle knoll, commanding wide sweeping views across vineyards and gardens below. Its white marble walls could be seen for miles around, standing elegant and majestic above the freshly cut acres of green turf. Swan-regal, the villa’s wings spread out on either side housing Silon’s many
visitors and his score of silent servants.

  Polished glass and marble reflected the sunlight. Vioyamis blazed like a grounded star across the fertile fields reaching up to greet it, still lush despite the lateness of the year. Obsidian statues watched with blank unseeing eyes from shady courtyards as servants and retainers passed silently to and fro.

  Above were crystal lanterns, swaying and flickering, their silver light chasing shadows from the walls. More crystal lights glimmered at the corners of tall trellises framing the rose-clad walls. Behind the terraces were sleepy hallways opening to reveal wide verandas draped with more intricate tapestries of silver and gold, each telling a tale of days gone by.

  Outside Corin could hear the soft chiming of crystal waterfalls cascading down to wash through sweeping ferns lining the gardens below. Silon’s manse was a harmonic blend of filtered water, polished walls and distilled careful lighting. Corin wished he were back in Port Sarfe.

  Corin thought of Silon’s sultry daughter. He wondered what had become of Nalissa. She had been the reason why Corin had left the merchant’s service. A misunderstanding that had ended with a bitter quarrel between the merchant and his daughter—and Corin stuck starkers in the middle. Corin had departed the next day, cantering off in a cloud of anger bound for Finnehalle far away. Nalissa had pleaded with him to stay, then at his stiff refusal lost her temper, announcing she would ride to Atarios in the north and stay with her cousins—who at least liked her even if no one else did. Her father had not spoken of her since, and there was no sign of Nalissa here tonight.

  Probably just as well

  Corin wiled away that evening playing an intricate form of draughts with Tamersane and losing badly, much to his annoyance. Tamersane appeared to have more than his share of good luck, Corin decided. He was handsome as ever, tall with long fair hair kept neat and smiling mouth and laughing eyes. His teeth were far too white and even, in Corin’s opinion.

  And Tamersane’s dress sense was ambivalent. He favoured bright colours, this evening being no exception, with turquoise silk shirt and olive leather trousers, and soft grey suede boots that folded over at the top. Though Corin had scrubbed up valiantly he felt like a tramp next to this boy. Apparently Ariane’s cousin was a big hit with the ladies at court.

  Tamersane had an easy tongue. He was charming company and took little seriously. Corin considered him a bit of a ponce. But then Tamersane was young, still in his early twenties whilst Corin was a very old thirty summers, particularly this night. Tomorrow, the Kelwynian informed him (after thrashing Corin at draughts a third time), there was to be a council held by Silon and the queen and some other important guests that would arrive in the morning.

  “I cannot wait,” Corin had replied.

  It was late when Corin retired, bidding the annoyingly cheerful Tamersane a grudging goodnight and making for his room, still kept ready for him at the western wing of the house. Queen Ariane and Galed were already asleep, both exhausted after the hectic business in Port Sarfe, although Cale was still wandering around with a gormless expression. The boy had hardly spoken all evening, so stunned and star-gazy was he by the grandeur of Silon’s house.

  Corin grinned, noticing Cale’s newly close-cropped sparkling ginger hair and clean scrubbed face. Cale looked pink and plucked. The queen had evidently had someone work on the boy. Corin messed Cale’s hair and bid the boy goodnight before retiring to his room. He gazed around, remembering the last time he was here with Nalissa giggling and Silon crashing in on them. That evening hadn’t ended well. Corin closed his eyes and tried to forget what an idiot he was. Silon’s dreamy villa seemed so very quiet compared to Port Sarfe’s bustle and the constant grind of Barin’s ship. Corin fidgeted and rolled about but eventually dozed for a time.

  ***

  He awoke sometime before dawn to the sound of dogs barking and hushed voices exchanging hurried words. Corin smiled in relief, recognising the booming voice of Barin trying unsuccessfully to be quiet in the hallway. Elanion be praised! His friend was still alive. But what of his ship? Corin looked forward to comparing notes with Barin about it later in the morning.

  Corin was about to roll over and go back to sleep when subtle movement outside caught his eye. He slipped out from under the soft silk sheets and peeled back the velvet curtain. Something or someone was watching him from the darkness of the garden. A shadow within a shadow, hard to define and swaying slightly. Corin could feel the things invisible eyes boring into him in that horribly familiar way.

  Corin froze. He felt a sudden chill and noticed a score of new shadowy shapes emerging from Silon’s hedges. The figure watching him flickered and vanished before Corin could be sure he’d seen it. He blinked, saw the other shadows turn and vanish into the gloom, making for Vioyamis’s main entrance away to the right. Before they’d disappeared Corin caught a glimpse of dog snout and serrated blade.

  Groil. We are under attack!

  Corin heaved his naked body from the bed and yanked his leather trousers up his legs, buckling his belt tight. He didn’t bother with smallclothes, but instead unlatched the window, swung up into the orifice and half fell out, before reaching back to grab Clouter from its resting place by the door. He prepared to jump but froze when a new sound filled the morning.

  Hooooo halloo!

  The blast of a horn sounded close by. Corin vaulted to the ground and sped along the path. Hoooo! The horn sounded again, louder this time and accompanied by the ghastly baying and howling of what must surely be the Groil. Something or someone had beat him to it! Corin sped along a path, cursing the bushes blocking his vision and stabbing his face. The howling rose to wailing shrieks, he heard hounds bark and distant voices.

  Hoooo halloo! The horn blasted a third time and the howling subsided to a weird whimpering followed by sudden silence. Corin crashed through the hedge, rolled, and tore Clouter free from its scabbard. He froze at the scene confronting him.

  Three people were standing on Silon’s front terrace. One was the merchant himself, another was Barin. The third was a tallish woman clutching a long twisted horn. She wore a long white gossamer thin gown and her hair was strewn dark across her face. Her feet were bare and her ankles showed slender and pale. Corin caught more than a glimpse of enticing curves beneath that gown.

  For a second he stood gawping, wondering if this was Silon’s wood nymph come to life. Corin wished she’d turn around so he’d get a look at her face. She didn’t oblige. But rather stood as one stiff or frozen in time.

  Close to her bare feet lay a half dozen bodies, Corin didn’t have to look to know these were the Groil decomposing already. The stink was proof enough. Baffled but fascinated (mainly at those curves and that dress) Corin strode forward, Silon glanced his way and Barin raised a dinner plate hand in greeting. The woman hadn’t seen him yet. She appeared deeply troubled, her gaze locked on the stinking dog-corpses below.

  “Where are the rest?” Corin slammed a fist into Barin’s open palm. “Glad you’re in one piece,” he smiled whilst glancing at the strange lady in the gossamer dress.

  “Good to see you too, Longswordsman,” Barin grinned, seeing where Corin’s gaze was focussed. “As you see we’ve had a spot of trouble. Things could have got out of hand if this brave lassie hadn’t joined us.” The woman shook her head hearing that. At last she turned, brushed the hair from her face, and awarded Corin a quizzical glance.

  “My lady,” Silon frowned at Corin. “This is the mercenary we spoke about.”

  The woman said nothing but her eyes watched Corin for a time before turning away again and feigning disinterest. Corin felt a sudden shiver, like a ghost riding on his back. Haunted stare, her eyes, grey/blue almost matching his own. Her face ivory pale, symmetrical and oval. The lips full and slightly parted, and that wild chestnut hair cascading down her back. A haggard, tired face. But a beautiful one.

  I know you…

  “Corin an Fol,” continued Silon sharply. “May I present the Lady Shallan of Morwella?” />
  Shallan. Where had he heard that name before?

  “Where did he say she came from?” Corin whispered in Barin’s ear as they returned to the villa. Silon had sent guards and hounds to scour the gardens and fields beyond. They’d returned with no news of the remaining Groil. Six of the dog creatures were dead but the others had vanished like morning mist. Sorcery. It had to be sorcery. But then Corin was used to that, and besides, he now had other things on his mind. The woman who glided gracefully beside Silon, her arm locked in his.

  “Morwella, she arrived with her old man the duke the other night apparently.” Barin saw the way Corin’s gaze was on that white shift and pale curves. “Quite a beauty, heh.”

  “She seems a bit stuck up.”

  “Methinks that lady has much on her mind.”

  “And what’s with that bloody horn? She must have a fine pair of lungs?”

  “That and other things. No doubt we’ll learn later,” Barin smiled at Corin. “I must say you look a splendid sight this morning, Longswordsman. I suggest you go get scrubbed and dressed before you scare the servants away.”

  Later that morning Corin found Silon standing alone at the main entrance of his house. The merchant nodded seeing Corin, and motioned him approach.

  “You’ve done well.” Silon allowed his lips to form a slight smile. “Queen Ariane holds you in highest regard. I’m quite impressed, Corin an Fol.”

  Corin wished he’d known just what Ariane had said to Silon. He ignored the merchant’s probing gaze and instead admired the view across the gardens.

  “We were lucky. Except Roman of course.”

  “He will be sorely missed.”

  “He is already.” An awkward silence followed. Eventually Silon broke it.

  “What troubles you?”

  “Oh nothing really,” Corin choked an ironic laugh. “Just Groil stalking us in our sleep, the Assassin knowing we were at Port Sarfe, despite our thinking we had eluded him. The joyous prospect of venturing to Permio to scoop up some idiotic prince. And then there’s the queen…”