The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  “Hagan Delmorier,” said Bleyne. Corin was cursing softly behind him. “Corin here broke his nose,” announced the archer cheerfully. “He’s in the pay of Caswallon of Kelthaine.”

  “I thought as much,” replied their host. “This Hagan seemed quite agitated, as if it was imperative he found what—or more likely who—he was looking for.”

  “Aye, he has failed Caswallon before; I’d doubt the usurper would forgive a second time,” Corin muttered.

  He was watching the silent darkness outside. He thought of the ugly winged creature that had listened to their conversation aboard Barin’s ship—the Sodfin or Singefin or something. Bleyne had dealt with that goblin, but doubtless Caswallon had other weird spies, what with all his ghoulish antics. And what of Morak? Old Dog-Face was probably lurking around somewhere. Least that’s what Bleyne suspected. And now Hagan was here too. The bastard certainly hadn’t wasted any time. But was it Prince Tarin or them that he sought?

  Corin looked up when Ragu reappeared staggering beneath a selection of faded desert robes. The boy handed them out to Zallerak, Tamersane, Bleyne and Corin, and the latter frowned when he saw them.

  Not more cursed gowns! He’d only just got rid of the priest’s cloak. However these robes were of a more practical hue. They were sandy white in colour and made of a durable fabric that would deflect the desert heat whilst keeping the companions hidden from hostile eyes. The garments were of loose appearance too, and could be worn comfortably over their other attire.

  “You had best don these,” warned Hulm. “Although violence is forbidden in our city, I doubt this Hagan will wait for long once he knows of your presence here. We might have to move swiftly, ere morning.”

  “Before that, I think,” said Bleyne. Corin frowned seeing that the archer had strung his bow and had three long shafts ready on his lap. Just then Ragu emerged from the darkness behind them. His voice was anxious and his young face alarmed.

  “There are men outside carrying torches! Big men, foreign by their look, armed with long straight swords!” Ragu’s eyes were wide, the boy was clearly terrified.

  Corin leapt up and warily approached the window. Outside the sound of hoarse shouts filled the nearby alleys. Dogs barked hearing the commotion. The sound of marching feet could be heard. A squad coming their way and closing fast.

  Chapter 16

  Ambush

  “They sound close.” Tamersane looked peeved having just settled into his wine. “Have you a back passage, master Hulm? Please pardon the expression,” he added with a wink.”

  “Every house in Agmandeur has a hidden back door,” muttered their host, incensed that men were openly bearing weapons in the city. “Left from the old smuggling days. Quickly now, follow me, good people, I fear my hospitality must end rather abruptly.”

  Hulm led them through his inn to the back room. At the far wall was a tall heavy cupboard filled with scrolls, pots and various clutter. This he slid sideways with a puffing grunt to reveal a wide crack opening on the emptiness of a dark alley beyond.

  “Squeeze through,” rasped Hulm. “Go!” He ushered them out with an anxious wave. “Make for the western gates as quietly as you can. The guards won’t stop you. Ragu and I will meet you outside the city with your horses and supplies.”

  “Be careful,” replied Corin but Hulm had vanished behind the cupboard, which was already back in its former position. Behind it Hulm sank to his knees and counted to ten. This called for quick thinking and a cool head.

  As Hulm returned to the main room there came a loud shout from outside the front of the inn, followed by an urgent rapping on the door. Corin, listening in the backstreet, heard a familiar harsh voice call out.

  “Open this bloody door, innkeep, or I’ll burn your hovel down. Quickly now!” It was Hagan. Corin fingered Biter’s hilt. Then the boy Ragu appeared around a corner puffing, his eyes on stalks. “The master will deal with your friends outside,” Ragu told him. “Best you look to yourselves.”

  “What about our bloody horses?” Tamersane hissed at the boy, wandering how Ragu had reached them so fast. They were not to know that the stables had a secret entrance too. You cannot have enough hidden doors in this world.

  “Don’t worry, sirs.” Ragu waved a hectic hand, “we’ll see to it you’re reunited with them once we’ve straightened things out. We’ll bring the desert robes too!” Tamersane nodded but Corin shook his head. Young Ragu’s assessment of the situation was a touch optimistic in his opinion. He waved thanks but Ragu had vanished behind the corner whence he’d only just appeared.

  “Coming, masters!” They heard Hulm shout from somewhere within the inn.

  Corin reached behind to unleash Clouter. Now they were out in the street he’d have ample room to swing. Warily he scanned the darkness ahead.

  “This way,” announced Zallerak as though he knew what he was talking about. They followed, Corin tailing beside Bleyne who had an arrow ready on the nock.

  Here we go again…

  ***

  Hagan waited impatiently as the portly Permian emerged from the dingy looking inn. Hagan hated these people, like Corin he had fought against them for many years. The only thing a Permian was good for was a swift throat-slitting.

  But Hagan sensed his quarry was close. This time there would be no buggering about. Caswallon had sent word to Hagan’s new contact in Permio. The man in Cappel Cormac had told Hagan that Caswallon suspected Tarin would pass through Agmandeur, on his foolhardy quest, and that a certain Corin an Fol would be hard on the prince’s heels. Caswallon had developed a curious interest in Hagan’s former associate, the contact informed him.

  “He wants this Corin alive,” the Permian insisted. “No fuck ups—his words not mine.”

  “There won’t be,” Hagan had growled at the greasy merchant until the man backed away. “And tell Lord Caswallon I’ll be back in Kella for my gold inside a month.”

  The contact had glared back at him before taking leave of the tavern where they had been conducting their business

  They had reached the streets of Cappel Cormac while the rumour of the prince still echoed in the crowded hostile taverns. After meeting with Caswallon’s man, Hagan’s crew purchased fresh horses and supplies ready for the ride south to Agmandeur.

  There had been a slight fracas with some nosy soldiers of the sultan. Hagan’s men had been challenged by a squad twice their size. That had delayed them a while, but after a few slit throats and mangled limbs they’d broken loose and fled the city. Hagan’s mercenaries had arrived in Agmandeur two days ago. They hadn’t rushed as they took time checking the roads for evidence of their quarry. Once inside the city they’d kept a low profile.

  Watch and wait, thought Hagan. Patience wins. Let the quarry come to us. And of course he was proved right. Caswallon’s contact, the merchant Sulimo, had sent a fast rider to warn Hagan of Corin and company’s imminent arrival. The man had followed them to the city and then steered clear and entered by the other gates. Thus by the time he got to Hagan, Corin and friends were already arriving at the inn.

  Hagan had waited for the cover of darkness and then led his men out into the dimly lit streets. It was past time he called his debt.

  ***

  Hulm opened the door with a polite smile. He bowed deeply at the hard-looking mercenary captain. Hagan ignored him, barging past and scanning the room.

  “Who has been here?”

  “Just myself and my ailing brother, lord,” answered Hulm, relieved that Ragu had had the sense to hide the empty plates and wine mugs. “And a witless boy who serves us,” he added rubbing his hands together. “Can I fetch you food and wine?” he simpered.

  Hagan spat then turned on Hulm. In his left hand was a stiletto. Hulm hadn’t noticed that before. In a blur of movement Hagan had the sharp point pricking just beneath the innkeeper’s left eye.

  “Who else has been here?” demanded Hagan in a quieter voice. “Talk to me, Permian, or I’ll cut your lying eyes out!” />
  “It’s as I said, master!” pleaded Hulm. “Just the three of us, my brother has the flux and is resting next door. You are welcome to go see but it is very contagious!”

  Hagan frowned and told two of his men to go look. When they came back holding their noses, he turned and scowled at the innkeeper.

  “I don’t trust you, Permian. You’re all fucking liars. But if I find that you have lied to me I’ll be back to remove your tongue as well as your eyes.” Hulm blinked like a startled bull frog. “Nobody fucks with Hagan Delmorier.”

  “Come on!” Hagan led his torch-bearing men from the inn to continue their search further up the street. Hulm sat down and wiped his soaking brow. He was getting much too old for this business.

  ***

  Bleyne pulled back his bowstring; the archer’s keen senses were alert. Something was stalking them through the night and it had nothing to do with Hagan’s mercenaries. Then he smiled, recognising the smell that had guided him to the edge of the forest months earlier, and then again much later in Silon’s garden. Groil. The dog creatures had returned.

  Corin heard a noise behind him. He spun round on his heels, Clouter gripped in both hands.

  Oh, it’s you.

  A hooded figure, the dog snout just protruding, stood some yards away, watching him with those evil yellow eyes from beneath the eaves of a storehouse.

  And I thought Zallerak sent you somewhere nasty.

  Corin felt the familiar fear and anger rising. He squeezed hard on Clouter’s hilt as the sword had become suddenly heavy.

  “Come on, slime breath—I’m ready for you now.” Corin took a step forward then stopped. Morak’s figure was fading and shimmering, within heartbeats the Dog-Lord had vanished completely. “Not quite your old bad self, eh howler?” Corin was rewarded by a sound like metallic laughter. Morak might have gone but he’d sent his creatures out to deal with them. Suddenly dog snouts and swirling cloaks were everywhere.

  “Groil!” Tamersane yelled in Corin’s ear, nearly deafening him. Tamersane hadn’t seen the Dog-Lord and stood waving his sword about demonstratively. “Corin, watch out for that big one with the humped back.”

  Corin hurled his knife at the closest fiend. The dog creature slumped, but others hastened towards them materialising like liquid ghouls out of the dark.

  “I think we better make a move,” Tamersane added whilst stepping backwards and deftly skewering a Groil. “I hate these fucking things.”

  “Me too.”

  “Wait…what’s that?” Tamersane tugged Corin’s arm. “What’s he up to?” There was a weird humming sound coming from Zallerak, and his spear tip was glowing with a blueish sheen. Already the Groil were hesitating, their doggy snouts snuffling with caution and doubt.

  “Excellent,” said Tamersane who hadn’t witnessed Zallerak in action before. “Does he do this sort of thing often?” The pale glow deepened to sapphire ice, cold steam exuding from the metal. “This is good stuff,” Tamersane said. The Groil slunk back. A few dropped to all fours and began circling Zallerak. Then the bard thrust his spear at the nearest dog creature. The lance’s tip fizzed and hissed as it scorched its black robes with petrified steel. Within seconds the dog-creature exploded amid wailing shrieking howls.

  And then Zallerak was on them. Each time the spear touched a Groil they fizzled and exploded before shrinking back into nothingness. Only their black garments remained and these were reduced to cinders.

  “Fuck, but that’s impressive,” allowed Tamersane. Yashan and Bleyne had joined them from further up the lane. Bleyne’s shaft took three more Groil, and Yashan’s scimitar joined in. The tribesman’s face was ashen grey.

  But it was hopeless for at least two score more had emerged, and these now rushed upon them. Howling and spitting, some on all fours, others on hind legs with serrated swords, and barbed pokers and spikes gripped in their blackened paws.

  Zallerak’s spear was working a fury but the Groil were closing tight and he was hard pressed for room. At last the bard drew back and yelled in Corin’s ear.

  “Hold them off! I need more room to summon extra charge for my battery!”

  “What?”

  “Just kill the bloody things!” Zallerak turned and fled around the same corner Ragu had recently frequented.

  “Where’s he going now?” Tamersane gulped when he saw the wizard running off. “He hasn’t finished yet.”

  “He does that,” Corin said before three huge Groil crashed down on them. There was no room now, Corin couldn’t get a decent swing with Clouter. He gripped the blade by the leather band below the hilt that he reserved for close quarter work. Biter would have been better but no time to get that out.

  To Corin’s right Yashan sliced and lunged like a madman, whilst on his left Tamersane rammed his sword’s pommel into a dog snout, and the thing coughed and fell backwards. Bleyne had stowed his bow and was slicing Groil with his long knife.

  But still they kept coming—a wall of dog faces snarling and barking, forcing the four fighters back against a building. Corin levelled Clouter and readied for a desperate lunge.

  I’m so tired of this.

  A wall of flame shot past Corin’s head, the glare temporally blinding him as Zallerak’s spear sent a fire jet that blasted a score of Groil to ashes. The spear struck again and again, meanwhile the four fighters crashed into each other in the chaos.

  “What are you doing back there? Must I do everything myself?” Zallerak urged them follow him through the gap he had created with his last blast. Scattered Groil parts fizzed and sputtered as the blue fire dissolved their flesh.

  Corin grabbed Tamersane and shoved him forward while the other two launched themselves into sudden motion. Corin stole a wild look down the lane and then turned, fled behind the others.

  Zallerak leading, they sped down through the now noisily waking streets, the remaining unsinged Groil giving furious four-legged chase close behind.

  Some cityfolk emerged bravely from their homes. They gawped wide-eyed at the Groil before hastening back behind walls. Some took to drink with shaking hands. Others puffed urgently on their weed pipes. In the streets, dogs howled and scampered out of the way, and then finally the city guard arrived armed with crossbows and long spiky spears.

  “Thanks for showing some interest, lads,” Corin muttered as he slowed to a walk.

  The guard surrounded and attacked the dog creatures, who were circling and snapping, aware the coin had turned against them. Soon the Groil were all destroyed. As if on a whim, Zallerak turned and torched the last corpses to oblivion with his lance. Something he seemed to enjoy doing, Corin noted.

  Job done, Zallerak shouldered his spear. He muttered some words and the blazing tip faded to a dull sheen. Then he turned, his expression imperious, and strode without a second glance down toward the city walls. Ahead the southern gates emerged reluctantly from the darkness.

  The four fighters followed Zallerak, leaving the city guard shouting and kicking at barking hounds, whilst placating the few citizens braving the streets, who stood staring and pointing in horror at the fried doggy things piled in a heap.

  Corin and the others approached the southern gate where Zallerak stood waiting with arms folded.

  Corin turned to mutter something to Tamersane, but a blow on the back of his head sent him sprawling face first into a shop door. Corin rolled instinctively but his vision was blurred and he was seeing stars. He still gripped Clouter’s hilt with his right hand. He tried raising the longsword but a heavy boot stamped on his hand and someone laughed. Corin let go of the weapon as his hand throbbed with pain.

  “Finish it, you bastard!”

  Nothing—just more quiet laughter. Familiar laughter. At last the street stopped spinning and his vision cleared. Corin saw Hagan leaning over him a smirk widening the scar on his face.

  “Hello, Corin. I owe you a debt of steel, as I recall.” Hagan’s crossbow-bearing men had surrounded his friends. Even Bleyne had been caught out by
Hagan’s crafty ambush. Tamersane and Yashan looked miserable. There was no sign of Zallerak.

  Corin gathered his knees together and glared up at Hagan.

  “Go and shaft your mother, oh I forgot you haven’t got one, you Morwellan shite.”

  Corin’s head snapped back as Hagan kicked him hard in the face.

  “I’m going to cut you open, Corin. Hook your guts out from balls to belly. But first I need a few answers. Borgil here can be quite persuasive. First up. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  He kicked Corin again this time in his stomach. Corin groaned, doubled over and spewed on the street.

  “Up yours.”

  Hagan signalled Borgil over.

  “There’s much interest in you, Corin,” Hagan told him. “I cannot think why. But who am I to question my employers?”

  Corin stole a painful glance towards the gates. Zallerak had reappeared and stood there grinning at him.

  And up yours too!

  Borgil loomed over Corin, a mess of beard and pockmarks and fetid breath. He produced an evil-looking knife and smiled. The smile was shortlived. Borgil went sprawling after something slammed into his back. Before Hagan could react a huge black hand covered the mercenary’s mouth, whilst a leaf-shaped dagger pricked his throat. The crossbowmen raised their weapons.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Tamersane advised them. The city guard had crossbowmen too. These already had the mercenaries in their sights.

  “You took your time, Ulani,” said Zallerak, having joined them again. Corin heard a deep resinous laugh, and turning painfully, recognised the huge black warrior they had seen when first they arrived in Agmandeur.

  “You’re Silon’s acquaintance.” Corin coughed blood and checked his teeth were still in his head. Reassured they were, he struggled to his feet. Once steady Corin squared on Hagan, still held by the stranger.