The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  For many days they had fared north over rolling waves, glimpsing land only once when the far off cliffs of South Head raised their sandy rim briefly above the starboard horizon. Tension on board ship had grown hour by hour; most the crew were still troubled by what they had seen on the coast of Golt.

  They were a suspicious lot, these sailors, Shallan had discovered. Clearly terrified of the strange phenomena currently filling southern skies. The grizzled Wogun said it was a portent of doom. Most seemed of like opinion. Even the jocular Taic was tight-lipped.

  Fassof ruthlessly quelled any such mutterings, barking at his crew relentlessly from dawn to dusk. But they weren’t happy. Neither old hands nor newbies. Even the angry-eyed Zukei looked grimmer than usual.

  Despite the tense atmosphere these last watery days had passed without much account. Apart from the Duke of Morwella’s condition.

  Duke Tomais’s fever had spread. His mind wandered between consciousness and troubled sleep. Shallan’s face was lined with worry. She had tended her father with loving skill, but lacked the knowledge of a physician. Neither had she the fresh herbs and medicines needed to aid his recovery. As time passed the duke’s strength waned further. Shallan began to fear for his life.

  She knocked the door, entered her father’s cabin to check on his state. He lay there motionless, white and wan. Shallan placed a pale hand on the duke’s icy brow. Her father’s face was corpse white, but at least his sleep was untroubled for the moment. Shallan heard heavy footsteps behind her. She looked up, seeing Barin’s concerned blue gaze watching her from the doorway. Shallan was surprised to see Zukei standing beside him. The black girl’s face looked gaunt and her expression resigned.

  “This girl knows medicine, or so she tells me.” Barin motioned Zukei forward to sit by the duke. The girl perched at the edge of his bed and felt his pulse. Then she placed a callused palm on Tomais’s sweating forehead and closed her eyes. She sat in silence for several minutes as Shallan and Barin watched on with worried expressions.

  “He will die.” Zukei opened her eyes and glared at Shallan. “His fever has taken hold and he’s lost all will to fight it. He needs certain herbs and unguents. There is nothing I can do for him here.”

  “Thank you.” Shallan’s eyes were moist. Barin, frowning, bid Zukei leave them, and the dark girl departed without further word. Barin loomed awkward, Shallan could tell he was unsure what to say to her.

  On a sudden whim Shallan reached up to hug his bearded bulk. “Barin, I’m afraid,” Shallan said as tears held back for days at last spilled free. “So afraid—like this world is closing in on us. I feel trapped and alone. And now my father is dying.”

  But is he my father?

  Barin held the tearful girl close for a time. He thought of his pretty daughters far away. He was getting old. He’d nearly seen fifty winters and had been voyaging too long. Barin wanted nothing more than the peace of hearth and ale, with lazy hounds lolling and kin laughing close at hand.

  But his life had never been thus. Few knew the struggles of his childhood when the witch-queen ruled his island. When his father was cursed and his mother banished far from their home.

  Barin sighed.

  Mine is not an easy course.

  He smiled down at the brave daughter of Duke Tomais. So beautiful. So lonely and lost. Barin had guessed that the duke was dying. He had hoped Zukei could do something, having heard from Fassof that the girl had healing skills. It saddened him that Shallan would be left to face the horrors of Car Carranis under siege without even a friend by her side. With a sigh he thought of his flaxen-braided wife. Marigold would understand. More than that, she would insist he do the right thing.

  You’ll have to wait a while longer, my love—but keep the hearth warm. I’ll be home before spring thaws the mountain snows.

  “We’ll change course and head inland,” Barin told Shallan. “Make nor’ east for the coast of Kelwyn.” Shallan hardly heard him. She wriggled free from Barin’s grasp to lean over the duke’s sleeping form.

  “Zukei will be able to obtain medicines from the markets in Calprissa. That should help him some. If not then we’ll hire a qualified physician.” Barin believed the duke beyond help, but also knew Shallan needed something to focus on lest she despair.

  “What of Rael Hakkenon and his pirates?” Shallan asked, trying not to show the relief she felt after absorbing Barin’s words.

  “We will keep an eye out for them. Don’t worry that lovely head, girl.”

  Shallan smiled at the word girl. She much preferred it to ‘milady’, and it seemed more fitting here. “Besides the lads will buck up now,” continued Barin. “They like Calprissa, and the off chance of a fight with that pirate prince will put fresh fire in their bellies!”

  Shallan hugged him again and then smiled as Barin left her and bulked his way back above deck. Barin was a good man. He’d the manners of a troll but then so did Corin for that matter. Shallan didn’t care a jot. She’d never encountered anyone who came a mile close to either of them. One was her heart’s desire, the other fast becoming her best friend.

  “We are bound for Calprissa, Father!” Shallan stroked his forehead. She felt fresh hope surge through her veins, charging her tired soul with energy. They had turned a corner and that now things would improve. “They say that it’s one of the fairest cities in the Four Kingdoms. We never went there did we? Do you remember, Father? It was always Wynais, where King Nogel held court. Just a little delay to get you well again—so don’t worry. You are going to be all right. I love you…Father. Captain Barin will save us!”

  Back on deck, Barin watched the men clamber aloft as The Starlight Wanderer heeled hard to starboard. Morning’s light would raise the Cape of Calprissa. Barin drained a tankard noisily and wiped a tear from his eye. The girl had gotten to him. He was getting soft and fat. On the upside the barrels were all but dry so at least they could replenish. Everything happens for a reason.

  “Fassof!” Barin yelled up.

  “What?” The voice came from somewhere above.

  “Tell Cogga he’s to accompany the Lady Shallan to Car Carranis. And he can bring those tosspots Taic and Sveyn,” laughed Barin. “I’ll need scrappers with me. There’s a spot of trouble waiting there or so they tell me!”

  “I thought we were makin’ for Calprissa,” yelled the mate.

  “We are. I’m just planning ahead.”

  Barin turned to study the horizon, watching for some time as the dancing lights faded behind them in the southern sky. Shallan had stayed below with her father and Barin was left to his thoughts. His eyes widened suddenly as a bright flash of light shone out before vanishing into the night, taking with it the last of the surreal light display. Darkness followed. Barin poured an ale and stared deep into the night. Those lights meant trouble for someone, that was certain. A warning—but for whom? Barin suspected he knew the answer to that.

  Take care down there, Longswordsman.

  ***

  From His seat in the clouds Oroonin watches events in the Permio Desert. He silently applauds the hectic display of gold and blue jets shooting up into the night sky. Fireworks—He always loved them. Magic and mayhem caused by someone fighting down below. Someone He had a vested interest in. A fine spectacle, it would be seen for hundreds of miles. Oroonin hefts His spear in silent approval, and then stiffens sensing His younger brother’s imminence.

  Telcanna’s electric blue radiance fills the atmosphere. The Sky-God approaches. The Huntsman can see that He is angry. Oroonin shrugs: Telcanna is always angry.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN THERE?”

  “You should know. It’s your desert, brother. And no need to shout, it’s just us two sharing this cloud.”

  Blue fire leaks from the Sky god’s mouth as He thunders towards His seated brother. “Someone’s throwing thunderbolts. It’s not to be borne, LIGHTNING IS MY PROVINCE, BROTHER.” The Huntsman is unimpressed by Telcanna’s blazing countenance. He’s seen it all before.


  The clouds around Him charge and crackle with cobalt fire. Telcanna looms over Him; fury encases His younger sibling in blue fire. The blazing light hides the beautiful face of the Sky God but Oroonin isn’t dazzled. Oroonin sees through that brightness, can tell Telcanna is fretting again. No lesser being may look on Telcanna’s image without being destroyed utterly.

  But Oroonin is unconcerned. To Him, Telcanna is just a petulant spiteful youth. Oroonin awards Telcanna His single penetrating eye. A cold humour edges the Huntsman’s gravely tone.

  “Stop your carping, Telcanna,” laughs Oroonin in a voice that grates like steel on stone. “You are only upset because your pet’s on the rampage again. I’m surprised you care, brother. That Ty-Tander has long outlived its usefulness!”

  “That’s fine for you to say, meddler.” The Sky-God leans over His artful brother and blows in His ear, a mile high tower of majesty and light. “You just sit watching and waiting. Twiddling your thumbs, as ever wrapped in your riddles and cleverness while some of us plan DIRECT ACTION!” Telcanna’s voice booms across the heavens parting clouds and upsetting the cosmic harmonies. His angry blue countenance starts to melt the cloud around Oroonin’s seat. The Huntsman remains insouciant.

  “Why fear this Aralais? He is no threat to us anymore,” says Oroonin. “His kin—what paltry few remain—driven into the darkest corners of Ansu, together with most of their artefacts. Callanak, the Golden Bow and the other trinkets they tricked us with. All lost or broken.”

  “They can be found.”

  “Relax, brother, this Aralais is weak. A shadow of what he once was!”

  “That schemer and his kin threatened our hold over Ansu once, brother,” countered Telcanna. “Or are you so enmeshed in your own designs that you FORGET THE PAST.”

  “I forget nothing,” replies Oroonin, His face darkening. Telcanna is starting to vex him. This always happens. He stands, points His spear at His brother’s cobalt aura. The blue fizzles and pops then fades to dreary grey like a cosmic sulk.

  “Forget the Aralais wizard, it’s the mortals that concern me. Or rather one of them.”

  “More fragile slaves to swell your army of corpses, you old gallows crow!” Telcanna scoffs. “I never could understand your interest in the ways of men, Oroonin. They are pathetic creatures, I wonder why the Weaver allowed their spawning, He must have been having an off day when He fashioned such weaklings.

  “In that desert land down there,” Telcanna points contemptuously down through the cloud. “The priests cry out my name as if they think I care a cosmic shit what happens to them. They crawl on their bellies and chant in those grubby temples believing I care, when I’d happily fry their livers for breakfast. If only I could be bothered, that is and didn’t have other, more pressing diversions. MEN ARE FOOLS!”

  “They have their uses—some more than others admittedly.”

  “Many will serve Our dark brother when the time comes for war.”

  “Why do you think I recruit all I can for us now?” Oroonin wished His brother would depart to another planet for a decade and give Him some space. Why were His family such a pain in the arse? “Someone has to plan ahead. When our dark brother wakes I for one want my army of corpses ready.”

  “He will blow them apart. His province is death, brother—not yours.”

  “No—His province is evil.”

  “And when He wakes I shall send His black soul screaming back to Yffarn. I don’t need mortals to do my dirty work, Oroonin.”

  “Well you have yourself.” replies Oroonin, waving His spear and taking to His seat again. “But don’t expect a show of arms. You are in the minority here, brother. Sensuata stews in His fishy bath—what keeps Him occupied down there is beyond me.”

  “We don’t need Him.”

  “Those connivers Croagon, Undeyna and Crun are all contained,” continues Oroonin. “They can do nothing until their sentences are served out. And Undeyna will most likely follow Him again—there’s no saving that one. So don’t expect help there.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Where then? Our niece Simioyamis is away with the faeries as usual. Tatiana Widethighs is contracted out to another galaxy—who knows when She’ll be back. And Borian is no help, busy blowing up storms beyond the nine worlds.

  “What of Elanion?”

  “My wife? How would I know? She doesn’t speak to me.”

  “AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?”

  Oroonin ignores that last jibe. He feels miserable now, He always did when his Sister’s name was mentioned. “She fiddles in her forests and plots and weaves against me. After all this time She still harbours resentment. It was only a brief fling with that water nymph—She’s such a cold bitch, your sister. A mere dalliance—and She with all Her lovers too. Hardly fair.” Telcanna isn’t listening but His brother doesn’t notice.

  “I’ve never understood Her and now She has set my daughters against me. Vervandi especially holds a grudge. It vexes me. But Elanion likes to keep an eye on Ansu as do I. After all He will awaken soon.”

  “Let Him waken, brother. I AT LEAST AM READY FOR BATTLE!” blazes Telcanna, lighting the skies with livid electric blue.

  Oroonin smiles at that. He has seen no future for the Sky God in His plans. He ignores His sibling; eventually Telcanna takes the hint. The Sky-God strides off moodily to His waiting carriage. He then spurs the electric steeds onward across the heavens whilst hurling thunderbolts at anything He encounters. Telcanna’s cobalt chariot creaks and grinds beneath Him as He steers it through the clouds. The din sets Oroonin’s teeth on edge. The Huntsman shrugs. He returns to his study below. Damn and blast Telcanna, he’d missed the show. The contest below was almost over.

  ***

  From his high tower in the palace Caswallon had also witnessed the strange lights in the sky. He deemed them no natural phenomena. He knew there was sorcery going on somewhere, knew the stakes were getting higher in this paramount game.

  The gods stir.

  Caswallon had sensed a quickening lately. A shift in the firmament. There were others playing this game of his and he must needs tread carefully. He knew the signs—had read the stars. Next spring a conjunction, greater even than the one that pre-empted the fall of Gol would come into place.

  A time of change. All nine planets would slot into their allotted place. A time of great opportunity. Or a time of unprecedented disaster.

  The stakes were high. Knowledge was power and he was more knowledgeable than most. Timing was the key and so far that hadn’t worked out too well.

  It was frustrating. Months on, queen and prince and shattered crown still eluded him. They had had aid, that much was certain. The alien wizard—the stranger worked against him and his allies. But it was all down to patience really. This affair would be wrapped up in the desert soon enough. His allies had informed him of the prince’s destination. Poor fool, Tarin could scarce imagine the reception awaiting him there.

  The Urgolais would blast the remnants of the crown to powder—something he should have done, Caswallon admitted his failure there. Tarin would be slain—eventually. This Corin an Fol character Morak fretted about—he’d die in the desert too. Simple.

  Gribble had informed him how the sultan had issued a prime mandate to capture these spies. His elite crimson guard would scan every dune. The renegades would be apprehended soon and their madcap quest fail.

  Once he had knowledge of the crown’s obliteration, Caswallon could concentrate on trapping that vixen Ariane. Too long she had thwarted him. Derino’s army would break Kelwyn with the help of the traitor inside Wynais, then return home and smash the rebels still holding out in Kelthara. Then he could relax. This winter would see all such matters tidied up.

  Small issues, they just needed resolving fast. What irritated him was how his enemies had stayed ahead of the hunt so far. They’d had a rare run of luck but that was fast running out.

  A noise at the door. Gribble emerged through the special goblin flap Caswal
lon had had made for him. A Soilfin-sized door, wing friendly, with soft velvet hinges so he wouldn’t scrape his claws. It was the smaller details that made the difference in this life. Caswallon didn’t have many redeeming qualities. But at least he was fond of his pet. And Gribble was looking better these days (if a foul smelling, hairless fanged, winged goblin could look any better).

  Caswallon’s pet sported a new short sword at his waist. The scabbard was fabricated from a hundred foreskins (the only human parts avoided by the Groil—nobody really knew why). Gribble liked his shiny sword and used it to poke anything in range. It was very light and didn’t affect his flight plans. He was Caswallon’s only trusted confidante and kept both Groil and Perani in check.

  “What is it, Soilfin, are you hungry again?”

  “Yes, Mr Caswallon. But I’m here about my next scheduled flight.”

  “Ah, yes—I would learn how Starkhold is faring under siege, so take some sustenance and go pay visit.”

  “And, Gribble.”

  “Yes, Mr Caswallon.”

  “If you leave at once you’ll get a special treat when you return.”

  Caswallon smiled to himself. Car Carranis would fall this winter and yet another cog would drop into place.

  Caswallon watched the Soilfin exit his window, a dark speck arrowing out into the night. A useful servant, Gribble. Shame he didn’t have more Soilfins. Caswallon took to his chair, warmed his bony hands by the fire and wondered just what really was occurring down there in the desert. Perhaps he’d send Gribble down there tomorrow.

  Chapter 27

  Fire and Ice

  Corin dived low as the funnel of flame seared over his head, scorching the dead branches of the ancient trees and alighting them into crackling fury. His companions had already leaped for cover behind nearby rocks. They reached for their weapons, desperately trying to quell the panic surging through their veins.

  All save Tamersane, whose prone form looked tiny and helpless in the fading light. That first gout of fire had missed him—just. The monster’s dreadful bulk scraped the top of the cleft as it crawled forward, still with no urgency, content with its game.