The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  That said, it had been years since a Morwellan warship had last sailed into Calprissa or Port Wind. It was due to this that the pirates of Crenna had been so successful over latter years. Only Morwella had spent sufficient funds on her war ships. But Morwella was broken. Her fleet destroyed, torched and sunk by Redhand off Vangaris. Ariane had ordered more vessels built after ascending to the throne, but her time as ruler had yet been short and hence their fleet was still tiny. It was depressing.

  The young queen felt suddenly weary. She ran a pale hand through her sable locks and sunk back into the throne chair.

  Calprissa is the key—I cannot let that city fall.

  “My lords, we must act swiftly,” Ariane told them.

  “I will leave for Calprissa this very day. Neither Caswallon nor the Assassin will catch us off guard.” Dazaleon nodded slowly but Yail looked worried and seemed on the point of challenging her.

  “Captain Yail,” she turned her gaze to the fiery soldier. “I know how much you love Wynais. I need you here. I’ve no proof, but have reason to believe there is a traitor somewhere in the Silver City. Call it a hunch.” Tolranna’s face blanched, hearing that. Even Dazaleon looked shocked.

  “Did you dream this too, my Queen?” the high priest asked her.

  “No. I haven’t spoken of this till now, but I was visited by my father’s shade that first night after leaving this city. It was one of the things he warned me about.”

  “King Nogel?” Tolranna looked askance.

  “Came to me that night to warn of the perils ahead.”

  Dazaleon said nothing but Yail abandoned his chair and stepped forward. “My Queen, I beg you let me accompany your army west. If you leave you’ll need your best fighters with you. The city guard can flush out any traitors in Wynais once I’ve put the word out.”

  “Thank you, Yail,” she waved him back. “But it’s because of your vigilance that I need you here. Watching and listening and aiding Dazaleon. Who is your second officer?”

  “Lieutenant Tarello. My Queen, I must insist -”

  “Good,” she waved him to silence. “Inform Lieutenant Tarello he will accompany me there with some handpicked men, together with the two hundred horse spearmen on loan from Raleen, plus fifty of our finest archers. You, Tolranna, will remain here with the rangers and city guard in Wynais, keeping watch over the city. Calprissa will hold out as long as it can. Caswallon will want fast results. He believes we are weaker than we are. And his main desire is this city and my throne.” All three knew that Caswallon’s designs went beyond that and focussed on the queen’s person. Neither she nor her advisors felt the need to mention that at this moment. Ariane turned to Yail Tolranna, standing stiff and uncomfortable before her.

  “Tolranna, I’m sure we’ve taken too much of your time already. Please convey my orders to your second and have the Raleenians make ready at once.”

  Tolranna saluted and without word departed from the room. Ariane’s shrewd eyes watched him leave. “Something troubles that one,” she said. “He appears ill at ease in our company.”

  Dazaleon shrugged. “He’s restless and frustrated, a good man but he lacks his brother’s sensibilities.”

  “I know, but keep an eye on him, Dazaleon. Yail worries me. He’s impetuous and impulsive. That said, he’s loyal and dependable, and will ensure the city guard stay sharp. They are all wary of Yail Tolranna.”

  “I shall.”

  “We’ll range wide throughout the lands between here and Calprissa,” Ariane waved her arms, “burn crops and starve the enemy as winter takes hold. Belmarius’s fighters can patrol the lands west of here, whilst my Raleenians goad Derino’s force with petty raids, luring him away from Calprissa into the heartlands, until he is caught between Belmarius’s rangers and my Raleenians. We’ll decide on a suitable spot for that to happen. Meanwhile Tolranna can keep our Kelwynian soldiers ready, primed and waiting inside the city, should the enemy change tack.”

  “All good, and Tolranna is up to the task of minding this city. But your place too is in Wynais, my Queen,” countered Dazaleon. “The citizens will take it poorly if you leave us again. Morale is bad enough already.”

  “That cannot be helped, Dazaleon. I must be decisive. Caswallon needs to know I’m at Calprissa—or in that region. I am Queen of Kelwyn, not just Wynais, and I will not let Calprissa fall! My word is final.”

  Ariane rose from her seat of power at the silver throne. She walked, calm-faced, down to join her high priest in gazing out the window. “We’ll send word to Calprissa by carrier pigeon,” she told him. “I will expect those few ships we have to be fully manned, refitted for war and awaiting my inspection on arrival.”

  Dazaleon’s face was creased with worry. “A rash gamble,” he told her. “Caswallon will fall hard on Calprissa. You risk much faring that way, my Queen!”

  “These are perilous times, my old friend. Without risk there can be no gain. We must hold to courage. The die is already cast. I will speak no more on the matter.” Their discussion shifted to the quest for the crown and Silon’s council in far off Raleen.

  Hours later the queen’s party was ready to leave. All was resolved yet one minor issue remained. A stone in her royal shoe.

  Cale. The boy had balked at being told he must stay in Wynais. “My place is with you, my Queen!” Cale had insisted. “To defend you or die at your side.”

  “Your place is at your studies under High Priest Dazaleon,” she had snapped, being in no mood for discussion. Cale had sulked then. He’d told her he wanted to be a warrior like Corin or Tolranna, not a damned priest’s scribe, or worse a kitchen scullion. Both he knew were normal routes to becoming a squire.

  Ariane had told him tartly that the matter was closed and so their parting had been frosty. Cale had taken to the kitchens amid scowls. Ariane was annoyed with herself, believing she could have handled the situation better.

  She was so fond of the boy and just wanted what was best for him. Enough. Graver matters commanded her attention. She sat her mare beneath the wintry sun and watched filled with pride, as her chosen Kelwynians under Lieutenant Tarello filed out of the city.

  Tolranna had done well, each horseman rode with neat precision. The competent Tarello rode forth with a company comprising five hundred spearmen, and following behind rode the immaculate Raleenian lancers fresh out of Atarios. Two hundred strong, their heads held high and their garb spotless. At her side, watching astride his pale horse, sat the diminutive Galed. Ariane’s scribe and loyal squire had insisted on coming along despite her disapproval. This was another reason why Cale had gotten so cross.

  But Galed was a grown man; he had the right to choose to be at her side as he had been from the start. It still irked her though.

  “You are not a warrior, Galed,” she had told him. “Cale will miss your teachings. Besides, there is much you can do here in Wynais. Dazaleon and Tolranna will need help in the days ahead.”

  “Dazaleon and the captain will be fine,” grumbled Galed. “So too will master Cale. I’ve come this far through thick and thin. I have grown accustomed to danger and will not desert you now.”

  “So be it, but you’d best ask Lieutenant Tarello fit you out in a suit of mail. This isn’t a fucking parade. We ride to war, Galed!”

  Afternoon came, the shadows lengthened on that bright winter’s day. The cold clear waters of Lake Wynais ridged slightly in the easterly breeze. The tall swaying reeds sighed mournfully; they parted to reveal the shining host passing swiftly on the road ahead.

  Into the west they thundered as sunlight glinted the tips of their spears. A brave sight. At the head of the host rode a slender figure encased in a coat of gleaming silver mail. Her determined features covered by a shining helm, crested by a flowing wave of silver horsehair. So it was on the eve of winter, Ariane of Kelwyn rode valiantly out to war. Meanwhile all around her the storm clouds gathered.

  ***

  A lone rider followed that bright host keeping a discreet distan
ce. Cale had purloined both armour and horse and sweated profusely as he galloped toward the dust column raised by the distant army.

  The sword at his side was heavy; it almost dragged him from the saddle. Cale knew he was in big trouble but didn’t care. He was happy. Cale was a warrior now. No more dishes and prayers for him. No more errands and run-arounds and naggings from Galed.

  He’d feed on the scraps left by her army after they broke camp. Once near Calprissa he’d filter in at some point and steer close to the queen. It would work out, Cale assured himself. Corin would have done it when he was fourteen. Cale wished that Corin was with him now. Together they were a match for anyone—and then if you had Barin alongside too. Invincible!

  Why should Galed get all the fun? Cale grinned as he steered his steed into the west. He was becoming a hero. There would be stories about him one day—he just knew it. Cale the magnificent. Cale the Thrice Bold. Lord of Dreaming Towers. It was heady stuff!

  ***

  A second lone rider crested the hill close behind Cale and watched the company ride out from the Silver City. He waited until the rear guard had vanished beyond Lake Wynais, before turning his steed about and bidding her wend north toward the Kelthaine border. Once there he would make direct for Kella City. His master Yail Tolranna wasn’t trusting to pigeons this time.

  Chapter 31

  The Voice

  Corin and Ulani returned to the cave mouth and hurried within. They were not far from its entrance when they heard the distant clatter of hooves passing on the road outside. It seemed their ploy had worked, the sultan’s soldiers obviously knew nothing of this alternative route into the mountains. Corin hoped Tamersane would lose them in the miles ahead. He was a fine horseman and had plenty wit enough to lead them on a merry dance, as long as he didn’t get distracted by phantom women.

  Once again Corin and Ulani felt their eyes adjust to the weird light, but this time they made better speed. They reached the portal in minutes, passing beneath it without pausing for breath.

  Corin led the way up the slippery crystal carved stair, taking two steps at a time. Behind him the great bulk of Ulani hefted his spears so that they wouldn’t scrape on the low, sloping ceiling of rock.

  They were now only two. Two fools against the gods only knew what. The steps climbed higher and steeper and the air grew stale. Corin clutched Biter in his right palm. Like Ulani, he’d had to alter Clouter’s harness so the long blade didn’t scrape the walls and ceiling. No room for swinging Clouter here. His eyes scanned the dark above.

  They had reached the final stage of the quest. Ominous quiet filtered down from the gloom ahead. Corin felt his heartbeat quicken with every step.

  The stairs rose steep and were badly worn in places. The shining layers of stone around them wedged ever inward until there was scarce room for movement, and Ulani’s multiple array of weapons kept scraping against the walls.

  At least it was lighter than they had expected. Everywhere the rock face was lined with glowing veins of crystal, giving out a pale radiance that dimly lit their way ahead.

  Time passed in silence beneath the mountain. They could hear queer echoes drifting up and down, that and the dull thud of their own footsteps. Strange creaks and groans resounded about them as if the mountain they were under disapproved of them being there, and was planning their ruin in its dark deep heart. Their own thoughts were grim as they strove up and up, panting with exertion at the steepness of their ascent.

  It was hot. Corin melted in his steel shirt and leathers. He guessed that morning had arrived outside. Hours passed dreary and slow, hot and stuffy. The weird sounds came and went. Still they climbed. Their progress as ever hampered by the lack of room.

  “The ancients must have been midgets,” grumbled Corin. He felt entombed and wasn’t enjoying the sensation.

  “Thinner than me, that’s for sure,” grunted Ulani, dragging his spears behind him.

  On and up they went until at last, greatly relieved, they reached an end to the stairs. Here they stopped for a grateful drink from a shared gourd. Resting a moment, they studied the way ahead. The stairs opened on a dimly streaked passage.

  This yawned out at them, hinting at a wide smooth walkway that must surely lead towards the very centre of the mountain. Deep veins of coloured crystal lit the way ahead, casting light on strange shapes peering at them out of the gloom. Huge columns of rock stood there, vast stalactites descending from the ceiling like dripping glowing daggers. Beneath them the floor glistened as if wet. This too was a crisscross maze of glowing crystal. At least it was less stuffy up here. On the contrary the air was quite cool.

  “Some place,” whispered Corin, gaping through the gloom. He froze when Ulani tugged at his sleeve.

  “We are being followed,” said the king, looking back down towards the distant stairs.

  “Are you sure?” Corin could hear nothing. Then he cursed when he recognised, from somewhere far below, the soft sound of footfalls approaching.

  “Seems like some of the elite had sharp eyes after all,” muttered Ulani. “We had best keep moving.” They hurried on, leaving the narrow stairs behind. The passageway led smooth and straight as their road had been yesterday, deep into the mountain.

  The crystal veins of light flanked their way, awarding enough light for good progress. They had copious space here; the roof of the tunnel was yards above Ulani’s head. Occasionally a cold blast of air would reveal a dark passage leading off to right or left. These they rushed past with weapons held ready. Time passed, how much time they couldn’t guess.

  They had rapidly distanced themselves from the narrow stairway, whoever followed would be far behind. Ulani stopped often to listen but no longer detected any sound of pursuit. Perhaps they had imagined the footsteps. Had the mountain itself been trying to fool them?

  They strode on apace. Eager to get the task (whatever it was) done, their feet almost gliding on the polished floor of the passage. The way was becoming much wider; a dozen men could walk abreast here.

  The discomfort of the stairs was soon forgotten. Above them were more weird stalactites hanging down like a forest of spears. These too gave off a translucent glow, casting baroque shadows on the passageway ahead. Corin had no idea how much time had passed in the tunnel. He’d stowed Biter and walked at ease with Clouter unsheathed and sloped across his left shoulder. Ulani clutched a spear in either hand. It seemed like a whole day had gone by when Corin noticed it was growing lighter up ahead.

  “Looks like we could be drawing to the end of this passage,” he said. “See how bright it is up there.”

  “Aye, but what lies beyond it?” said Ulani. As they drew closer to its source the light pulsated with rhythm, casting dust motes towards them. At either side the walls throbbed in reply, their radiance ebbing and flowing in answer to whatever resonated out from the centre of the mountain.

  “I like this not,” grumbled Ulani. “I sense spellcraft everywhere.” The normally fearless king watched the throbbing light with deep suspicion.

  “We’ve come this far, I’ll not turn back now.”

  “Then lead on, Corin an Fol.”

  They steadied their nerves and continued towards the strange source of light. It seemed to be beckoning them forward, compelling them almost. After some time Corin thought he could hear voices chanting in some strange outlandish tongue. It was a disturbing sound. He slapped his head but the voices stayed.

  It was becoming hot again, and the weird glow was filtering down the passage in long measured strobes. Glancing about, Corin could see faded paintings lining the walls of the passage. Here and there were broken lumps of iron that had surely been sconces and held burning brands in some distant time.

  Wary, they ventured forward. Soon Corin could hear the voices clearly, they seemed to come from somewhere beyond the strange source of light.

  Behind him Ulani said nothing, but gripped his spears tighter in either hand. Corin felt his skin shiver beneath the sweat. Something unnatu
ral waited ahead. Of that he was certain. He felt a familiar dread enter his loins and suspected who it was that waited for them. Wet dog.

  Urgolais.

  Corin gripped Clouter in his sweating right palm and willed himself on towards the ever-brightening source of light. This time he wasn’t fleeing the horror, he was confronting it. If the Dog-Lord was down there Corin would skewer him once and for all. Spells or no spells, old burnt face’s days were numbered. So he tried convincing himself.

  From somewhere the sound of water trickled and plopped into what must be an invisible lake. Corin felt suddenly thirsty and stopped to gulp at his gourd. Ulani joined him in a slurp, and together they listened in growing concern to the eerie voices beyond the light. There appeared to be several speakers chanting in unison, though one was much louder and deeper than the others. When this one spoke its echo sent a shiver through the passage.

  There it was again, booming around their heads, followed at once by the other voices that sounded so much like hounds baying at the heels of a wounded bear. These lesser voices were higher pitched and snarly, a waspish drone accompanying the persistent boom groan of the deep voice.

  “What do you make of it?” Ulani drained his gourd and wiped the sweat from his glistening brow.

  “Sounds like a dirge,” answered Corin. “Some kind of incantation, maybe. Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Come on.”

  They approached the light with growing trepidation. The great voice was clearer now, its deep resonance echoing all about them in an endless chord of booms. Both disturbing and unnerving. The voice resonated pain like the tortured ravings of some madman. Accompanying it like a ghastly orchestra were the nasal cries and snarly barks of the other voices—the familiarly unsettling voices.