The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  Corin stared into the god’s sightless face. Beside him his companions stood in silence as though frozen in time. Apart from Zallerak who was gaping at Corin with an expression comprised of irritation, wonder and profound dislike. Aside from that the forge crackled flame and the crystal strobed the cavern. All else was as before.

  “YOU ASK MUCH, MORTAL,” boomed Croagon after what seemed a ponderous age. “SUCH A TRAVAIL WOULD LEAVE YOU IN MY DEBT. IT IS NO SMALL TASK YOU REQUIRE OF ME. ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN PAY MY PRICE, SHOULD I EVEN STATE IT?”

  “Send the bill to Zallerak—this was his idea.”

  Croagon growled deep in his throat. It could have been humour but most likes wasn’t. A sound not dissimilar to that of a great storm-blasted tree splitting open in the depth of night.

  “SO BE IT THEN—WATCH AND LEARN.”

  Corin emptied the bag of shards onto the table flat surface of the anvil. At once the crystal blazed with furious light. On reflection this had also proved an interesting day.

  “THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME,” said Croagon, and showed them his back.

  Part Four | War

  Chapter 36

  Calprissa

  Shallan had felt the tension growing all day. The ship’s crew were on edge, almost spoiling for a fight as they drew near the rocky islet strewn coast of Kelwyn.

  She watched diving birds swoop and disappear beneath the sparkling water, remerging seconds later before vanishing again. Earlier she had seen seals lazily observing them from the rocky crags that littered this coastline. Kelpies and sirens—the fisherfolk near Vangaris believed they stole the souls of sailors lost at sea. Shallan knew they were just beasts.

  The sight would normally have filled her with pleasure but Shallan’s heart was heavy today. Below deck her father’s condition worsened by the hour. Duke Tomais went from waking dream to feverish slumber, his hold on life weakening.

  The duke no longer recognised his daughter. Shallan was hard pressed to hold back tears in his presence. She kept her chin up though, determined and resolute that somehow they’d all pull through. They had to. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

  Shallan looked up suddenly as wind whipped the canvas above her head. All around her ropes creaked and timbers groaned as Barin’s great brigantine cut water, racing towards the rising buff-brown headland.

  “Cape Calprissa,” Barin announced appearing suddenly beside her and thoughtfully stroking his greying beard. “We will make port ere nightfall. Not long now, girl.”

  Shallan nodded. She glanced back across the dancing decks of the ship to the stern where the wild-haired Taic worked the wheel.

  “Thank you,” Shallan responded almost inaudibly. She turned to look up at him. “Still no sign of the Assassin?” Every minute she dreaded a cry from above announcing dark sails on the horizon.

  “Not yet,” replied Barin, looking troubled. He forced a smile on his lips. “Mayhap he’s become bored with the game and slipped back to his island haunt to brood. Rael Hakkenon’s known for his mercurial moods. Let us hope he’s lost interest and found someone else to pick on, lass.”

  “I doubt we’ll be that lucky, Barin. But thanks for your support.”

  Barin rested his huge hand on Shallan’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, we are there for you, me and the lads. We’re in for a tough winter and I don’t mean the weather. But don’t fret, you are not alone.”

  Shallan reached up and kissed Barin’s chin. “Thank you,” she said, a tear creasing her cheek.

  Throughout that entire day Shallan watched from her vantage point at the prow. Her small hands clenched the rail, eager for them to gain the shore. Calprissa—perhaps Barin was right and someone in that artisan city could save her father.

  That day dragged for Shallan despite the glorious weather. They rounded the cape and then hugged the coast eastward until an hour before sundown they entered into a rocky bay.

  High above stood a gaunt watchtower. From its single window pale light filtered down to greet them. At least the sentinels would see the pirates long before they arrived, thought Shallan. Slightly comforted by that thought she returned her attention to forward.

  The Starlight Wanderer had entered a narrow, twisting channel about two hundred yards across, hemmed by sheer sandy coloured cliffs on either side. The rock face was pitted with holes, and watching, Shallan could see myriad birds dwelling thereabouts. A colourful sight, they swooped and dived low, their shrill cries abundant.

  Through this crooked cove the trader weaved, the crew hard at their oars. After a mile of twists and turns the channel opened to reveal a wide sheltered harbour. In its midst freshly painted ships bobbed gently, as the setting winter sun cast a rusty glow over the most beautiful city Shallan had ever seen.

  Calprissa. Kelwyn’s second city.

  Shallan had heard of Calprissa’s cascading gardens whilst staying with Queen Ariane in distant Wynais. But nothing prepared her for the sight greeting them now.

  Calprissa’s walls and buildings seemed to be sculpted from a single vast rock, perched precariously on the extreme edge of the east cliff rearing tall above the harbour.

  Shallan was reminded of Silon’s house in Raleen. Calprissa’s walls were the white of pearls. As she looked they sparkled and glistened reflecting the setting sun.

  Tinkling fountains cascaded from those walls, their waters glittering in the waning sunlight. They cast rainbow shadows, and became babbling clear streams that joyfully wound their steep courses down to the old stone harbour far below. These plunging streams were criss-crossed with slender, elegant bridges, all cast from the same gleaming, untarnished white stone.

  Frail arches revealed hidden gardens high up on the cliff edge. Shallan, her hand shielding the glare, spied brightly-dressed people looking down from the lofty walls in wonder at the brigantine mooring up alongside their own craft. A few waved down and Shallan waved back. She felt much better. These people were friends.

  Barin addressed Fassof and the crew before disembarking. His sailors were to remain on deck, saving Zukei and two volunteers to carry the prone duke up the steep way to the city. Cogga volunteered Taic and Sveyn for that chore. Those staying put grumbled that they were thirsty for ale. Fassof cuffed a couple and the rest shut up.

  Barin (feeling guilty) added that he’d make sure they had copious ale barrels brought down and some fresh vitals and salt. That appeased them a little, though most had envisioned a wild night wenching and slurping up there in the city. They all had cabin fever and wanted to disembark. Especially Wogun, who was still convinced something bad was going to happen. Barin, though sympathetic, was unmoved. He didn’t want fights breaking out among friends.

  After that was sorted, Barin vacated his vessel with Shallan and, struggling behind, the ‘volunteers’, Taic and Sveyn carrying the duke’s stretcher. Last came Zukei, wrapped in her habitual scowls. The black girl stole silently behind Sveyn like a hunting cat.

  Cheerfully Barin led the way towards the narrow walkway threading up from the harbour to the gleaming city high above. The way was steep but the steps were broad and even. Taic and Sveyn grumbled quietly with the weight of their burden but no one listened—least of all the duke who lay wan and pale asleep.

  Shallan, taking the steps alongside Barin, marvelled at the steep terraces, the chiming water and trailing vines, still cropping despite the time of year.

  Marble statues peered out from behind shady garden arbours. Their blank gazes seemed to question her presence there so politely, and looked almost lifelike in the fading light.

  Up they wound: Barin striding, Shallan keeping up, the two porters grunting behind, sweating profusely as they carried their noble charge up towards the great city. And last up Zukei, lean and dour, her dark eyes hostile and resentful.

  They capped the stair as dusk settled over Calprissa’s walls. After a brief respite, allowing Taic and Sveyn to take a break, they entered beneath two wide arched gates, left open in welcome, and hastened on
towards a large ornate turreted building. This, Barin informed Shallan, was the citadel. It was wide and spacious with cut lawns leading across to the circular walls.

  Servants greeted them politely once inside. Seeing the prone duke they sent for a physician immediately. Shallan watched as the thin-faced doctor arrived with a worried look on his face. He frowned and pawed thoughtfully over her sleeping father’s body. Zukei watched the physician, unimpressed. At a nod from Barin she vanished from the room, her quest to source herbs and unguents should the physician fail. Shallan watched her leave.

  “Come, Shallan.” Barin gently gripped her sleeve. “Leave the physician and Zukei to their work; hopefully one of them can help your father. Let us seek out the master of this city.” Shallan nodded and reluctantly turned away. Taic enquired whether he and Sveyn need stay with the duke but Barin said they might as well come too, lest their stomping and gawping upset the medic who seemed the tetchy type, particularly after hearing that Zukei was off hunting herbs. “We have all we need here,” he’d said witnessing Zukei’s departure. “And I don’t need her help.”

  A servant appeared, clad in a neat tabard of blue and yellow stripes over red stockings, these tucked into doeskin boots. He was smiling.

  “I am Cormalian,” the servant announced, presenting himself with a bow. “I will escort you to the first lord of the city. It’s this way, please.” The retainer ushered them through a series of airy rooms all with arched windows overlooking the ocean. Shallan’s eyes drank in the stunning view.

  They followed Cormalian through wide roomy passages, draped with scented plants and furnished with sumptuous carpets of red and gold. Brightly clad folk passed them from time to time, their handsome faces smiling in polite curiosity.

  Shallan thought how boorish by comparison were her own people in Vangaris. Then she remembered that Vangaris was broken, her people leaderless and scattered far from their ruined homes. Maybe even dead. She wondered if her three brothers lived yet, and whether Car Carranis would still be standing when she finally reached its mighty bastions. Time would tell. At least Barin was coming with her.

  They were led up stairs to a lofty airy hall opening out onto a broad balcony, commanding more panoramic views of the city and the harbour far below.

  Tolruan, lord of Calprissa, greeted them stiffly from the balcony where he’d been watching their approach from the harbour. The tall, aging man was dressed in highly polished armour with full-face helmet resting on his leather desktop. All that metal looked out of place on such gentle features. Barin raised a brow at the sight.

  “You are expecting trouble, my lord?”

  “Trouble is already here,” responded Tolruan looking quizzically at Shallan, as if half recognising her from some time in the past. “Who is this young lady?” he enquired, rather rudely Shallan thought.

  “The Lady Shallan of Vangaris,” Barin replied. “Her father the duke is being tended by your physician. He has an ague.” Barin’s response was gruff as if he too were offended.

  “Forgive my manner.” Tolruan waved a dismissive hand. “I have slept little this week. Shallan? Ah, yes, I remember a pretty young girl playing with the then princess some years ago over in Wynais. You have grown into a beautiful young lady, I must say.”

  Shallan said nothing. She no longer had time for niceties. Barin coughed awkwardly beside her. Behind them Taic and Sveyn grinned like idiots.

  “My lord, we have great need of haste,” Barin explained. “The Morwellan duke is in no shape to travel. Your physicians alone have the skill to save him from a worsening condition. Tomais must stay here with you by your kind leave. But the lady and I—we cannot linger.”

  They had discussed this earlier and Shallan had been heartily against leaving her father. Barin had convinced her the trip north in winter would kill him, no matter what the physicians achieved here. Zukei would stay with him too, Barin had already paid the girl generous coin, and Zukei seemed happy enough having no other plans. Shallan, though not happy, had capitulated with reluctance and vowed to return to Calprissa when the duke was fully recovered.

  Barin fingered Wyrmfang’s beak. It felt good to have the axe strapped to his side once more. Tolruan’s eyes widened at the size of the weapon. “I’m bound for Car Carranis with the first lady of Morwella here,” Barin explained to Lord Tolruan. “Her brothers and the survivors of Vangaris should be there.”

  “Vangaris was sacked by Redhand or his father. Most free Morwellans are camped within the iron gates of Car Carranis. Surrounded, so rumour says, by innumerable foes.”

  “Much like us then,” responded the lord of Calprissa, his expression bleak. Shallan felt her heart sink like a stone to the bottom of her stomach.

  What now?

  Tolruan’s face softened when he saw her expression.

  “A scout arrived here two days hence from Wynais, informing us that an army was bound hither bent on our city’s destruction and ruin. A warrior in black armour leads them. They come from the north and greatly outnumber our garrison. It would appear that the usurper seeks to enlarge his domain.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, my lord, but we cannot stay with you,” responded Barin. “We have our own battle to wage in the northlands. And we must leave in the morning, no later,” he urged.

  Tolruan nodded and, showing them his back, paced through the arched window to stand on the balcony outside. For a while he gazed out at the ocean below. Barin and Shallan exchanged glances, whilst Taic and Sveyn shuffled and looked glum. They had hoped to stay for a while.

  Suddenly Tolruan tensed, and Shallan watching realised something else was wrong.

  “Regrettably that’s no longer an option.” Tolruan turned to face them, his face blanched with fear.

  “What’s wrong?” Barin strode onto the balcony and stood glaring down. Beside him Lord Tolruan stood frozen with whitened knuckles gripping the balcony rail. His eyes were on the harbour below.

  Shallan and the two crewmen filed alongside. They followed Tolruan’s gaze down to the jetties. Shallan cried out and Barin, seeing what had captured their host’s attention, cursed and slammed a massive fist into his palm.

  The scourge of the ocean were back.

  Nine sleek ships had stolen into Calprissa’s cliff-locked harbour, their dark sails half furled in the lessening breeze. Bulky figures could be seen working the oars of the nearest vessel. A sleek craft—both its timbers and sail raven black. Shallan felt an icy pang of dread. She had expected this all along.

  Rael Hakkenon had not forgotten. Rather he had been awaiting the right moment.

  ***

  From the open roof of the lofty watchtower Rael had watched laughing as his sharks snaked silently into the harbour after sunset. Below him the motionless bodies of the watchmen still leaked blood on the granite steps leading down. Their lifeless eyes glazed as they stared up at their killer in disbelief.

  Rael stooped to wipe his rapier on the nearest corpse then resumed his inspection of the harbour below. All was as planned; as the Soilfin had said it would be when it returned the other night.

  The Assassin could see the dark banners of Caswallon’s army high on the ridge to the north of the city. Already their campfires blazed beneath a lowering sky.

  The goblin had informed him of its master’s plan and for once the lord of Crenna found himself almost liking the creature.

  “Mr Caswallon wants you to attack from the harbour,” Gribble had said. “Bad Boy Derino will butcher all the cityfolk and I’ll get the scraps. Then it’s off to Wynais we go to join the others. I’m part of the army now, Mr Assassin—an advisor and valued asset.”

  Of course you are, goblin.”

  “Don’t call me goblin.”

  Rael had smiled as the Soilfin took wing that night. This time there would be no escape for Barin of Valkador and the crew of The Starlight Wanderer. This time he, Rael Hakkenon, would be the victor.

  Chapter 37

  The Tekara

  Deep ben
eath the Crystal Mountains the magician/bard Zallerak, the three fighters, and young Prince Tarin witnessed the re-forging of the Crown of Kings.

  The Smith began slowly summoning His strength. At first Croagon crouched low, His beard brushing the floor. He worked the bellows, chest swelling and huge arms bulging and cording.

  Like a sudden gale the hearth surged into life. White fire blazed dazzling the onlookers, sparks flew and shadows fled the cavern. Satisfied at last, Croagon scooped up the shards and tossed them into the flame. Corin’s eyes widened in alarm seeing the Tekara’s remnants vanish into the fire.

  Croagon squatted over the forge, arrayed to His right were tree-long tongs, the hammer, poker and bellows. They watched forgotten at the edge of the pit, awestruck witnesses to the Smith God at work.

  Croagon thrust the poker hard into the fire, He twisted it and rammed and shuffled. Then He reached in with His left hand and extracted the shards and arrayed them on the anvil. There they glowed white hot and shapeless. Croagon arranged them in a certain order and lifted His hammer.

  And so the re-making began.

  The Cavern was an amphitheatre of light and noise. The corded veins of rock throbbed in tune with the rhythm of the forge, as blind Croagon smote His massive hammer relentlessly upon the anvil table below. Each thunderous blow sent a dazzling whirl of diamond light dancing through the cavern and filtering off into the passageways without.

  Croagon took His time. Painstakingly slow, the Smith shaped each shard one after the other, then with fuse runes, tongs, and His great gnarly hands, bound them together.

  The process took hours. Nobody spoke. Prince Tarin covered his ears from the deafening hammer blows. Corin and Ulani were entranced and even Bleyne showed rare interest. Zallerak fretted at the time this was taking. He alone seemed on edge.