The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  Starkhold knew they could take long weeks of siege—maybe even months. But day by day the gnawing seed of apprehension and dread sapped their resolve.

  And no help would come. They were alone.

  Morale was ebbing by the hour. After the collapse of Morwella and the destruction of Vangaris, Starkhold received no news from the west. It was as though they were on an island slowly sinking beneath a relentless inevitable tide of evil.

  Cautious as he was, Starkhold even considered a sortie into the enemy camp at night. If successful it would raise sagging spirits. But the risk would be great, and after thinking again he dismissed it as reckless madness.

  Starkhold was a pragmatic man. He would not waste any of his soldiers on foolhardy ventures. Each fighting man was vital. The city guard remained vigilant. Those not manning walls practised battlecraft by the hour. When they weren’t using their swords in mock fights they were honing them until they shone like silver fire. They ate sparingly and slept in steel. You never knew when the enemy might attack. They were unpredictable, these savages from the north.

  Time was their enemy too. Days passed cruelly slow as winter’s jaws took hold. Hour by hour spirits sank. Occasionally the enemy would capture a scout or some poor peasant and parade his naked maimed body in front of the fortress. Crows would circle and settle to feast.

  Starkhold cooled the anger of his subalterns, especially Ralian. He was unfazed by the cruelty but it still depressed him to witness it. In his fifty-six years Starkhold had seen much conflict and savagery, but never before had he felt so helpless, so fenced in by lack of choice.

  There was but one option. They must wait for as long as it took. Endure. Hold out in hope beyond hope that allies would come—from Elanion only knew where—to their aid. It was a fool’s hope but it was all they had.

  Joachim thought of his many years serving Kelsalion III. Good years on the whole. He had fought beside Halfdan of Point Keep and Belmarius the Bear. Both had been giants of battle. Both were probably dead, murdered by the allies of Caswallon.

  It galled Starkhold that the rapacious former High Councillor had got his claws on Kelthaine. He had never trusted Caswallon, had always suspected him of subterfuge. That said, the usurper’s outright treachery had caught even the wary Starkhold off guard.

  Now Caswallon was the most powerful man in the Four Kingdoms and his might waxed daily. They say the usurper had sold his soul to the people of the night. Starkhold didn’t doubt it. Kelthaine, once so powerful and proud, was rotting from within. Morwella was lost, Kelwyn would soon follow, and after that Raleen, Joachim Starkhold’s own beloved country.

  Starkhold wondered what had become of the plucky young queen of Kelwyn. Ariane of Wynais had possessed wit beyond her years and a courageous heart. Last he heard she had challenged Caswallon. A brave and foolish girl.

  Starkhold turned away from the wind, allowing his cloak to rebuff its relentless assault on his bones. He gazed westward, jaw set in resolution. Poor Kelthaine: an enemy within and an enemy without. Whatever happened Car Carranis would hold out until spring, he vowed. Come spring, change would come.

  Wings brushed past him. Starkhold looked up surprised, saw a large raven settle on the outermost battlement. It watched him in mocking silence. There was something disturbing about that bird’s beady gaze. Joachim felt a cold shiver running up his spine.

  “Damn it all,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust; even the birds were getting to him. With a swirl of his fur-lined tawny cloak, Lord Starkhold of Car Carranis turned abruptly on his heels and then hastened below to seek the small comfort of a cold breakfast.

  Outside the kitchens the guards were already queuing for their meagre morning rations. The raven watched him depart then let out a piercing caw, before winging up into the lowering cloud above.

  Soon there would be more snow.

  ***

  Far from Starkhold’s snow-clad tower the sound of thundering hooves drummed across the wooded vales of Kelwyn. Rural folk stared out from their lonely crofts, eyes gaping at what they witnessed.

  The host gathered pace, their queen at its van. Each time the riders passed a village or town the roads were lined with onlookers. Children whooped in delight as their elders stood gaping behind them, their toil-marked faces lined with worry of what waited ahead. Out in the fields peasants and yeoman alike stared in wonder, their tools forgotten as they watched their young queen gallop westward at the head of a large force of fighting men.

  Ariane rode like the wind, her steel-clad host clattering behind her. For three nights ominous dreams had left her fearful of what they would find when they reached Calprissa.

  Would they be too late? The road crunched beneath their horses’ galloping hooves as they sped seaward, pausing only on occasion to allow their beasts drink.

  The fourth day wore into night. Ariane showed no sign of stopping as darkness draped the road ahead. At her bidding they pressed on deep into the night. Squire Galed groaned at the breakneck pace his queen was setting.

  “Surely we must rest,” he pleaded. “It’s still many leagues to Calprissa.”

  “I will take no rest until we have turned this evil tide, Galed,” Queen Ariane answered without looking back. Her voice was muffled by the steel helm almost entombing her head. “Every minute counts if we are to save our second city from the foul stench of Caswallon. Steel your heart, squire. We ride to war!”

  Galed gulped a short reply but curdled it when he caught the newly promoted Captain Tarrello’s fearsome glance. “It’s alright for you,” he muttered. “You’re a warrior and daft enough to enjoy this madcap capering.”

  Tarello grinned. The young captain was relishing every moment of this furious ride. This was his great chance. With Tolranna off his back Tarello stood to gain much, not least the queen’s affections. Like most of her army, Tarello loved his queen.

  He grinned across at Galed and the little man shook his head in resignation. “Warriors—you’re all mad. How I wish I could have been born in quieter times!”

  Behind him someone sniggered. If Galed had bothered turning he might just have pierced the disguise of the small soldier riding close on his heel.

  ***

  Cale was grinning like a lolling pup. He’d joined the host slipping in last night, narrowly evading the watch as he raided the leftovers by the campfires. That following day Cale had urged his beast up through the ranks getting many a sideways glance from the troops, Raleenian and Kelwynian both.

  Cale wasn’t fazed by those looks. He had a plan. He’d stay covert until they reached Calprissa. Once there the queen would have to accept him. She’d be livid of course but he’d win her round with his invincible charm. It would all work out just fine.

  Cale kept his head down and said nothing. He knew that he was being rash seeking out the van, but he’d not been able to resist the chance to ride close to his queen. It wasn’t a problem, he told himself. Before they camped for the night he’d slip back out of sight again.

  But Cale’s plans didn’t take shape. The army’s pace hardly slackened throughout that entire night and even he became exhausted. By morning the boy began to wonder if he had been wise in accompanying this venture. He was hungry and cold and his buttocks ached mercilessly. A bitter wind shrieked out of the east snapping at their heels, driving them on even harder. Cale grumbled to himself but decided it was all part of being a warrior; he would just have to put up with it for the time being.

  At first light they glimpsed distant towers shining silvery gold as the morning sun embraced them.

  Calprissa.

  The city was still leagues distant but at last they were nearing their destination. Cale’s stomach grumbled but he ignored it. He felt better now their destination was in sight.

  “What’s that?” Captain Tarello yelled, he was riding some yards in front of the boy. The captain’s gloved hand was pointing north. Cale squinted that way; saw trails of smoke rising like grey wispy columns along the horizon
.

  “The bonfires of the enemy,” responded Ariane from somewhere up ahead. “They are burning my country!”

  “Then let us destroy them, my Queen. Onward!”

  Tarello spurred his horse on to even greater speed. Behind him rode his chosen guard and fifty of Wynais’s finest archers. Behind these steered the lancers of Raleen, two hundred strong and proud, all glittering in their highly polished steel. Last up rode Ariane’s personal guard, a hundred crack fighters handpicked by Yail Tolranna, armed with spears, swords and throwing axes. Some had crossbows slung over their backs. Round shields hung from their saddles bearing the emblem of the Silver City.

  Ariane brought her steed to a halt and her host reined in behind her. She turned to survey her army. They were few in number but they had the element of surprise on their side. Cale watched beneath his hood as the Queen of Kelwyn unbuckled her silver helm.

  He was filled with love when he saw her sable locks spill free. From that moment Cale knew that he had made the right decision. Whatever followed he would be at her side. Ariane raised the helm high above her head. In a clear voice she addressed her force.

  “Warriors of Raleen and Kelwyn!” she called out to them. “Ready your bodies and steel your hearts. The ravens of war have departed their crags!”

  The host answered with a roar. Spears struck shields and horses whinnied. Cale, lost in the midst, was yelling defiance. It was on this day that he would become a warrior. He couldn’t wait. Grinning, Cale watched as one of the Raleenians tossed a sabre across to the princess.

  “Our swords are yours to command, Your Highness!” the warrior said. “We of Atarios are proud to ride at your command!”

  Ariane flashed him a grin: she snatched the sabre from the air with her left hand, whilst her right latched onto the rapier’s hilt and tore it from the sheath. They watched and cheered as the young queen deftly brandished a sword in either hand.

  Beside her Captain Tarello applauded. “See how she masters both sabre and rapier. I give you Ariane of the Swords!”

  “Ariane of the Swords!” The cry went up, Cale’s tiny voice drowned in the midst. They would follow her to the very gates of Yffarn were she to require it.

  Ariane was filled with pride. She refastened her helm over her head and turned to face the distant fires.

  “Calprissa, don’t despair—we are coming!” Without further ado the queen of Kelwyn spurred her mare into the west. And her army followed.

  Chapter 40

  The Challenge

  Barin had watched in deepening frustration as the Assassin’s ships stole into

  Calprissa’s landlocked harbour. He glowered and fretted, witnessing them heel to starboard, making their way toward where his vessel lay moored and waiting. Just like at Port Sarfe, they’d been caught again.

  Bastards.

  They hadn’t attacked during the night. Clearly they were waiting for a signal from Caswallon’s army. Barin had spent all night waiting for the Assassin to move. But Rael Hakkenon was biding his time.

  The Assassin’s ships blocked any escape from the harbour. He had ordered the sharks to fan out across its narrow entrance, making sure that not even a rowing boat could slip out unnoticed during the dark hours. Throughout that long night they had waited with sails furled and oars ready for dawn’s arrival.

  Barin’s men had joined him at the citadel; there was little they could do on board against nine enemy ships. Their swords and axes would be put to better use defending the city. They’d stowed the sails and drenched deck and cloth in seawater should the Assassin choose to play with fire.

  Barin’s first reaction had been to rush down and board his ship, then seize an oar and make straight for the enemy. Reluctantly he’d reined himself in, realising such a course of action would have proved suicidal. Nonetheless it galled him so to see The Starlight Wanderer looking so vulnerable and alone as the milling sharks of Crenna hovered close like probing wolves surrounding a bleeding, cornered bear. That evening Lord Tolruan had convinced Barin that the harbour was not as defenceless as it appeared.

  “We have the odd surprise up our sleeve for that villain.” The lord of Calprissa had managed a grim smile, whilst pointing down to where a tiny black-cloaked figure stood arrogantly poised at the bow of the leading ship, easily recognisable as The Black Serpent.

  “What’s keeping him?” Barin had snarled as evening deepened. “Is he waiting for darkness again? Surely he cannot expect to gain these walls at night. That would be rash indeed, and that little shit is no fool.”

  “I expect he awaits news from Caswallon’s general,” answered Tolruan bleakly. “Rael Hakkenon will wait for morning before he attacks, thus allowing Derino to position his army outside our landward walls. I fear we are to be placed like a horseshoe between the hammer and the anvil, my friend.”

  “Humph! They will find the horseshoe more troublesome than they expect,” scowled Barin, accepting a cool tankard from a passing page. In seconds he’d drained it and reached for another.

  That slow night had dragged, the atmosphere in the city one of tense apprehension. Few had slept before the first beams of sunlight alighted on the battlements announcing day’s arrival. Barin was one of the first to witness that.

  ***

  An hour passed in silence and watchful tension. A soft movement to his left. Barin glanced round, saw that Shallan had joined him to look down at the enemy ships below. Barin smiled gruffly at the girl, giving her a sideways glance as though he were weighing up her courage. She didn’t smile back.

  “How is your father, sweetheart?” Barin’s eyes were full of concern at how tired she looked. Shallan’s face was pale and drawn in the morning light. Her blue/grey eyes showed signs of weeping and dark rings shadowed them, betraying a lack of sleep.

  “He is sleeping peacefully,” she answered stoically. “Cormalian the physician has given him some strong concoction derived from poppy seeds. It has lessened the fever and enabled him to rest. The girl Zukei is with him now.”

  “That is good,” replied Barin. “I’m glad she and the physician are talking to each other at last. I like that Zukei. Tough lass. Your father’s in good hands.” They heard a noise from the harbour below and watched stony-faced when a loud yell announced the Assassin had received his signal to attack. Barin and Shallan exchanged glances.

  “And so it starts,” the Northman said. Shallan didn’t answer.

  As one, the sleek ships of Crenna steered towards the quayside. All save three, the foremost being The Black Serpent. With rhythmic strokes these three craft headed straight for the place where The Starlight Wanderer was moored. Barin growled like a trapped bear. His huge hands smote the balcony rail as, red-faced, he watched his enemies bear down on his beloved trader.

  Bastards—bloody bastards!

  “So they are they attacking at last,” Shallan said placing a taut pale hand on the rail. It looked so tiny next to Barin’s callused paw.

  “Yes—damn their fucking eyes.” Barin glanced back hearing the sound of a ratchet tightening. “Please pardon my language but whatever is that racket?”

  They both jumped in alarm when a loud snap issued from behind and above. Something whooshed and whirled overhead.

  “Shite!” Barin ducked instinctively. “What the fuck was that?”

  Glancing up in alarm, Shallan saw birds winging skyward amid harsh cries. She watched amazed as a huge wooden arrow the size of a mature tree shrieked down from the battlements above to strike the churning waters just short of Rael Hakkenon’s flagship.

  Another whoosh and whirl announced another giant arrow. This one pierced the deck of the shark alongside the Serpent. Barin roared approval.

  The Assassin stood at the prow watching the missiles’ descent with casual disdain. He raised a fist up at his enemies. Another projectile hissed into the water yards away.

  At Rael’s word The Black Serpent changed course, steering away from The Starlight Wanderer, seeking the protection of the qua
y. The other ship followed whilst the damaged one floundered as water claimed her decks. Crew swam like mad things for the harbour. Once there archers hidden in the terraces picked them off.

  “Nicely done,” laughed Barin. “First round to us, Assassin.” Barin was grinning and thumping the wall. Shallan took heart from his optimism.

  From somewhere behind, Shallan could hear the machine’s ratchet tighten and snap free, sending more arrows lancing down into the harbour.

  “Kill them all!” Shallan yelled then, slamming her small fist into the air. “Murder the fucking bastards!”

  Barin grinned at her in new admiration. “My sentiments exactly.”

  A great cheer went up from the city as a shaft pierced the port side of the second ship. Within minutes it was foundering, decks awash with seawater as the crew baled in futile desperation.

  Two down, seven left.

  But the other ships were safe now. A shoulder of the cliff was between them, blocking the arc of the ballista’s range. Moments later the seven vessels were drawing alongside the far end of the quay, allowing yelling figures to disembark and weave their way through the deserted harbour’s cobbled lanes, towards the steep stairs that led up to the city above.

  The hidden archers took a score and then repaired back to the battlements. The pirates’ number was hard to gauge, though Shallan guessed there was more than two hundred down there.

  Rael Hakkenon took the lead racing up the stairs, his rapier in left hand and a black crossbow with bolt ready, clasped in his right. The Lord Assassin danced contemptuously aside as arrows hailed down on him and his pirates from the defenders on the walls above.

  Barin leaned so far forward half his bulk hung over the balcony. He felt the battle fury rising inside him. Growling, he slid Wyrmfang free of its loop, kissed the double blades and waited for the enemy to arrive at the gates.

  Ready when you are, Assassin.

  Just then a loud cry went up from the city behind him.