The Reincarnated Prince (Thirty Years of Winter Book 1)

by Danny Macks

  To Evelyn and Kyle,

  swordsmith and husband,

  and two people who didn’t

  let the world tell them

  what they couldn’t be.

  Copyright 2018. All rights reserved

  Cover Art by vividcovers.com. Sword image used with permission from Darksword Armory

  From King Pious the Winter King, to King Oberon the Summer King, written in year one hundred and fifteen of the eleventh twelftury, five years prior to Oberon’s rebirth.

  While the knightly virtues apply to a king, a king should have more. A king needs a good warhorse, health and wealth sufficient for his needs, education, understanding of the heart of chess and the needs of a siege, supremacy in an emergency, loyal allies, an appreciation of history and an eye for the weather, respect of the lords, blunted vulnerability to the Songs of Power, a strong work ethic, a hospitable nature, approval of the church, love for the people, and, above all, prowess in the face of adversity.

  Contents

  Chapter One – A Good Warhorse

  Chapter Two – Health and Wealth

  Chapter Three – Education

  Chapter Four – The Heart of Chess

  Chapter Five – Needs of a Siege

  Chapter Six – Supremacy in an Emergency

  Chapter Seven – Loyal Allies

  Chapter Eight – An Appreciation of History

  Chapter Nine – An Eye for the Weather

  Chapter Ten – Respect of the Lords

  Chapter Eleven – Blunted Vulnerability

  Chapter Twelve – A Strong Work Ethic

  Chapter Thirteen – A Hospitable Nature

  Chapter Fourteen – Approval of the Church

  Chapter Fifteen – Love for the People

  Chapter Sixteen – The Prowess of Kings

  Chapter Seventeen – Lost Songs

  Chapter Eighteen – Winter Champion

  Chapter Nineteen – The Reincarnated King

  Chapter Twenty – New Beginnings

  The End

  Chapter One – A Good Warhorse

  As the living embodiment of the immortality that all people and animals shared, King Oberon of Kibus, the Eternal Summer King and paragon of the Church of Eternal Reincarnation, should have stood ten foot tall, or glowed, or something. Chad just thought he looked cold. Rich, old and cold.

  This was Chad's first visit to Erroll City, and he tried to pay attention to what the priest was saying instead of staring at the royal box. But the service had been timed so that a beam of morning sunlight fell directly on the king, buried above his ears in expensive furs. Atop the furs, sunshine reflected off his gold and ruby encrusted crown, royal livery collar and soul-magic sword every time he shifted uncomfortably, almost unseen beneath all the layers. Compared to the most powerful weapon in the known world and the king who could wield it, the priest barely held Chad's attention.

  “We know that this day, the first day of the new year and the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Summer King's return to life, is traditionally a day of transition,” the priest boomed in a voice that carried to the back of the cavernous hall. “But rather than focus on the Winter Coronation, that will not occur this day, let us celebrate the extended summer that his Holy Majesty has granted us.”

  The temperature was a little brisk inside the hall, and a few of the southern barons shivered. The speech had probably sounded a lot better when the priest practiced it before the clouds cleared and the temperature dropped, when the weather was warmer.

  “A bit hard to have a coronation without the Winter Prince,” Lord Thesscore murmured a bit too loudly to his sons, on either side of him. “It doesn't look too good when, after years, a king can't even locate a single fifteen year old child.”

  *****

  The half-wild, roan mare charged across the field at a full gallop and Jeb let out a whoop of pure joy. But all fields have an end and, as they neared the fence, Jeb readied himself for a jump before good judgement kicked in. He reined a turn and his stubborn mount fought until Jeb had her head nearly sideways. She was determined to reach that fence, and slowed to a staccato hopping trot before turning in the direction Jeb was pulling her and continued in a full circle toward the fence again.

  Jeb’s swat on her rump earned him a couple quick bucks, but he had no trouble staying in his flat, minimal saddle as firmly as if he had been welded to the leather. Forgetting about the fence, the roan then reared, pumped her forelegs in the air, and toppled on her side with a loud thud. Jeb hopped off the saddle just before they hit the ground, maintained his grip on mane and reins as the roan rolled and was back on her before she regained her feet, sweaty and gasping.

  “You done?” Jeb asked happily as the mare caught her breath. “This is my idea of fun. I can do this all day.”

  The mare crow-hopped straight up, all four hooves leaving the ground, bucked a couple more times, then decided that yes, maybe she was done.

  Jeb rode her for another fifteen minutes at a slow gentle walk, patting her neck and murmuring gentle encouragement as he taught the basics of following a human’s lead. When he returned to the waiting onlookers, most of the lord's men had already grown bored. Not a single guard, footman, groomsman or other embroidered blue tunic was anywhere near the fence. That was fine; Jeb was only interested in the two men who remained.

  “Took ya long enough,” Harker said in his usual rural accent; scratching his thick, curly, brown beard. Jeb could tell from his satisfied smile that he was pleased, but Jeb didn't expect a compliment ever to pass through that beard.

  “She’s beautiful, but she’s a jumper," Jeb said to the richly dressed lord beside Harker. "She knew perfectly well she could clear that back fence. You may want to watch that.”

  “I was breeding horses for the king before you were born, boy,” Lord Cetus, the roan’s owner, said with a scowl. “See to your job and let me see to mine.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Jeb replied, removing the smile from his face as he respectfully lowered his eyes and retrieved his saddle from the roan. He held out the reins to the lord of the king's stable. “I’ll just take my pay and go then.”

  “Your master has already been paid.” The lord grabbed a brush and, ignoring Jeb, started vigorously grooming the roan’s dusty coat.

  Ah. Of course Harker had.

  Once the pair had walked well out of earshot, Jeb said to Harker, “Well, at least the carriage out here was nice. How long do you think it will take to walk back to Erroll City and the Goat?”

  “He’s a lord wit grooms his own horses.”

  Jeb’s black eyebrows shot up at the almost compliment, and he glanced back at Lord Cetus, who appeared to be doing a skilled job.

  “We’ll be back round sundown," Harker said, finally answering Jeb's question. "You got a date or somethin’?”

  Jeb scoffed then smiled as he remembered that ride. It was almost as good as the rides in his dreams: on a great black stallion, running through fields of swirling white.

  *****

  Chad tried to keep his attention focused on his mount, instead of on his father. Chad had thought that choosing a mare would mean she was calmer, but the charger had a nervous, jumpy quality that wasn't doing Chad any favors. No matter what else was going on, there was no excuse for even a fifteen year old to lose control of a peasant or a horse. After a month with his father, Chad still wasn't sure what category he and his younger brother fell into.

  Beside him, Lord Wulf Thesscore stood up in his stirrups, clacking his steel gauntlets against his breastplate, unable to contain his annoyance as the king's impromptu parade stopped yet agai
n. Several of the lords had chosen to wear at least a few pieces of armor this day, just in case, and Thesscore's mood was making everyone around him jittery, human and animal alike. People tended to die when Thesscore was in a mood.

  “Erroll should be at the tail of the line,” Thesscore growled. "Behind Equus and the little animal baronies."

  Chad’s father had been glowering since leaving the church. The king had ordered a procession on the way back to the castle and, as master of five of the thirty baronies, Lord Thesscore should have been first in line, immediately behind King Oberon.

  The king’s seneschal, leading a massive, riderless, black warhorse by the halter, stopped yet again, forcing Thesscore and all the lords behind him to stop as well. Chad bit back a sigh. Why couldn't the man just shut up? The empty gap between the king’s retinue and his lords was now fifty feet.

  “Kings ride with their retinue, just as your sons, Chad and Deen ride with you," the seneschal explained. "Lord-Mayor Erroll has been elevated to Summer Champion, so he and his family are now members of the king’s retinue.”

  “And the horse?” Thesscore growled, gesturing to the great black charger blocking his path.

  “Although the prince is unable to attend, Midnight is part of the Winter Prince's retinue, your grace. According to your king, you are outranked by a horse today.”

  “Let it go, Wulf,” Lord Ravnos said from behind Thesscore’s group. “He obviously has orders to stop the whole line every time you speak.”

  Thesscore turned in his saddle to reply, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a scream from the crowd.

  At the scream, Midnight broke free from his handler and charged, and Chad's mare leapt to follow the stallion. Chad’s head was whipped around when his horse startled and he saw a child -- about eight years old -- standing in the empty gap between the lords and the royals, with a sling in his hand, throwing rocks at the king.

  Lord Erroll, in full armor, spun and spurred his horse toward the child from the opposite direction. The staccato clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones echoed over the panicked yells of the onlookers as blades cleared scabbards down the entire line of the procession, trained warhorses pranced, and riders looked wildly about for an attack.

  When Chad’s mount had lunged forward, the more experienced knights behind him instinctively and immediately reined in their mounts, so Chad was alone when he sat up and got both hands back on the reins. Ahead of him, although the child was closer to the king, Midnight was riderless and fastest and reached the child first.

  At the last second, Midnight leapt, sailed over the head of the child, and -- just as his front legs hit stone -- spun one hundred and eighty degrees and kicked out, catching Lord Erroll in the center of the breastplate with both rear hooves. The aged knight landed more than a body length away from his saddle, clanged on the cobbles, and didn't move.

  Chad directed his mare to between Midnight and the prone mayor and slipped to the ground before the echoes of his own mount's gallop had died. Midnight spun in place, rearing and kicking at the few members of the crowd which had stepped close. As Chad reached for his sword, he saw the child crouched down, with his hands over his head, underneath Midnight’s belly. Unharmed.

  Chad’s hand slipped from his sword grip, and he forced his stance to relax. He whistled shrilly and Midnight whirled to face him. Horse and teen locked eyes for a moment then Chad looked down to the child under the horse.

  “Hey there! My name’s Chad. What’s yours?”

  The child raised his head, hands still upraised and looked around confused. On all four sides of the child, Midnight’s legs stopped prancing, although the massive warhorse still shook and his lungs sounded like bellows.

  “Over here! I said, my name’s Chad.”

  The child’s eyes finally found him and his hands started to lower. Chad dropped to one knee and smiled, even though his heart pounded like a hammer. Without armor, Midnight wouldn’t have to do fancy maneuvers to kill him. He had just seen a horse -- impossibly -- spin on its forelegs and kick higher than any horse had a right to. He didn’t want to think what those agile, iron-shod hooves could do to him.

  He heard orders and people moved around him, but no one had called his name so he ignored them. Chad’s world was limited to a black horse, a black-haired child and an empty, seven foot long strip of cobblestone between he and them.

  “That's quite a protector you have there. I know his name. What’s yours?”

  “Pious,” the boy replied.

  Pious. The name of the missing Winter Prince.

  Chad stood slowly and approached the prince’s stallion. “Pious, I promise no one will hurt you. How about you, very slowly, come over to me?”

  Pious did as instructed and Midnight let him free. When he drew close, the child lunged into Chad’s arms. Chad closed his eyes and gave a sigh of relief as he hugged the little boy.

  Midnight screamed and blood splattered over both boys. Chad’s eyes flew open just in time to see the blood sizzle and turn black, as what remained of Midnight’s headless body fell to the cobblestones.

  Chad pulled Pious behind him, away from the new attacker. He glanced toward the king, behind this new man, but the king's famous golden sword was in his hand.

  The new man was about the age of Chad's father, and the sword gripped tightly in his hands was the exact same size and shape as the King's Sword. Midnight's blood sizzled on the metal like the King's Sword, but it was plain, without any decoration, instead of hilted in gold and rubies. Beside them, Midnight's body flopped as his blood turned to a dry bubbling stuff the color of charcoal. There couldn't be two magical king's swords, could there?

  "Let it go, son," the aged king said in a voice barely above a whisper. The king moved slowly between Chad and the new man, who was breathing heavily like some kind of berserker. "You've avenged your father. Give me back my sword."

  Slowly, realization dawned. The new man wasn't wearing a scabbard. Chad looked to Erroll, the king's newly elevated Summer Champion and the scabbard at his hip was chopped to ribbons, as if the blade inside had sliced its way out of the leather and metal designed to hold it. The plain sword in the hands of Erroll's son was the real King's Sword. Why wasn't he dead?

  Gloves. The touch of the King's Sword was a death sentence, even on the handle, but Erroll's son was wearing gloves.

  The king handed his golden sword back to Chad and Pious and held up empty hands. "The fight is done. You won. Grieve your father."

  Sanity returned to the furious man's face and horror replaced it. The King's Sword dropped from his hands and was quickly snatched up by its true owner. The King turned and saw Pious holding his golden sword and peasants bowing.

  When the king had handed his jeweled sword toward the boys, Chad had his hands on his own sword and scabbard, so Pious had grabbed it and held it aloft where the entire crowd -- unaware of what was actually going on -- had seen it. They might be looking at the wrong sword, but everyone knew that only one other person could touch the King's Sword barehanded and live: the Winter Prince.

  King Oberon looked from Pious to the crowd and back to the boy. "Good morning, your highness. We've been waiting for you."

  "My son has found the Winter Prince!" Thesscore shouted, clapping a steel hand on Chad's shoulder. Then he sang the Song of Happiness and all Chad's worries melted away.

  *****

  It was well after sunset when Jeb returned to his bunk, in the loft of the horse barn next to the Dancing Goat Alehouse and Inn. The loft didn't have candles or lamps -- the city had suffered too many barn explosions for any sensible person to allow flame into an area with grain dust -- but a soft, greyish glow illuminated the space above as Jeb climbed the ladder in the dark.

  Jeb waved to the faintly glowing humanoid form that waited for him, too dim to be seen by light of day. “Hello, Nimbus.”

  Nimbus waved back as he floated aside, then his hands formed fingers and moved in a complex pattern. Good Birthday
. It looks like a holiday out there. Why?

  Harker and Jeb had heard the news as soon as the pair reached the city gates.

  “They finally found the Winter Prince, during a parade. Midnight, the Winter Stallion, identified him.” Jeb always spoke aloud as he signed. Although mouthless and mute, Nimbus could hear, but got testy when Jeb skipped either words or signs.

  I saw. Midnight and Baron Wulf Thesscore's son, [a four part sign that Jeb didn't know], befriended the child near the Church of Eternal Reincarnation. Midnight killed Lord Erroll and was executed shortly after.

  Jeb frowned at that bit of news. Someone was always dying for the crown. Other people probably wouldn't agree, but Jeb's memory was longer than most.

  They have ignored the signs. He is too young. He should be fifteen: an eclipse child.

  Jeb fought off his dark mood and forced a smile. “It happened later than I predicted, but I told you they would find somebody. Are you jealous that a royal was identified without an ethereal’s help, or that it was a horse that did it?” Jeb grinned at the transparent grey shadow.

  You will see that I am right in a few years, at the confirmation.

  Jeb shivered at the thought of the king’s jeweled sword. He knew people that had been soldiers in the last war, and they always fell silent when talking about its black touch. It was a hole in his dreams too; present, but unseen.

  How are your studies progressing?

  “You seem to forget that humans need to eat. A stableboy that can read is paid exactly the same as one that can’t.”

  Nonetheless, it will be important before winter.

  “It's mid-fall. Winter is still fifteen years away.”

  I have seen many winters. You have much more to do in that time.

  "No, the prince has a lot to do in that time."

  Chapter Two – Health and Wealth