The Reincarnated Prince (Thirty Years of Winter Book 1)

by Danny Macks

  Jeb snorted. “Are you saying peasants are too emotional? They did this to themselves?”

  “They did do this to themselves. My guess is that half of them acted on their emotions while the other half knew what needed to be done but waited on somebody …” Inius gestured to the statue. “ … or something else to do the right thing for them.”

  “This isn’t their fault.”

  “Then whose fault is it?”

  Jeb didn’t answer. He took a deep breath, gagged, swallowed his own vomit and walked deeper into the church. The corpses here were fresher, possibly the last to die. They still had faces. Jeb studied them all.

  Inius remained outside, scanning the surrounding countryside from just outside the open door. “I’m certain somebody - maybe several somebodies - ran to Kingswharf to get help. None of them considered the possibility that they might have been the help their neighbors needed.”

  “How do you know somebody didn’t try to do the right thing and failed?” Jeb asked as he studied a little girl with a slit throat, about three years old. If he had been here, he would have tried.

  “I respect failure. But, long term, failure is usually a shortage. The problem needed one more good person than it had. One person too many chose to do nothing rather than take a chance on doing the wrong thing, until it was too late.”

  Which one of these corpses was Inius’ one person? How many times had that one person been Jeb? For Jeb, being a groomsman was easy. A groomsman could take care of his horses and pretend the rest of the world was somebody else’s problem. But who was that somebody here?

  “Any survivors have fled. Let’s go.” Inius backed farther away from the door until he was clear of the bulk of the flies, if not the stench.

  “Go? Shouldn’t we do something?”

  Inius shook his head. “This village is part of the Barony of Calubra. From the maggots on the corpses, I’m certain survivors have already reached Kingswharf. We helped. The rest is Baroness Colubra’s responsibility.”

  “No.” Jeb stood and faced Inius. “We will not be the people that do nothing.”

  Inius looked from Jeb to the statue behind him and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His mouth closed, his expression hardened, and he nodded. “We’ll need a pyre.”

  *****

  It took a night and a day, even with the help of the boatmen and their draft horses, to construct a pyre big enough for the whole village. In the end they pulled down buildings to have enough dry wood and only the empty husk of the stone church and several stone foundations remained to show a village had ever been here.

  While Inius directed what help they had, Jeb worked silently with a stoic intensity, never flinching to touch a corpse and ignoring the gore that splattered his clothes.

  “Kill the livestock and add them to the pyre,” Inius ordered after the gory work with the human corpses was done.

  “If we don’t have enough food to bring them with us, we should set them free, not kill them,” Jeb said, startling those around him, after his silence.

  Inius smiled faintly when Jeb’s silence broke, but shook his head. “You've never hunted wild boar. If we release them, they could become a danger. And something's been killing the crops since that ‘frost’ first appeared. Best end their suffering now.”

  “That was always the equation, wasn't it?” Jeb snarled. “How many people need to die so the rest can live comfortably? Well, peasants aren't cattle and I will never let my people become a number.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jeb rubbed his chest like it was hurting, then muttered, “Sorry. Thinking about bad dreams. Just … figure out a way to save them, okay? I’ll do what you want and won’t ask anything of you again.”

  Ravnos looked from the cattle and pigs, waiting oblivious near the unlit pyre, to Midnight and Mother, quietly grazing.

  “Orin, if you loaded up all the grain you could find, do you think you could make it back to the Kingswharf market with the livestock in good condition? We don’t know for certain if survivors escaped and people need to know what happened here.”

  “What about your passage north?”

  “ ‘His majesty’ and I are going to walk.”

  Jeb frowned, but let go of his chest. “I preferred when you called me Horse.”

  *****

  The barge had barely cleared the village dock before Inius started talking again. “What is so terrible about accepting the crown?”

  “Other people are excellent at leading people. I'm an excellent groomsman.”

  “Groomsmen don't have liegemen. I didn't catch much of the conversation, but I did see Shade say that word. I assume he didn't mean Midnight.”

  “That was a mistake. He thinks Prince Pious is my seneschal.”

  Inius frowned then a half-smile slowly formed. “Technically, a seneschal is someone who takes care of a castle while the lord is away. Shade was correct.”

  “So I am responsible for what the prince does even though I've never met him? When did you decide this?”

  Inius gestured to the burning pyre. “Today.”

  Jeb scowled. Maybe he was feeling guilty that he hadn't lived up to his potential, but Inius didn't have to rub his face in it.

  “You could make a great queen.”

  “Oh? So its queen now? What happened to ‘him’?”

  Inius shrugged despite the weight of his pack. “The bottom of your contract said to use male pronouns. I didn’t know you well enough to care one way or the other, so I followed the contract. Now I care.”

  Jeb thought back to the scribe who had penned the parchment while he was drunk and, evidently, had risked punishment with his guild in order to silently look out for Jeb during the negotiations. Jeb didn’t even know his name.

  “The people will accept a queen. Since your natural parents are dead, I could even say you were a bastard daughter, to give you legitimacy. You could even dress like a boy, since you were one, in a previous life.”

  “You don't get it both ways. Either I am an immortal king, over seven hundred years old, who fathered sons and played with them in snow, sledding and making snow men; or I'm a delusional sixteen year old girl. Pick one or the other.”

  Only then did Inius actually shut up. But not for long.

  “If not an adopted father, I think I'd make a great Winter Champion.”

  “You’re too old. The Winter Champion was born on the new year, thirty-six years ago.”

  “That’s remarkably specific.”

  “He’s exactly twenty years older than the king. Traditionally, his role was to prepare the way. A mentor as well as a champion. Among his other abilities, he can touch the king’s sword without harm.”

  “Any other, less lethal, tests?”

  “Historically, he was driven but clever -- too clever for his own good sometimes -- and he always liked books.”

  “It sounds like he could be a powerful ally. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Me too. I miss him and worry we won't recognize each other when we do meet.”

  Inius was thoughtfully silent for almost a minute before he asked, "What's a snow man?"

  Chapter Sixteen – The Prowess of Kings

  The hardest part about gaining access to the king’s armory was convincing Mercer that taking his keys in the middle of the night without an escort was not a euphemism for replacing him. As it was, Chad had to put his foot down to be allowed in the armory unaccompanied.

  “When doing something you know is stupid, try to keep the witnesses to a minimum,” Thesscore had once said.

  The secret entrance the peasant had used had been bricked over from the inside so the only way to enter the armory was past the guard on the seventh floor. In front of the armory door, behind the guard, rested a shade in the form of a black mastiff, so dark that Chad could easily see him in the light of his lantern.

  “Good evening, your lordship,” the guard said with a tug on his wide-brimmed kettle helmet.<
br />
  “Evening, Tegan. Who’s your new friend?”

  “The local priest tells me he’s a newborn. I didn't know shades had dogs. Or newborns. Or that they slept.”

  “What do you call him?”

  “I don’t think he has a name yet.”

  The smoky mastiff stirred when Chad turned the lock, his form swirling instead of moving like a mortal dog. It stirred, but it was still a shade and Chad felt sharp cold bite into his foot when the shade brushed him. At the touch, the shade bolted fully awake and leapt to his feet, temporarily embedding parts of himself in the wall and door as he oriented himself to his surroundings.

  “May I go in?” Chad asked the dog, signing as he spoke. The shade betrayed no sign that it understood and simply looked at Chad with its head cocked a bit to the side.

  Chad stepped into the armory and the shade followed, walking along the floor as if it was solid for him.

  “Draw your sword and hold it ready in both hands,” Chad instructed the guard as he pulled the glove off his left hand. “I'm going to touch the King’s Sword. If I'm in pain, I'm going to try and hold my arm out away from my body and I want you to cut my arm off before it turns black.”

  Tegan looked horrified but regripped his sword and nodded. Chad gave him what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

  “Hopefully, you won't have to do anything, so don't go chopping off anything early, okay?”

  Tegan nodded but didn't look reassured. Chad held out his arm, but fear had unconsciously planted him too far away. He lowered his arm, took a few deep breaths and stepped closer.

  The mastiff leapt on him and Chad’s breath caught with surprise as cold passed through his body. The shade bounded on his rear legs, silently imitating the barks and growls of a real dog, trying through ineffectual intimidation to keep Chad away from the sword.

  Chad was still trying to think of something reassuring to say to the shade when a faintly glowing tentacle burst through the floor and dragged it down.

  “What the hell was that!” Tegan yelled as he looked around, still gripping the sword in both hands.

  A swirl of grey and black erupted back up through the floor, writhing and tearing at itself like one creature instead if two. Whatever was going on, Tegan’s sword would be useless. The two ethereals moved back and forth, appearing and reappearing as they passed effortlessly through the keep's stone walls. Chad grabbed the King’s Sword off the wall with his gloved right hand.

  “Stay behind me!” Chad warned as he waited for the pair to reappear. Tegan moved, but kept hold of his own blade. When the ethereals moved into the room again, Chad stabbed.

  The effect was immediate. The two ethereals broke apart and the darker one immediately assumed a familiar human shape before it reformed into a dog.The grey one roiled and spasmed, turned dark, then glowed brightly before turning into a sphere and sinking slowly into the floor.

  “What happened?” Tegan’s voice was a hushed whisper.

  “Nimbi darken as they age, the same way aging shades lighten. This nimbus turned bright after I stabbed him and the Grey said that, for them, death is just forgetting. I think we just saw an ethereal die.”

  “Great aim, hitting only the right one in that mess.”

  “Thanks.” Chad looked from the sword to the shade, who was calm again and doing a respectable imitation of licking his rear foot. Chad wasn't certain if he had stabbed one or both. Nimbus had said that only six could touch the King’s Sword unharmed and the soul magic connection to the blade delayed reincarnation. What happened to the six between lifetimes?

  Chad hovered his bare left hand over the sword and the mastiff was instantly alert, his posture threatening. He moved his bare hand away and hung the sword back on the wall. “You know, I've had enough excitement for one day. How about you?” The mastiff didn't reply, but resumed grooming his nonexistent fur.

  “Enough excitement for a whole lifetime, your lordship,” Tegan replied. “I won't be nodding off the rest of this shift … not that I ever did before!”

  Chad grinned. “Good man.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the shade finished and settled down with his chin on his forepaws. “And pass the word. Call this one Champion … no, Champ. His name is Champ.”

  Chad needed to talk to Nimbus. He had suspicions on who and what Champ was, but even with the Grey’s confirmation, no one would believe him if he started calling a shade "Lauren".

  *****

  “How far to Thesscore?” Jeb asked as he removed his pack to prepare camp on the northern side of a low hill.

  “We've been inside the five baronies for some time. The castle is still two days away.” Inius set down his own pack, then paused. “What’s that sound?”

  Jeb concentrated and heard notes, melodic and musical like a bird, but longer and without a pause for breath. Leaving the pack where he dropped it, Jeb crept to the top of the hill. From the top, the music was clearer. It wasn’t a Song, it didn’t even sound like it came from a human voice, but the tune was still so melancholy that Jeb’s chest ached in sympathy.

  At the base of the hill, a farmhouse stood in the evening light. The yard around the house had a fence made from wooden shakes with reeds woven between the vertical, rough, wooden slats. Chickens wandered about inside the fence searching for bugs and the house itself was a small stone cottage with a sod roof and wooden shutters for windows. Everything was well cared for, well used, and a little shabby around the corners. On a wooden stoop in front of the cottage a man sat on a stump with a long stringed box under his chin, pressing on the strings with his left hand and running a small bow across those same strings with his right. The music was coming from the box.

  “I could use a little hospitality,” Inius said when he arrived behind Jeb. “Why don't you announce us?”

  The weather had been rainy and cold for the last several days and both Jeb and Inius were looking a little worse for wear. The horses seemed to be fine, their shaggy coats repelled water, but Jeb was still glad Inius had insisted they have warm blankets before starting this trip.

  “How about we don’t tell them you're a lord? Looking like we do, I think we'll get a warmer reception as equals.”

  Inius smirked but nodded. “I’ll follow your lead then.”

  The two travelers retrieved their packs before heading down the hill.

  Inius started to open the gate, but Jeb yanked it back closed. Inius raised an eyebrow.

  Courtesy, Jeb signed.

  The man put down his instrument and said, “If ya be a friend, come on in.”

  “What about a friendly stranger?” Jeb yelled back with a smile as he reached for the gate.

  “Close ‘nough.” The man rose and put the instrument in a box fitted to hold it. “My name’s Kaleb.”

  “I’m Jeb. This is Inius. That was powerful ... whatever that was that you were doing. It affected me as much as any Song.”

  “Psh. Then you ain't ever really heard a real Song. That was just a little fiddlin’. A little something my grandpappy used to call “Mountain Country Blue.”

  “So you could play it again?” Inius asked. “Exactly the same? Songs are never exactly the same.”

  Kaleb shrugged. “Ya gotta practice, but fiddlin’s different. I even heard a journeyman bard tell me they used to write the notes down, back before the Songs came about and all the regular music was broke.”

  “People have always been able to sing the Songs of Power!”

  Jeb smiled at the indignity in Inius' voice.

  Kaleb shrugged. “If you say so. I'm just a farmer and know what my folks and their folks taught me.”

  *****

  Jeb was already up and downstairs when he heard the sounds of movement in the barn’s loft. He had already fed and turned Midnight and Mother loose in a freshly harvested field, and his eyes were contemplating a bag of grain, but his mind fluttered elsewhere.

  Maybe he was feeling guilty. Maybe he hadn't lived up to his potential, not just during the fire but be
fore it. Maybe he was exactly the kind of person Inius had blamed for the massacre. Was Inius right? Had inaction caused more death than he could have caused if he had tried for the throne and failed?

  His mind kept going back to the blood on the statue's feet.

  “Better than the ground, but not by much.” Inius grumbled, stiffly climbing down the ladder from the barn loft.

  Jeb shook himself and shrugged. “A pile of hay at a lord’s castle and one in a peasant’s barn sleeps pretty much the same. This bag of grain has writing on it, but none of the others do. Why?”

  “It says ‘seed’. I assume Kaleb wrote it so that whoever comes by to take the grain to market knows not to grab this bag.”

  Jeb did the four-part sign Nimbus had taught him for seed. The two signs in the middle were the same, just like the writing. Huh.

  “After taxes, ain't never had enough grain left over to take nothin' to market.” Kaleb said, walking into the barn with a basket, partially filled with fresh eggs.

  Jeb moved to help search when he realized Kaleb was hunting for more, then paused as a thought hit him. Kaleb had done an amazing job getting the crop in before frost damaged the ripe oats and there was plenty to both pay taxes and have some left over. “How high are the taxes here?”

  “Baron Thesscore likes to brag that his people willingly give more than any barony of the nation,” Inius said.

  “Psh. Willing. Right.”

  Just then, a nimbus appeared, flowing up from the ground in the shape of a sphere and illuminating the barn as brightly as a torch. Kaleb backed away, making a sign against evil, and Inius dove for his poleaxe.

  “Nimbus is supposed to keep you guys from bothering me.” Jeb said, signing as he spoke. “Go away.”

  The nimbus changed shape, stretching and pulling itself into a faintly humanoid form before collapsing back into a sphere and sinking back into the ground.

  “What was that about?” Inius asked, hand still on his weapon.