Prince of Alasia (Annals of Alasia Book 1)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Jaymin’s heart was still beating fast, but he felt calmer now. This was what he had to do. Many of Alasia’s rulers had battled for their kingdom in years gone by, and now he, too, had the opportunity to fight for the land he loved, side by side with his people defending their homeland. He gave a wild yell as he charged into the fray, brandishing his sword.

  The next few minutes were a blur. Everything he had learned about swordplay, practicing with Erik and the master-at-arms in the palace courtyard, seemed to swim before his mind. But this was different. This was real. He had never actually fought with a sharpened sword before, never had to fight for his life against armed enemies. But he found that the skills he had been taught and had rehearsed so often flowed almost effortlessly from his mind to his arms; and there was Erik on his right, and Captain Norrin to the left, both doing their utmost to parry the blows meant for him, both keeping themselves between him and as many dangers as possible.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jaymin could see more Alasians galloping out of the woods. Soldiers from another camp must be arriving at last. It seemed to have taken them forever, but he knew it had actually been only a couple of minutes since the battle had started.

  For a moment the Malornians in the clearing were outnumbered, but it didn’t last long. Soldiers on both sides had begun fighting their way out of the trees and into the open, where there were fewer roots and bushes to trip the horses, and fewer branches to knock their riders out of their saddles.

  All of a sudden Jaymin realized that there were far more Malornians than he had thought. Had Rampus brought his whole army here from Almar? Perhaps he had even summoned the soldiers from Drall and other towns. No doubt he saw this as his grand opportunity to crush Alasia once and for all and take total control of the kingdom. And if he won, that was exactly what would happen. Jaymin gritted his teeth. Over my dead body, he vowed silently, and a distant part of his mind acknowledged dryly that that was indeed the way it was likely to happen.

  Random pictures from that frenzied scene began to imprint themselves on Jaymin’s mind as he struck and parried, dodged and twisted in his saddle, ducked and lunged and struck again. Two Malornians, one in red and black and the other in deerskin, struggling furiously with each other a few paces in front of him, both their faces contorted with anger. General Dirken bellowing orders at the top of his lungs, his deep voice carrying even over the din of battle. A fair-haired man slumping motionless across his horse’s neck, one arm dangling, the bright red stain on his back contrasting sharply with the green of his uniform. A burly, bearded giant of a man barreling down on Erik, Erik urging his horse out of the way just in time and dropping the man with a deft flick of his sword. A horse rearing, screaming in pain as it received a blow meant for its rider. Sir Edmend battling two enemies at once, his sword whipping through the air almost too fast for the eye to follow. A young man who might have been Korram, shouting and gesturing and gathering soldiers to his side. An approaching Malornian being wrenched off his horse by an unseen foe on the ground. Corporal Ossien recognizing Jaymin and fighting his way over to his side. Two Malornians battling each other on foot, dodging the trampling horses, one of them stumbling and going down beneath the other’s sword. Erik’s horse prancing and shying nervously, its saddle empty.

  What?!

  Jaymin whirled around. Empty.

  The saddle was empty!

  For an instant his heart seemed to stop, and his whole body turned cold. “Erik!” he shouted, but his voice was lost in the general racket. Frantically, he spun in his saddle, searching the ground for any sign of his friend, but all he could see were trampling hooves. No one could survive down there. In his despair Jaymin lowered his sword, some distant part of his mind thankful for the captain and the corporal who were, for the moment, keeping the enemy at bay. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe.

  Erik.

  Erik was gone. His saddle was empty.

  Perhaps there was a chance he wasn’t dead. There had to be a chance, there must be. His mind whirling, Jaymin tried desperately to convince himself.

  But deep inside, he knew it was a lie. If Erik was alive, he would never have fallen from his horse. At least, not unless he was seriously injured, in which case he would never survive all those pounding, iron-shod hooves down below.

  And Erik had been injured before the battle even began, Jaymin suddenly remembered. His shoulders and back must still have been smarting from the beating that officer had given him at school – had it been only yesterday? He had not breathed a word of complaint, and in the excitement of the last twenty-four hours, Jaymin had forgotten all about it. But he should have remembered. How could anyone be expected to fight in that condition? It had probably hurt just to sit on a horse or pick up a sword. He should never have let Erik join the battle.

  But surely Erik was all right. Erik was his closest friend, his lifelong companion. Nothing could happen to him.

  Could it?

  With a sick feeling of growing horror, Jaymin suddenly recalled the last words he had heard his friend say. Erik the Great fights valiantly, nobly sacrificing his life to defend the future King Jaymin the Fourth. Just watch and see.

  “No,” Jaymin whispered hoarsely, clenching his fists. “No! No! Erik, I told you not to do it!”

  A flash of sunlight off metal caught his eye, and Jaymin barely raised his shield in time to stop a sweeping sword from cleaving him in two. The force of the blow jarred painfully through his shield arm down to his shoulder blade, reminding him that this was no time for his reflections. He could deal with them later. Right now he had to avenge Erik and win his kingdom back. Gritting his teeth, a new fire flashing in his eyes, Jaymin raised his sword again.

  Chapter 18

  Afterwards he was never sure how much time had passed. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours – Jaymin didn’t know or care. His world had shrunk down to a narrow circle of flashing metal and horse and danger; a clashing headache of sword on sword, sword on shield. Strike. Clash. Parry. Clash. Strike. Clash. Dodge. And again. And again.

  Eventually, the muffled blare of a trumpet intruded dimly into his consciousness. A moment later he realized that the clashing had stopped. There were no more swords reaching for him. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked around, his circle of awareness expanding to include the sound of Alasian voices cheering. General Dirken, standing up in his stirrups, was announcing something in a loud voice. The Alasians cheered again.

  So it was over. Jaymin looked down at his right hand, which was almost numb, his fingers stiffened in place around the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t sure he could let go of it if he tried. His shield was still strapped tightly to his left forearm, and as he lowered it he noticed that it now seemed to be made of solid lead. There was a dull ache in his wrist and elbow and shoulder from the blows the shield had blocked, but the ache in his heart was far worse. His whole being felt numb to everything else.

  “Your Highness?” The general moved his horse closer and leaned toward Jaymin, but his voice sounded as though it were coming from a long way away. “Your Highness, they have surrendered. Regent Rampus has been captured. The Malornian general has submitted to Prince Korram, and they have officially surrendered to us. Your Highness, are you all right?”

  “Yes, General,” Jaymin murmured wearily, fumbling his sword back into its sheath and using his other hand to pry his stiff fingers loose from around the hilt. So they had won the battle. But at what cost? It was a battle they shouldn’t even have had to fight. It had only happened because he hadn’t listened to Erik’s warnings earlier, and Jaymin knew that he would never forget his friend’s words: You’re making a mistake, and it could be a costly one. Well, his mistake had cost Erik his life. Now Jaymin would have to go through the rest of his life knowing that Erik had died because of him.

  And how could he rule the kingdom without his best friend’s presence and support? He couldn’t even imagine life without Erik. Ever sinc
e he had been four years old, the two of them had been together. Even when his parents had been busy, Erik had always been there, playing with him, learning with him, training with him, learning to defend him.

  And yet they had won the battle. Regent Rampus had been captured, Dirken had said. The Malornians would leave now, and Alasians could begin putting their lives back together. All Jaymin could think of was that if Erik had been alive he would have said, I told you it would turn out all right.

  “I told you it would turn out all right,” said Erik.

  Jaymin practically leaped out of his skin, and the saddle. He whirled around, wide-eyed. “Erik?”

  “Right here.” Erik slipped out from among a crowd of Alasian soldiers busy congratulating each other, and appeared beside Jaymin’s horse, on foot. His shield was badly dented and his black clothes were rumpled and splattered with blood, but most of it didn’t seem to be his own. His jaunty grin disappeared when he saw Jaymin’s expression. “What is it? Are you all right? Are you wounded?”

  “Oh, Erik,” Jaymin managed in a half-whisper. “I thought … I thought you were dead.” Weak with relief, he slumped over his horse’s mane, hiding the tears he couldn’t quite keep back in spite of himself. For a moment Prince Jaymin was gone, and in his place sat a tired orphan boy who had just gone through a great ordeal and thought he had lost his best friend.

  “I’m sorry, Jaymin,” Erik whispered, stepping close to the horse’s head to look up at him, his words barely audible over the excited voices of the soldiers celebrating their victory.

  Jaymin’s shoulders heaved just once, and then he unobtrusively wiped his eyes on the horse’s sweaty mane and sat up straight. “If you ever do that to me again, Erik, I swear I’ll – I’ll – I’ll lock you in the dungeon for a year! What in the world were you thinking?”

  “Oh, please, your Highness, not the dungeon! I can explain everything, truly I can!” They both laughed, and they were back to their old selves again.

  “Well?”

  “Sword-fighting on horseback just isn’t my style. I realized early on in the battle that I would be much more effective defending you from the ground.”

  “From the ground? Are you mad? You’d be trampled to death!”

  “Well, I wasn’t, obviously.” Erik gave an impish grin. “You just have to be quick and light on your feet. There are lots of legs to grab from there, and nobody sees you coming when they’re so busy attacking people at their own level. I must have gotten a dozen enemies within three yards of you.”

  Jaymin sighed and shook his head, half-laughing with relief. “Oh, Erik, you never cease to amaze me.”

  “That’s my job.”

  An “ahem” from his other side brought Jaymin back to what was happening around them. General Dirken was still sitting there patiently waiting to be noticed, one hand firmly on the reins as his steed stamped and sidestepped in the milling crowd.

  “I’m sorry, General.” Jaymin turned his own horse a little to face him. “Please continue what you were saying.”

  “Your Highness, Prince Korram has recalled his troops. Doubtless he will want to speak with you soon.”

  Jaymin looked around. The Malornians had mostly moved over to the far side of the clearing, where their general was issuing some kind of orders. They were crowding through the forest too, deerskin and red and black moving among the trees as far as he could see. The clearing, large as it was, was much too small for everyone, and most of the Malornians now seemed to want to leave as much space as possible between themselves and the Alasians.

  People were dragging away bodies, which Jaymin now saw scattered here and there on the hard, cold ground. Far more of them than he would have liked to admit were wearing green. A few dead horses lay among them, and riderless ones were being caught and tied to trees out of the way. The wounded from both armies were being helped to their feet or carried off the field by their comrades.

  Off to one side, Jaymin saw a tall, proud-looking man being held tightly by several Malornians while two of them bound his wrists behind his back. Korram, on horseback, was leaning over the man and gesticulating angrily, and though Jaymin couldn’t hear his words from this distance, he could easily imagine what the other prince must be saying.

  So that’s Regent Rampus, thought Jaymin, staring across the clearing at the man who had caused so much trouble and heartache for him and for Alasia. The man responsible for thousands of deaths, including my parents’. The one whom I should have been angry at all that time when I was so angry at Korram.

  It was strange, but somehow Jaymin wasn’t as angry now, though part of him wondered if he should be. But it was hard to feel anger when he was so full of relief. Relief that Erik was alive; relief that they had won; relief that this was all over now; relief that he could finally go home. And Regent Rampus would get what he deserved anyway. He would be brought back to Malorn in disgrace to be tried for his crimes of high treason, murder, and who knew what else, and probably executed in the end. And yet the thought of his death really didn’t bring Jaymin pleasure. Looking around at the motionless bodies on the field of battle, Jaymin knew with certainty that no death could ever bring him pleasure. It would be enough that justice was served.

  At the other end of the clearing, Korram finally turned his back on Regent Rampus with a dismissive gesture. Looking up, he saw Jaymin watching him, and their eyes met across the distance between them. Then Korram urged his horse forward, a small knot of the Mountain Folk soldiers hurrying after him.

  Jaymin squeezed his heels into his own horse’s sides and rode forward to meet Korram, flanked by General Dirken and Sir Edmend, and followed by Captain Norrin, Corporal Ossien, and a few more mounted officers whom the general beckoned after them. Erik slipped into their midst and accompanied them on foot.

  From behind him, Jaymin heard a murmur starting among the troops. It had apparently struck them that an ordinary boy wouldn’t be going forward with the general to speak to the Malornian leaders. Perhaps some of them had caught glimpses of him around the camps in the last day or so – although he had tried to keep mostly out of sight – and now wondered who he was and why he had been fighting in the battle. Jaymin could hear snatches of their conversations, fading off as he moved further away.

  “… that boy on the gray horse …”

  “… do you really think …?”

  “… might not actually have been killed in the Invasion …”

  “… has to be Prince Jaymin!”

  The two parties met in the middle of the clearing. Korram looked disheveled and exhausted, much as Jaymin felt, but his eyes were alight with excitement. He drew rein a few paces away and made a low, formal bow from the saddle. “Prince Jaymin.”

  “Prince Korram.” Jaymin returned the bow, reminded as he did so of their meeting last night, when they had made their plans around the little fire. Plans which had turned out quite differently than either had expected. Now here they were, meeting again in the field of battle, with their respective armies looking on.

  Then Korram’s excitement got the best of him. “Jaymin, we did it! Rampus is my prisoner, and now we’ll both have our kingdoms back!”

  In spite of himself, Jaymin had to laugh. He had always been trained to be dignified and formal in public. Well, maybe there were times when it was all right not to be. After all, they certainly had a lot to be excited about.

  “Yes, we did it,” Jaymin agreed, hoping his own grin didn’t look as idiotic as it felt. “Congratulations, Korram.”

  Korram nudged his horse forward, and officers on both sides reached warily toward their swords as the prince extended a hand. But Jaymin moved his own horse forward a pace as well, and gripped the other’s hand in his own.

  “Congratulations to you, Jaymin,” Korram replied with a matching grin. “Your side technically won, after all.”

  For some reason this struck them both as funny, and they erupted into laughter in spite of the formality the situation should have held and
of the startled glances of their officers.

  And so, in the pale light of the late winter afternoon, the two formerly enemy princes clasped hands in the middle of the battlefield, laughing together in joyful relief, while Alasia and Malorn looked on in amusement from either side.

  Though the hills around Almar sported a fresh dusting of snow, the sky was blue and clear, and the city seemed almost to sparkle in the morning sunshine. Throngs of excited Alasians lined the cobbled streets, which were as clean as though they had been scrubbed by the last night’s rain.

  It was a good day for a new beginning, Jaymin thought, exulting in the sight as he rode triumphantly into town with General Dirken two days after the battle, followed by Erik, Sir Edmend, and a long line of proud soldiers. Messengers had hurried ahead to bring word of their victory and to announce that the prince was alive; and nearly the whole city, or so it seemed, had turned out to welcome them. People crowded every balcony and leaned out of upper-story windows in the houses overlooking the road, wearing their finest clothes and enthusiastically waving scarves and flags, cheering their lungs out just as Korram had predicted. At the edge of the road, young children jumped up and down, shrieking with excitement, or ran along beside the horses, as Jaymin smiled and waved in response, nodded and smiled and waved again.

  Their cheers didn’t bother him the way he had thought they might. He had fought in the battle, after all, and it felt good to know that he had helped defend his kingdom. Now he just had to find ways to continue to protect it.

  As he rode through the city, Jaymin looked around fondly at the stately buildings and parks that he now realized he had missed so much in Drall. He had traveled through Alasia like this hundreds of times, and yet in some ways it had never really been like this at all. He had a new appreciation for the city of Almar, but it was more than that. Of course, he had never returned home in glorious victory after being publicly declared dead, and in the past he had usually ridden with one or both of his parents. But it wasn’t just that, either. Details stood out to him now from the crowd in ways they never had in the past.