The Sleeping God (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 4)

by Guy Antibes

  Kell rushed into the room. “There is a bounty on all of us. Our descriptions are all over the docks,” Kell said. “I’ve secured passage on one of my family’s ships to Alsador in Listya, but it doesn’t depart for two days.”

  “Can we stay at your father’s warehouse?”

  “I never thought of that. We can sneak on the ship with the cargo.”

  Fadden said, “Even better. Pol and Shira can color our hair. Namion’s is already done.”

  “Namion?” Kell asked.

  “He’ll be making the passage with us,” Pol said.

  ~~~

  Epilogue

  ~

  Shira stood next to Pol as they watched dolphins chase the ship. Pol looked across the deck at Paki, sitting on a coil of rope. Their Volian trip hadn’t improved his stomach.

  Fadden and Kell practiced with their swords. Kell needed to exercise his wrist since his hand had healed. Loa looked on, with admiring eyes.

  Now that their adventures in Volia were over, Pol wondered if it was worth it all. Shira still gravitated to his side, but the easy intimacy came and went. That alone made him question the worth of their journey. He had gained a sister, although she declined to join him in Eastril. He was glad she had a home among the people of Sakima…and a boyfriend. He thought she had gained more than he had as a result of his trip.

  Namion spent most of his time up on the poop deck talking to the captain. It seemed the pair had mutual friends. The Seeker had originally been enraged that he had been impressed on the voyage, but once Fadden settled him down, Namion realized he probably had lost his ability to operate in Volia after being captured by the Pontifer’s men in Ducharl. He hadn’t spoken once to Pol.

  But now the Seeker unexpectedly walked down and joined Shira and Pol.

  “You didn’t have to rescue me from the Hounds,” he said. Namion had obviously been stewing about the rescue during the voyage.

  “I value your life,” Pol said

  “Your mistake.” Namion made a disagreeable face.

  “You wouldn’t save me, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to rescue you. I didn’t expect any thanks and it looks like I won’t get any. I’ve learned that we look at life quite differently.” Namion couldn’t even be gracious that someone had performed a life-saving service for his benefit. It made Pol angry.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re the Seeker. You figure it out,” Pol said.

  Namion grunted and stalked away.

  “Still want to be a Seeker?” Shira said.

  “Not if it means becoming like him, but I’ll find my own way.” Pol looked out at the rolling sea and grinned. “Actually, finding Namion so quickly was kind of fun.”

  He took Shira’s hand. This time she didn’t withdraw it like she usually did. “Thank you for being by my side in Volia.”

  “It wasn’t what I expected.” She shivered. “Not at all, but we made it through intact.”

  Pol sighed. “Not quite intact.” From time to time, his mind still swirled with alien impressions, and he was sure it had affected his magic.

  She squeezed his hand and turned back to watch the dolphins dance.

  ~~~~

  If you liked The Sleeping God, be sure to leave a review wherever you purchased the book. Continue on to read an excerpt from Demeron: A Horse’s Tale, a Disinherited Prince story.

  An Excerpt From

  Demeron: A Horse’s Tale

  A Disinherited Prince Story

  CHAPTER ONE

  ~

  Valiso Gasibli led Demeron, a big black Shinkyan stallion, through the forested slope of a foothill in the mountains towards the Tesna Monastery, where Demeron’s bonded friend pretended to be a monk.

  Demeron met Pol again when the monks began sword training. Even Demeron could tell that Pol was much better than the rest of the young humans playing with sticks. Since his awakening on the Isle of Deftnis, Demeron had been in constant communication with Pol, and he missed sharing thoughts with him.

  Demeron heard horses moving up toward the camp he shared with the two humans, Valiso Gasibli and Darrol Netherfield. His nose told him that men crept up in advance of their mounts.

  If only his bonded human, Pol, slept with his two companions. Demeron neighed, but he felt a wave of magic that stopped him. Demeron shook his mane trying to free his legs from the spell, but before he did, the invaders bundled up Valiso and Darrol and left the camp.

  His friends were gone. Demeron looked at the trail, easy enough to follow, but the spell made him pause. He didn’t want to be caught in a human’s web again.

  Demeron vaguely remembered being spelled when he was taken from Shinkya for Pol’s brother, King Landon of Listya. The horse stealers, if that was what they were, freely used their whips on him. He still shuddered at the treatment.

  He had to find Pol and tell him that his friends had been abducted. Demeron gave one last, lingering look down the trail and headed to the monastery, where Valiso had assigned Pol to discover what the monks were doing.

  The trail, that he used to trot over to the monastery, was easy enough to see in the moonlit night. He ignored the odd branch that reminded him where the trail wasn’t, and soon he approached the walls of the monastery.

  Demeron could usually find Pol easily enough by thinking of him, if he was close enough. He tried the courtyard, knowing that there weren’t many places inside the monastery that were within the range of their mental communication. He waited patiently until dawn. The monks usually practiced with their weapons early, now that they were going to war.

  He kept within the thick woods, waiting and watching, but no one walked out to the practice field, and Demeron couldn’t hear any of the usual hubbub of the monks. He poked his head from behind a tree and saw an open gate leading to the field.

  This was a decidedly odd situation, and Demeron couldn’t wait any longer. Pol was good at finding trails, but Demeron didn’t know if Pol would be able to find his friends so long after they were taken. He walked along the edge of the field and put his nose to the gate to open it wider.

  No monks. He walked into a deserted monastery. Demeron had never been in such an empty place where humans lived. Not a single person walked the grounds. Pol just wasn’t there.

  Demeron stood in the middle of a large courtyard and smelled a stable. When he found it, there were no horses and no tack. Demeron took advantage of some sweet smelling hay and helped himself to what was left behind. He found a battered bucket of oats and that was a treat.

  After drinking from a half-filled trough, he walked back out to the main courtyard and looked at the closed gate, still not seeing a single soul. Pol always looked at tracks on the ground, so Demeron did the same. What did his friend see? He stared at the ground and looked at the horse hooves, human footprints, and cart tracks, all heading out the main door.

  The monks had gone, including Pol. A pall of uneasiness fell on Demeron. He couldn’t remember such a feeling before. He had always been around other horses or humans during his life, but now he felt isolated.

  Nothing could be gained staying in a human habitation. Once he had eaten ate all the hay, the monastery just would give him was a bit of protection, not that Demeron felt the need for such a thing. He had spent lots of time on the road with Pol.

  Curiosity drove him to walk around the monastery, wondering if anything left behind that would help him decide what to do. Demeron had to decide where he would go and what he would do. The uneasy feeling became stronger, and he felt a little fear.

  He hadn’t had many occasions to be afraid in his short life. He never liked traveling over water and he had to calm his own fears when he made the boat trip from Deftnis Isle to the town of Mancus on the coast, but Demeron would rather be standing next to Pol, crossing the sea that separated the two places, than standing on dry land, alone in the deserted monastery.

  A cold wind blew and swirled the dust. Demeron started when he recognized the scent of humans
not far away. He refused to be caught within human-made walls and trotted out of the monastery. He ran through the practice fields to take refuge in the woods.

  He turned and stood among the trees, while two humans, Shinkyan humans from where he came, walked hesitantly onto the practice field. They soon disappeared through the same gate that Demeron exited, but they had tied their mounts to trees not far away.

  He slowly walked towards them, keeping as much out for sight of the humans, should they return.

  “What happens?” One of the horses said to Demeron.

  Neither of these horses, both mares, were true Shinkyan horses, so he wouldn’t be able to find out much from them. They couldn’t communicate very effectively with their riders, so Demeron didn’t have to worry about being discovered.

  “The humans are gone.” Demeron said.

  “No humans? The Sister is gone?”

  Demeron didn’t know what kind of sister the horse meant. “Sister?”

  “Royal Sister lives with humans to learn.”

  So the Shinkyans had a spy in the monastery. The Shinkyans must be worried about the monk’s army, just like Valiso and Pol were, Demeron thought.

  “Your sister is gone,” Demeron said. “No one lives there right now.”

  The horses nodded.

  “How do I leave the mountains?” Demeron said. He didn’t want to go into South Salvan where an army was roaming around. To him, an army meant a very large group of humans, who had no desire to treat other humans and animals, including horses, well. Not well, at all.

  “There is a trail you can take, if you head for the mountains. Look for a low spot on the highest ridge. Our humans call it a saddle.”

  The horses were smarter than Demeron thought, if they understood some human terms. Demeron could even read some of the human writing.

  “What is on the other side of the mountains?” Demeron said.

  Both of them sounded excited when they said ‘Shinkya” simultaneously. Demeron didn’t remember much of his homeland and didn’t share in their excitement, but he didn’t know where else to go and he didn’t trust humans in an army.

  “I will go to Shinkya.” Demeron nodded his thanks and took off through the woods. He wanted to return to the camp to see if Pol would return, but he didn’t want to be caught in a spell, either.

  A stream provided a cool drink in the woods. He found a trail that humans might use and headed up towards the peaks above him.

  The trek wasn’t difficult for Demeron, except for low-hanging branches that would impede his progress. He didn’t encounter any other humans, and didn’t smell any horses in the mountains, not that he expected free horses in the mountains. At least there were meadows with plenty of grass and streams.

  He slept far from the trail that night, but woke to an angry smell. Demeron opened his eyes to find three wolves standing at the edge of the meadow. He rose to stand.

  “Can you understand me?” Demeron said.

  He didn’t expect a reply. Few animals could communicate with Demeron.

  The biggest of the wolves snarled at him.

  Demeron whinnied and pawed at the ground. He raised up on his two feet and let his forelegs crash to the earth. The wolf backed away to stand between his companions.

  They reminded him of groups of humans that he had fought before with Pol. Demeron tried to remember what Pol had done. The wolves were getting ready to separate and they reminded Demeron that Pol tried to separate his enemies as he fought.

  He would have to try the same tactic. These wolves wanted to fight. He knew what they wanted, horseflesh, and Demeron wouldn’t let them taste his.

  Demeron couldn’t be the defender. The wolves would rip his flesh if he did that. His own mouth pulled back and he whinnied at them. That was a pure reaction that Demeron had no control over. He began to paw at the ground again and attacked!

  He went after the smallest wolf. The wolf was fast and nipped at him, but Demeron had fought humans with his hooves before and he crushed the wolf between his two forelegs. He felt pain in his flank as the big wolf had jumped on him hindquarters and bit into his flesh.

  Demeron ran and bucked, but the wolf held on. That will never do, Demeron thought. He ran towards a tree and slammed his hindquarters into the tree.

  The wolf howled, as it relaxed its bite, and fell to the ground. Demeron rose up the smash its head, but the last wolf had jumped up on his back and bit into his neck. Demeron tried the same tactic but the wolf wasn’t on his side like the last.

  He felt warm trickle down his foreleg. Demeron began to prance and then threw himself this way and that. He rose up on his two feet and then pounded the ground. Then he rolled over, and heard the wolf whimper.

  Demeron rolled over again and again, until the wolf disengaged. He didn’t want these brigands following him all the way to Shinkya, so he ended their lives as he had the first.

  The battle had worn him out. He felt nagging pain where the wolves bit into him, so he followed the stream to a small pond, where he rolled over to wash the blood off his coat and. He wanted to rest in the meadow, but if there were other wolves around, the fight might lure more to the spot.

  He found the trail again and headed up towards the mountains. The forage began to thin, but Demeron could no longer see the peaks but continued his ascent until he saw a thin trail of smoke just above the trees ahead. More humans.

  If they were camped, maybe he could learn something from them as they talked. He approached, but smelled a Shinkyan human in the woods before the camp. Demeron didn’t want to be discovered, so he slipped past the human and approached from a different direction. He lay down in a thicket and stayed still so he could hear.

  The humans didn’t speak the same language that Pol did, but it seemed familiar. As he continued to listen, the words became more familiar. He had learned a bit of Shinkyan before he had been stolen and sold to Pol’s brother.

  He still didn’t understand all they said, but he gathered that they were on their way to Tishiko, wherever that was. They talked about what it would be like to fight an army of humans that did exactly what their commanders said. Demeron thought that all armies did that, and he didn’t see why the Shinkyans would be alarmed by such an army.

  Demeron realized that he didn’t know enough about the situation and maybe didn’t know enough about humans. He waited for dark and left them eating a cooked dinner. The smell made Demeron a little queasy, as cooked meat always did.

  When the man in the woods returned to the camp, Demeron traveled through the night over a wide flat part of the trail and descended down the other side of the mountains. He snorted as he stopped for the night and rested at the edge of another meadow. This time he wouldn’t be in the middle of the meadow as enticement for wolves.

  ~

  Demeron felt an increase in the air’s temperature. He noticed that the trees weren’t as close and the brush seemed to grow little spikes, but he forged on. Demeron knew that there would be something at the bottom of the mountains.

  He stopped at a stream and bent his head down to drink.

  “What are you doing here?” That was a question from another horse, a quickened Shinkyan horse.

  “I need to travel to Deftnis Monastery,” Demeron said. “Do you know where it is?”

  A brown horse walked from the shadows out of a copse of trees. He looked worn, with a shaggy, scratched coat.

  “How would I know such a thing?” the horse said. “Is it in Shinkya? It doesn’t sound like a Shinkyan name.”

  Demeron nearly shook his head as if he were communicating with a human. He smiled inside. “No, it is in the Dukedoms, to the west, I think.”

  “No. Has your master been killed, or have you run away like me?”

  “Run away? Why would you do that?”

  “My mistress didn’t treat me well. She tried to punish me by not feeding me, but what a stupid human. Don’t they know that there is feed just about everywhere? It doesn’t taste as good as
grain, but grass keeps us alive. I told her so.”

  “And what did she do?”

  “Shrugged, and said ‘Starve’. That’s when I ran away. I’ve been gone for a long time. At least three seasons.”

  Demeron didn’t know how to deal with a runaway horse, but as he looked at the horse take a drink for himself, Demeron realized that he had actually runaway, or better stated, his friend, since he didn’t count Pol as a Master, ran away from him.

  “How does one live as a runaway?” Demeron said.

  The horse nodded. “In the northeast there are herds of Shinkyan horses. I will join with them when I am tired of being in the mountains. You can join me. We can start our own herd once we steal some mares. You would do better than I in a fight. I’ll be there when you need help.”

  “Fight other horses? Why? I’ve been content living in a stable.”

  “You’ll find it’s a hard life by yourself. I’m not quite ready to find a herd, but I’m close. Horses aren’t meant to live alone.”

  Demeron could sense the wisdom in that, but he had no desire to run around with a herd of horses. He wanted to get back to Deftnis, but needed to find the way.

  “I will go to Tishiko, then. I wish you well. Do you have a name?”

  “Seeker,” the horse said.

  Demeron snorted. “You’re not the kind of Seeker that I know about in the Empire.”

  “You’re from the Empire? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but then I haven’t heard of much. My Mistress kept me at her ranch with her common horses. It wasn’t stimulating.”

  “I guess not,” Demeron said. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  “Herds in the northwest,” Seeker said. “I will see you there, if you don’t get caught.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Demeron said, and he found another fear, being caught so he couldn’t return to Pol’a monastery.

  Demeron left Seeker snatching up mouthfuls of ripe grass in the meadow, as he found a thin trail to take him further downslope. He could live in the mountains like Seeker, but what was the point? He wanted stimulation, and life with Pol held a lot of that.