The Royal Ranger: The Missing Prince

by John F. Flanagan

  Maddie obviously felt the same. “That’s a good place to be out of,” she said.

  “He’s a strange person all right.”

  Maddie frowned thoughtfully. “Why do you think he behaves like that?” she asked. “That business with his brother, trying to force him to act as my target, and embarrassing him in front of the whole room. What does he gain by doing that?”

  “A sense of importance, I guess.”

  “But he is important. He’s the King, after all. What does he have to prove?” She paused, then added, “My grandfather doesn’t seem to think that sort of thing is necessary.”

  “Philippe would seem to be lacking in self-esteem. He’s constantly doubting his ability to rule—and rightly so, if you ask me. He’s looking over his shoulder all the time, trying to see if there’s someone about to supplant him. And the most likely candidate would be his brother. So he puts Louis down in front of the others, shows him up as lacking in courage. Duncan doesn’t have to do that. He’s a strong king, and he’s well respected for that strength. He has a natural authority that Philippe will never match.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone talking to my grandfather the way you spoke to Philippe,” Maddie said, grinning at the memory.

  But there was no answering smile from Will. Instead, he answered seriously. “I shouldn’t have done that. But he annoyed me with his superior air and insufferable tone. Once we’re done with this mission, we’d be wise to leave this country as quickly as we can.”

  “You don’t think he’ll be grateful when we bring his son back safely?” Maddie asked. She had no doubt that they would be successful in their task.

  But Will shook his head. “A man like that doesn’t forget an insult. He’ll be looking for ways to get his revenge.” He paused. “Even Louis will be looking for ways to get back at us.”

  “Louis? What did we do to him? You saved him from having to be my target.”

  “That’s what we did to him. We showed him up as a coward. He’ll forget it was his brother who engineered it—after all, there’s little he can do against the King. So we’ll be the logical target for his spite.”

  Maddie shook her head wearily. “As I said, what a family.”

  Will nodded. “Makes you glad we don’t live here,” he replied.

  * * *

  • • •

  Nightfall found them still on the road, with no sign of a village nearby. Accordingly, they turned the little cart off the road at a clearing and camped for the night. It was no hardship. They were used to sleeping out and both were excellent camp cooks. There was no sign of rain so Maddie chose to sleep in the open, rather than in the cart, preferring the fresh night air to the slightly stuffy, confined atmosphere inside.

  In the morning, they had a quick breakfast of toasted bread and cheese, washed down with several cups of coffee, and continued on their way.

  They had been traveling for an hour when Maddie noticed Will leaning out from the driving seat of the cart to peer behind them.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  He frowned and scratched his chin. “Don’t know. I’ve got an itch in the back of my neck.”

  “Your neck is itchy so you scratch your chin? That’s a novel way of treating it,” she said.

  But he made a dismissive gesture. “The itchy neck is a figure of speech. I get the feeling that someone’s behind us.”

  She leaned out her side of the cart and peered back down the road. She could see for about two hundred meters before the road went round a bend. There was nobody in sight.

  “I don’t see anyone,” she said.

  Will glanced at her. “Neither do I,” he told her. “But I just have a . . . feeling there’s someone there.”

  “Following us?”

  He shrugged. “Well, if he’s behind us, he’s following us. But whether he’s doing so deliberately is another matter.”

  The day wore on. They stopped for lunch, and to spell the horses, at midday. While Maddie made coffee, Will paced back along the road the way they had come, going about fifty meters before he stopped and turned back.

  “Neck still itching?” Maddie asked him. His feeling that they were being followed was setting her own nerves on edge. Will was rarely wrong when it came to sensing danger nearby, she knew. In the years they had been together, she had learned to trust his instincts.

  “Thought I saw something—or someone—for a second or two. But the trees are too thick to be certain. We’ll keep going.”

  They reached another small village late in the afternoon and performed at the tavern there. While Maddie entertained the crowd in the small square outside the tavern, Will prowled around the outskirts of the audience, staying in the shadows and studying the people watching Maddie. He took note of one man—a swarthy, bearded man in a blue cloak who was sitting alone, nursing a tankard of ale. He was well dressed and his clothes were somewhat more refined than the coarse homespun of the villagers. He looked a little out of place among the simple county folk.

  The tavern offered no accommodation so they parked the cart on the village green and camped once more. As they rolled into their blankets, Will told Maddie about the man.

  “Of course, he could just be an ordinary traveler,” he said.

  “Or not. But if he’s not, who would want to have us followed?” Maddie asked.

  The older Ranger merely shrugged. “In this country, who knows? Nobody trusts anybody here—and with good reason.” He paused, lying on his back and looking up at the stars.

  “We’ll see if he’s still with us tomorrow.”

  23

  There was no sign of the stranger the following morning when they departed.

  Presumably, he had paid one of the villagers to give him a room for the night, but if so, he had kept out of sight in the morning. Will had actually strolled through the village before breakfast, looking for some sign of the traveler, or perhaps his saddle horse. He assumed, from the quality of the man’s clothes, that his horse would be a cut above the rough-coated cart horses that would normally be found in the village. But of course, many of the houses ranged along the main street had barns or stables at their rear, and the horse, if it were there, could easily be concealed in one of them.

  “Can’t see him anywhere,” he told Maddie as he climbed aboard the cart and settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Maybe he left earlier,” she suggested.

  He inclined his head doubtfully. “Maybe.”

  Maddie noted that Will had put aside his brightly colored jongleur’s outfit and was dressed in dull brown and gray trousers and jerkin, but she didn’t comment on the fact.

  He waited until midmorning, when they had traversed a long, straight section of the road, some three hundred meters in length, and rounded a sharp corner at the end. As they went round the corner, he leaned out, peering back down the road. There was no one in sight. He let Bumper pull the cart another twenty meters, then clucked his tongue to bring the little horse to a stop.

  “Did you see something?” Maddie asked.

  “Not yet.” He dropped lightly to the road, then hurried to the rear of the cart. Maddie heard a dull clatter as he opened the secret compartment under the cart. After a minute or so, he returned to the front of the cart. He had his longbow strung and slung over his left shoulder, and a quiver of arrows clipped to his belt.

  “Move up another twenty meters or so. Then stop and get your bow. I’ll cut back through the trees to see if anyone’s following. Stay quiet. If he’s coming, I don’t want him to hear you.”

  Maddie nodded and took the reins from where he’d looped them around the brake handle. She clicked her tongue at Bumper and the little horse pushed forward. When they had gone another twenty meters, she stopped, swinging the cart so that it was across the road, allowing her to see back to the corner.

  Will had already
disappeared into the trees.

  * * *

  • • •

  Will slipped quietly through the thickly growing trees and foliage, cutting off the corner they had just rounded and heading back down the long, straight stretch. Fifteen meters from the corner, he stopped beside a tall, thick-trunked elm, leaning against the rough, ridged bark, his dull-colored clothing blending easily into the background. He slipped the bow off his shoulder and peered out to the road. He was close to the edge of the trees and could see back the way they had come for some distance. So far, there was no sign of anyone following them.

  He sank to one knee behind the tree and listened, turning his head slowly from side to side, searching for some small noise that would tell him a rider was approaching. After several minutes, he heard the faint jingle of harness, then the soft sound of a horse’s hooves on the hard-packed surface of the road.

  “There you are,” he muttered softly to himself.

  The hoofbeats came closer, becoming more noticeable as they did so. Will waited, still as the tree behind which he sheltered. His heart rate had accelerated and he felt a tightness in his belly. He strove to keep his breathing deep and even—although there was little chance that the approaching rider would hear him breathing.

  He remained still, allowing only his eyes to move as he saw a dim shape moving past the spot where he crouched in hiding. He couldn’t make out much in the way of detail from his cramped and awkward viewing position, but he had an impression of something blue moving beyond the tree line. Then the rider was past him and had nearly reached the bend in the road. Will rose silently to his feet, stepping through the trees to emerge on the road, and nocking an arrow to his bowstring as he did so.

  He heard a sharp exclamation of surprise as the rider rounded the corner and saw the cart a mere forty meters away, stopped across the middle of the road.

  There was a sudden jingle of harness as the man tugged sharply on his reins, beginning to wheel his horse about and move back down the road.

  Only to find Will blocking his line of retreat.

  Will stood in the center of the road, bow raised and drawn, the arrow pointing unwaveringly at the new arrival.

  “You can stop right there,” he said quietly. “And get down off the horse.”

  The rider hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder to where the cart barred the way. For a moment, he was tempted to try to escape in that direction. Then he realized that the cart’s driver was also dismounted, and training a bow on him.

  “Run either way and one of us will shoot you,” Will cautioned him. “Now dismount and turn your horse loose.”

  Reluctantly, the rider swung down from his saddle. But he kept the reins held in his right hand. Will gestured with the arrow.

  “Turn your horse loose,” he repeated.

  The man spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. “He’ll run off,” he protested. He spoke in the common tongue, as Will had been doing. But a strong Gallic accent was obvious.

  “That’s the general idea,” Will said.

  “But . . .” the man began.

  Will made an imperious gesture with the bow and the half-drawn arrow. The stranger dropped the rein that he had been holding. The horse, sensing the tension between the two men, danced skittishly for a few paces. He was a highly strung animal, which suited Will’s plan.

  “Now slap him on the rump,” he ordered. For a second, it looked as if the man would demur once more. But the cold look in Will’s eyes stopped him. He slapped the horse resoundingly on the rump. It reared its head up, whinnying in surprise, then took off at a canter, back the way they had come. Will stepped to one side as it clattered past. He swiped at its rump with his bow, urging it to a faster pace. The horse, tossing its head and whinnying indignantly, continued down the road until it disappeared around the distant bend.

  “That should delay you for a few hours,” Will said pleasantly. “Now, who are you and why are you following us?”

  “Following?” the man said, assuming a puzzled look.

  Will cut him off. “Don’t mistake me for a fool,” he said curtly. “You were behind us all of yesterday. And you were in the tavern last night when my daughter was performing. Here you are again, still behind us. Why?”

  The man shrugged. “I’m simply traveling this road, as you are,” he said. “I’m not following you.”

  “Yet with a fine-spirited animal like that, you choose to move at the same snail’s pace as our little cart, staying well back out of sight,” Will pointed out. “I’ll ask you again. Who are you, and what are you up to?”

  The man’s shoulders sank as he realized that his explanation wouldn’t hold up.

  “My name is Egon of Tourles,” he said unhappily. “I am under orders to follow you and observe you.”

  “Whose orders?”

  Egon paused for a few seconds, then replied. “The Royal Prince Louis,” he admitted.

  Slightly taken aback, Will lowered the bow, releasing the tension on the half-drawn string.

  “Prince Louis?” he repeated. “The King’s brother? Why does he want us followed?”

  Egon shrugged uncertainly. “He wants to know that you are living up to your end of the arrangement. He is worried about the safety of his nephew.”

  Will took a deep breath. He glanced at Maddie, who had moved back down the road to stand a few meters away, where she could hear the discussion. He shook his head, then addressed Egon once more.

  “Did it occur to him that your presence might give us away?” he said. “That you might draw Lassigny’s attention to us?”

  Again, Egon shrugged. “Only if I was spotted,” he said defensively.

  Will finally lost his temper. “We spotted you!” he shouted. “You’re not terribly difficult to spot! You go blundering about the countryside in your fine clothing, on your fine horse, for all to see. What makes you think Lassigny and his men would be any less observant?” Before Egon could answer, he continued. “And do you realize that if they did notice you following us, it would draw attention to us and ruin our mission?”

  Egon jutted his bottom lip unhappily. “I suppose so,” he agreed.

  “Oh, you do? How good of you! You great blundering idiot! Go back to Prince Louis and tell him you were recognized. Tell him you could have jeopardized our mission and his nephew’s life. Tell him if he sends someone else—anyone else—to keep an eye on us, I’ll put an arrow in him. And I’ll put one in you if I see you again. Then I’ll abandon this mission and return to Araluen. And he can explain it all to King Philippe.”

  Egon said nothing. He stood, hanging his head in embarrassment and fear.

  Will raised the bow once more. “Toss down your sword,” he ordered. Egon’s hand went instinctively to the sword at his waist. It was a fine weapon, the hilt decorated with gold wire and a large ruby pommel.

  “My sword?”

  Will motioned with the arrow. “Get rid of it. And the dagger.” Egon was carrying a matching dagger in a sheath on the opposite side of his belt. Reluctantly, under the threat of the arrow nocked on Will’s bow, he drew both weapons and let them fall to the road.

  “Now get going,” Will ordered.

  The man gestured uncertainly at his weapons, lying at his feet. “But—”

  “Go!” Will shouted. “Go back to Chateau La Lumiere and tell your prince that you are an incapable idiot.”

  Head down, Egon began trudging back down the road, walking awkwardly in his high riding boots. Will watched him go, then stooped and picked up the sword and the dagger. He glanced at them once, then tossed them far into the forest beside the road.

  He glanced up, caught Maddie’s amused gaze and shook his head.

  “What a family!” he said in disgust.

  24

  They saw no further sign of Egon. The following day, Will saddled Tug and rode back alo
ng their tracks to make sure he was no longer following.

  Satisfied that their would-be shadow had left, he returned to the cart and they continued on their way.

  The high road, the most direct route to Falaise, cut across a wide, looping river at two points. In doing so, it traveled virtually due north. To the west, a range of low mountains, steep and rocky, provided a barrier to travel. A narrow mountain track ran across the range, but it would necessitate a long detour to reach Falaise that way. The main road was more direct and more easily traveled, in spite of the fact that it necessitated crossing the river, La Rivière Cygnes, in two places—once by way of a ford and the second time via a bridge. Will indicated the ford on the map Philippe had provided.

  “We should reach the ford in a few hours.,” he said. “Pity there’s no bridge there. I guess we’ll get our feet wet.”

  Maddie leaned forward from under the canopy that covered the driving seat of the cart and surveyed the sky. There were dark clouds on the eastern horizon and a strong wind was pushing them westward.

  “We may get more than our feet wet,” she said. “There’s rain in those clouds.”

  Will glanced up at them. “We should be all right,” he said. “A little rain won’t hurt us.”

  As it turned out, the clouds contained more than a little rain.

  They pulled off the road late in the afternoon, with the ford still nowhere in sight. Will had hoped to cross before dark, but the scale of the map wasn’t accurate and the distance to the river was apparently much greater than it indicated.

  “Why am I not surprised by that?” he asked.

  For a few minutes, he debated pushing on. But he didn’t want to risk crossing an unknown ford in the dark. They set up their camp. It was Maddie’s turn to cook and she quickly built a fire, setting four plump pigeons on green sticks to roast over the flames, moving them closer as the fire died down to red-hot coals. Fat sizzled and spat from the grilling birds and a delicious scent filled the air. She set a pot to boil with quartered potatoes in salted water, and tore up some greens they’d been supplied by the castle kitchen before they left. These, with an oil and lemon juice dressing, would make a fresh-tasting salad.