Prince Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  “Take the next right, after the butcher,” Rygel advised to Arianne in a low voice.

  “You there,” she called, waving at a band of four or five mercenaries, standing in the shade of a tent tavern made of coarse, brightly colored cloth. Beer mugs in their hands, their muted conversation halted as they glanced up, hearing her voice. “Are you fellows perchance seeking employment?”

  By the quick shakes of their heads, self-conscious half-shrugs, they told me, if not Arianne, they lied. They wanted, needed a job, but they’d starve before hiring on to Brutal’s cousin. I daresay I couldn’t blame them. Those near to Brutal found death rather than prosperity.

  Arianne altered her course to the right, bearing down on the butcher’s shop. Following Arianne, Ararak itself lay not directly in front of Mikk’s ears any longer, but now ahead on my left. A wood fence circled the town for as far as I could see, with Khalidian soldiers at the wide entrance. But if they inspected anyone coming or going, I never saw it. They lounged at their ease, chatting amiably.

  Under my hair, I gazed with curiosity at the tent city, if I could call it that. Narrow dirt lanes divided the tents, which had been pitched in quite organized rows, to my surprise. Given the chaos of the place, I expected people to pitch tents wherever they pleased. Not all of them were white, of course. Most were of tans and browns or greys, while some had colors I couldn’t quite determine as to the layers of grit they carried.

  The tent city and its chaos fell behind as the stock markets outside the wooden fences reared their ugly heads. As the foot and animal traffic cleared with the open terrain, Arianne pushed her horse into a trot, the rest of us trailing close behind her.

  All around the outer spiked wooden fence lay corrals and beasts for as far as my eye could see. Men inspected horses’ teeth, examined legs, dickered with the sellers. Buyers purchased small cattle herds, former owners opening gates to allow their sold animals to be herded away. Camels brayed and spit. Men loaded patient, newly purchased mules with packs. In the distance, new herds available for sale approached the pens, kicking up the desert dust in great clouds.

  Arianne led us down a wide avenue, livestock pens groaning with beasts bought and sold to either side. No few prospectors wandered up and down, eyeing possible purchases before moving on. Hawkers called to them, waving their arms in come-hither gestures. The Khalidian livestock market healthy and thriving, I surmised.

  “I think I see a likely prospect,” Rygel said, his mouth over his shoulder.

  With a subtle gesture, he guided Arianne toward a low-fenced corral of horses, their owner sitting cross-legged at a small table set up in the dusty dirt.

  I eyed the beasts with disillusion. They ate wispy, moldy hay, brackish water filled a few buckets here and there. Their ribs showed nearly every bone, fleshless withers stuck up against the sky like blades. Their tails swished dispiritedly at the ever present flies, with little energy for much else. The horse trader looked up, at first with irritation, then with glee as Arianne and her diminished entourage bore down on him.

  “Greetings, Your Highness,” the trader said, standing up to bow low over his table. “My name is Yelele of Zestret. How may I serve you?”

  Yelele wasn’t a tall man, and from what I could see behind his dirty desert robes almost as emaciated as Brutal. Thin, lanky brown hair fell to his shoulders from under a turban that once might have been dark red, but now appeared washed-out and stained. His cheeks and chin sprouted sparse whiskers the same shade as his hair. He smiled with broken teeth, yet his lively brown eyes held a sharp intelligence and shrewdness. He knew his business, and certainly knew a sucker when he saw one. Rygel better be on his toes.

  As instructed, Arianne acted the brainless, irritated twit. “I need horses,” she intoned loftily. “I must needs recruit more men. My own deserted me, the disloyal vermin.”

  “I’m certain I have the noble steeds Her Royal Highness needs,” Yelele vowed, once more bowing low.

  “Those fools think that my royal cousin pays more than I,” Arianne sniffed, wiping her lips with a silk kerchief. “They will learn soon enough the perils of their folly.”

  “I’m certain – “

  “On my horses, too,” Arianne went on, sniffing. “That’s horse theft, a hanging offense. I’ll hang them high, when I get my hands on those cowards. You can count on it.”

  “I have – “

  “Do you know the royal soldiers refused to help me?” she asked suddenly, her voice pitched high and fearful.

  “I doubt –“

  “I begged and pleaded with them, but they pretended not to notice me in my peril.”

  “Your –“

  “I’ll tell the King, so I will,” Arianne said softly, her tone confiding. “He likes crucifixion. His Synn’jhani will rout the traitors and I’ll have satisfaction.”

  “If Your Highness will –“

  “My royal cousin and I are very close,” she said, her voice low, yet excited. “We played together as children. He loves me and will do anything for me.”

  “I’m sure –“

  “Anything at all,” Arianne said, her glorious eyes on the distant horizon, her voice soft. “And I mean, anything.”

  Yelele gulped, beads of sweat dotting his formerly dry brow and upper lip. I grinned inwardly, suspecting Yelele of Zestret had wished this mad relation of the High King had gone anywhere but to his corrals.

  “I can assure Your Highness –“

  “Oh, this desert sun has given me a headache,” Arianne moaned, the back of her hand held dramatically to her brow, her eyes squinting. “Steward – oh, rat it – I forgot your name again. Do purchase some horses for me. I know this gentleman is honest.”

  “How – “ Rygel began.

  “He came highly recommended, fool. Get me those horses before I die of heat seizure. Didn’t I tell you how much I hate the desert? All that sun. Slave, attend.”

  Arianne reined her stallion around, leaving Rygel to face the sweating trader with only Kel’Ratan at his shoulder. Corwyn also walked his horse behind her, the aging family retainer ready to assist her down from her mount. Once she stood on the ground, Tor also dismounted to hold not only her horse but Corwyn’s ugly roan. The roan’s ears informed Tor of his irritation, while Tor edged away from his teeth. Rufus could often be just as ugly, but his contentment with his new mistress gave him a whole new attitude. Tor held his bridle without concern for his life.

  Around us, the trading continued, the sheer volume enough to give me a headache. At least I could peer under my ratty hair and look around without seeming to. Corwyn stood to my left and slightly behind me, his big body shielding me from many eyes.

  With a silken fan Right – or maybe Left – dug up from somewhere, I cooled Arianne in its soft breeze while the other twin found and opened a sun umbrella. I waved the fan in her face, creating a soft breeze as the twins stood silent under the merciless sun, keeping her royal skin in the shade. Her back to the trader, Arianne smirked, pleased with herself.

  “This is just too easy,” Arianne said under a low, breathy chuckle, brushing imaginary dust from her brocade.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” I advised, my tone for her ears only. “Cockiness gets you killed.”

  Arianne sniffed. “Party pooper.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  I listened with rapt attention as Rygel began negotiations.

  “My lady needs five animals,” Rygel said, his voice lofty and cold.

  “Your Grace can see I have very fine horses to offer him,” Yelele replied, all but rubbing his hands together.

  I hope that bugger knows what he was facing, I thought. But he probably doesn’t. I doubted anyone had taken advantage of Rygel since he’d learned to talk.

  “All I see here are potential meals for my lady’s hounds,” Rygel snapped.

  “Allow me to show you their quality,” Yelele answered smoothly, taking Rygel gently by the elbow. His other hand swept out in a wide invi
tation to step forward, toward the horses.

  Together, out of my earshot, Rygel and the little man walked among the small herd, talking, inspecting, arguing. These won’t have the strength we need, I thought. What was Rygel thinking?

  Surreptitiously, I glanced around at the other horses I saw nearby. Some were as bony as these, while more had some meat on their bones. Yet, upon closer inspection, the fat ones appeared to have more problems than the thinner ones. Open sores, bowed tendons, poorly cared for feet, narrow chests, dicey hocks were just the beginning. Another closer inspection of Rygel’s choices gave Rygel some credibility in my eyes after all. Perhaps Rygel did indeed know a good horse from the ass end of a donkey.

  While these animals looked seriously underweight, I observed strong, straight legs, sound hooves, well rounded haunches and powerful shoulders. Hmmm. Decent enough horses, true, but where will we find the fodder to build up their strength?

  Rygel and Yelele of Zestret walked back.

  “I’ll give you ten coppers each,” Rygel was saying, his voice nasal and chilly.

  “But, Your Grace,” Yelele replied miserably. “They are worth three times that: a silver crown at the very least.”

  “Not when they’re so weak and poor they can’t carry a meal sack much less a saddle and man,” Rygel retorted. “They’re worth nothing but what their miserable hides can bring.”

  “I cannot take less than a gold crown for all five,” the trader said.

  “I’m embarrassed to be seen talking to you,” Rygel snapped, storming away.

  “Your Grace, wait,” Yelele cried.

  Trotting after the tall blonde wizard, he planted himself in Rygel’s path. Hands up, he spread his fingers out in a placating gesture. When Rygel made to step past, he said, “Your Grace, please, wait. Reconsider, I pray.”

  Allowing himself to be persuaded to stop and think again, Rygel sighed as though seriously put upon. Drama queen, I thought. I grinned behind my hair, catching Arianne’s laughing eyes. Even Kel’Ratan forced a scowl at the trader to prevent an embarrassing smatter of masculine giggles from erupting.

  “We be reasonable men, Your Grace,” he said, gesturing expansively. “These be fine beasts. Surely we can reach an accord?”

  “I’ll not pay more than a silver half-crown for all five,” Rygel declared.

  Misery etched the man’s features, as though he were about to weep. “You take food from the mouths of my children,” Yelele cried. “One gold crown and I throw in saddles and bridles for each.”

  “My royal mistress will skin me alive should I agree to such,” Rygel snorted. “A half-silver for each and you still give us the gear.”

  “Your Grace – “

  “There must be reasonable men in this stink hole,” Rygel snapped, storming away.

  “I agree,” Yelele cried. “I’ll take a half-silver for each and the gear. You are a very hard man, Your Grace. A very hard man.”

  Rygel at least had the decency not to gloat. Gravely, he turned and offered the trader a slow dignified nod. “Her Highness’s guard captain and I will make our picks.”

  “Of course.”

  Yelele snapped his fingers at a pair of scrawny, waiting boys. One lad retrieved ropes and both followed the pair as they walked back amidst the small herd. When either Kel’Ratan or Rygel pointed at a horse, a boy tied a rope around its head, leading it in their wake. A half-hour or so later, the small group returned with the chosen five kicking up the annoying dust behind them. The unlucky horses returned to their miserable, moldy hay.

  As though guided by a voice within, Arianne rose from her shade and her fan to glare imperiously at the poor trader. “I wish to inspect the equipment before I purchase,” she announced.

  Yelele bowed. “I am at your service, Your Highness.

  With Rygel and Kel’Ratan in tow, Yelele led Arianne toward a small three sided shed sun a few rods this side of his corrals. It sat like a forgotten dog under the fierce desert sun. Although the shed lay open on one side, the heat baking out of its interior stifled the senses. Hiding between the twins’ tall bodies, I watched Arianne enter the shed with all the bearing of queen entering her throne room. Like soldiers at parade rest, Rygel and Kel’Ratan stood to one side, heads up, hands behind their backs, eyes flat and unseeing. Yelele nervously shuffled his feet, beginning to speak, then snapping his jaws shut, only to once more try to talk.

  The shed held a few tools like shovels and picks, but primarily held saddles. I recognized saddles from all the Khalidian provinces from Zhou to the far northern tribes. Leather and rope constructed bridles hung from the wooden walls on nails. Bits ranged from simple ring bits to the elaborate curbs that could break a horse’s jaw.

  Arianne walked about, impervious to the heat and stench, eyeing the wares before her. She snapped her fingers.

  Tiny as she was, the not so very tall Yelele still towered over her. He rounded his shoulders and hung his head as to appear smaller and less intimidating. I stifled a grin, as though Arianne were at all intimidated by him. Arianne pointed her tiny doll’s finger.

  “I want five of those,” she said, her tone cold, unemotional.

  Yelele eyed her choice sidelong. His jaw dropped. “But, Your Highness – “ he began, his tone halting.

  Her huge grey-blue changed to a dark shale color, the color of anger. I swear I saw sparks fly from deep within their depths. Had she turned those eyes on me, I might have jumped as quickly as Yelele.

  “I want those,” she intoned, her voice freezing the hot desert air.

  “But of course, Your Highness,” Yelele agreed hastily, bowing low. “Boy, five saddles, immediately. Saddle Her Highnesses new mounts.”

  “And five of those.” Her tiny hand swept over the bridles similar to our own.

  “I am here only to serve.”

  She regarded him with those chilly eyes, eyes suddenly very much like Raine’s. “I do hope so,” she murmured.

  I didn’t see the boys obey. Arianne regally swept out behind them, Rygel and Corwyn at her shoulder, leaving Yelele to scratch his head. Eyeing Arianne’s departing backside, he leaned toward an impassive Kel’Ratan.

  “Uh, Your Honor,” Yelele began, halting, his eyes on the disappearing princess. “Doesn’t she know she just bought pack saddles? For her soldiers?”

  Kel’Ratan lifted one red brow. “Do you think I’m going to inform her of her error?” he asked blandly. “What do you take me for?”

  Yelele bowed low, his lank hair all but scraping the dust. “I take you for a wise and intelligent man, Your Honor,” he replied hastily. “You are but a soldier of tremendous courage.”

  Yelele’s eyes slid toward a now distant Arianne, watching as the lads saddled her new purchases, at the same time he said the word ‘courageous’. Rygel stood behind her, hands folded, murmuring in her ear.

  “And don’t you forget it,” Kel’Ratan said.

  He dug into his belt pouch, securing the trader’s agreed sums. He dropped the silver coins into Yelele’s greedy palm. He, too, eyed the imperious Arianne, new respect kindled in his blue eyes. I knew my cousin well. For him, respect for another didn’t come easy. For Kel’Ratan, treating Arianne with the same respect he gave my father, and on rare occasions, me, was nothing less than a grand event. I dropped my chin to my chest in an effort to not smile.

  Kel’Ratan jerked his head, bidding Left, Right and me follow him. Leaving Yelele to count his money in privacy, Kel’Ratan led us back to our waiting horses. Up ahead, Tor held Rufus’s bridle while Rygel helped Arianne into her saddle. Corwyn mounted his own roan, and glanced back at me, his face inscrutable, as always.

  Left and Right swung into their saddles, while I floundered about getting into my own. Mikk eyed me with resignation as I finally dropped my butt into my seat. Tuatha, who had fallen asleep while Rygel and Yelele dickered, woke with a yawn, sleepy blue eyes and a low whine of greeting. He courteously shifted to the front to give me room to settle myself before moving into h
is place in my lap.

  One of the lads handed me the rope of a horse. Left and Right also received ropes, Tor included. I frowned. Once away from the tent city and suspicious eyes, I’d have someone else take it. Tor could barely handle one gentle horse, much less two.

  The last boy stood confused, clearly uncertain as to who of the remaining people of rank should lead the last beast. Corwyn already led Rygel’s patient black gelding and Rygel’s rank was obviously too high. Arianne: impossible.

  Kel’Ratan held out his hand and snapped his fingers. Gratefully, the boy dropped the rope in his hand and fled.

  Mikk shifted his feet, blowing down his nose. Time to go, he said. Time’s wasting.

  I stroked my hand down Mikk’s thick neck, under his mane, smiling. I know, love. Soon.

  Under Rygel’s expert guidance, Arianne led her party out into open desert. The Khalidian highway system disappeared behind us, Ararak, the caravans and its ensuing chaos vanished into the dim distance. Ahead, to the northwest, sharp, jagged hills rose on the horizon, perhaps two days ride away. Greenery also replaced the grey and tan desert sand, offering hope we might get some decent feed into the pack animals.

  Though I appreciated the lack of nasty dust in my nose, mouth and lungs, the open desert withheld its water and grazing like a greedy miser held little appeal. I may like my solitude, but I liked water for my horse even more.

  Bereft of prying eyes, I nudged Mikk and my accompanying brown gelding into a lope to catch up to Rygel, Kel’Ratan and Corwyn. “How will my boys find us?” I asked.

  As though they never before pondered that question, those three idiots eyed one another with shrugs and swift glances of worry. Only Left and Right continued on as though they knew quite well where they needed to go. I bit my tongue to halt a sharp tirade.

  “I agree,” Arianne said, over her shoulder. “They don’t know jack. Good thing we’re along, eh?”