Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  The clearing, when he finally reached it, was so crowded that Korram was amazed anyone could move, let alone fight, there. Yes, in some ways it would certainly be easier to face one’s foes out in the open. But the violent chaos was alarming. There were no places to hide, no trees to dart behind – only the constant clashing of swords and spears, and cries of agony from people and occasionally horses.

  “I think that’s the general over there, Sire,” called Lieutenant Togan from beside him, yelling to make himself heard above the din. He pointed with his sword to the far end of the clearing.

  “We’ll go around,” Korram decided. It would be faster, simpler, and much safer than trying to make their way directly across.

  But going around wasn’t easy either. Though they kept to the trees, there were plenty of people fighting even here at the edges. Korram and his group tried to veer away from the worst of it, but they couldn’t ignore what was happening all around. “Go help them!” he kept shouting whenever it looked as though Rampus’s men were about to defeat some of his own, or some of the Alasians.

  More and more of his escort broke off to assist those in need, so that by the time he drew close to General Dorralon at the edge of the far side of the clearing, only Thel and Togan were still by his side. Korram reached the general just as the Alasian whom the officer had been fighting lurched back in his saddle and went limp, a red stain spreading across the front of his green uniform.

  That man didn’t have to die. Korram clenched his teeth in frustrated fury. Why won’t Dorralon listen to me?

  “Your Highness?” the general exclaimed, turning toward him in alarm. “What are you doing here? Please, get back among the trees, where it’s safer.”

  “Where’s Regent Rampus?” Korram demanded.

  “He’s waiting back among the trees, where it’s safer. Please, Sire, you must do the same!” The general looked truly worried.

  “General, Rampus has been sending people to try to kill me since the battle started! You heard him order his guards after me at the beginning.”

  “He ordered them to go after you and stop you from making what he believed was a big mistake, Sire. He didn’t order them to kill you.”

  “Well, they nearly did, and he’s been sending more every few minutes ever since. You have to believe me and put a stop to this!”

  “I’m under orders, your Highness.” The general sounded as frustrated as Korram felt.

  “Your orders were given by a traitor. Come with me and I’ll prove it!” Even as he uttered the challenge, Korram wondered how exactly he could prove it.

  Dorralon hesitated. “Sire, the battle –”

  “The battle can get along without you for a short time while you help to determine the future of Malorn,” Korram snapped. “Come on!”

  Somewhat to his surprise, the officer finally nodded. “Very well, Sire. If you insist.”

  “Good! Now which way did Rampus go?”

  Dorralon pointed, and Korram steered Clinja in that direction, flanked by Thel and Togan and followed by the general and half a dozen other soldiers. The trumpeter, Korram was glad to see, rode among them. Of course, he must know his duty was to remain by the general at all times to broadcast any new orders or battle strategies.

  When the frantic sounds of combat had finally receded behind them, Korram turned to address his companions. “Ride as quietly as you can,” he ordered. “And when we get close to the regent, I want you all to wait out of sight. Let me go forward alone and talk to him, and you listen to what he says and see how he acts when he thinks there’s no one watching.”

  “But what if he attacks you?” objected Thel.

  “Then it will be clear that he’s a traitor to the crown,” Korram retorted. “Won’t it, General?”

  “Indeed, Sire,” the general agreed, humoring him. It was obvious that he didn’t believe any such thing would happen.

  Just wait. You’ll realize the truth soon enough.

  Ernth hadn’t found Korram along the path yet, and he was afraid to attract attention to himself by calling out. But just as he was beginning to wonder if it was time to start searching elsewhere, he rounded a bend and almost bumped into a new skirmish. Sergeant Sanjik was in the thick of it, and he recognized Fretchal, Layth, and others from Platoon Four among the cluster of his own people. They were fighting frantically, outnumbered by Malornian Lowlanders. Ernth lowered his spear, squeezed his heels into Hungry’s sides, and charged into their midst.

  He was barely in time to stop a burly man determined to hack off the sergeant’s head. Sanjik will owe me a debt for his life now, Ernth realized, even as he flung the attacker from his horse and turned to face the next enemy. Another soldier swung his sword, and it struck Ernth’s shield with a crash. Sanjik, busy exchanging blows with a different enemy, didn’t even appear to have noticed Ernth’s heroism on his behalf. Well, that was probably for the best. He couldn’t exactly come traveling through the mountains with Ernth to pay off his debt.

  Ernth ducked another blow and attempted an Offense Three, but the man dodged just in time. If anyone brings it up, I can point out that it was Sanjik who taught me to fight; without that training, I would have been killed already. So maybe we can say I just paid what I owed him.

  His Offense Two finally found its target. The enemy, wounded, backed his horse away and then turned and bolted into the trees, clutching his injured shoulder.

  Though Ernth had been just in time to save the sergeant, he realized that he had not been in time to help all of his friends. When the last three men in red finally wheeled their horses and turned to flee as well, two of those in deerskin were bleeding. And one –

  “No!” Fretchal exclaimed. He leaped off his horse’s back to crouch beside a still form that lay surrounded by dead enemies on the forest floor. “Layth, no!”

  There were cries of dismay from the others, and Ernth’s throat tightened involuntarily. He didn’t need Fretchal’s anguished sobs as the young man gathered the body into his arms to tell him that she was dead. The sight of her limp, pale form in the arms of someone who had obviously loved her brought sharp memories of Jenth flashing back into Ernth’s mind. Though he hadn’t known Layth well, the corners of his eyes prickled in sympathetic grief.

  “Come on,” he told the others gruffly. “We don’t have time to mourn now. We have to find Korram and help him end this before everyone we care about ends up like her.”

  “Korram went that way,” offered one of the others. He pointed in the direction of the big clearing, far off among the trees now. “We were riding with him, but he saw Layth and Fretchal surrounded by those Lowlanders, and he told us to stop and help them. He went on to find the general.”

  “Then I’m going that way too. Come on,” Ernth repeated. Without waiting to see if the rest of them would follow, he turned Hungry around and hurried off, dodging trees and ducking low branches. Images of Jenth and Layth and of Fretchal’s grief-stricken face filled his mind. Would Korram be able to stop this before anyone else was killed? And would Ernth be in time to keep his friend from being killed too?

  It wasn’t hard for Korram to find Rampus. The regent wasn’t actually hiding; not really. He was just waiting a safe distance away from the action, as Dorralon had said, surrounded by loyal guards. It was so like him to make sure he was well away from any danger while at the same time lingering close enough to be ready to join in the victory – and take credit for it later too, Korram was sure.

  All ten of the guards brandished their swords, protectively tightening their circle around the regent as Korram rode into sight. Heart pounding, he quickly raised his hands to show he was unarmed. Against everyone’s advice, he had left his spear behind with Thel, though he was still wearing his shield. It was a gamble that he knew could easily get him killed; but then, this was a battle, and a lot of things could get him killed if he wasn’t careful. And he could think of no other way to prove Rampus’s real intentions to Dorralon.

  “There you a
re, Regent,” he called as he approached. Recognizing him, the guards lowered their swords a little without relaxing their vigilance. “Fighting heroically beside your men, I see,” he couldn’t resist adding.

  The regent scowled at him from between two of the guards. “What are you doing here?”

  “Are you disappointed to see that I’ve escaped your attempts to have me killed?” After years of being carefully polite, of hiding his suspicions and pretending to trust Rampus, it was freeing to utter the accusation openly. Now if only Rampus would respond with equal candor, the general – who was waiting behind a tree not far away – would be forced to acknowledge the truth.

  But Rampus didn’t rise to the bait. “A battle is no place for a young boy,” he sneered. “You were wise to run away from the fighting. Leave those mountain savages to be slaughtered, and save yourself – if you can.” He smiled unpleasantly, and Korram darted a quick glance around at the armed men who were now spreading out to surround them both. But so far they were making no move against him, probably waiting for a direct order.

  “The Mountain Folk aren’t getting slaughtered,” he retorted, hoping it was true. “They’ve been excellently trained. Most of the regular Malornian army is on my side now, along with the Alasians. The battle will be over soon.” Definitely an exaggeration, but that wasn’t the point. “You might as well give up now, Rampus. You’re never going to be king.”

  The challenge hung in the winter air between them like the foggy puffs of their breath. Say something. Tell me you will sit on the throne. Make it obvious what you want. Korram resisted the urge to turn around to try to glimpse Dorralon and the others hidden behind him. He hoped they were all listening. Here came the moment that would change everything.

  But Rampus merely smiled his unpleasant smile once more. “So sure of yourself,” he mocked. “You had better hold onto that crown tightly, young prince.”

  “Why?” Korram demanded, still trying to goad him into the truth. “So you don’t seize it from me and place it on your own head?”

  Rampus laughed. “My dear boy, I have no need to dirty my hands doing what our people are about to do for me. After your untimely death, I will be the only logical choice for the next king. Look at all the good I’ve accomplished for Malorn, after all!”

  Korram waited, but there was no cry of challenge from the woods behind him, no sign that General Dorralon had heard the proof he needed that Rampus was breaking the law. Well, ‘your untimely death’ could be interpreted more than one way. They were in the midst of a battle, after all.

  “Maybe I won’t die an untimely death,” he challenged aloud. “I’ve survived so far.”

  “Aren’t you going back into the battle?” questioned the regent.

  Korram grinned with a bravado he didn’t feel. “I will if you will. Shall we go fight for Malorn together?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” his enemy scoffed. “I’m staying right here until it’s over.”

  “Then so am I.”

  The scowl returned to Rampus’s face, and Korram braced himself. “What, are you disappointed I won’t be dying in battle after all? Does that spoil your plans?”

  “Not for long.” The regent glanced around to make eye contact with his men. “I’ve prepared for this for too long now. You leave me no other choice.” He dipped his head in the slightest of nods.

  Korram had thought he was ready, but the suddenness of the attack caught him off guard. The circle constricted about him, blades flashed, and his frantic attempt to duck turned into a panicked roll right off of Clinja’s back and onto the ground.

  “Help!” he screamed, hating to stoop to such an indignity but needing to make absolutely certain that Dorralon and Thel knew the danger he was in. “Help me!”

  Two of the closest guards leaned down from their horses, swords sweeping toward him in twin silver arcs. One of the blades clanged off his shield, but the rest of the men were all around him; there was nowhere to dodge. Korram dropped to his belly so it would be harder for them to reach him and rolled again, into the only spot that offered any measure of safety: right under Clinja.

  The horse was as panicked as he was, and Korram rolled once more as she shied to one side, almost stepping on him. He scrambled to his hands and knees and scooted backward on the cold dirt, trying to stay under the relative shelter of her body as more and more blades came slashing at him. The frightened mare skipped from side to side in the limited space.

  “Help! They’re trying to kill me!” Korram yelled again, hoping desperately that Clinja wouldn’t be injured in the skirmish either.

  Then most of the blades withdrew, and he was aware of more trampling hooves tearing up the turf around him. Shouts rang out amid the clash of swords. But the horses were still crowded together too closely for him to easily squeeze out, and Clinja was still frightened and confused, and he still had no weapon.

  “It’s all right, Clinja. Stand still,” he called soothingly to her, reaching up to stroke her shaggy brown belly. But she started at his touch and would have struck him in the head with a back hoof if he hadn’t jerked hurriedly out of the way.

  With a groan, a soldier in red landed hard on the ground beside him. Their eyes met momentarily before Korram turned quickly away, finding it most unpleasant to lock gazes with a dying man. But the horses were spreading further apart, and in a moment he had room to crawl safely out from under Clinja’s other side.

  The general and his men were struggling furiously with the regent’s guards now. Korram placed both hands on Clinja’s back and started to pull himself up, but hearing a warning shout, he let go and ducked again. It was just in time; a sword he hadn’t seen whistled through the air above the horse’s back where it would surely have sliced right through him. Crouching, Korram spun to one side, shield raised protectively, looking around frantically for Thel. I need my spear back!

  But Thel was a good ten yards away, three enemy soldiers between them. Korram caught his breath at the sight of her, thick hair streaming behind in the breeze, fierce determination filling her features. She was gripping a spear in each hand, jabbing and striking with both at once, not even using the shield still strapped to her left arm. Impressive wasn’t a descriptive enough term. Beautiful came closer, though Korram would never have thought of it in connection with a warrior before.

  But he didn’t have time to stop and stare. A movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn, and he raised his own shield just in time to catch a hard blow from one of Rampus’s men. Korram staggered backward under its clanging force, and the sword changed angles and lunged at him again. Again he caught the blow on his shield, but this time, off balance, he stumbled and fell. There was no time to get up. On his back on the dirt, he drew his knees up to his chest to present as small a target as possible. He tried to hold the shield over as much of his body as he could as his attacker leaned down from his horse, striking at him with blow after powerful blow.

  “Help!” Korram yelled, feeling very undignified once again, and “Don’t step on me!” to Clinja and another horse whose hooves were churning up the ground all around him. But as he rolled to one side to try to avoid his enemy’s next blow, he found himself directly in the path of a third horse. The gelding tried to jump over him, but Clinja was in his way and he didn’t quite make it. Korram yelled again as a hard hoof slammed down on his upper arm with crushing force.

  “Ow! Ow! Get off me!” he cried, shoving with his free hand at the gelding’s leg. The horse moved, the weight was lifted, and he rolled out of the way, just as the sword whistled through the air again and plowed a narrow furrow in the soil across the exact spot where his neck had been an instant earlier. Still lying on the ground, Korram tried to raise his shield once more, but his left arm was throbbing with pain now and he couldn’t move it. Reaching over with his right hand, he grabbed the rim of the shield and tugged it over his head, his left arm still attached by the strap. The sword scraped harshly across its surface, and Korram let go just
in time to save his fingers.

  Then, unexpectedly, his opponent dove out of his saddle. Korram yelled again – involuntarily this time – as the gleaming blade bore down straight toward his face. He closed his eyes and rolled once more, and the blade planted itself into the ground as the man landed heavily on top of him. Frantically, Korram squirmed and writhed, sure that every breath would be his last. But when he had finally struggled free, he saw a long wooden shaft protruding from his enemy’s back and understood why his opponent was lying so limply. Thel, still busy fighting an enemy of her own, had thrown one of the spears. And to think how Ernth scolded me when I threw my spear at the snowcat. If she hadn’t just done that, I’d probably be dead!

  Korram paused to unbuckle the useless shield before scrambling to his feet and tugging the spear free. He looked around for the closest source of danger. Just before him, Dorralon’s trumpeter, the instrument swinging wildly from its cord around his neck, was giving way before the onslaught of another soldier.

  The trumpeter is the one person we can’t afford to lose! Korram leaped to his aid, shifting his grip on the spear to an extra-high Offense One. He felt terribly vulnerable without a shield, and he wondered if his throbbing arm was broken or just badly bruised. But he could still fight with his right hand.

  His first blow missed as the guard dodged in his saddle, and his second one clanged uselessly against the man’s shield. But his third one grazed flesh, and Korram backed out of the way as his foe lurched, distracted, and then went down before the trumpeter’s next blow.

  A cry from behind caught Korram’s attention. Turning, he saw Thel struggling to wrest her spear out of the grip of her burly opponent. The man had seized hold of its shaft with one hand and was trying to wrench it away, at the same time hacking at her with his sword.

  Korram raced toward them, dodging other combatants, his spear poised to strike. But the man must have seen him coming out of the corner of his eye. He pulled his booted foot out from the stirrup and swung it backward in a hard kick, the heel catching Korram in the face.