by Greg Curtis
Abruptly the question was stricken from his mind as Briagh spotted one man in the middle of the troop wearing a steel breastplate inlaid with a large silver motif of the fighting bears that covered the entire chest. Instantly he knew that whatever was happening was bigger than he knew. Because there was only one man that would wear such a piece. And if the barbarian Prince had been defeated by the wolves, things in Abylon had to be very bad. Not just in the city of Abysynth.
“Careyn, you need to speak to the Commander immediately. That man in the middle, that's the barbarian Prince Vel Moran himself! The Princess and the Princes need to be kept away from him. A long way away!”
He didn't like the Princess, but he still knew she had to be kept away. If for no other reason than the fact that the barbarian Prince might be there to be hand-fasted to her and make Abylon his kingdom through her bloodline. That would be a disaster for so many. He might also be there to kill the princes, and so eliminate any threats to his rule. It was after all, how the barbarians ruled. Vel Moran himself would have been killed by his brother had he not been quick enough and well defended enough to flee to a highly defensible region of Grole. But his brother still regularly sent assassins after him, or so the bards claimed. But apparently that was only to be expected They also claimed that Vel Moran responded in kind.
As Careyn hurried off, Briagh stood there and stared at the man. He'd never seen the barbarian Prince before, and he'd always been curious about what such a man must be like. Someone so terribly cruel and savage. Who ruled his people by fear and who had murdered so many people. Someone who had absolutely no mercy or kindness within him.
Strangely he found himself disappointed in what he saw. He'd always thought that such a man would be some sort of monster. And undoubtedly he was. But he looked disturbingly normal. He was tall and strong, though perhaps not as tall and strong as the bards would have it. And the expression on his face was one of pure bitterness. But other than that he looked much like any other person. It didn't seem right somehow. Not for someone who had committed so many terrible crimes. And his crimes were legendary. Surely such a man should have been sneering at the people. Or if he'd been captured by the fae, threatening them. Or planning vengeance.
But then Vel Moran probably cared nothing for the people lining the streets or even the rangers escorting them through the town. Not enough to either like them or hate them. Not enough to even show interest in them. Instead, as he walked through the town he looked neither to the right nor the left, concentrating instead only on the ground in front of him like his soldiers. Perhaps grinding his jaw a little in anger, but giving nothing more of his thoughts away.
Still, it was a relief when he had passed him. When the rest of his soldiers had passed him by too. These were if nothing else, dangerous men. And they were still armed, even if their weapons were sheathed. Briagh wasn't sure why. But he knew he had to make certain that they knew who they were escorting.
“Captain!” Briagh called out to the captain of the patrol as he rode past, someone Briagh didn't recognise. Even though he had passed on what he knew to Careyn he still felt the need to make sure everyone knew.
“Citizen.” The Captain stared curiously at him, probably because he was human.
“You know that the man in the silver inlaid armour is the barbarian Prince Vel Moran?”
“Yes. He said. You know him?”
“No Captain.” Briagh shook his head, his work done. “Only the stories of the bards. That he wears the armour with the fighting bears emblazoned in silver across his entire chest, and carries a pair of duelling pistols by his side. The pistols are said to be notched for each person he has killed with them.”
Truthfully Briagh had never been completely sure about the last. It seemed vulgar. But it also sounded like the sort of thing a barbarian would do. “He also has a reputation for treachery.”
“Thank you citizen.” The Captain nodded and turned away from Briagh as he continued his journey down the street.
That was all he would hear from him Briagh knew. The Captain would tell him nothing. And he would most certainly not be able to ask the questions he wanted answers to. Citizens did not interrogate rangers. They simply did as commanded and treated the rangers with respect. Briagh remained standing there as the last of the procession went past. And once they had gone, he went back to his duties.
Maybe, he thought, he would be told a little more of what was happening when he visited the Commander? Suddenly Briagh realised he was looking forward to attending the meeting. He might even shave for it.
Chapter Thirty Six
The meeting was going badly. Actually Argen would have said it was going terribly but he still had hope that something good would come from it. That hope though was quickly fading.
The Prince had apparently come to claim his bride, Princess Elan. At least that was what he'd said, or rather, demanded. But he didn’t have the soldiers to back up his demands and he knew it. He said he'd come with five hundred men at arms. Currently his army stood at just over a hundred. That many men marching into Wynde Par would not pose much of a threat to the fae. Especially now that three full troops of rangers were in Perna Sil watching them. His chances therefore of claiming his bride were extremely small. Argen also had to wonder how the Prince even knew that Elan was in Wynde Par? She certainly hadn't told him him she was there. In fact, she was noticeable by her absence in the Commander's quarters. Argen didn't know where she was. The chances were that she wasn't even in town anymore. The fae did not want that hand-fasting.
But explaining to the Prince that he could not simply abduct the Princess or be hand-fasted to her against her will in Wynde Par was difficult. It seemed he still had dreams of becoming the King of Abylon, and nothing would stand in his way. Not the wolves and not the people of Abylon. Not even the fact that he didn’t have enough men to even search for her. Or for the princes, who he also seemed to know were here. Argen thought it just arrogance and bluster. But he had a lot of it.
His story was filled with lies too.
His claim that he had set off for the town with only an honour guard of five hundred soldiers at his side, because it was a royal visit, was complete madness. If he'd had more men he would have brought them. He was a barbarian. Still, it was enough of a tall tale for the fae to let him and his men retain their arms – something Argen was distinctly unhappy about.
Mostly though what Argen didn't understand was how he could come up with this wild tale about being attacked by a wildred not far from the border. Until then Argen had assumed that he had been attacked by the wolves, and that he had not had so many men to begin with. But suddenly he was hearing that there was a new threat and that the Prince had lost three quarters of his army – his honour guard – in one battle. It seemed unlikely. Argen wasn't the only one to doubt it.
“A wildred?” The Commander raised an eyebrow in polite disbelief but said no more. He didn't have to – his point was clear.
“An accursed magical plague! The foul thing attacked us and killed hundreds of my men. And then it just vanished without a trace!” The Prince practically spat out the last, his face white with rage.
Argen however, wasn't particularly bothered by either the Prince's anger or his words. Neither of them had much meaning for him. Nor did he completely doubt the Prince's story unlikely as it seemed and as much as he wanted to. Sightings of wildred were rare, but he seemed genuine in that at least. What did interest him was the fact that they had seen a wildred at all. Normally they wouldn't have. Wildred were exceptionally good at being unseen. Which made him think that this one had actually wanted to be seen. Why?
“Did the wildred say anything?” he asked.
“Say anything?!” The Prince almost exploded with rage in front of him. “It sent a damned black drake against us! There was no bloody talking!”
But there had been fear. Argen could see that in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. No doubt the barbarian Prince hated that. It was why his anger was
so explosive. He was not a man who could live with being afraid. He would always be the one who frightened others. He lived off their fear. It was his food. To have the tables turned on him therefore was far worse for him than it would be for another.
“It was lucky then that you didn't bring your full army with you.” The Commander threw that back in the Prince's face.
Of course the Commander knew that the Prince had no army remaining. That all his claims of having tens of thousands of men waiting to come riding into Wynde Par if he didn't get what he wanted were less real than the dreams of drunkards. The truth was that the Prince had come with all that remained of his army – some five hundred men – and that even that remnant had been decimated. After that he had fled, seeking safety in Wynde Par behind the rangers' bows. If Argen knew that, so did everyone else.
“My army would have destroyed the creature!” The Prince made an attempt to reclaim his natural arrogance. “I only brought a small force, an honour guard, so as not to appear to be threatening war against your people. Most of my soldiers here are only here for ceremonial purposes. They are lightly armed and not well trained.”
“And once more –.” The Prince raised his voice again. “I am only here to claim my bride! This is my right as King of Abylon!”
“But you're not King of Abylon.” The Commander quickly cut him off before he could start blustering again. “The fact that you might one day claim the throne if you find and are hand-fasted to Princess Elan, does not make you King now.”
And that was the heart of it Argen knew. He had gambled and lost, and now he was trying one last desperate roll of the dice. The Prince had been defeated. Twice! His army had been destroyed in Abysynth by the wolves – along with the city itself. And with no army and no legitimate claim to the throne he had no way of claiming another major Abylonian city. So he had assembled what remained of his forces in Abysynth and marched for Wynde Par, hoping to find his Princess and complete the hand-fasting and in doing so legitimize his claim. If he had succeeded, then he could take the throne and with it rebuild his army. And with five hundred men beside him and the threat of ten thousand more on the other side of the Ellys Gorge just waiting for his command he thought he could persuade the fae to give him his would be bride without a struggle. But then his remaining forces had supposedly been defeated by the wildred. This was all he had left. Now he was just pretending that he still had an army behind him.
“Besides, you do not even know that the Princess is here in Wynde Par,” the Commander continued. “She could be anywhere.”
“She's here. She's close too.” The Prince stared evenly at the Commander and then the rest of them in turn. “That much I do know.”
“And how could you possibly know that?” Argen was curious. It seemed too unlikely that the Prince could simply have picked out this town to begin his search, when he didn't even know that the Princess was in the realm.
“Because I used the services of a bloodhound!”
A bloodhound! It wasn't the answer that Argen had expected. Looking around the room he suspected that no one else had either. The bloodhound he meant wasn’t a dog but rather a magical tracker. Yet the barbarian Prince was well known for his distrust of magic and those with the art. The gift was also rare.
Besides, Argen had expected that the answer would have something to do with the surviving soldiers from the royal hunting lodge. That they would have reported back to him about the princes. It had seemed the most logical answer. Which was why he suspected it had been a mistake letting them go. But then again what soldier would ever want to return to Prince Vel Moran and report that he had surrendered? And especially that in doing so he had lost the Prince's rivals for the throne of Abylon? The chances were that those men had fled as far and as fast as they could.
“He could be wrong.”
“He is not wrong and he will not lie. I have his family. Now where is my bride dullard?!” The Prince raised his voice once more and brought his gauntleted hand crashing down on the table for emphasis, somehow imagining that he was in command of the room, despite the fact that he was alone and surrounded by rangers. Or perhaps he was just blustering again.
“I don't know.” Actually that was the truth. He knew the Princess was close but not precisely where exactly, so Argen had no problem saying it. “But I do know that it's not your biggest problem.”
“What you may not be aware of is that the Princess' two brothers live and are even now being cared for by the healers. Even if you succeeded in being hand-fasted to Princess Elan, you could not claim the throne.”
The Prince froze in his seat, a look of horror slowly taking hold of his face. Argen had landed a major blow with his news. Just as he had intended. And yet as he suddenly realised, it meant that som of his assumptions had been wrong. The barbarians at the royal hunting lodge hadn't been there for the princes. So why had they been there? A little robbery on the side? Setting up a base of operations outside of the city? He would have to find out.
“But Lord Sternfell …”
“– Lied to you.” Argen finished the Prince's line of thought for him. “Even as he lay bleeding and knew that you were going to kill him, he acted to protect his king and his kingdom. How many of your men I wonder would do the same? How many would willingly sacrifice their life for you?”
None of them was his thought. The Prince's men served him either because he promised them the chance to steal all the wealth they wanted and to rape and pillage with his blessing – they really were just brigands – or because they were terrified of him. There was no true loyalty there. And as he looked out of the window at the courtyard beyond at the Prince's remaining forces milling around nervously, he knew that it wouldn't take much for them to abandon their leader. They did their best to hide it, but they were frightened men. They only became more so when they looked over toward Endorian who was standing off to one side. He might be weak and awkward, but his form was still a frightening one.
“You lie!” The prince tried again.
“I am a priest of the Great Sage. You should know better!” Argen snapped at the Prince. He was annoyed at himself for doing so, but for some reason he was always sensitive when it came to his being accused of lying.
His words must have hit a nerve, as the Prince abruptly fell silent. Maybe he believed him. Maybe he was just trying to think of a way to deny what he had been told. Either way, Argen was grateful for the silence. Still, he wished Lord Daelyn was here. But unfortunately the Lord had returned to Egoli, and hadn't had a chance to return yet.
Glancing out of the meeting room, Argen spied Marclan. His greatly changed appearance troubled him. This was not the young man who had visited him in the temple some months ago and brought him his grandfather's journals. He was not even the man that had been rescued from the temple. There was something very wrong with him. Only weeks ago he had sported a huge shock of black hair. Now it was completely white, and large chunks of it were missing, leaving a huge bald patch. His face was also becoming lined and showed signs of advancing age. He could have passed for a man in his sixties. If it continued at this rate he would soon be able to pass for his own grandfather. Not long after that he suspected they would be burying him.
But the few times Argen had brought it up, Marclan had refused to speak of what was happening to him. In fact, the most he had said was that he had a friend coming soon who would be able to help him. Argen hoped that was true, though how his friend knew where to find him he didn't know. But at least his transformation wasn't into one of the wolves.
“I demand to see the princes!” The Prince suddenly spoke again, causing everyone in the room to jump. Even the guards posted around the walls.
“So you can kill them in cold blood?” Commander Fillen pointed out the obvious.
“Never! I just want to see my future brothers’ in law.”
Did anyone believe the Prince, Argen wondered? Did the barbarian Prince himself even expect them to? He was a liar with only one ambition
in life – to rule. He would do anything he needed to, to achieve that ambition. Murder was not an issue for him. Fortunately for the princes, he was out of luck. Though they were somewhere in the town – Argen didn't know exactly where – he knew the Prince would not be taken to them. He was satisfied to hear the Commander tell him exactly that just a few minutes later.
“You refuse me?!” The Prince did his best to sound both shocked and outraged.
“Of course. This is not your land and you have no right to make demands in Wynde Par. Any demands.” Commander Fillen set it out plainly. “In truth as far as I can see you have no right to make demands anywhere. You should take your men and return to Grole. Or to your little corner of it at least.”
“I will –.”
“Do nothing!” Argen interrupted the Prince as he suddenly saw the reason the Prince was actually with them. He had seen it in his eyes when the Commander had told him to return to Grole. He had seen the look of a trapped animal, and finally understood the Prince’s predicament, praise the Great Sage.
