The Unforgiven

by A. Katie Rose

  I grew up on tales of the Atani viciousness, their cruelty, their lust for the blood of my folk, the Raithin Mawrn. While I wasn’t stupid enough to believe them all, considering how much grief my father’s fanatics brought upon themselves, I knew this much: we kidnapped their heir and they’ll stop at nothing to get her back. If they catch us, I seriously doubt they’ll send me home with a smack on the wrist.

  Amongst the tales of the impressive Atani, I’d heard stories of their Braigh’Mhar. The terrible cold, the ice, the high walls and the guarding trolls. Word spread long ago of the prison gangs who killed the weak, and preyed upon one another. Catch Prince Flynn in the act of stealing their High Priestess and throne’s heir? If they didn’t execute me first, I’d face a very short life sentence inside their wretched prison. In Braigh’Mhar, I’d be jail bait within a day.

  As the landscape grew increasingly treacherous, I, cursing under my breath, reined Bayonne in to slow his headlong pace. The ground rose steadily, pocked with stunted trees and rocky ground, eclipsed by huge boulders that forced a horse to go around at a careful walk. The sky and the storm vanished behind tall hills strewn with heavy, jagged stones, scrub oak and thickets of pine, fir, dogwood, and twisted, stunted trees I could put no name to. Wild roses with thorns as long as my finger grew amid the harsh rocks, and tiny purple flowers with a sickeningly sweet scent forced me to sneeze time and again.

  “I don’t like this,” Blaez muttered, his black puffing just behind Bayonne’s tail. “We’re too exposed, too vulnerable.”

  I rubbed the stinging itch from my nose. “This is your fault.”

  “Mine? How?”

  I slewed in my saddle, leaving Bayonne to mind his footing. “These are your lads, Blaez. And not a one has the ability to find his own ass with both hands and a map. You sent in stupid spies.”

  “They’re all I was given,” Blaez muttered, a sharp whine raising his tone.

  “Spare me,” I gritted, facing front once more.

  Stumbling over jagged stones, Bayonne kept his feet as easily as he kept his head. I let him pick his way down the far side of the tall hillock, casting an uneasy eye on the approaching storm. Lightning flickered with its inky depths, thunder growling in the distance. Darkness filled the entire sky, dropping bright daylight into gloomy nightfall. The sun vanished, the threatening clouds shrouding me in a misty half-light. Fine droplets of rain kissed my face, dampened my hair and Bayonne’s tossing grey mane.

  “Who has the bloody map?” I yelled over my shoulder. “Where’s the bleeding Khai River?”

  “Two leagues,” Boden’s voice from the rear shouted. “That way.”

  That way indicated a steep climb up into the sheer, dark sky. Lightning flickered deep within the bank of angry, roiling clouds. Of course. A river cut deep channels between mountains, and the tall cliffs around us trapped the Khai within their stony embrace. Should we ride to the top, follow the cliff-face, we’d soon descend into the long cut in the hills to the great river. Dead easy.

  Nudging my horse with my heels, my weight tilted forward to allow him his balance, Bayonne bucked and heaved his way up the perilous incline. My left hand tangled in Bayonne’s thick mane, I shot a swift glance over my shoulder. Blaez cursed fluidly, and struck his black with his whip to increase impetus. I hid a grin when his actions merely served to panic his horse. Fearing the whip more than the perilous rocks, the black bounded up and away from the whip’s lash –

  – only to trip, hard, over the uneven terrain.

  Blaez fell off, tossed over his stallion’s shoulder, shouting invectives. He hit the merciless rocks on his back and shoulders, his whip falling from his nerveless fingers.

  Too well-trained to bolt, the black stallion stopped and sweated, knowing he’d earned a sound beating. His head rose as his nostrils flared, and he cast a white-ringed eye at his master. Fear-sweat bloomed on his neck and flanks.

  Prepared to deliver righteous justice, Blaez roared himself to his feet and advanced on his luckless mount. He caught his whip up and raised his hand –

  I reined Bayonne around and ripped my sword from its sheath. I swung at the same instant Blaez’s whip-hand swung downward.

  My razor-honed blade parted the lash from the whip’s stem. The descending whip, without its punishing lash, hit nothing save air and earth. Blaez faltered, stumbling, knocked his shin on a sharp rocks. Blaez yelled, incoherent with fury, trying to stumble forward while rubbing his leg. His horse backed away with white-ringed eyes, seeking shelter amid the horses behind. I pushed Bayonne between the two.

  “Leave off,” I ordered.

  “How dare you –” he sputtered, staggering to his feet, snatching at his own sword. “You should learn some manners, princeling.”

  I whistled sharply.

  My father, while hoarding his love, gave generously of his gold. My monthly allowance might easily support a high lord’s estate and arm a dozen knights. I used it to purchase the loyalty of hard-bitten soldiers, and preserved the rest. My own men didn’t like me any more than anyone else, and gossiped about me behind my back. Even so, they guarded it faithfully. Dead princes didn’t pay well. Live ones had their uses, and I rewarded them handsomely.

  At my prearranged signal, two soldiers wearing my sigil, hand-picked and chosen for their skills at arms and their mercenary hearts, spurred their mounts through and past Blaez’s cronies. Bows creaked above the sound of the rising wind as they drew arrows to their ears. Blaez stared up, gaping and stunned, as my henchmen pointed razor-tipped arrows at his face and chest.

  In a similar move, my other three drew down on Blaez’s pals, effectively halting them when they sought to ride to his aid. His three friends carefully sat their saddles and raised hands from sword hilts, their throats bobbing as they gulped. The sweat trickling from their ghostly pallors wasn’t from the sheer drop a mere rod away nor from the howling wind that threatened to toss them over its edge.

  No one ever accused the Commander of cowardice. He fought well and hard, and the men he led lived to drink his health. Blaez glared around at the hard eyes and deadly armament surrounding him and his followers. His lip curled.

  “You don’t have the guts, Prince,” Blaez scoffed, sheathing his sword, then brushing dirt and rock dust from his hands and breeches. “Your sire sent me along to keep you in line, boyo. Don’t you forget that. I’m in charge here.”

  I leaned my arms over my pommel and grinned down into Blaez’s smarmy, sneering face. “Care to wager on that – boyo?”

  I straightened, and, leaving my reins on Bayonne’s heavy neck, nocked an arrow to my own bowstring. “You, dear Blaez, must be taught a lesson on respecting one’s betters.”

  As his jaw tightened and his muddy eyes narrowed, I knew he expected me to point my arrow at him. My smile widened.

  “Care to pick or shall I?”

  As his thick lips tightened, his eyes bulging in their sockets, Blaez stared toward the direction my eyes travelled: into his own sworn men, his bodyguard and constant companion. I all but felt his denial along my skin: Flynn won’t do it. He’s a coward and no mistake. He’s never killed a human being and to do so now, with cold blood, he’ll rip his soul to shreds.

  Will it? Perhaps. Did I care? Not one jot. My father always said a prince should never shirk from his duty, no matter how dirty the task. Leaders must often be executioners, and to gain the respect, the fear, of these men, I’d have to dirty my hands. Unless Blaez, his men, and even my own henchmen feared me, they’ll always threaten my life.

  The big dog rules here, I thought. And I’m the big dog.

  I lowered my bow, squinting down my arrow’s sight. My tip sharpened on Blaez’s leading pal, his friend since boyhood and sworn liegeman. That bad boy raised both hands in surrender, sweating worse than his horse and his eyes pleading for mercy. “No, my lord,” Sim whispered, fear-sweat sliding down his cheek. “I beg you. Please.”

  “Do you also beg, Commander?” I asked softly, my arrow trained
on the pudgy face blubbering within my sights. “Implore me not to. Plead for my mercy and perhaps your chum will live.”

  “You haven’t the balls.”

  I relaxed my fingers.

  The best arms masters my father paid trained me, beat me bloody, but gave to me the best instruction in the world. Those beatings taught me how to aim a bow, loose an arrow, and kill my target. My reputation spread as a poor swordsman, but no rumors spoke as to my talents as an archer. No one cared enough to listen to those that praised my skills.

  My arrow took Blaez’s best friend between his panicked eyes and knocked him over the rump of his roan stallion.

  He fell to the rocky, unforgiving earth, stricken, his limbs still dancing as his heart thought he yet lived. He jigged and jagged on the stony soil before his heart failed to communicate with his already dead brain. Thus he died, a trickle of red seeping from my arrow down his heavy, hooked nose. Lying still at last, his spirit fled to the folk who kept count.

  I suspected I just forced them to sit up and take notice.

  My victim’s mates cringed away, shrinking, as Sim’s horse danced sideways, tail lashing and dark eyes panicked. My own lads eyed me sidelong, still pointing their arrows, and nervously wet their lips. They hadn’t believed I’d do it, either.

  “Is this what you mean by balls?” I inquired politely, nocking another arrow.

  Blaez stared at his fallen friend, his ruddy skin drained of all color. “You – oh, gods –”

  “Tsk, Blaez,” I commented dryly. “Your sentimentality is showing.”

  Shock clearly took control of Commander Blaez as he mumbled incoherently, stumbling toward his dead friend. Dropping to his knees, he lifted the corpse into his arms. His voice, thick with tears, spoke not much above a mutter. “Gods – Sim, gods, no – Sim – “ were the only words I clearly heard. His shaking hand closed the dead man’s glazed, staring eyes.

  At his obvious grief, my conscience reared up and stabbed me in the ribs. “You killed in cold blood.”

  “Who cares?”

  “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “Yes, I did,” I replied fiercely.

  “You’ve done murder.”

  “So? It’s done every day. He needed to die.”

  “No, he didn’t. You could have wounded him and still make your point.”

  “Wounded he’d have slowed me down.”

  “You murdered a defenseless man,” Blaez muttered, staggering sideways as he groped his way to his feet, staring, pale, at the corpse. Grief etched long lines into his already creased, leathern face, his brow dotted with sweat. Hiding behind his hands, a short coughing bark of lament emerged to tickle my conscience.

  “What have you done?”

  “Only what I had to do to stay alive.”

  Blaez’s shocked, dull brown eyes and lank, oily hair showed over his thick, bulbous knuckles. Did I know how much he cared for Sim, a scoundrel who liked to rape young girls and boast about his courageous feats in the taprooms? Did I care that that I killed a man my father would have hanged from the turrets had he been anyone save Blaez’s best friend?

  The answer to both questions was no.

  “Truthfully,” I answered, nocking another arrow. “I murdered your defenseless man. Shall I murder another?”

  I pointed my deadly tip at Blaez’s second favorite, Buck-Eye. I knew this wretch as a traitor, thief and mercenary soldier no regular army officer wanted under his command. The type of man only Blaez could attract. While his crimes should surely see him strung up by his ankles and his throat cut, the King granted him pardon. For Blaez’s sake.

  He blanched and raised empty hands. A weak grin crawled across his blunt face and terror filled his pale blue eyes. “Please, Your Highness,” he begged, his voice soft. “Please, don’t.”

  “‘Please’ is it?” I replied lightly. “I like this new respect. How ‘bout you, Commander Blaez? Care to share with the class? What have you learned here today?”

  Blaez dropped his hands from his ugly face. Sweat, and tears, slid like tiny rivers down his flat cheeks. He stood as tall as he could, lightning illuminating his eyes, the icy wind whipping his damp hair across his mouth. “You’re in charge, Your Highness.”

  “Um,” I muttered, my eyes rolling sideways and up. “You sure? I thought I heard you claim the big dog position here.”

  “My mistake,” Blaez answered, lowering himself to lie flat on his belly. His huge nose and brow struck the damp, stony earth. “You’re the big dog, Your Highness.”

  “Ah,” I replied casually, lowering my bow and returning my arrow to its quiver. “Is this a true conversion? Or are you saying what you think I want to hear?”

  “No, Your Highness.” Dust blew out from under his face. “I mean, yes, Your Highness.”

  “Well, that’s certainly clarifying. What of you chaps?”

  Buck-Eye and his pal, Kalan, slid down from their horses. Keeping hands clear of their weapons, they each dropped to their right knee, their hands behind their backs. In unison, they bowed their heads. “You’re the big dog, Your Highness,” Buck-Eye choked.

  “Your will, Highness,” Kalan muttered.

  “So glad you agree. Now then, you boys will, very carefully now, draw your swords. With your hands on the hilts, you swear your undying loyalty to your new boss.”

  “You can’t –” Blaez inhaled the dust beneath his nose and coughed.

  “Oh, but of course I can.”

  I grinned down onto Blaez’s squirming body and trampled on no doubt a dozen royal laws as to fealty and obligation. “I can and they will.”

  The pair exchanged wild glances. “My lord, we’ve already sworn –”

  “Oh, very well, then,” I snapped, impatient. “First they’ll disavow their loyalty to you, Blaez. Then they’re clear to re-swear to me. Come on, let’s get this done.”

  Rade, the oldest and most experienced of my henchmen, lowered his bow and returned his arrow to its quiver. Nudging his horse in behind Buck-Eye and Kalan, he urged them to their feet. Unless they wanted stallion hooves imprinted on their backs, they’d best get up and walk. Into their new future.

  As they stumbled forward, Blaez lifted his face enough to watch, half-horror, half-disbelief warring across his broad, flat face. Buck-Eye and Kalan walked a few steps toward me, yet never once looked to their former liege lord. As one, they nodded.

  “I disavow of my oath of loyalty and fealty to my lord Commander Blaez,” Buck-Eye said, his tone low. “I do so swear to honor and obey His Royal Highness Prince Flynn of Raithin Mawr. The gods strike me dead should I prove false.”

  “I accept your oath and your service, “I said. “I’m curious, however, Buck-Eye. How’d you get that handle anyhow? Buck-Eye?”

  “M’lord, I once shot a buck through his eye at three hundred paces. M’lord.”

  “Well done. I’m certain to have a very good use for you and your marksmanship. Kalan, are you ready?”

  His comrade nodded, dull eyes on the rocky ground. “I, Kalan of Alamara, disavow of my allegiance to Lord Commander Blaez and forthwith shall owe my sword and my life to His Royal Highness Prince Flynn. Gods strike me dead if I prove untrue.”

  “Welcome,” I said, my tone light and expansive. “I accept both your oaths as binding and lasting. As your liege lord and master, I command you in all things.”

  “You do, sire.” Buck-Eye bowed his head.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Kalan said, his tone low. “I’m your man from now on.”

  “Good. Commander Blaez.”

  At the sound of his name, Blaez scrambled to his feet, staggering, dark rock dust coating his damp face. “Eh?”

  “Will you also swear your undying loyalty to me?”

  As though struck by a poleaxe, his brown eyes cleared. A scowl crept across his thick lips and heavy brow. He wiped dust and grit from his dark face with his filthy hands. Balancing himself at last, on his feet where he belonged, Commander Blaez straightened
his spine. He remembered to whom my father offered his devotion. My royal father loved him. However, he hated me. Blaez’s fingers tickled his sword’s hilt, safe within the warm, defensive blanket of my sire’s fickle affections.

  “Never.”

  I half-shrugged. “So be it. With or without an oath, you’ll do as you’re told.”

  “Bastard,” he hissed, his pronounced lips thinned to the point of emaciation.

  “You wish.” I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, my parents were wed within a temple in front of hundreds of witnesses. Royal weddings and all that. I popped into existence a mere two years later.”

  I snickered. “Did it take that long for Pop to finally approach her? And she’s so beautiful, too.”

  “You’ve no right.”

  “The one who bears the might is always right.” I sniffed, feigning mild annoyance. “Doesn’t that just suck rocks?”

  Blaez found his courage and a nasty grin from somewhere amid his personal possessions. “It does indeed, prince of nothing.”

  I laughed. “Oh, how you make me smile, Commander. You’re the life of the party, what?”

  “Of course, Prince. I bring smiles wherever I go.”

  “No doubt,” I murmured. “Shall we ride, gentlemen? My bride awaits me in those barbaric caves yonder.”

  My new henchmen, Buck-Eye and Kalan of Alamara, swiftly mounted their horses, while Blaez obeyed more slowly. I jerked my chin at the dead man’s horse, nibbling on weeds with his reins tangled in his mane. “Take him behind you,” I said to Rade. “That’s a nice roan. I think I’ll keep him.”

  Blaez shot me a glare filled with hatred as he settled himself in his saddle. “You’d best watch your back, Prince,” he grumbled.

  I chuckled. “I have seven good men right here who watch it for me,” I replied easily. “Meanwhile, you lead the way, Commander. I think I’ll keep yours in sight for a while.”

  Muttering curses, Blaez kicked his black into a lunging trot up the hill, and cast one last lingering look over his shoulder. Not at me, but at the dead man we left behind. I squashed the inner voice when it wanted to berate me again, gritting my teeth. I had to do it.