Sweat dripped acid into my eyes as I blinked at the horizon, judging it less than an hour after sunrise as I dragged in one lungful of air after another. Crikey, that bloody kid again. Four nights since I killed him, two since Van defeated me at the valley battle and he came to me every time I shut my eyes to sleep. This time the little bleeder spoke. He only stared at me, in previous nightmares. Now he’s learned some rather impressive language skills. Not bad for a dead two-year old.
“I will see you again,” he intoned with the deep, resonating voice of my father as he pointed his dripping finger at me, his eyes as red as the gaping maw beneath his chin.
“Forgive me,” I tried to say, to answer, to turn aside his wrath. “I didn’t know.”
“You are a fool to believe the witch –”
“Nightmare, Prince?”
Blaez cackled as he sat between me and the fire, squatting on his haunches, watching me sleep. I think that creeped me out far more than the boy I murdered pointing his baby finger at me in my dreams. How long had he sat there as the men broke camp, observing me? None of my boys stood watch over me, I realized as I sat up, my blanket sliding off my shoulders. Busy saddling horses, making breakfast, tending the fire, packing supplies – none paid any heed to the killer standing over me with hatred bared. Guess I’ll have to remedy that. Immediately.
“Yeah,” I replied blearily, scraping my hands down my bristly face. “I saw you copulating with a goat. Gave me the bleeding shivers, it did.”
Blaez rose, scowling. His right hand fiddled with his belt knife, though his sword remained curiously absent.
I stood also, feigning a yawn and a stretch as I idly meandered myself out of knife-lunging range. “Now I know the reason for your ruddy high boots.”
“It’s an hour past time we rode,” Blaez snapped, still fiddling. He eyed me up and down. “And here we sit, awaiting your beauty rest.”
“I get so little of that,” I replied, yawning again as I tried to suppress the real shiver as my mind tripped over the little rascal I’d murdered. “Mores the pity.”
I’d tossed and turned most of the night, unable to sleep. Thoughts of my father, my mother, the kid, Rade, Sim, Fainche and Sofia rode me like a spurred horse. I sweated like one, too, before sheer exhaustion dropped me into the nightmare a mere two hours before the dawn.
My illustrious sire ordered Blaez to kill me. Though he needed me find the child, he’d kill me once it was in our clutches. Then he’s proudly take it home to Castle Salagh, his prize and receive his reward from my father’s hands. But if he thought he could get away with it – Why wasn’t Boden watching over me? I bent to gather my blanket, shake out the loose dirt and twigs from it, eyeing my henchman as he bantered with Torass.
They’d saddled their own mounts, leaving them to stand unattended as they girthed Bayonne far too tightly for my liking, and Bayonne’s. He pinned his black-tipped ears and swished his tail in annoyance, but made no further expression of discontent. Far too easy-going for such theatrics as kicking or biting, Bayonne merely sighed down his nose at this obvious ill-treatment and shook his ears.
I whistled sharply as I bent down, my eyes never leaving Blaez, and retrieved my sword belt. Boden glanced around as Torass looked up. I jerked my chin, frowning slightly.
Boden, my afore-appointed bodyguard, got my message, even as Blaez grumbled sourly under his breath. I heard my royal status and a swift mention of my ancestors cast upon the light breeze before Boden arrived with his right hand resting lightly on his hilt. The rest of his bitter remarks regarding my blood Blaez swallowed as my young henchman paused at his left shoulder. Boden: young, strong, athletic towered over the squatty, ugly Blaez, his reputation as a swordsman exceeding Blaez’s as a bomb-maker.
Blaez started slightly and half-turned. Boden smiled gently, courteously, down, as Blaez’s jaw slackened.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Boden said quietly, menace soft in his tone. “I didn’t mean to startle your grace. Is there anything you require? Name it, and I’ll be happily obliged to give it to you.”
Had I not been annoyed with him to start with, I’d have applauded Boden as a genius. As it was, his young muscled body and self-confidence intimidated Blaez enough that that bad boy cursed under his breath and removed himself from my company. Muttering imprecations with no few angry glances cast over his shoulder, he stumped toward the fire, his arms swinging. He never saluted me, either, the cad.
I flung my arm over Boden’s shoulder, and steered him away from the others, out of ear-shot. I grinned at him in a comradely, friendly fashion, informing those who watched that I felt an affinity toward this young mercenary soldier.
My hand urged him to bend his head toward me, inviting a confidence.
I smiled. “Leave my side again, and I’ll gut you crotch to chin.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I –”
“Excuses are like asses,” I snapped, still smiling. “Everyone has one and they all stink.”
Boden slipped from under my arm to bow low. “No excuse, Your Highness. I’ll never leave your royal person this side of death.”
“See to it.”
“Your Highness.”
I raised my voice so it resounded throughout the camp. “And someone bring me some bleeding food.”
Buck-Eye obliged me, his cheeks reddened with chagrin that I was forced to shout for the service that was mine by right. Kneeling at my boots, he lifted a small platter of what appeared decent sustenance for a morning repast: warm bread, warmer ale, cold roast beef and hot sausages smoking from the frying pan. I breathed in the scents and my belly rumbled. Torass hurried across the camp to add his own delectables to my breakfast: white, hard cheese and an odd assortment of fruits and nuts he’d gathered as we travelled.
My guilt rose to nudge my ribs as he used only his healthy right arm to offer the small bowl filled to bursting. His hardly healed left arm still lay in its white, yet red-stained sling. His normally cheerful face smiled, yet I noticed the white strain around his eyes, and the corners of his mouth. In the past two days of travel, I wallowed in my own misery without paying the slightest heed to anyone else’s. I remembered, finally, how Buck-Eye, Boden, Kalan and Lyall fulfilled Torass’s duties as well as their own, permitting their friend to rest.
“How are you, lad?” I asked abruptly. “Your arm.”
He glanced down, surprised at my question. “Oh, um, better, Yer Highness, not so much pain today.”
“You shouldn’t be –” I began, and halted.
The old Prince Flynn would hardly care one of his men rode and served with an injury that caused him obvious pain. He’d ignore the wretch and demand service no matter what the cost. Yet, the new, powerful and tainted Prince Flynn found a strange sympathy toward the peasant soldier who reveled in the opportunity to serve his liege despite his agony and handicap.
He misread my hesitation.
“Its ruddy safe, Yer Highness,” he said, his tone half-panicked I’d fear he aimed to pison me and murder him. “My da’s a farmer and me dam, me mother, oft fed these to us younglings afters a forage in the forest. Tries them, m’lord and you’ll see. ‘Tis good.”
He bowed low, his self-effacing grin and sweat trickling from his brow in the less than hot temperatures informed me of his sincerity and dreading I’d not recognize such. If he hadn’t pleased me, he feared, I’d kill him out of hand.
My soul cringed. What kind of monster have I become? That a simple offering, a simple meal at daybreak, would revert to a life or death situation? Am I that bad?
Yes. You are that bad.
I flushed. “My thanks, Torass,” I said, trying to find a smile, or at least a lightening of my habitual oppressive expression. “I’ll wager your mother is an awesome cook.”
Accepting his offering, I bit into the juicy fruit, my throat’s glands cringing in protest. Such was its sweetness, its diverse and tantalizing taste, I gobbled it down and reached for another. “Crikey, that’s good,” I muttered, my mou
th full and juice running down my chin.
“Try this one, m’lord,” Torass said eagerly, his chin jerk indicated a pale orange fruit with dark red lines ringing its exterior. “Take a bite, then chase it with these here nuts. Ye’ll swear you’d died and gone t’ heaven, that ye will. And the cheese – my dam’s made it herself, she did.”
I hoped he didn’t mean that literally, but took his advice. The flavor of the nuts pursuing the fruit did indeed make me reach for more of both. My belly didn’t just rumble this time: it screamed for more. Damn, but that combination of flavors sent my tongue into overdrive. The cheese was all he said ‘twas – delicious and sharp, with a weird tang that forced a small groan from me.
“When I’m king,” I said, my mouth full. “I’ll appoint you my chief cook.”
I eyed him sidelong. “Or maybe your mother.”
Torass grinned and squirmed like a stroked puppy. “I’m tickled ye like them, m’lord prince.”
The hot sausage, the fresh bread and swallows of thick, amber ale seemed almost a poor relation to Torass’s fruity breakfast. I ate most, waved away the cold roast and belched contentedly. Blaez sulked from the far side of camp, his pretentious scowl firmly in place. He munched hard bread and cheese as Galdan saddled his black stallion, setting out wrapped bundles of arrows for the men to collect. He’d replaced the razor-tipped barbs with bulbous homemade death, smallish rounded heads that still ended in a sharp point.
His sack bulged with his creative bombs, the feathered fletching informed me he had hundreds more bomb-arrows ready to take out Van and Malik’s hellcats. The heavy canvass collection of his creations sat at the feet of the pack-mule, who eyed it dubiously while munching the thin grass for his breakfast.
Buck-Eye, Kalan, Boden and Lyall seized bundles of these weird creations, eyeing them and one another sidelong as they attached them to the pommels of their saddles. Quivers of ordinary arrows they rolled onto their cantles along with their bedrolls, spare weapons and food.
Boden asked my leave with a glance. I gave it with a quick nod, and gestured for Torass to accompany him to collect their own quivers and finish saddling their mounts. As Buck-Eye had completed his preparations for departure, my swift hand gesture brought him sidling closer to me, his hand on his sword hilt. He knew well that my father ordered Blaez to kill me. Should Blaez try, well, Buck-Eye had few qualms when it came to killing madmen.
As Blaez tossed me my own bundle of explosive arrows, he sneered. His dark beady eyes narrowed and his upper lip lifted to expose his darkly stained teeth.
“Per your request,” he grumbled, his flippant gesture included his bulging canvas as his sneer never faltered, “bombs ready and arrows to hand. All you need do is point and shoot. Can you handle that?”
“Can you?” I replied, my hand deftly enclosing his arsenal of bristling, stubby arrows. One shot might take out as many as five royal Atani soldiers, I thought, eyeballing the fearsome collection at my fingertips. Is that not cool, or what? “Seems to me your arrows fell far short of their mark. Can it be you shoot as well as a peasant whore?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Prince,” he snapped. “We’ve a long way to ride this day.”
And so we have, I thought, rising and strapping my swordbelt around my hips. But where are we going?
Despite riding from dawn till past dusk and pushing our horses to their limits, Van and Company stayed well ahead of us. As though they knew we followed on their heels, we could neither gain ground nor get ahead of them to plant another ambush. Time and again I considered my mother’s suggestion: use the jewel to cast myself into their midst and stop their hearts with one blow. I rejected it as too risky. Though I’d learned much of my powers in recent days, Van and Malik knew far more than I. I may jump myself into their midst, kill several only to have a Griffin I overlooked strike my head from my shoulders. Or I might cast a wide spell and slaughter Iyumi along with them.
Perhaps the jewel might show me another way, I thought. I belched again, and hitched my belt more comfortably around my hips. “Be right back, gents. Commander Blaez, I trust you’ll see to our travel arrangements. Buck-Eye, you have my back.”
Without waiting to see if my orders were followed, I strode quickly into the dense mountain brush. As though answering the call of nature, which I desperately needed to do, I also required isolation and privacy to find out what Van and Company were up to. A dense thicket of tough, thorny bushes and scrub oak offered a very secretive spot to spy on one’s enemy.
I spun about and pointed. “Wait here.”
“But – Your Highness –”
“If a squirrel invades my ass as I shit, I’ll yell,” I snapped, “until then, you wait – right – here. Understand?”
He bowed low. The poor knight obeyed me, clearly unhappy as I wiggled my way into the thicker brush and high oak trees. On one hand I threatened a nasty death for failing to guard my body as I, a mere few moments later, threatened the same for staying too close. No wonder the henchmen I paid misunderstood me and wished for a saner, less temperamental, employer. Perhaps a dowager duchess whose greatest journeys were to the garden, to the privy, and back. I knew they thought me as mad as a march hare and hardly as cute.
But I pay thrice as much, I thought as I wiggled my way into the dense thickets, overgrown wild rose patches and long, sharp thorns that cut my skin and put holes in my black cloak. Should Enya see the state of my garments, she’d scream foul and reach for her needles. A royal prince shouldn’t lack for a solid, upright appearance.
There’s always a ‘however’ somewhere to hand, I suspected. That thorny thicket prevented anyone who managed to bypass Buck-Eye to sneak up on me while I conducted personal business. That done, I pulled the amber jewel from beneath my shirt and held it in my hand. Its warmth startled me, for I knew its heat hadn’t come from my body. It gave off a soft golden glow as it sat on my palm, almost seeming to pulse with a heartbeat. While I never felt evil when I touched it, or gazed into it, I also felt my presence in its territory wasn’t welcome. It obeyed me, but didn’t love me.
“Join the club,” I muttered, bending my will onto it. “Show me Vanyar.”
I lifted my eyes in time to see the blue-washed western horizon fill with black Malik waving his arms and stomping in a wide circle, his heavy tail lashing. Though I couldn’t hear his words, I knew he ordered one Griffin to fly north, another to the south. For those birdies he gestured toward rose high on sluggish wings and flew where he directed. A third leapt skyward and rose higher and higher until it vanished into the thin haze. The rayed star upon his brow gleamed under the early light as he pointed to a pair of Centaurs and gestured north. Those two loped under the trees and vanished. As I watched, a cute, dark-haired Atani, her black hair braided into a thick twist that fell to her waist, changed before my eyes into a slender doe.
I gaped. As when Van transformed from Bayonne to his own self, the change was instantaneous. Where my horse once stood, his hoof on my chest, Captain Van grinned down at me, his green eyes alight with good humor. Again, where the foxy brunette once tugged on her braid, a delicious doe bounded away on light hooves to also vanish under the trees.
Uncanny, I thought, both delighted and horrified. To have the innate ability to change into any form one desires – wasn’t that evil? Or might it be complete freedom? What might it be like to soar on an eagle’s wings and go wherever one wanted? To fly free of one’s heavy-handed father –
And Van?
The instant I thought of him, the jewel revealed him to me. Half-hidden behind Malik and a human cavalry soldier mounted on his chestnut horse, I saw him. He wore a sky-blue tunic open at the throat, black breeches, and a slender band of braided leather tied around his brow to prevent his shaggy hair from falling in his eyes. A silver medallion depicting a lightning bolt lay against his chest, perhaps a token of his rank. The hilt of a heavy broadsword protruded from its plain leather scabbard, its costly jewels winking in the sun made mine appear shabby b
y comparison. How much did Atani soldiers get paid? I half wondered.
He assisted Princess Yummy onto my blue roan, draped from throat to heel in a black cloak. His dark hair, swept back from his face, blew lightly from beneath the wings of the tremendous Griffin dropping to earth behind him. His piercing green eyes laughed up at Iyumi, his teeth flashing in the new light. As it had before, his simple boyish grin and devilish charm had its effect on me. I liked him then, on sight, as I liked him now, watching from afar.
Van owned that unique quality, very rare, that made folk not just like him, but follow him. Even into death, into the flames of hell. A natural leader, I knew why such a young man had risen so high in the Atani ranks. His charisma alone brought tough men to their knees. He led, they followed.
He’s the enemy, I reminded myself, trying to imagine him dead under my blade, his life’s blood soaking into the stony soil. Yet, the vision never quite happened, as hard as I tried to visualize it. I gazed at him coldly, with hate, with anger. Strangely enough, my animosity drifted on the wind and the iciness I felt toward him melted and leached away under the infectiousness of that grin. Dammit, I liked that son of a bitch. How can I hate, or kill, someone like Van?
The Griffin behind him remained grounded, colossal wings spread wide as if for flight, its raptor beak wide. Like a sentry guarding its master’s gate, the Griffin spoke to Van, tail lashing and black-tufted ears canted backward in annoyance.
Van turned his head and laughed over his shoulder, as the Griffin relaxed and shook its head. It furled its wings over its shoulders as it paced away from him. I swear it laughed along with him, its eagle’s beak parted and eyes lit with high humor. I’d forgotten how a Griffin’s, or the dreaded Minotaur’s, facial expressions could mirror a human’s so completely I knew exactly what had just transpired. He turned the Griffin’s annoyance into a joke and the deadly Griffin fell headlong into it.
Despite his light conversation, and thwarting of the vicious creature’s anger, I didn’t miss the quick, affectionate seizure of Iyumi’s hand. Her tiny hand engulfed in his calloused palm, his thumb teased her knuckles.
The Unforgiven Page 27
