Red Prince

by Jared Garrett

  “Where’s Falon?” How was there nowhere to sit? Did everyone just stand all the time? Lakhoni worried that if he sat on the ground he would have trouble getting up.

  “He’s got the dogs,” Balon answered. “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?” Lakhoni leaned against a tree trunk, doing his best to keep his thoughts focused as exhaustion hit him hard.

  “We’ve been taking turns going on long searches with them.” Balon said. He put his hands out to his sides and turned in a circle. “But this is a big forest. We haven’t found any sign of Gadnar yet.”

  Lakhoni was impressed. He nodded at Balon. “That’s smart. The dogs might pick up a scent.”

  “You might want to take one of the dogs with you when you go,” Balon said. “They might make it easier to track him once you do pick up Gadnar’s trail.”

  Lakhoni blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. The brothers weren’t planning on going after Gadnar. They were going to stay with Simra’s village. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Neither of them had any interest in learning to fight. The battle outside Zyronilxa had left them terribly wounded and only Simra’s arrival had kept them from being crippled or even dying of infection in the swamps near the ocean. “You’re not coming.”

  Balon’s face screwed up in an expression of anguish. “Lakhoni, you know we want to help. But it’s not good. We’re not good for that. We’re not warriors. Falon’s arm still doesn’t work very well.”

  Vena broke in. “So for now, we need to settle into some long-term arrangements for where we sleep and how we make all this work with these people.” She turned to Lakhoni. “But that’s not something you need to worry about. You need to get after Gadnar as soon as possible.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come? We could use more trained fighters.” Lakhoni felt a hand on his arm and saw Simra behind him, setting a cloth-covered stump down. Gratefully, he lowered himself to sit.

  Vena shook her head. “No. My concern is my daughter.”

  Lakhoni indicated the rest of the gathered group. “And these people will need a strong leader.”

  Lina spoke up from behind Vena. “Mastopo can be the leader.”

  Mastopo yelped in surprise. “What?” He looked around frantically. “No. No! I’m not the leader.”

  Lina growled and turned to her brother, berating him quietly and enthusiastically.

  “I like it,” Corzon said. “Vena’s perfect, judging by that small, excitable man you were arguing with earlier.”

  Melana glanced up at her betrothed. “You don’t want to lead? Being the man?”

  “You don’t want to lead, being the woman?” Corzon smiled at Melana, laughing gently. “It makes no difference. Vena’s by far the most capable of this group.”

  “Corzon,” Lakhoni said. “You shared a tent with Gadnar.”

  “Back when he was Anor.”

  “Yes. But…” Lakhoni searched for the words. “He deceived you the entire time. You don’t want to join the hunt?’

  “Being a Living Dead was never important to me,” Corzon said. “My family had separated from the Zyronites when I was little. I never enjoyed the training or sneaking or killing.” He gave a flat smile. “I have no interest in any killing of any kind.” His eyes went from Melana to Lakhoni. “But if you need another blade, I will come. Gadnar will bring evil everywhere he goes. He needs to be stopped.”

  Lakhoni breathed slowly, easing his injured lungs and chest out and in. He took in the people who stood in a loose, messy group nearby. “So it is Lamorun, Alronna, Hilana, Simra, and I who will go on the hunt.”

  “And you should take a dog,” Balon said. “Gar probably. I think he’s got a better sniffer.”

  “And you’re not going anywhere right now.” Simra pulled Lakhoni to his feet. “You still don’t have all your color back. We need to wait at least a week before we leave to make sure you heal enough.”

  “A week?” Lakhoni laughed humorlessly. “We leave tomorrow.”

  “Keep laughing,” Simra said. “You can laugh your way to death if you try to run after Gadnar without healing more. That boar’s tusks tore you up inside a little too.”

  Lakhoni made a sour face. “We are not waiting a week.”

  “We’ll see tomorrow.” Simra guided Lakhoni back into the ring of huts that made up the village. It was only mid-day, although it felt to Lakhoni as if the arguing back and forth had taken up at least a week. Why did Mibli have to be so unreasonable? Vena truly would be the best leader of the people left behind—she had a level head and was forceful enough to not allow Mibli to push her around.

  Lakhoni pulled to a halt. “Simra, hold on.”

  “What is it?” Simra’s hand stayed wrapped around his forearm.

  “I need to talk to Vena.” Lakhoni glanced over his shoulder. Vena still stood in the group they had just left. She was chatting with Corzon. Prila had appeared and was draped against her mother’s side.

  Simra raised an eyebrow. “Is everything ok?”

  He nodded. “I’ve put this off too long. Vena needs to know.”

  Simra’s eyes tightened, then widened as she understood his meaning. She knew all that had come to pass in the temple of the king in Zyronilxa. “Ok. But you need to rest.”

  Lakhoni squeezed her hand and turned. As he approached the group, Vena must have seen him. He caught her eye and gestured to the side with his head. She must have understood, because she separated herself from the conversation and met Lakhoni near a cluster of small saplings. “What is it?” Prila had stuck by her mother’s side and now looked up at Lakhoni with her big eyes. He’d grown to like the sweet, quiet girl he’d first met in Gimno’s circle.

  This was not easy. Lakhoni forced himself to look into Vena’s eyes. Would she grow upset and leave the group? Would Prila never look at him again? “There’s something I should have told you before.”

  “Before what?” Vena let her hand slide down from Prila’s head to her shoulder, pulling her daughter closer.

  “Before now.” He was being a coward. She deserved to hear it straight, without the fear that threatened to close his throat. “About Gimno. Your husband.”

  “I know Gimno was my husband.” Vena licked her lips, her expression turning wary. “What is this about?”

  Just say it. Lakhoni squared his shoulders and met her eyes again. “I fought him. He was supposed to kill me. In the temple back in Zyronilxa.”

  Vena nodded, but kept her lips pressed tightly together.

  “He taught me so well. And…” the strength went out of him. Prila was going to see him as a murderer. He glanced away, staring at the shadowy trees. “But I got lucky. And… I did it.” He forced his gaze back to Vena’s. “I killed him.”

  Vena’s expression didn’t change. For endless seconds, her eyes burned into him. Finally, she spoke as her hand caressed Prila’s upper back. “He died doing what he believed in. And you did what you had to do.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. “I don’t blame you.”

  Lakhoni stared at her. “But I do.”

  “My husband was being led by evil men to do evil things.” She sighed and wiped a tear from under one of her eyes. “Gimno was honorable, even in the hands of Molgar.” Her eyes closed for a moment as she let her head fall backward with a long sigh. “He was never going to die of old age. The foolish man.”

  Lakhoni felt like he was hearing things that he maybe shouldn’t be. He took a small step backward. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  Vena caught his eyes as she straightened. “Thank you for telling me now.” Then she turned and led Prila away, into the shadows of the trees back to their campsite.

  Lakhoni followed her departure with his eyes. He’d made it worse. She and Prila had been healing and he’d cut the grief open again. But he’d had to tell her. She needed to know the truth. He had to admit that he had needed it too, needed to stop hiding what he’d done. Of course it had been necessary. But that di
dn’t make it right.

  A hand on his wrist brought him back to the present.

  “How did it go?” Simra stood close enough to warm his side.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think that was the right thing to do.”

  “The truth is always right.” She pulled him gently. “Even if it’s hard.”

  “That sounds like something my mother used to say.” Lakhoni let himself be led away.

  “Your mother was wise.” Simra led Lakhoni around hide-covered logs and rocks where the villagers often sat while working or chatting.

  “Where are we going?” Lakhoni asked.

  “Father says he wants to try a new tea on you to help speed up your healing,” Simra said.

  “Try a new tea?” Lakhoni balked and pulled back. “More of that awful stuff?”

  “A new awful stuff,” Simra said, laughing. “Are you scared of tea?”

  “I’m not scared of it, but I’m not sure your father isn’t trying to kill me.” Lakhoni let out a breath, the guilt that had been poking at him replaced with different guilt that he’d re-opened wounds in Vena and Prila. But it had been the right thing to do.

  Simra gently but firmly pushed Lakhoni into the healer’s hut. “The teas helped you before when you nearly died of winter sickness and lost your voice.”

  “But some of those actually tasted good.” Lakhoni let himself be pushed onto a cloth-covered stump next to a rough wood table.

  “Look.” Simra sat across from Lakhoni. “Drink the tea and I’ll kiss you again.”

  “Good plan, but here’s a better one: Kiss me now and then I’ll drink the tea and then kiss me again as a reward.”

  “A reward for what?” Neas pushed into the hut, several pouches bundled in his hands.

  “For drinking the next filthy mud water you force me to drink,” Lakhoni said.

  “My teas are good,” Neas said. “And what is this reward?”

  Lakhoni exchanged a glance with Simra. “A kiss. Maybe two.”

  Neas snickered. “Watch out Simra. This boy might have intentions.” He dropped his pouches on the rough table and got his mortar and off a nearby shelf. He began measuring leaves.

  “He definitely has intentions,” Simra said.

  “I do,” Lakhoni said.

  Neas looked up from his work and narrowed his eyes at his daughter, then turned to Lakhoni. “You both have intentions. Do you have a plan?”

  “A plan?” Simra asked. She went to the hearth and used a stiff leather glove to pull a finely crafted clay pot with a spout off a hook directly above the flames. “What do you mean?”

  Lakhoni spread his hands, making a face at Simra. “A plan. Like I’ve been talking about.”

  Simra poured the hot water into the cup that Neas had prepared. “Oh. No. We’ll have time for that later.”

  “When?” Neas used a carved, cured stick to stir the contents of the cup. It gave off a smell like freshly stepped on river moss. “Before or after you chase off after this Gadnar?”

  “After,” Simra said.

  “And what if you die?”

  “Father!” Simra hooked the water pot back over the fire. “We’re not going to die.”

  “But you might.” Neas slid the tea to Lakhoni. “Drink. But do it in small sips.” He turned to Simra. “Wouldn’t you prefer to live as husband and wife for as long as you can?”

  “How can you talk about us possibly dying so casually?” Simra dropped to her seat again.

  “I believe you will survive, but I don’t know why you would delay your happiness.” Neas nodded insistently at Lakhoni. “Go on. Drink now.”

  Lakhoni lifted the cup to his mouth. This tea did not smell anywhere near as the foul stuff from the day before. He took a sip. It was too hot for him to notice a flavor.

  “I will not be— We will not be hurried.” Simra glared at her father, mostly in good humor. “We’re happy now.”

  Neas pursed his lips and smiled slightly at Lakhoni. “Simra is doing all of the talking.”

  Lakhoni shrugged. “I agree with her. Mostly. I don’t want to rush things, like a marriage or anything. We haven’t even done a betrothal.” He took another sip. Still burning hot. It felt good going down. “But we know how we feel.”

  Neas sat back and regarded Simra and Lakhoni. He looked serious. “I will respect whatever decision you make. As long as it’s not stupid.” He chuckled. “And I will encourage you to talk more and not delay any level of happiness that is in store for you.” He turned to Simra. “Have I ever told you about how Norona and I become betrothed?” He grinned. “What a day that was!”

  Simra smiled. “Yes, Father, you’ve told me about you and Mother more than once.”

  “Well, this boy needs to hear it.” Neas slid a cloth covered stump near and sat, cracking his knuckles. “It will be good for him.”

  Lakhoni continued sipping from the carved wood cup. The tea’s flavor was thick and rich, but not musky like the day before. It tasted…green.

  Neas launched into his story. “It was the day after our first winter snow. I was apprenticed to the healer and—”

  The hut door flung inward and banged against the stone wall loudly. “Lakhoni! I remembered something!” Corzon burst into the room. “Great Spirit preserve us, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. I’ve doomed us all.”

  Lakhoni stood, a smile stretching his face. Corzon was good at the melodramatic. “What is it, Corzon? Did we forget something in Zyronilxa?”

  Corzon fixed Lakhoni with a serious stare, his nose giving the impression of stabbing through the air toward Lakhoni. “Fool, no. You forget that I shared a hut with Anor—I mean Gadnar—for more than a year.”

  Lakhoni felt the blood drain from his face as he went completely still. “What then?”

  “I once, right after Molgar and Gadnar came to us in the cavern, entered Gimno’s circle going to our hut and heard voices.” Corzon flung his hands wildly. “I can’t believe I let myself forget this.”

  “Out with it!” Lakhoni leaned forward. “You heard voices? Molgar and Gadnar talking?”

  “Yes. If they’d been talking about the Guide or Sword, I think I would have remembered. But this was about a place to the north. A place of some kind of power. And a rod or staff.”

  Lakhoni stood waiting. “That’s all? A place of power to the north and a rod or staff?”

  “That’s all?” Corzon dropped his hands on the table and brought his face right to Lakhoni’s. “That’s everything. I know where he’s going. And I think we’re too late.”

  “Tell us everything,” Lakhoni said. Simra slid his forgotten cup of medicinal tea toward Lakhoni. He picked it up and drank it all down.

  “I don’t remember every word they said,” Corzon began. “But I was talking to Vena and the memory came back.” He stared at the wood table, his eyes darting in all directions. “I stayed out of sight because Molgar already had a strong influence on the leaders of the Separated. Did you know that it was Molgar who gave us the name Living Dead?”

  Lakhoni growled deep in his throat. “Corzon, get to the point.”

  “Sorry.” He picked at an uneven spot on the table. “They were talking about how Molgar had a good idea as to where the Guide was.”

  Lakhoni felt a twinge of remembered loss at this. The Guide had been buried under Mother’s bed for years and Lakhoni had not known about it.

  “And they talked for a minute about the Guide and the Sword and how the legends say that they will rule the land.” Corzon looked up. “Except that’s not right. That’s what Gadnar said when he quoted the legends we’ve all heard, but of course it’s the person who has them that will rule.” He rubbed his fingertips on the table. “Anyway. That’s why the conversation stuck with me. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of the Relics, the objects of power.”

  “So far this is nothing new,” Lakhoni said. “Is that all?”

  “No, that’s what I’m saying. Gadnar talked about something
else that wasn’t the Guide or Sword. He called it the Rod and the Staff in the same sentence.”

  “The Rod?” Lakhoni asked. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but it’s some other object of power from the First Fathers.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.” Lakhoni looked to Simra.

  “Me neither,” she said.

  “I haven’t heard of this either,” Neas said.

  “But you’re all from small villages. I’m from Lukozilxa, the other Zyronite city to the north.”

  Lakhoni exchanged another look with Simra. “There’s another city to the north?”

  “The northeast, a few weeks’ journey north up the coast from Zyronilxa.”

  Simra shook her head. “Still haven’t heard of that.”

  “You grew up in a village. There’s not much interaction with the outside world.” Corzon looked sheepish. “Did you see all those ships in Zyronilxa?” At Lakhoni and Simra’s nod, Corzon gave a flat smile. “A lot are from Lukozilxa. It’s a major trade partner. And the smaller cities inland from there do their trade through Lukozilxa.”

  Lakhoni sat back. How had he never guessed that there were other Zyronite cities? Where else would those ships he fished around in Zyronilxa have been coming from and going too? It wasn’t as if Zyronites traded with the Usurpers—the Azarites—to the northwest.

  Neas blew out a noisy breath. “I have heard of this city. I didn’t know its name.”

  “Do you think Gadnar is going to this big city, Lukozilxa?” Simra’s brows furrowed. “Wait, why does that sound like Zyronilxa?”

  “The cities are named after their founder,” Corzon said. “’Ilxa means ‘city’ in the Old Language.”

  “So it was founded by somebody named Lukoz,” Simra said.

  “The great sailor!” Neas threw his head back and laughed. “Of course!”

  Lakhoni was getting tired of people saying things as if he should know what they were talking about. “Who was the great sailor?”

  Neas regarded his audience. “Corzon might know all of this, but surely you know that the First Fathers came across the great waters.”

  “Of course,” Simra said. “Mother told me that.”