Muted sounds of blades clashing, men grunting and screaming, and frightened horses grew as Vrell forged through broken branches and over trampled ground. She had gone too far. She had only meant to get a little closer, but now Jax would be cross. So would Mother. She did not even have a weapon.
At least she was in the wake of the battle and not in front of it.
A body came into view, lying on the turf to her right. She approached slowly and saw that it was only an arm, severed just above the elbow. Vrell looked away, horrified.
A few more paces revealed the body the arm had come from. Mud had been painted on his milky white skin like war paint. His glassy eyes stared into the sky. He wore a knotted combination of animal pelts and fabric.
A poroo, she supposed.
A crude spear lay beside him, its head a chiseled, leaf-shaped stone. Vrell dismounted, careful to hold the reins in case her horse decided to abandon her, and stepped over the pine needles to retrieve the weapon. The forest seemed to whisper indiscernible words. Or maybe it was the mist itself. She did not look at the dead man until she was safely back on her horse. Feeling better with a weapon, she urged her mount toward the sounds of the distant action.
She could not see anyone through the thick, green forest, but she did hear far-off sounds of men yelling and steel clashing. It reminded her of a dreadful haunted swamp, without the watery ground.
Vrell should have stayed on the hill.
She saw movement and stopped. The pearly skin of poroo soldiers popped in the distant, shadowed wood. It was harder to see their Kingsguard opponents. Vrell’s white horse would be a beacon to her presence. The thought sent a tremble up her spine. She dismounted and tied the courser to the nearest tree. Vrell would blend in better without it.
She crouched low and darted from tree to tree, clutching her spear. The cries of dying men tugged at her heart strings. She had brought her satchel. Perhaps she could help some of them. But she pressed on, ignoring the wounded and the whispering forest—to find the gifted one.
She waded across a shallow stream. Several dead bodies lay on the forest floor. Vrell identified two Kingsguards and a half dozen poroo without having to look too closely. A steep hill rose up before her. She climbed it, heading in the direction she sensed the soldier. She wove around briarberry bushes and grappled for tufts of grass to pull herself up the incline, but the mist had dampened her hands and she slid backward every few steps.
Pain shot through her skull. She cowered in a briarberry bush, clutching her temples. The soldier was close, debilitating her with the pressure of his untamed bloodvoice.
She concentrated on closing her mind, something she had never needed to do simply to keep from experiencing pain. The pressure eased some, and she crawled to the top of the ridge and peeked over.
Shrouded in fog, a Kingsguard soldier fought two poroo in a small clearing, his movements quick but careful.
Vrell darted behind an oak tree to get a clearer view and clutched the scratchy bark. She had been right. The gifted one was a soldier. Younger than she had expected, but no mere boy. He was tall, strong, and wounded. Plum bruises covered his handsome face. His dark, wet hair and soggy Kingsguard cape whipped about as he swung his sword. Studded jewels on the ivory crossguard caught Vrell’s eye. He must be a noble to wield such a weapon, yet she had never seen him at court. And he’d been walking instead of riding.
Movement to the far left turned her head. Prince Gidon! The heir to the throne of Er’Rets leaned against an allown tree, watching the soldier fight. A hedge of briarberry bushes concealed him somewhat. She and the prince stood on the same ridge that sloped down the hill to the stream. He was simply further down. Vrell crouched lower, heart thudding.
Where were his distinguished guards? The mighty Shield? And why was His Highness just standing there? He was quite gifted with the sword, or so his reputation said. He could be helping the soldier fight off the poroo.
Vrell snorted. Our new and noble, lazy king.
A third poroo charged up behind the soldier.
Look out!
Vrell yelled to his mind.
Scratch?
The soldier spun around just in time to parry the jab of a spear. He scurried back in the pine needles, holding his sword up to his attackers. “If you’re not going to help,
Your Highness,
” the soldier said to the prince, “at least climb the tree. I’d hate for you to be killed. Your death would secure my own.”
Vrell’s brows shot up at his snide tone. Prince Gidon only smirked. One of the poroo charged. The soldier waited until the last moment before dodging and swinging his blade into the creature’s side. The soldier stiffened and the poroo fell at his feet.
Vrell felt his horror of having killed. He swallowed and exhaled before wrenching his blade free with a growl. His grey eyes flashed to the other two poroo. He steeled himself and stepped forward.
He could do this.
One of the poroo threw his spear. The soldier dodged it, and it sank into the soil near the prince’s briarberry bush. The soldier advanced on the weaponless man and swung into his side, severing the man’s arm above the elbow and cleaving into his torso. The soldier screamed as loud as the dying man. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected that to happen.
The other poroo, a quite tall one, darted forward and jabbed his spear at the soldier, who jerked his blade free from the dying man and spun around. With a quick swing of his sword, the soldier cracked the spear. The poroo broke it fully over his knee and held up the shortened version.
An arrow thwacked into Vrell’s tree. She jumped back. Two more arrows sank into the soil near Prince Gidon’s briarberry bush sanctuary.
Three poroo approached from behind the prince, forcing him out into the open. Vrell hoped he would be killed so someone else would be king. Then she thought better of such treasonous hope, especially if the soldier would be punished for failing to protect his future king.
She concentrated.
The prince needs help.
The soldier’s head jerked to the side, taking note of how Prince Gidon skirted the bushes and the poroo chased him. The soldier, still fighting his poroo, couldn’t get away to help. He swung a few times at his tall opponent, but the man dodged every strike—until an arrow pierced him through the back. The poroo stood still for a moment, then dropped his half-spear and collapsed.
The soldier grabbed the broken weapon and sprinted for the prince, bounding over dead bodies and ignoring the arrows raining through the mist.
“Your Highness!” The soldier tossed the half-spear to the prince and attacked a poroo with his sword.
“Typical insolence.” Prince Gidon stabbed one poroo in the chest and kicked him into the other poroo attacking him. They fell. “Give your king a broken spear when you wield a sword.” He crouched and jerked the spear free, then stabbed the second poroo in the neck.
Vrell looked away.
Where were the arrows being shot from? She crouched to peer through the trees, but she could not see any archers. In fact, there were no more Kingsguards fighting in this area of the forest, though there were quite a few bodies. She could see movement in the distant east. She could hear battle cries. But where were these poroo coming from?
The answer came as she turned back to the soldier’s battle. The poroo were coming from the west. From Darkness.
The soldier dodged the thrust of his poroo attacker’s spear. He grabbed the shaft with one hand and jerked it forward. The poroo man stumbled, and the soldier cut him down.
Prince Gidon pulled the bloody spear free from his second victim and waved the weapon about. “I’ll tell you who I’d like to stab.”
Two more poroo closed in on the soldier and he raised his sword. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” The soldier moved with incredible speed, and he quickly overcame all his attackers. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and flinched at an arrow sailing past his shoulder. “Will you get in the tree, now?”
Prince Gidon pointed the spear at the young soldier. “If you were to die by this spear, everyone would think it was at the hand of the enemy.”
The soldier wiped each side of his blade on his trousers and sheathed it. “For Cetheria’s hand, get in the tree.”
The prince scowled. “But if I stabbed you, they might declare you a hero.” He threw the spear down. “And I cannot have you exalted in death.”
“Please, Your Highness.” The soldier grabbed the prince’s elbow and pulled him toward an allown tree with low branches.
“Don’t touch me, stray!”
Vrell frowned. Stray?
The soldier released the prince. “Please. Climb up.”
“I will not hide in a tree like a coward.”
“Yet you hid in the briarberry bush moments ago,” the soldier said.
Vrell smiled.
So did Prince Gidon. “I was hoping to see you killed. Alas, the gods have been thwarting my entertainment dreams of late.”
The soldier continued, “It’s my duty to protec—” He screamed.
Hot pain shot through Vrell’s lower leg. She pulled away from the soldier’s mind.
He spun around to the arrow protruding from his lower left calf. He grabbed the shaft, yanked it out with a grunt, and pitched it aside.
Vrell fortified her mind, shocked to have shared his pain so vividly.
The soldier pushed Prince Gidon toward the tree, gently at first, then harder, limping a bit. He growled through clenched teeth. “Now, Your Highness, I beg you!”
Prince Gidon pushed the soldier back. “Do not touch me!”
Arrows whooshed over the ridge and into the soil around them—they were coming from the trees!—and the soldier lost his patience. He punched Prince Gidon in the mouth, sending him stumbling back.
Vrell clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
The prince dabbed his lip. “You’ll pay for that, dog!”
“Get. In. The. Tree!”
An arrow sliced across Prince Gidon’s shoulder. He howled. “I’ve been hit!”
The soldier grabbed the prince’s arm and inspected it, dragging him behind the allown tree in the process. “Just a scratch, Your Highness. Now, please. Get in the tree, or I’ll hit you again!”
Prince Gidon glowered. “You’re through, stray. I’ll have you hanged!”
The soldier stood, a barrier between the prince and the mysterious arrows, while Prince Gidon clambered up.
An arrow plunged into the soldier’s shoulder, jerking him forward. He stumbled and spun around, face white. He grabbed the branch with his good arm, but couldn’t pull himself up. He hung swinging by one arm, trying to hook a leg over the branch.
Prince Gidon offered no assistance, the snake.
Vrell held her breath and watched from her hiding spot, fury pounding through her veins. She sought out Jax, annoyed she had not thought to do so before now. She told him of their location, the prince’s predicament, and the archers, then closed her mind before he could lecture her for disobeying.
The soldier dropped from the branch and crashed to the ground. He staggered back to his feet and toward the hedge of briarberry bushes. Before he reached the gnarly sanctuary, another arrow pierced him, this time in his lower back.
He screamed and crumpled to the ground. He writhed like an inchworm, struggled to his right hand and knee and tried to crawl, but the arrows rendered his left arm and leg useless. His body tipped over the ridge of the hill and slid away.
Vrell feared the prince seeing her and possibly recognizing her, but she had to act to save the soldier. She bolted from her hiding place to the ledge, still clutching her own spear. She brought her pouch of healing herbs around to her front.
She got to the ridge but could find no sign of the soldier. She inched down the incline, until she spotted him lying facedown in the pine needles a few paces from the stream, arrows sticking out of him like garden stakes.
She ran the rest of the way and slid to his side, praying he would live. He had fought so bravely to save his wretched prince. He was unconscious but breathing. She lifted her healing pouch from her shoulder and set it beside her spear on the ground. She thought back to Mitt’s training and Jax’s stories of the battlefield. She would need her yarrow salve, something for bandages, and water.
The gurgling stream volunteered its service. She grabbed the soldier’s hands and tugged him toward the sound. He was heavy, and thankfully, she did not have to drag him far before one foot sank into cold, shallow water. He moaned softly but did not wake.
Vrell unfastened his damp cloak and pulled it from under his limp body. She sucked in a sharp breath. Blood matted his once-white shirt. Patchy, brownish stains gave evidence to previous wounds. His left sleeve clung stickily with half-dried blood. She inspected that wound first and found a swollen, infected cut he must have received earlier and not cared for. She huffed. Men.
“Lo! Boy! What are you doing?” Prince Gidon’s haughty voice called from behind.
Vrell shivered, remembering the last time he had spoken to her, at the tournament in Nesos. At least his words and tone were only demanding today, lacking familiarity. He was such a fool. For all he knew she could be his enemy, and the simpleton risked himself to speak to her.
“Yes, my lord?” She searched the ground for one of the arrows she had seen shoot over the ridge. If she was going to treat these wounds, she needed to know what kind of arrowheads these were.
“I said, what are you doing to my squire? The battle is over. Leave him.”
Vrell paused. She’d known this soldier was a stray—the prince had said as much. But since when could a stray be squire to a Crown Prince? Peculiar. “I am trying to save his life. He did save yours several times over.”