Mercy's Prince (17 page)

Valerian
climbed into Angus’ roughly hewn bed. It was nearly as hard as sleeping on the
ground, but he was grateful to Kieran’s brother for the gesture.

“Pardon
me, Sire, I forgot the candles.” Kieran jumped up and began to snuff the
several flames. Before the last light went out, he turned to Valerian. The
single flame cast deep shadows on his face and glinted in his tousled hair.

“That
last dance is called the ‘sword dance,’ though we’ve always used crossed
spears.” He grinned. “Now that you and I have real swords, I think I ought tae
teach you that dance.”

“Even
your talents as a teacher will be sorely challenged by someone who tends to
trip over his own feet, but I’m willing to try.” Valerian chuckled.

Fortunately
they both fell asleep before the singing in the hall became rowdy.

            *         

They
spent an extra day at the garrison. Valerian rode out with a scouting party who
showed him the lay of the land. He began to understand why the Highlanders had
such pride in their country. Even with the scarcity of trees, the gorse-covered
limestone hills and barren mountains appealed to him, mostly because of the
isolation. He could grow used to the solitude, as long as he had his scrolls.

Valerian
and his men reluctantly parted with friends old and new to journey south. The
next garrison was located in a “gateway” between two peaks of the Dragon’s
Backbone, a range of jagged black mountains that cut Levathia in half. Valerian
could visualize its location in his head from the tapestry map at the Keep, but
nothing prepared him for the sight of red cliffs jutting straight up from the
Plains of Mohorovia, as if giant hands had cut the land with a sharp knife and
then pushed the Levathian side upward about five hundred feet.

“Did
you know the border looked like this?” Valerian asked Kieran.

“Nay,
Sire. I’ve not been this far south before.”

Sir
Gregory pulled up and waited for Valerian to come alongside. The knight smiled
beneath his close-cropped beard and mustaches and gestured to the vista below.

“This,
Your Highness, is why only five garrisons are needed to secure our border with
Mohorovia. Most of these cliffs are inaccessible from the plains.”

“I
had wondered about that. Thank you for enlightening me, Sir Gregory.”

It
took three days to reach the Gateway garrison. As in the north, the commander
had nothing to report on the Horde. Valerian and his men stayed just one night
in order to press on to the next garrison, which was known as Midway. From here
there was a better view of the Dragon’s Backbone. And from the tower one could
see across the plains for many miles.

“How
can the Horde live there?” Valerian wondered aloud. “There are no trees, little
grass, and rocks as far as the eye can see.”

“Even
Hawk can see nothing living,” Kieran said. “Indeed ’tis a most desolate place.”

Once
Valerian and his men left Midway, they traveled south again. After three more
days, they reached Blackwater Garrison. The tapestry map did not accurately
portray the oddly-shaped lake formed by the jagged cliffs. A waterfall spilled
over the western edge where a river rushed down from the tree-covered hills of
the Southern Woodlands. The garrison squatted on the edge of the cliff beside
the lake. When Valerian studied the lake from the tower, he was surprised that
the water appeared black. He discovered the lake was considered “bottomless”
because of the great tear in the land that had formed it.

Here,
too, there had been no sign of the Horde, though scouting parties went out
daily. The commander and his men decided the beasts had died out from some
disease or predator.

The
day after leaving Blackwater to ride south to the last of the five garrisons,
it began to rain. The men rode into the trees to find shelter at night, though
their tents did not repel all the rain. For the first time since they left the
Keep, there was grumbling from the men.

“They
dinna blame you, Sire,” Kieran assured Valerian. “They just want to dry out.”

Fortunately,
they reached the southern garrison just before midday, and the rain had
stopped. Hawk crested a hill and shouted back, “There it is, just below!”

The
others urged their horses to plod as quickly as possible through the mud until
they were all crowded together on the edge of the cliff. On a promontory ridge
below them stood the stone walls of the garrison. The sound of a trumpet echoed
off the cliffs.

“Sire!”
Hawk pointed west. “A large band of the Horde moves toward the garrison. We can
reach the gates before they do, if we hurry.”

Valerian
strained his eyes but could only see a dark blur on the horizon.

“Let’s
go.”

They
picked their way along the edge of the cliff while the attacking band
approached. An urgency to hurry the men pressed upon Valerian, but he kept his
peace lest one of the horses make a bad step on the ledge.

“Your
Highness,” Hawk said. “The Horde carry their bows and poisoned arrows.”

“Can
we still reach the gate in time?” Valerian asked. They were so near, but the
Horde steadily narrowed the gap.

“If
we increase our pace.” Hawk shifted his grip on the dragon pennon.

“Scouting
party, to me,” Valerian shouted. Then he urged the dappled gray to a run. The
others followed him, thundering toward the gate.

***

Caelis
was well satisfied with the performance of his new crossbow. For a fortnight,
he and his men traveled the length of Levathia within sight of several of the
garrisons, though they did not visit them. Each day Caelis rode out with one of
the men, alone, and during that time learned all he could about each one. Now
Caelis was confident he had a small but loyal following of rabid secessionists,
each convinced the ruling family had grown too soft and too distant for the
south to remain in submission to the north.

Before
leaving the north, Caelis and his men visited the sites of the earlier battles
with the Horde and each recovered a useable battle-ax. No one questioned Caelis
about taking the axes or practicing their swings upon fallen trees and the
occasional unfortunate river dragon. The men had taken to beheading the game
they took with their crossbows, mainly deer or squirrels, challenging one
another to see who had the cleanest, swiftest stroke. Even Drew didn’t mind
chopping into dead meat, but the squire was still squeamish about using the ax
on live animals. He was the only one, though.

By
the time they reached the Southern Woodlands, Caelis had made his decision. He
decided to sound out Thrane before springing it on the rest. The two of them
rode out alone from camp to look for game. When they reached a clearing, Caelis
reined in his horse, and Thrane came alongside him.

“Why
have we stopped, Sir Caelis?” Thrane frowned. “Is anything wrong?”

“I
was hoping you could tell me.” Caelis handed over the folded piece of parchment
and waited while the man read it. Thrane’s eyes widened.

“Is
this why we were sent south?” Thrane actually licked his lips in anticipation.

Caelis
nodded. This was a better reaction than he expected. Thrane usually wanted to
know all the details.

“We
are to wait until the men return from their bondage,” Caelis said. “I will
determine that tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want your honest opinion: Will any of the
others have a problem with this order?”

“None,
Sir Caelis.” Thrane smiled. The scar creased his face. “Except possibly your
squire.”

Caelis
growled in his throat and clenched the reins.

“I’ll
take care of my squire. Just see that you do your part.”

“You
have nothing to worry about on that account, Sir Caelis.”

They
rode on in silence, and Caelis managed to bring down one of his uncle’s deer
with his crossbow.

Mercy
sat on the bench after Gabriel left the feast. Her heart was too full to risk
speaking to anyone just yet. Especially Aunt Prudence.

She
prayed Gabriel could say something to Papa that would help her father find
peace again. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced his
heart had been filled with bitterness since Mama’s death, and his experiences
of the past few months had only served to harden those feelings.

Mercy
sighed. She really didn’t want to think about Papa just now. It was much more
pleasant to think about Gabriel instead. What an unexpected joy to realize she
could love him, and that part of their future oneness as husband and wife would
include sharing even the difficulties. She would never have to be alone again.

While
she wrapped herself in these lovely thoughts, Michael came and sat beside her
on the bench.

“Oh!
Hello, Michael.” Mercy’s face grew warm. She was thankful her cousin was not a
Seer.

“I’ve
never seen you this way.” He studied her face. “You look happy. At peace.”

“I
am.” Her smile faded. “I wish you were, too.”

Michael
turned away. He tightened his jaw and clenched his fists, speaking in a harsh
whisper.

“I
shall never be at peace again.”

Mercy
laid a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it away.

“You’re
not supposed to touch me, remember?” He stood and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not
supposed to speak to you without another woman present.” His words dripped contempt.

“Michael,
please.” She stood beside him. “Don’t push me away. Tell me what’s troubling
you.”

For
a moment it appeared he would open his heart to her, but he shook his head.

“You
will be Gabriel’s wife soon, and he would banish me if he
Saw
the hate I
have in my heart toward the outsiders. I no longer agree with the isolation
that keeps us from knowing them and learning how to deal with them.”

Michael
glared at her, his lip curling in a snarl. Before she could think of what to
say, he closed his eyes in pain and ran away. Mercy held back tears with
difficulty, but she was grateful she had when Aunt Prudence headed toward her.

“What
did you say, niece, to so trouble my son?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Michael
was already troubled. I merely asked him what was wrong.”

Aunt
Prudence crossed her arms.

“You
had best stay away from Michael. You are almost a married woman, and you will
be the wife of the village leader. You must set the example for the rest of the
villagers. Your every word and deed will be measured.”

While
her aunt made her proclamations, Mercy grew cold, and she shivered. When
Prudence strode back to the tables, Mercy was doubly thankful she and Gabriel
had already begun to develop a rapport. She would need his support even more
than she realized.

            *         

After
Mercy helped the other women clean up, Rafael left the other children and
grabbed her hand.

“I
had the most wonderful time, Sissy. Everyone liked our sweet bread. And I won
the egg carry race.”

“I’m
glad for you.” Mercy hugged her brother. “Will you be able to sleep after so
much excitement?”

“I
don’t know.” Rafael grinned. “But if I do, I know I will have good dreams.”

Mercy
grabbed Rafael’s hand and started toward their cottage. Rafael pulled ahead.

“Let’s
race, Sissy.” He ran.

Laughing,
Mercy ran after him. She didn’t try to catch up to him, and he thumped the
cottage door first.

“I
won!”

Mercy
pulled up beside him and caught her breath.

“Of
course you won.” Still laughing they entered the cottage together.

They
stopped when they saw Papa sitting at the table. A stub of candle cast
flickering shadows on his face. He scowled at them.

“You
are no longer a child, daughter. You must act with more dignity.”

“I’m
sorry, Papa.”

“You
are to marry Brother Gabriel soon. I will not have you bring dishonor to our
family or to him by inappropriate behavior.”

“How
have I behaved inappropriately, Papa?”

He
pushed away from the table, glaring at her.

“You
have consorted with outsiders. You have touched and spoken privately with a
young man.”

“Do
you mean Flint Mallory, the king’s messenger?”

“I
don’t know his name. I only know what I have been told.”

“Then
let me assure you, Papa, there was nothing inappropriate. He came to deliver a
message from the king. I was gatekeeper that day. I discovered he had broken
his arm and so I Healed him. That is all.”

Papa
took a jerky step closer to her. He clenched his fists.

“Whether
you are a true Healer or no, you must never again touch any man, young or old.
You are soon to be the wife of the village leader and must be blameless in your
behavior. If you are a Healer, you will confine yourself to women and children,
and then only with my approval. Gabriel may be leader of this village, but he
does not command my Healing.”

Mercy
held back tears of frustration. She wanted to tell Papa he was wrong not to
help outsiders, but she knew it would only make the situation worse.

“Why
do you keep saying ‘if’ I am a Healer? The gift came upon me at Faith’s
childbirth. I have Healed several of the other women in the village. You can
ask them if you won’t believe me.”

“I
don’t need to ask them,” he snarled. “Brother Gabriel says I must believe you,
that I must not fight against the will of the Most High.”

“Then
why are you so angry?” Mercy frowned. Rafael pressed himself against her,
trembling.

Papa
slammed his fist down on the table.

“Do
I not have a right to be angry? A Healer should be respected and valued.”

“But
you are.”

“Not
by outsiders. You don’t know what they said, what they did to us.”

“Tell
me, Papa.” Mercy held out her hands. “Please tell me so I might understand.”

He
shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“You
can’t possibly understand. You’re just a naïve girl. You should not have spoken
to that outsider and especially not presumed to Heal him. He obviously told
others about you, and now the outsiders will never leave us alone.” He gestured
to the cottage. “Besides, it’s not seemly for you to leave your womanly tasks
undone in order to do a man’s job.”

“But
all of you were taken away. We did not know, until Flint Mallory delivered the
king’s message, that you would ever return to us. We had to take care of the
village and do some of the men’s tasks, like keeping the gate.” Mercy paused,
but he did not acknowledge her words. “Papa! I never desired to take your place
in anything, especially Healing.”

“Whether
you desired it or no, you
have
taken my place. Outsiders travel here to
seek you out, as they never did for me. Outsiders treated me like a beast of
burden, like a dull-witted slave. I can never forgive them, no matter what
Brother Gabriel says.”

Mercy
remembered Gabriel’s words to her yesterday.

“If
we hate, it will turn and consume us.”

Papa’s
eyes widened, looking wild. Mercy shrank back.

“So,
taking my place as Healer is not enough. Must you take Brother Gabriel’s and
preach to me as well? How dare you!”

Mercy
couldn’t duck fast enough. Papa slapped her so hard that she fell. Rafael
managed to stay out of Papa’s reach.

Mercy
brought her hand to her cheek. She couldn’t believe he had actually struck her.
When she met his gaze again, some of the anger had drained away. His eyes still
smoldered in the candlelight, but they no longer appeared wild.

“Go
to bed, both of you.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to see or hear you
anymore tonight. I will not tolerate your disrespect and disobedience.” Without
another glance, he lay on his pallet and turned his back to them.

Mercy
hardly dared to breathe. Every instinct told her to pick up Rafael and leave.
She wanted to run straight to Gabriel. Hadn’t he told her to let him know if
Papa became violent? But if she went now, could it make Papa become more
irrational? If only Gabriel were here!

She
wished they could marry tomorrow, or even tonight. She wished she never had to
deal with Papa again. Mercy touched her cheek. It was sore and swollen. She
wondered if it were possible to Heal herself.

Rafael
stifled a sob, and she instinctively covered his mouth and shook her head. They
couldn’t make Papa mad again. She kissed him and held him close.

“I
love you, Rafael,” she whispered in his ear. “Try to sleep now, and tomorrow I’ll
ask Gabriel to help us.”

Rafael
nodded and held Mercy as if he would never let go. She managed to move her
pallet as far away from Papa as possible. Then she blew out the candle, and she
and Rafael lay on her pallet. He curled into a fetal position, and she curved
herself protectively around him. It wasn’t until she heard Papa’s regular
breathing that she was able to fall into a troubled sleep.

***

Valerian
wished he rode upon Theo during their mad dash to the garrison ahead of the
Horde. He prayed the gray was sure-footed. The light rain finally ended, but
the horses’ hooves churned the mud, each horse spraying the one behind him.
Terron’s horse stumbled, but the squire managed to hold on. The massed Horde
came closer and closer. Valerian kept his eye on the garrison gate just ahead.
A guard saw them and shouted something. Hawk signaled with his pennon, and the
gate opened.

“Hurry!”
shouted the guard when they came close enough. “The Horde’s attacking.”

Once
they entered the garrison, Valerian slid off his horse and grabbed his bow and
arrows from the saddle. He pulled his bowstring from inside his jerkin and
slipped it on the bow while he ran with Kieran up the steps to the wall.

“Your
Highness,” said a surprised soldier. “Are your men handy with their bows?”

“There
are no better in the north,” Valerian said, loudly enough that his men could
hear. “We’ve been riding in heavy rain, so I pray our bowstrings are dry enough.”

They
strung their bows, and all but Anson’s were taut enough to use. One of the
garrison men found an extra for him.

They
ranged along the wall facing east, and shortly the enemy came within bow range.
None carried battle-axes. They were armed only with bows and their poisoned
arrows. Valerian wondered why they were attacking this fortified garrison high
on its strategic promontory. What could be the purpose of such an attack?

He
soon discovered there seemed to be no purpose at all. There were at least fourscore
of the brutes, but their arrows harmlessly grazed the wall or landed in the
yard of the garrison, well away from their intended targets. Though most of the
men’s arrows bounced off the Mohorovians’ thick scaly hides, Valerian managed
to shoot one through the eye, and it fell into the mud. He had to look away
from the sight. Others followed his example, and four archers each killed one
of the monsters by shooting the vulnerable eyes.

The
Horde’s survivors ignored their fallen comrades and ran back the way they came.
Valerian tracked their path until they disappeared over the horizon. Hawk still
watched for several heartbeats.

“Could
you tell where they came from?” Valerian asked.

“No,
Your Highness.” Hawk frowned in puzzlement. “I saw nothing other than the
plains we have seen the length of the country.”

Valerian
imagined what his father would order next in this situation.

“Perhaps
we should go after them.”

“We’ve
done that, Your Highness,” said the first soldier Valerian had spoken with. “If
they have a settlement, or a nest, or whatever those creatures call home, we
have yet to find it.”

Valerian
remembered the burrowing dragons he used to find near the Keep as a boy.

“Could
they live underground?”

“’Tis
possible, Sire,” said the man with a shrug.

“Who
is commander here?” Valerian asked.

“Sir
Walter, Your Highness.”

“I
would like to speak with him.”

“I
will bring him.” The man bowed and started to walk away.

“No,”
said Valerian. When the man stopped and turned back Valerian continued in what
he hoped was a commanding voice. “There is no need. Take me to Sir Walter.”

“As
you wish, Your Highness.” The man bowed again. “Follow me, Sire.”

While
the man led him to the stairs, Valerian nodded at Kieran. The squire gave
Valerian a two-fingered salute.