Mercy's Prince (4 page)

After the door closed behind Drew, Valerian
knelt again. Sharp pains cut his knees like tiny knives, but he tried to ignore
them. What would happen to him and Drew now that Waryn was gone? Valerian was
not yet old enough to be knighted, even if he were ready for the accolade, but
he had no older brother to be a royal squire for now. Would King Orland assign
Drew to him? He fervently hoped so. He didn’t think he could bear to have a
stranger for a squire.

As the night wore on, Valerian repeated his
prayers, even saying them aloud when his thoughts grew muddy. He shifted on his
knees, wincing at the stabbing pains. His yawns grew more and more insistent.
Valerian rubbed his eyes and then blinked to force them open, but they wouldn’t
stop watering. The light from the shrinking candles swam in his vision. He
became light-headed.

In that place between wakefulness and sleep, a
presence appeared on the other side of the bier. The faded image of his brother
stood there, glowering. There was no kindness in his black eyes.

It is because of you I am dead
. Waryn’s voice spoke
in Valerian’s mind, but the image’s mouth did not move.
How can you live
with your cowardice? How can you ever hope to take my place?

“I know I can never take your place,” Valerian
whispered. “No matter what I do, from this day forward, it will never be enough
to take away my guilt.”

He dropped his head to his hands, shutting out
the sight of Waryn’s shade. But a more vivid image intruded. Valerian stood,
dressed for battle, in a grassy field. He held something in his hand—an ancient
weapon rare and beautiful, a sword.

A dragon with shimmering blue-green scales came
into view, towering over him. It spread its wings and opened its mouth, full of
jagged teeth as long as Valerian’s hand. The monster’s great intake of breath
pulled Valerian forward. And as the dragon exhaled, a burst of flame shot out.

Before the flame touched him, Valerian lost
consciousness.

***

Sir Caelis stood before the chapel door with
his hand on the iron handle. How dare Valerian ask to keep vigil! The whelp
should not be allowed in the same room as Waryn after what he’d failed to do.
Caelis should have been the one to spend this last night watching over Waryn’s
body. He had refrained from looking in before now because he dared not leave
the king’s table before Orland retired for what remained of the night.

When Caelis opened the door, the shroud-draped
figure rested on the bier, and the candles had burned to stubs. And there on
the floor lay the prone figure of Prince Valerian, asleep. Caelis clenched his fists.
It was tragic enough that the coward had failed to save Waryn in battle. Could
the feeble princeling not even stay awake for one night? Caelis itched to pull
his knife from his boot and slit Valerian’s throat, here in this holy place.

Instead, he closed the door on the sight and
gritted his teeth. He could not allow his anger to cause him to make a foolish
mistake. After all, it would be simple enough to confirm to His Majesty what
the king must surely know in his heart, that his younger son was not fit to
rule Levathia. Caelis need only prove by the great contrast between his
abilities and Valerian’s lack that it was in King Orland’s best interest to
name him heir instead of the whelp. In that way Caelis could still fulfill his
and Waryn’s dreams of ruling the people with the firm hand of a warrior and the
clear vision of a superior lord.

He smiled. It would be embarrassingly easy to
best Valerian. Then the weakling could be shut away with his cowardice in a
monastery, where he belonged. Caelis simply had to bide his time and let the
inevitable happen.

Yes, he would be patient.

Mercy sat on the bare ground just outside the
cottage and opened her sewing basket, eager to try the new iron needle Papa had
brought from the trading post so she could mend his spare tunic. The sun warmed
her face and a songbird trilled from its perch on the thatched roof. Mercy
closed one eye to better line up the thread with the needle’s hole and dropped
the needle when the chapel bell began ringing an alarm. Rafael jumped up from
the patch of grass where he’d been playing with his clay sheep.

“What’s that, Sissy?” He cocked his head. “I
never heard the bell ring like that.”

“Perhaps there’s a fire.” Mercy found the
needle and replaced it in the basket. Then she stood and grabbed Rafael’s hand.
“We must go!”

They ran toward the chapel like the rest of the
villagers who also hurried to congregate there. Mercy stopped short when she
caught sight of soldiers on horseback. What were they doing here? Soldiers had
never come into the Village of Peace before. Behind them, two large draft
horses were hitched to a long wagon.

“Come on, Sissy!” Rafael tugged on her.

Mercy reluctantly moved closer, unable to look
away from the stern men with their short hair. One of them moved his horse
forward.

“Is everyone now present?” The soldier frowned.
“Who is leader of this village?”

Gabriel took one step forward.

“I am Brother Gabriel.”

Mercy’s chest tightened. Every soldier gripped
a spear and wore a long knife on his belt; Gabriel carried only the calm
assurance of his faith.

“Did you not receive the King’s call to arms?”
The soldier nudged his horse closer to Gabriel.

“Yes.” Gabriel folded his hands.

“Why did you not obey that order?” With a jerk
of the reins, his horse stopped, ears turned forward.

“We sent the King our reasons why we could not
accept his summons.”

“You are citizens of Levathia. It is your duty
to comply with the King’s command.”

Gabriel’s face remained calm.

“We may comply only if His Majesty’s command is
not in conflict with our higher obligation to the God of Peace, which forbids
us to take up arms against another living creature.”

“These are monsters, not men,” the soldier
shouted. “They murder our people and destroy our land.”

“We do not approve of the violent actions of
the invaders,” Gabriel said quietly. “But neither can we break the Oath of
Peace we have all sworn.”

The soldier scanned the faces around him. He
tightened his jaw.

“Then you leave me no choice but to arrest
every male among you of military age.”

All eyes turned to Gabriel. He inclined his
head.

“We will not resist you. But we will not
violate our Oath of Peace.”

Some of the women began to cry. The soldiers
dismounted and with their spears herded the men and older boys into a tight
group. Most of them remained silent. But when Mercy glanced at Michael there
was a rebellious look on his face. She wanted to call out to him to be patient,
to hold his tongue, but he was too far away.

“Brother Gabriel!” Michael pushed past one of
the soldiers. “How can we…”

“Silence!” Gabriel gripped Michael’s shoulders,
stunning him into compliance. Mercy stared, unbelieving, at the man she was
betrothed to marry. She had never seen evidence of this kind of force in him.

While the men were led away, many wives and
daughters tried to follow, but they were held back by the captors’ spears.
Gabriel briefly turned his hawkish stare upon Mercy. He’d had that same stern
look on the day she took her Oath of Peace when he’d used the Sight on her for
the first time. It had frightened her, that baring of her soul. She understood
why he had to
See
and verify the motives of all who took the Oath, but
still it was difficult for her to look into his eyes.

What would happen when they finally married?
She couldn’t avoid his Sight then. Mercy shuddered.
If
they married.
What if the men never returned? What would happen to them, to all of the
Brethren?

***

One hour after Prince Waryn was laid to rest in
the tomb beneath the Keep, King Orland summoned Valerian to appear in the
throne room. Valerian chose to retain his black attire, but at the last minute
added his silver circlet. Perhaps its weight upon his head would help him
measure his words more carefully than usual.

Two things he dreaded: Facing Sir Caelis and
being in close proximity to Eldred, the king’s aged Seer. There was no way he
could hide from Eldred’s piercing eyes.

When Valerian entered the throne room, there
were only four others present beside King Orland, and his stomach unclenched a
little. Caelis and Drew, Waryn’s junior squire, stood to one side of the king;
an older man whom Valerian didn’t recognize stood at Orland’s shoulder with a
much younger man near him.

Valerian kept his focus on his father until he
reached the foot of the dais. He bowed low and made his voice as calm as
possible.

“What is your will, Your Majesty?” Valerian
ignored the looming presence of Sir Caelis and inspected the intricate hem of
the king’s robe, to avoid unintentionally
Seeing
his father’s thoughts.

“Prince Valerian.” King Orland’s voice
commanded his attention. “When a suitable period of mourning for the crown
prince has passed, we shall confirm you as our heir to the throne. Until that
day, it is our desire that you apply yourself to excellence in the arts of
strategy and warfare. To that end, we are assigning an experienced squire to
you.”

Valerian gazed expectantly at Drew, but the
king continued.

“Since Sir Caelis lost his squire to the Horde,
Drew has been assigned to him. We give you Kieran MacLachlan as your squire.”

After a moment of disappointment, for he
trusted Drew completely, Valerian contemplated the younger of the two
strangers. He stood a full two hands shorter than Valerian with a wiry build,
but confidence gave him a graceful, not arrogant, posture. His curly black hair
fell to his shoulders like Valerian’s rather than the short bowl cut preferred
by most men of war. Valerian did not trust himself to look directly into the
squire’s eyes, so he bowed again to his father and made the formal reply.

“I thank you, Your Majesty, and I gratefully
accept the service of this squire.”

Kieran went down on one knee and put his bare
hands between Valerian’s gloved ones in a token of submission.

“I be your man in life and in death, Your
Highness.” The squire spoke with a musical Highland lilt. MacLachlan. Of
course.

Valerian raised up the young man but still
avoided his gaze.

“Aylmer,” said the king. “Verify now the
loyalty of the prince’s new squire.”

When Kieran faced the older man, Valerian
gritted his teeth. Who was this Aylmer? What happened to Eldred in the
fortnight Valerian had been away from the Keep? Eldred had served as the royal
Seer since the time of Valerian’s grandfather.

While Aylmer read Kieran’s thoughts, King
Orland leaned forward and spoke so that only Valerian could hear.

“Eldred’s health worsened, so he asked to be
released from his position in order to move to the Southern Woodlands. He
wished to spend his remaining days near a sister in one of the southern
villages.”

Valerian nodded. He wasn’t sure whether to be
relieved or dismayed. After all, Eldred had been Grandfather’s closest friend.
Valerian might have asked Eldred for help in dealing with his sudden
acquisition of the Sight. Right now, though, he wasn’t sure who he could trust.

“Your Majesty, this squire reveals complete
loyalty to the royal family.” The new Seer folded his pudgy hands across his
ample belly.

King Orland leaned back, satisfied.

“Excellent. Prince Valerian, you will take your
new squire and prepare for tomorrow’s training schedule. For now, you will
return to your own rooms, but be prepared to move into the crown prince’s rooms
when I command it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Valerian bowed to the king
and Kieran did as well.

While Kieran followed him to his quarters,
Valerian swallowed his sudden distress at the necessity of living in his dead
brother’s rooms in the near future. It was a painful reminder that he was
expected to take Waryn’s place in life and responsibility.

After they entered the quiet room, Kieran shut
the door. Valerian turned to speak to the squire, but he went down on one knee.

“Forgive me, Sire,” he said. “I know all o’
this must be more than a wee bit awkward for you, so permit me to tell you
about myself.”

“Yes, of course.” As long as Kieran spoke,
Valerian didn’t have to.

“My father is a chieftain. As his seventh and
last son, I have no hope of inheritance, so early in life he encouraged me to
pursue the rank of knight in service to the king.”

Kieran stared boldly at him, but Valerian
focused instead on the embroidered collar of the squire’s tunic.

“Is this your first time at the Keep, then?” he
asked.

“Nay, Sire. As a wee lad I served as page for a
year to Sir Walter.”

“So did I.” Valerian frowned. Had they met
before? “How old are you, Kieran?”

“I have seventeen summers.” The squire flashed
a grin.

So they were the same age. Valerian tried to
remember if he’d seen this open, guileless young man before.

“I do remember you, Sire,” Kieran said, as if
he’d read Valerian’s thoughts. “You were too busy then to notice the likes of
me.”

“I wish I had paid more attention.” Valerian
shook his head. “I feel that you and I might have become friends.”

“’Twas my thought as well.” Kieran shrugged.
“But I suppose now we’re too old and set in our ways to do aught but our duty.”

Without thinking, Valerian looked directly into
the squire’s eyes. The veil parted, and he
Saw
that Kieran was only
teasing, trying to put the young prince at ease in a tense and awkward
situation. With a sigh, Valerian broke eye contact and sat down in the nearest
chair to regain his composure.

“Pardon me for asking, Sire, but did you just
See
me thoughts?”

Valerian jerked up his head. Guilt at invading
another’s privacy clenched his heart, but another possibility entered his mind.

“Are you a Seer, then?”

“Nay, me prince, but I have been told that I am
too sensitive to those that be one.”

Valerian put his head in his hands.

“Truly, I don’t know if I am a Seer or not.”

“Oh, you are one, all right. ’Tis no mistaking
that.” Kieran moved closer. “I take it you have not known this long?”

Valerian hesitated. He’d
Seen
no deceit
in Kieran, and he needed to talk to someone.

“I had no indication of this talent until two
days ago, just after my brother, Prince Waryn, was killed.”

“I have heard that the Sight can appear
sudden-like, at the death of a loved one or other traumatic event.”

Traumatic?
Valerian almost laughed out loud. Of
course Waryn’s death had traumatized him. The entire direction of his life had
now changed, and he was powerless to prevent any of it.

***

While Caelis strode to his rooms, Drew’s
hurried footsteps echoed behind him. By the time they reached the door, Caelis
had decided to set the squire straight from the beginning.

Drew rushed ahead to open the door for Caelis.
As soon as they were inside, Caelis shoved the door closed and turned on the
young man.

“I am telling you now, squire, and will only
say this once, so pay attention.”

Drew’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes, sir?”

“When I call you, I expect a prompt response
the first time. Otherwise, I want you to leave me alone. No hanging about,
breathing down my neck. Is that clear?”

The squire pushed the hair away from his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” He backed away as if to exit the
room.

Caelis grabbed the front of Drew’s tunic.

“And another thing, I will not be questioned,
no matter how you disagree with my actions or methods. Do I make myself
understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Drew swallowed.

Caelis pulled the young man closer until their
faces were inches apart.

“I do not,” he said quietly but with purposeful
menace, “I absolutely do
not
want to hear you speak of Prince Waryn in
my presence.” He glared into Drew’s frightened eyes.

“As you wish, Sir Caelis.”

“Now, go.” He shoved Drew to the floor and
turned away. His new squire scurried from the room as the door shut out the
sound of his footsteps.