Prince of Wrath (8 page)

Lalaas grabbed the last arrow from his mouth and dived under his stationary equine. He rolled onto his back, taking hold of the arrow against the string even as he did so, planting his feet on the solid ground on the other side. Four more riders were approaching, yelling wildly. Lalaas had no time to waste. He swung, the arrow already drawn back fully. Lalaas kept on rotating, the arrow releasing as the point faced the third rider who was turning to avoid the hunter’s equine. The arrow buried itself into the rider’s throat, snapping his head back. Blood sprayed out of his mouth and his arms flew up into the air. The dying man flew head over heels back over the rump of his mount and fell into a lifeless heap eight feet from Lalaas.

The hunter turned. The four others were closing fast. Lalaas ran to the dropped arrows and snatched one, turning back the way he’d come, going down on one knee. He held his breath briefly, then released the missile. It flew unerringly into the left-hand rider’s chest, pitching him off the equine, sending him to the ground in disarray.

“Damn that man!” one of the others could be heard to exclaim. “Kill him!”

“Amne, watch behind you!” Lalaas shouted, picking up another arrow. Three riders were coming for him and he had time only for one shot. He selected the nearest man and the arrow sank into his heart, killing him instantly.

He threw his bow aside and pulled his battle sword from the sheath on his saddle and stepped into the path of the two remaining riders. They came at him simultaneously, swords slashing down. Lalaas jumped to one side, and was knocked over by one of the equines. Amne cried out in horror, shrinking back against the wall. She looked round for a possible escape route. The house she was sheltering in was merely a shell with the roof lying in a blackened heap in the centre. In some places the charred beams piled up higher than the wall, but there was no visible route through to the other side.

Lalaas staggered to his feet, his sword gripped in both hands. He grimly assessed the scenario. Two men on equines were wheeling round, seeking to finish him off. The others were gathering just beyond the limit of the scorched grass. With hardly time to think, he lunged, attacking the nearest man. The rider had the height advantage but Lalaas had more skill and was fitter. His body, used to years of outdoor life, was toned much better than the henchman mounted astride his beast. The rider slashed down hard, but he was unused to fighting on equine back. Lalaas deflected the blow, knocking the blade aside, laying the man open to Lalaas, who cut across the waist. The blade tore through the padded tunic into the stomach muscles, ripping them apart.

Lalaas slapped the beast across the face, frightening it away. As it bolted, the wounded man toppled off onto the ground and lay there, groaning faintly, clutching his stomach. Lalaas stepped sideways, his eyes fixed on the last rider close by. The man turned, cursing. What should have been an easy kill had turned into a charnel house. Six of his men were down and his quarry was still standing there defiantly.

Lalaas picked his bow up slowly. He stuck his sword point first into the ground. Now he grasped an arrow and began to fit it to the string. The rider looked at him and lowered his sword. “Give us the princess and we’ll leave you be.”

“You know I won’t do that,” Lalaas replied, sliding the arrow across his left fist. He had not yet drawn the string back, but it would take no time at all to do so and loose his missile off at the man. He wanted to hear what he had to say.

“We could – negotiate.”

Lalaas’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

The rider smiled thinly. He had a grey-flecked goatee beard and a narrow, hard face. A man used to giving pain. “A remuneration, shall we say? What value your life?”

“Less than the princess,” Lalaas said and began pulling back on the string. “You cannot bribe me with promises of wealth. I need nothing.”

The rider regarded Lalaas, noting the warrior’s physique, the cool determination in his blue eyes, the lean, smooth face, the fair hair. A Koros partisan, to be sure. “All we want is her,” he nodded at the half-seen Amne. “You can go free if you hand her over.”

Lalaas sneered. “And if I refuse?”

“Then both of you will die.”

“That statement tells me you intend killing her, so if I hand her over all you’ll do is slay her. I have vowed to protect her unto death, and that is what I shall do.”

The rider sighed. He looked up at the sky. “Very well, fool, if you insist on sacrificing yourself to one who would stab you in the back the moment you’ve outlasted your usefulness, that’s your decision.” He turned and slowly walked his mount away towards the waiting group of men.

Amne slid round the corner of the wall and came up to Lalaas, one hand gripping his upper arm. “Shoot him, Lalaas!”

“In the back?” Lalaas looked at her in surprise. “Not my style. He’s not going to attack for the moment. They’ll confer. Have you checked the rest of the building?”

“Ruins. All blocked with rubble and fallen beams. There’s one small area we can shelter in but that’s it. They can only come at us from this direction.”

Lalaas lowered his bow. “That’s good. That means they have to come this way. Amne, could you pick up those fallen arrows, and bring my equine in here? I don’t want to drop my guard yet. They may charge us at any time.”

Amne immediately complied, instantly dropping into their relationship they’d had on the mission through Bragal. She may be a princess, but outdoors it was the hunter who was king. “Who are they?”

Lalaas looked thoughtfully at the men who even now were conferring, just out of earshot. “I don’t know, and if I asked they’d say nothing. They’re hired ruffians, except for the leader. He’s got a little class; the rest are hopeless.” He examined the nearest beam, a cold, dead charcoaled remnant of what had existed before. “Whatever happened here, it happened over seven days ago. I’d like to see that letter you got. When did you get it?”

“Yesterday. It was quite desperate sounding.”

“I bet it was. It was a lure to get you out here. They destroyed this place well over a sevenday back, then sent the letter. Whoever it is, had enough money to hire thirty men and keep them in the field away from their lair for that amount of time. I suspect someone saw us leave and then sent a quick message, alerting them. They came from over there,” he nodded across the plains beyond the riders. “East, or south.”

“A spy in the palace?” Amne said, aghast.

“Possibly, yes, or some lackey in the streets watching us. Either is equally likely.”

Amne tied the equines’ reins to a beam and stood next to Lalaas, her heart beating wildly. “What will happen to us now? It looks bad for us, doesn’t it?”

Lalaas made a non-committal noise. He looked away from the scared princess, back at the group of riders conferring. Some of their conversation drifted to his ears and it seemed they were arguing over what to do. Two of those felled were still alive, one was crawling feebly away from the destroyed farmhouse, the other was emitting faint noises of pain. He didn’t look as if he would last long. “If they don’t decide what to do in a few moments, I’ll remind them why they’re still arguing.”

Amne gripped his arm and pressed herself against him. “I’ve been stupid, haven’t I?”

“What do you mean?” Lalaas looked at her. He saw the wide, frightened eyes, the pale skin, the tight lips. He stroked her cheek. “Stupid? No.”

Amne pressed against his fingers. “I’ve been behaving like a spoiled brat recently, haven’t I? I should have listened to Elas. I bet he thinks I’m a she-canine.”

“You’re you, Amne. You’re nobody else. Don’t go all blaming yourself because someone wants you dead. It’s clearly the Fokis, or Duras, or one of the other families your father’s displaced at the top. Now bring me my quiver; I think I’m going to cut the odds a bit, and to drive them away from us a distance.”

Amne briefly placed her head on his shoulder, then meekly fetched the quiver. Lalaas placed the loose arrows back in it and slung it over his shoulder. “Stand back.”

She stepped away and watched as Lalaas flexed his shoulders and went through the process of fitting an arrow to the string and aiming. His muscles rippled across his back and down his arms and Amne couldn’t help but look at them, wishing he could be hers.

Lalaas yelled out, attracting the riders’ attention. Their heads swung in his direction, alarmed, and they caught sight of a black blur streaking out from the shadows. One of their number grunted and was sent toppling off his saddle onto his back, his arms out-flung, an arrow embedded halfway down its length into his chest. He was wearing chain armour and that hadn’t helped.

“By the gods!” the leader said and hauled his mount round and spurred it into a gallop. The others scattered, too, riding in all directions away from the farm house.

“Nice shot,” Amne said, approvingly. “How far can that thing shoot?”

“You remember the bridge over the Ister?”

Amne grinned and nodded. During their journey to Mazag they had crossed the border bridge between Bragal and Valchia and Lalaas had used the bow on brigands, cutting them down thanks to the superior range of the Taboz bow.

“They’re still in range,” Lalaas noted, watching as they halted and turned back to glare balefully at the farm. “Think I’ll scare them some more.” He stood in the open, raised the bow and extended the string as far as he could. Even his arms were shaking. He shut one eye, concentrated on one of the riders, held his breath for a moment, and then released the string. The bow shook with the force and the arrow was propelled away.

The riders saw the arrow arc through the air and two hastily dived off their saddles. The arrow tore past them and struck the slope beyond, burying itself in the earth. “That’s a fearsome bow he has!” one of the men said, getting up, wiping a streak of dirt from his hose. “We must be mad to face that!”

“Shut up,” the leader said, retreating up to the point the arrow protruded from the ground. He stopped just beyond it. “This is the range of that thing. Generous of him to let us know. Nobody goes past this point until I say so!”

Amne and Lalaas watched as the riders pulled back to the halfway point up the valley. “So now what?” Amne asked, wrapping her arms about herself.

“We wait. They won’t come until nightfall.”

“And then?”

“They’ll come. I won’t be able to see them until they’re upon us.”

Amne shivered.

Cheering broke out in the courtyard outside the castle. Jorqel frowned and moved to the window, peering down at the people gathered there. A messenger had just arrived, his equine sweating. The man’s hair was stuck to his head with sweat. A mixture of soldiers and townsfolk were cheering, their fists raised, and Jorqel’s heart missed a beat. “Hey, you!” he called out to the messenger. “What is it?”

The man saw who it was and bowed low. “Your majesty, forgive me. I’ve come from Efsia with a message from Turslenka. It arrived by sea this morning. The Emperor has captured Zofela and has executed Elmar. The war in Bragal is over. Kastania is victorious!” he raised a fist in triumph. More cheers broke out.

Jorqel’s heart sank. He’d hoped that for one wonderful moment that he had been bringing news of Sannia’s rescue. It was a wild and vain hope. He suddenly realised all were looking up at him. He had still to function as the governor of the province and the heir to the throne, no matter what his personal feelings were. “That’s excellent news! Spread it throughout the town, paste it up on street corners. I shall arrange a celebration in due course. Thank you for bringing the news. Come to my quarters at once.”

The messenger bowed and Jorqel called the castellan, Caras into his room. He gave the castellan the news of the Bragal war, and advised the messenger was on his way up. Caras bowed and left. A few moments later the messenger was there, escorted by two spear carrying guards. Jorqel accepted the messenger’s obeisance and pressed him for more information.

“Sire, the news was brought by the merchant ship that is bringing stone and timber to this town. It sailed from Turslenka five days ago. A rider came from Bragal bringing news of the victory into the city.”

“So it would have been ten days or more that my father took Zofela,” Jorqel mused. “The same day my betrothed was taken. A vile co-incidence. The gods play wretched tricks on us mortals at times.” He smiled tiredly. “Thank you for bringing the news. Go rest, eat, refresh yourself.”

The messenger bowed himself out. Jorqel summoned Caras once more. The castellan saluted and waited for the prince to speak. Jorqel was buckling on his sword and reaching for his cloak. “I am going to be absent for a couple of days, Caras. You can run things here while I am away. Prepare a victory celebration in Slenna to mark the end of the Bragal War. Hold it four day’s hence. I shall be back by then.”

Caras bowed. “Sire. May I ask where you are going?”

“You may,” Jorqel said darkly, “but I wish to keep that a secret. I will take ten of my bodyguard. A small number will remain here. Make sure my equine is saddled up.”

Caras saluted and left. Jorqel secured his cloak with a silver clasp around his shoulder and reached into his trunk for his boots. Made of stout leather and reaching almost to his knees, they were of the best quality that could be found in Kastania, and so they should. Jorqel was not going to go without full protection, and he slid into the left boot a slim dagger. Fighting in Bragal had taught him to carry more weaponry than normal. He had as a secondary weapon a solid headed mace, ribbed and decorated with engravings of fruit. Why the maker would wish to have that on a weapon of death was beyond Jorqel, but he liked it nonetheless, and it was weighted perfectly. Fighting on equineback sometimes needed a short weapon with an easy reach. Hacking with a sword needed time and space, and a melee didn’t always give you both.

Ten men were waiting for Jorqel outside the castle and he mounted up. They looked at him expectantly. “I’ll tell you where we’re going once we’re outside the walls.” Jorqel didn’t quite trust everybody within Slenna, and as long as there were rival factions in Kastania, one could never tell whether the man in your employ truly followed your orders, or was following those of an enemy.

They rode to the main Lodrian road where Jorqel halted, turning round to face his men. They formed a half circle around him. “Men, this day we are to ride to the estate of Lord Duras. It is my belief that he is involved in the kidnapping of my beloved Sannia, and we are to pay him a surprise visit. We must be quick, silent and purposeful. We will not travel by road, but go overland through the rough lands to the west.”

The men nodded and looked excited. None liked the Duras or their henchmen. They had a superior attitude about them; the Duras represented treachery, greed and all those aspects of society that belonged to filth, vermin and thieves. Time they did some cleaning up.

The land to the west rose gradually and they rode off the road into the countryside. During winter these slopes were blanketed with snow, but now they were free of that and small flowers and grasses were competing for the sun’s sustenance. The ground was soft and they cantered along a shallow vale with a few growths of bracken and gnarled trees scattered throughout its length. At the far end the land climbed steeply, punctuated by small outcrops of rock and stone. Down these trickled a few small brooks, and it was clear that animals came here to drink, for there were tracks and spoor in abundance.

A few avians flew up, startled by their appearance, and called out with raucous cries, enraged at their territory being violated. The riders climbed to the top and rode on, heading for another ridgeline some distance away. The land almost rose in a series of steps. Gorse bushes with their yellow flowers grew here and they rode around these, the spikes making the gorse too hazardous for the equines to eat them. Outcrops of stone became more frequent as they climbed, and huge formations were encountered, which made them wonder whether they had been built by men or had been put there by nature, or the gods, perhaps. Massive stone boulders rested precariously atop stone piles, and Jorqel wondered if he could push one down to roll across country. It would have been an interesting diversion, but he was in no mood for that this day.

The land flattened to a plateau of sorts, and water lay in pools across the ground. Long grasses grew along the edges of these and in other places, and the ground became spongy and the hard sound of the hoofs was replaced by a softer sound. In the distance the land rose even higher, and it was there that the true highlands began, the rugged, rough country that eventually passed into the lands held by the Tybar.

Jorqel led the way along the edge of the escarpment. Below them was extensive farmland, the lands cultivated by the Kastanians, and beyond that the sea. The coastal strip was clear for all of them to see. They could see Slenna far behind over their shoulders, and they were now riding due south, across the roughlands that still had a touch of winter here and there. The air was sharp with a chill and both the riders and the equines’ breaths clouded the air. Spring was coming here, too, but later than down on the coastal strip below them.

They could see roads, rivers, walls and the carefully tended fields of the estates of the rich families, the Houses that dominated Kastanian society. To own such land required riches, and that guaranteed membership amongst the Houses of Kastania. If one was lucky, it meant power and even greater riches. Sometimes this was gained by luck, sometimes by manipulation, sometimes by allying with the right House at the right time. Then again, marriage gained prestige. The Nicate family would climb the social ladder, as would the Pelgion, by marrying into the Koros. Other Houses had profited from such alliances in the past, and only a catastrophic incident would change the balance of power. War did that.

The old alliance of the Duras-Fokis-Kanzet Houses still posed problems. Jorqel was determined to finish that off once and for all. The Duras may hold lands in Lodria, but that was going to change. The Duras lands lay to the south, close to the Bathenian border. To get there would take a few days but Jorqel was confident he and his men would be able to do so. The return journey would be swifter; they would take the road.

The land changed the further south they went. The moorlands gradually changed as the land fell. The outcrop of high ground receded back to the west, and more woodland appeared. They cantered down into a wooded vale and stopped in a small clearing.

“We rest here for the night,” Jorqel said. “Post guards. Two men per watch. I don’t want any nasty surprises, whether by wild animal or persons.”

The men bowed and set about making a camp. One or two were adept at outdoor survival skills and very soon a nice fire was blazing away and a collection of tents were up in the small clearing. Night avians began calling as darkness fell and the men ate a supper made of wild horned animals known as a Cantrus. Their flesh was very rich and much sought after. One of the men had snared it and they all ate their fill. A cantrus was big as a man.

Jorqel couldn’t settle at first. He was restless. He walked round the camp perimeter, lost in his thoughts. By the end of the following day they should be on Duras land, and he’d sort that family of traitors out.

____

Elas Pelgion slapped his hands together in irritation. The latest marriage service rehearsal had been planned for that afternoon, and Amne had not turned up. It was not acceptable, especially as they had spoken of it that morning prior to their argument. She knew all too well her responsibilities, and yet she preferred to go galloping off out into the countryside with that…… man.

Irritated, he walked stiff-backed into the palace office. Someone would be there and they may know where his betrothed had gone. The major domo, Pepil, was sat at the desk poring over the following day’s list of visitors, and he looked up in surprise. He stood up hurriedly. “Lord Elas, is there anything amiss?”

“Yes, major domo,” Elas said stiffly. He was always punctilious, referring to people more often than not by their rank, rather than their name if he could help it. “The Princess is not here in the palace. She did not attend the scheduled marriage rehearsal. Do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid not, Lord Elas, but I did hear they were going to tour the region the Princess had been given to administer. I believe it was in response to an urgent plea, but I’m not certain.”

“What plea?” Elas was instantly suspicious. “From whom?”

Pepil put his hands together. He was nervous when dealing with the severe and humourless Elas. “Ah, I believe you may have to ask Captain Vosgaris. He does have the advantage of knowing more than I do on such matters; especially where the Princess is concerned.”

“What do you mean by that, man?”

“Oh,” Pepil pulled an exaggerated expression of doubt. “Some say he takes an undue interest in the Princess? I know nothing of this, of course.”

Elas glared at Pepil. “You should keep such comments to yourself, major domo! Spreading such gossip may reach the wrong ears, which would be unfortunate for you. I would be grateful if you do not spread such allegations in future. Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, Lord Elas,” Pepil bowed low. Elas slammed the door behind him, leaving Pepil smiling to himself.

Elas found Vosgaris speaking to one of the palace guard by the foot of the grand staircase. He gestured for the captain to speak to him alone. Vosgaris dismissed the guard and walked a short way down the corridor. “You wanted to speak to me, Lord?”

“Where is Princess Amne?”

“Oh. I was told they were going to see a farm that had been threatened by bandits or rogues of some sort. At least that was what Lalaas indicated. Is there anything wrong?”

“She has not returned, Captain. Where is this farm?”

Vosgaris led Elas to Amne’s office and they found it to be deserted. As it was late afternoon the two staff had gone, their day finished. The two rummaged around for a moment, then Vosgaris handed the letter to Elas. The young nobleman scanned it, frowning. “When did this arrive?”

“Yesterday morning, so I understand. The Princess was determined to go see the situation herself.”

“And she took just one man? Into an area threatened by bandits?”

Vosgaris was intimidated by Elas’ temper. His severe face was even more so, suffused with anger. “Sire, Lalaas is an accomplished hunter and very skilled with the sword and bow.”

“Fool. Call out an escort. I shall go find her. If something has happened there will be the demons of the underworld to pay!”

“B-but, sire, there is no escort – my guard are not equipped to ride!”

“Are you feeble-minded, Captain? What of the mounted archers that train in the courtyard? They shall accompany me on my urgent mission. Go rouse them immediately! I shall be waiting for them at the entrance at the rear of the palace. Do not tarry – the Princess’ life may be in danger. Now go!”

Vosgaris opened his mouth to object, but what was he objecting to, and for whose benefit? He bowed instead and made his way sharply to the courtyard where the trainer, Deran Loshar, was putting some of the youthful trainees through their paces. Deran was a typical Tybar specimen, swarthy, hook-nosed, dark eyed and wiry. Anyone who had seen a Tybar before would know Deran was one. He turned in surprise as Vosgaris came trotting across the grass. “Captain – is there anything amiss?” His voice was accented, too, with many syllables spoken from the rear of his mouth, giving the words a different sound from those of Kastanians.

“Lord Elas wishes for an escort of men to go search for the Princess who is late and feared missing. He wishes for you to accompany him out into Frasia.”

“But-but we are supposed to be a secret. If we ride through the streets then everyone will know!”

“I’m afraid that has to be risked. The life of the Princess takes greater importance than your secret existence. Arm your men and mount up. Lord Elas is waiting for you outside that entrance there,” he pointed to the double doors at the end of the courtyard.