The Fugitive Prince Page 12

  Gregor’s body tensed as his hands touched the hilt of his immense blade. The sound of wood crunched again. This time much closer. The knight swore under his breath sending his companions into full alert. The gnarled tree line cracked as the sound, and its maker moved towards the group. Valente drew his blade trying to keep his panic at bay. It did not help.

  “What is that?”

  Gregor heaved the massive sword from his back as the practiced metal crooned through the air.

  “A morpus.”

  The name itself sent a wobble through the prince’s knees. Arthan had told stories of the large dog-like creatures that feasted on the dead and dying. Their appetites often brought them scavenging battlefields and old graveyards.

  Or Lost Bannermen Routes.

  A snapping branch cried out bringing the group’s eyes to an aperture in the trees. Cass lowered her bow as she stared at the closest opening. The darkness concealed a hideous and lurking creature. The huntress squinted her eyes attempting to see further in the shadows. Suffocating darkness stood strong in her gaze holding back the entire creature’s form. A breathless moment passed. An unpleasant breeze swayed the vines filling nostrils with a most pungent aroma, and then it was gone. Silence reigned. Cass tightened her grasp as she notched an arrow directed at the dark gap among the nettle ash. Two scarlet spheres looked back from the shadowy trees. The rich, ruby eyes focused on the three. Their cerise glow glinted with a murderous intent as the creature let out a low and rumbling growl. The sound rattled through the trees sending the vibration to its fresh prey. Gregor pulled his sword forward and met the growl with a fierce battle cry.

  “Come you oversized vermin. Test my steel!”

  The taunt served more than effective as the creature leaped forward from the slate and shadowed roots. Gnarled branches shattered and flew asunder in its wake as the black mass of fur sprinted forward. The grimacing snout gnashed its teeth throwing onward the vile stench of decay and a thick spray of fetid mist. The beast’s legs moved under it in an unreal blur as it dashed at Gregor. Cass’s heart thumped as fear pulsed through her veins. She lost no focus as she trained her metal point at the monster. The creature bounded forward into the gap between the three. Cass let her arrow fly free. It hit high on the beast bouncing off the top of the thick black fur as the morpus dodged downwards. Its run now became staggered and serpentine as it kept low. The creature altered its path. The vexed morpus dashed towards its ranged assailant. The dreadful creature bared its teeth into a sinister smile. It leapt and opened its rotten maw at its unprepared victim. Yellow teeth extended reaching out for Cass’s throat.

  Snap

  The black-furred beast sprawled through the air as the Liosian knight hit it with the blunt side of his blade. The mass of noxious fur and gnashing jaws smashed against the tree with a discernible crack and a graveling yelp. Cass blinked the fright-induced stars from her eyes before she notched her bow again. Valente bit down clamping his jaw upset at his own inaction. He raised his blade ready for the next assault. The creature rose from the tree’s side. A hot and misty cloud emerged from its flared nostrils. The vermillion eyes darted to the red-haired problem. A graveled growl echoed out once more as the morpus began its mad run. This time, the creature sprung quickly tightening its noose around the group. It weaved between the trees constantly changing directions. It tested for an opening.

  Gregor placed his back at both Cass’s and Valente’s protecting their flanks and his own. The dark shade of fur disappeared behind a nearby tree and reemerged several strides away. Cass struggled to line up a shot as the beast moved with incredible speed. The creature dashed behind a line of nettle ash and vanished from sight. Gregor braced his body as he sent piercing gazes throughout the surroundings. Cass fixed her eyes on both sides of the tree line as Valente clutched his blade hoping the beast was gone. Gregor grunted from his clenched teeth.

  “Where’d that bastard go?”

  The dire trot of the creature faded from ear. An unpeaceful stillness permeated the Deadwood. The shadow-drenched roots of the nettle ash wormed in the darkness keeping the prince on edge. Hot moisture trickled from his pores. The quietness was inordinate. A small twig fell to the ground in front of Valente. The prince glared into the trees. He saw it. The blood-red eyes hovered in the air above the three. The creature had climbed up and perched itself upon one of the nettle ash’s twisting branches. It exposed its hideous grin as it licked its dark lips. Its hind legs sent it flying towards the center of the group. Valente moved his mouth, but the words would not come out soon enough. In a mix of terror and instinct, the prince swung his blade forward to meet the beast as it vaulted. A sickening and slick crunch came as the blade met the outstretched neck of the morpus. The blade did not dissuade the beast’s full path as it landed on Valente. Dark and wretched claws scratched at the front of the prince’s leather tunic. The knife-like talons searching for a softness to gouge. A single claw tore through the leather piercing the prince in the chest. The pain spread out like hungry roots of a seed as Valente grunted. The creature’s mouth reached down to the prince about to seize its prize as an arrow pierced its right eye. A painful howl filled Valente’s head as a thick and black blood dripped on his face. The overpowering scent caused Valente to gag. Gregor struck the beast once more, except this time with the edge of his blade. The sword cut past the thick fur of the beast and crashed against its ribs and guts. The creature flew up freeing Valente from its weight and grasp. It landed with a heavy thud on the ground in front of the tree it had just vaulted from. Tearing at the arrow in its eye the livid creature growled and ran off into the woods . A dark line of black blood trailed behind it as the morpus vanished into the darkness and the trees.

  The group exhaled in collective relief. Valente groaned as he clutched at the wound in his chest. The red ooze dripped from the front of the leather vest. Gregor nervously laughed lowering his blood-slicked blade.

  “Well, that was a close one.”

  Cass placed the bow on her back and hurriedly stepped to Valente. She moved his hands away getting a better look at the hole in his chest. Through the small hole was a minor crater in his flesh, the worried tension left the huntress’s body as she playfully shoved Valente.

  “It’s just a flesh wound you delicate flower.”

  Valente gripped his chest looking desperately at his companions for empathy. He found nothing but amused and relieved looks. He groaned louder.

  “It hurts.”

  Gregor placed a sportive hand on the prince’s shoulder.

  “Do you need me to carry you?”

  Valente got the point as he forced himself upright and placed his hand over his wound again.

  “Remind me to not show concern if a demonic, corpse-eating dog tries to eat you alive.”

  As the threatening presence of the creature subsided, the group gathered their wits. Gregor looked to the trees and found his bearings. He raised a pointed finger to the west as he spoke.

  “Their first outpost should be just a few more minutes into-”

  A branch snapped. The weapons were out before the sound reached its end. Every shadow threatened to reach out towards them, yet none moved. An impressed whistle came from among the trees. All three of the group shot their eyes towards the sound. A rounded man in a leather doublet stepped forward from the foliage.

  “Nice response time, but let’s calm down alright. I’m just here to talk.”

  The man licked his upper lip neatly tracing under the edge of his groomed mustache. He stopped his lick halfway as he looked up at the giant hoisting a claymore.

  “Well, I’ll be damned by the Seven. Gregor LeFane. You’re one of the last people I expected to show up here, especially during morpus mating season.”

  Valente and Cass shifted their judging gaze at the giant’s back. The portly man noticed the new aura of dissidence.

  “Oh, you didn’t know? Thought a famous knight would be smarter than that. Those things are everywhere this time
of year.”

  Gregor placed his sword back in its sheath as he stepped forward his grin nowhere to be found.

  “Neemon, I thought you’d be dead by now.”

  Gregor looked up and down at the chubby man.

  “Gained an extra couple of pounds… or ten? You’re eating half of your profit.”

  The man grimaced as he pulled the bottom edge of his doublet to tighten it on his chest.

  “You sure know how to piss me off, big man.”

  The man pursed his lips as he looked past the knight.

  “You picked up children. Have a family with some farmer girl?”

  Gregor bared his teeth this time they were not in their usual jovial crescent. Neemon placed his hands on his sides as he paced a few steps forward.

  “You didn’t even invite me to the wedding. That hurts my feelings LeFane.”

  Gregor stepped forward. His whole body canopied the stocky man.

  “I need to talk to Tychan.”

  Neemon eased his attitude for a moment and stepped back from out of Gregor’s shadow.

  “That serious eh? You’re lucky he likes you… well doesn’t hate you at least.”

  Neemon looked at the surrounding woods before proudly smirking.

  “You know the drill, no weapons for visitors.”

  Neemon stepped closer to Gregor nearly talking into the giant’s beard.

  “Especially of your variety.”

  The paunchy man stepped back and pointed to a nearby tree.

  “Drop them here and my boys will give ‘em back after you’re done your business.”

  Neemon rubbed his mustache as he waved at the three.

  “Now hurry, we want those morpus to go hungry tonight.”

  Neemon walked to the west. Cass and Valente looked at the uneasy shadows among the trees and vines around them. The unseen eyes increased the uneasy tension. Gregor removed his blade and scabbard and threw it to the ground. The prince and huntress briefly hesitated before the retired knight turned to them. Gregor nodded.

  “It’s okay. Neemon may be a scumbag, but if Tychan is still around, we should be fine.”

  “I heard that.”

  “I know.”

  Cass slung her bow and quiver forward, dropping it atop the claymore. Valente gripped his blade one more time. The steel still rang from the impact with the dark creature. Valente grit his teeth and reluctantly dropped the sword onto the small pile of equipment. Neemon turned from and beckoned the visitors to follow. A spark of light flickered in his hand as he brought out a glowing torch. Gregor made no hesitations and strode towards Neemon. Cass and Valente followed them deeper into the Deadwood. Cass looked over her shoulder. The pile of weapons had vanished from the ground. Shadows darted in darkness. Cass turned and trudged forward as all three followed Neemon to the Camp of the Lost Bannermen.

  -10-

  The blade screeched as its edge ran along the whetstone. The grizzled man stopped his motions as he looked from his work. A massive Liosian stepped into the camp. His hair redder than blood and his muscles bigger than a horse’s. In this behemoth’s shadow followed two young stragglers. A young black-haired upstart was intent on rubbing his chest. He groaned about a hidden wound, but nobody paid him heed. He almost looked like the Tharian foster prince. Close beside him, a hooded girl followed. Her familiar green eyes darted every which way trying not to miss anything. In front, Neemon walked proudly leading them through the camp with a devilish smile. A whetstone wheel slowed against the metal of the blade as the smith took in the peculiar sight. The rugged man rubbed his chin letting the stubble scratch the back of his hand. The smith grunted in disbelief. He shook his head and mumbled about the fumes being extra strong today. Pressing his foot down on the peddle he spun the whetstone wheel. He spat on the ground and continued his work.

  Brown and grey tents sprung up from among the nettle ash as though poorly weaved into the accursed landscape itself. The vines hanging from above held up many of the tents and a few served as drying lines. A suspiciously brown pair of leggings dangled in bliss above the grungy camp. Scattered around with no purpose were exhausted spoils, empty barrels, smashed crates, and mismatched furniture pieces. The sad state and disdainful conditions reminded Valente of the Rat Town district in Lios. At the least, the camp definitely smelled like the slums.

  Eyes peered out from the shantytown. Curious, exploitative, and devious. Valente swallowed his pride and pain. He did his best to not catch any more notice from among the dirty and dangerous bandits littered throughout the shamble of tents. Valente looked to his right hoping Cass would offer comfort, but she had enveloped herself in her cloak as she walked deep in Gregor’s shade. Compared to her, Valente stuck out like a purple blade of grass. An overly happy chuckle behind him sent his head on a swivel. A bandit teetered on a dilapidated chair in the front of a torn blanket that pretended to be a tent. He smiled at the prince with more gum than teeth before licking his cracked lips and taking a swig from a bottle he held in his hands.

  “You got a pretty face there, boy. Come over and share a drink.”

  Valente quickened his pace as he abruptly bumped into Cass causing her to jump. The huntress sent an angry glare. Valente whispered an apology, but the words caught in his throat as the man stood up from his chair. The tooth-lacking bandit raised a hand and slowly waved at the retreating prince. Valente grabbed Cass by the shoulder and hurried her and himself forward.

  The tents gathered and became more orderly as the group approached the center of camp. The many dark canvases grew more presentable and less-patchy. Etchings on the tent roofs caught the prince’s eye. The lines of tents were marked with both Tharian and Liosian military seals. Their collaborative grouping reminded Valente of the tales of a coalition back in the age of heroes. The excitement of history piqued his smile as a thick cloud of Deadwood fumes destroyed its existence. Valente clenched his nose with his free hand looking for the source of the stench. His eyes widened to take in the startling sight. A grand and looming nettle ash stood in the middle of camp. Its arching branches seemed to hold up the dark canopy above. The massive grey tree was pin-cushioned with many blades. Some rusted, some nearly unused, and some chipped beyond reasonable use, but each sword was wedged deeply in the bark of the old tree. The diverse assortment of weapons had one similarity; each had a bloodied cloth tied to their hilt. Gregor had already noticed the tree as he slowed his pace. His eyes were searching the assortment of hilts.

  “You’ve added more to the Lost Mother.“

  Neemon turned and grunted at the stalking knight.

  “Yeah. Tough year. Liosian patrols out in numbers recently. I think they’re planning something up North. But we can’t be bothered to ask them though. They usually die too quickly. Some people are still upset about the whole militia thing.”

  Gregor’s sight fell on a silvery-black hilt. A remorseful sigh escaped his parted lips. Valente looked at the sword-covered tree his eyes focused on the same blade. The silvery handle bore a white cloth inked with a faded and lost name. Neemon coughed impatiently.

  “No sightseeing Gregor. You can pay your respects later.”

  Gregor lingered on the blade lowering his head. His lips moved as he spoke under his breath. Turning away from the Lost Mother he moved onward with his companions in tow.

  After a long minute of dirty stares and tents, Neemon slowed his trek through the camp. The tents formed a small and ragged circle around a clearing. In the center stood a large pavilion tent. The tent billowed as its gentle green and white fabric wafted envy at the conference of tents around it. Neemon stopped before the dingy dell and cleared his throat.

  “Well, here you are.”

  Neemon twisted his mustache pulling the greasy hairs into a devilish curl.

  “Tychan will expect you inside. I reckon you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Gregor approached the tent flaps. Neemon put up his hand interrupting Valente and Cass.

  “You’re fresh
blood so I’ll give you a little tip. Tychan is not too fond of people that don’t look him in the eye.”

  Neemon adjusted his doublet around the bulge of his stomach.

  “Now stop gaping around. He hates people who keep him waiting even more.”

  Neemon stepped aside letting the two pass by. He placed two proud hands on his hips as he watched the huntress and the prince disappear into the pavilion’s flaps.

  The dark of the Deadwood doubled as they entered the weakly illuminated tent. The heavy cloth and the poorly tended lamps sapped away the hope of vibrant light. A deep voice rose from the confines of the pavilion.

  “It’s been awhile Knight LeFane. When scouts said you were coming, I thought you’d be here on a warpath. Not bringing along two tourists.”

  A dark shadow emerged from a deep corner of the large tent. The dimly lit lanterns danced fading light across his face. Dark green and brooding eyes gazed at the retired knight that stood in the entrance way of the pavilion. The eye drifted towards the new arrivals. Each sphere carried more threat than the morpus that had fought before.

  “Kind of you to join us.”

  The shadowy figure lowered his head a fraction in Valente’s and Cass’s direction.

  “You can call me Tychan, and this camp is mine. Remember that.”

  The dark figure turned to Gregor.

  “To business then. Why are you here LeFane? I have matters to attend to.”

  Tychan’s near-black eyes glanced at Cass as she grasped her braid.

  “One of my best men was murdered a few days ago. Some impudent rats were bold enough to attack us. I need to exterminate the problem.”