The Fugitive Prince Page 13

  The chilling voice sent shivers up Valente’s spine. The ingrained resentment mimicked the Liosian nobles, yet it was more menacing and much more dreadful. Gregor’s voice rose to meet Tychan’s.

  “I’m here for horses and weapons. Need to take this lot north. We are getting out of Lios while patrols are small.”

  The shadow glared at Valente. The prince shifted in discomfort. Tychan’s judging stare rattled him like a mountain’s blizzard. The scanning eyes moved to Cass. The deep, green eyes were ravaged with contempt, yet something about them pulled her in. She tore her eyes away afraid to lose herself in just their abyssal reflection. She returned to hiding under her hood. Tychan paused for a moment as Cass pulled away. He slowly moved his focus back to Gregor.

  “Horses? Perhaps I could spare some for an old acquaintance.”

  Tychan stepped forward into the light of the entrance. The man’s height just met Gregor at his chest, yet he was still as imposing. The light illuminated more of the shade, a dirty blond mess of hair sat atop a rugged face. It was littered with old scars and marks though in his eyes he carried his real wounds. He bore a black leather vest with pants to match. Even in the light of the pavilion entrance, he was hard to distinguish. The darkness orbited around him. Tychan outstretched his hand.

  “But I can’t let you leave now. The Morpus are out in number making more of their accursed kind. It’s dangerous to be out there. I’ll send scouts out tonight and see if we can find you a safer path.”

  The dark eyes squinted at Gregor’s companions.

  “Don’t want to be giving the Morpus more food to eat.”

  Tychan returned his glare to Gregor.

  “You’re welcome to stay one night. Stay out of my men’s way and you three should be fine.”

  Gregor ignored the offered hand.

  “I prefer if we left tonight.”

  Tychan’s eyes loomed on Gregor. The frigid gaze launched an attack. Gregor stood unmoved. Tychan growled in his throat and turned pulling back his hand. His dark form melted into the shadows of his tent.

  “And I prefer if you stayed for the night. Your brother doesn’t call shots here anymore, so we aren’t cutting corners even for you.”

  Gregor’s stoic stance faltered for a moment as the bitter voice called from the gloom.

  “Very well. One night. We’ll need more weapons though. A bow. Maybe an axe.”

  Tychan turned his head. Light flashed off his haggard strands of hair as he spun his head.

  “A bow too? Interesting… Think I have just the thing. Picked up a… familiar one recently.”

  His unseen gaze burned on Cass.

  “I… you’re welcome to it. Understand after this your brother’s favors are out. He’s gone… and after tomorrow you should be too.”

  This time Gregor offered his hand forward into the shadows. Tychan moved from the darkness back into the light. He approached looking at the hand then his eyes locked with the Liosian Knight. Tychan grunted before tersely shaking Gregor’s hand. As their hands parted, both men turned. Tychan stepped back and faded from the light. Gregor brushed off the flaps of the pavilion as his brow formed a fiery and worried caterpillar.

  Valente and Cass turned and followed Gregor. Tychan’s voice cut their actions short.

  “A question before you leave.”

  The rigid hush tarried for an eternity as the two faced the shadow.

  “You, girl, you are… of Riverpeek?”

  Cass’s back arched in surprise. Her eyes strained to understand the black forms of the tent’s depths. The long darkness stared into her soul.

  “I am… How did you know?”

  Tychan grunted at the news.

  “No reason. Now get out. I have things I must see done.”

  Cass traced the outlines of Tychan’s shadow as he paced in his darkness. She peered in furious attempts to find motives in his action.

  Why would he ask that?

  A soft tap on her shoulder broke her from her intent stare. Valente pointed his head towards the pavilion entrance where Gregor expectantly held open the tent flaps from outside. Cass moved out as her mind raced for the answers she left inside the tent

  -11-

  Farlosian skies rarely were this dark. The stars were muted by overhanging twisting twigs and brambling branches. Palpable fog of fetid fumes and adherent stench concealed the light of the moon. The constant doubt in the strangers who roamed around their little camp kept any relaxation at bay. All of them bandits and killers looking for an easy way to wet their lips and fill their bellies.

  Valente shifted on the bedroll he had borrowed from Gregor’s cabin. The various lumps below poked his sleepiness away. Gregor had left both Cass and Valente at the camp they had set up. They had chosen a somewhat less pungent place to set up just on the cusp of the camp. Valente had tried to warn the others about toothless weirdos on the camp’s outskirts, but Gregor and Cass preferred the ability to slip out if things turned sour.

  The hanging vines created a veil around the small area hiding them from the prying eyes. It would feel safe if it were not for the constant bickering and chinwag that carried out from the camp. The Lost Bannermen were more interested in partying and drinking their worries away than getting a proper sleep.

  Valente fretfully fumbled with his royal crest. It had been hours and the giant knight had yet to show himself. Gregor had left to talk to surviving old friends. The lack of his stoic smile drained the enthusiasm in Valente’s spirit. Cass quietly mumbled as she coughed on the Deadwood air. She jolted herself awake in a fit. Swearing, she propped herself up against a fallen nettle ash. The damp log met her back as she forfeited any future sleep. Her hazel-green eyes fluttered as she found Valente in the dark.

  “Hey, Val.”

  The prince lifted his head from the crooked earth. Cass gave a small, thankful smile. She was glad to see he was awake.

  “You heard Tychan mention my village right?”

  Valente watched the huntress take out her braid. The silver clasp collected stray light softly illuminating her worried eyes. Valente sat up.

  “I didn’t know they called it Riverpelt, but yeah I heard it.”

  “Riverpeek.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  Cass’s heavy thoughts stopped her eyes from rolling.

  “Do you think Tychan knew my father?”

  Valente leaned forward on his legs for support as he was not privileged enough to have a nettle ash log. The People’s Militia had no known survivors, but near the end, it had numerous deserters. Many disappeared and were presumed dead. Valente looked at the shadowed faces that roamed around the dull light of tents scattered around the camp. The symbols he had seen before brought a solemn nod to his head.

  “Some may have deserted and became Lost Men. It’s definitely possible.”

  Valente put away his crest as he turned to Cass and pivoted his seating.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Cass bit her lip. Her dangerous mood balanced between frustration and curiosity.

  “Tychan looked at me like he knew me, but I swear I’ve never seen that man in my life.”

  Cass let go of her clasp and stroked her braid in thought.

  “Maybe he talked to my father. He might know what happened to him.”

  Cass lifted her back from the log as she leaned closer to Valente.

  “He could know where I can find him. I need to know Val.”

  Valente hugged his legs a little closer as the chill of the woods bore down on him.

  “Gregor might know something. We could ask him when he comes back.”

  Cass nodded in the darkness. She pulled on her hood and laid on her bedroll. Valente enviously watched as she settled in. The grass had to be more comfortable on her side. Valente breathed in the cool air. He regretted it as the repulsive reminder of the Deadwood’s overburdening miasma caused him to gag. As the retching of his body stopped, Valente shook his head at himself and laid down on his ow
n bedroll. The legion of lumps emerged for another attack. Valente looked over. The huntress gracelessly spun on her mat unsatisfied with its comfort. An appreciative smirk crossed Valente’s cheeks.

  “Hey, Cass.”

  The huntress turned her head and faced the shadowy-form of the prince. Valente rubbed his knees for warmth.

  “I was wondering. What happened to your mom?”

  The question hung in the air. The silence unbearably loitered in the lull. Valente turned on his side fearing he had opened an old wound. The prince started to apologize.

  “I’m so—”

  “She went scavenging one night. I was young, about twelve seasons.”

  Cass pulled herself into a curled ball on her side.

  “I was sick. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, and couldn’t keep either down from nausea. The village healer said I’d be gone within a quarter moon’s cycle.”

  Cass cleared her throat as it cracked from the memories.

  “My mother. She was a strong woman. Independent.”

  Cass breathed in trying to hold back the cascades of emotions. The sniffle of her nose betrayed her.

  “She didn’t let that priest stop her, so she packed her bags and hurried off to the Wild Lands.”

  Valente leaned his body deeper forward as he listened closely. The Wild Lands were wild for a reason. Fauna and plants there were feral and untamed. The land was as inhospitable as a Liosian almshouse. Seldom had people made it past the top of the mountains and even fewer survived the savage lands beyond them. Those that survived were in the sagas of the Heroes of Old.

  Cass coughed once more doing her best to stop her quivering tone.

  “Everyone told her she wouldn’t make it. That she would die and leave her daughter alone in her moment she needed her most. In a sense they were right, but she set off despite it all.”

  Cass angrily wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “I was alone for nearly five days. I can barely remember it. The overwhelming hunger and the inability to satiate it. Without the priest to dampen my forehead, I may have succumbed to the fever. I was so scared.”

  Cass’s tears threatened to burst from the corners of her eyes. She rammed her eyelids shut to hold back the oncoming cry.

  “In the middle of the night, my mother returned. She was scarred, beaten, and bruised, but that’s not what I remember so vividly. I can’t forget the way she looked at me. It was like she knew everything would be alright with absolute certainty… No doubt… It was as though the gods themselves were backing her.”

  Cass’s clench on her braid loosened for a moment.

  “She brought back a bloomed Flower of Shor. The tea she made healed me. It surprised everyone,”

  Cass bit her lower lip hoping the pain would overwrite the surge of sorrow that assaulted her,

  “But as I got better from the sickness, my mother fell ill to an infection. Exhaustion had weakened her they said. She hardly lasted a day. The journey had pushed her heart so hard it just gave up.”

  The tears ran small rivers down Cass’s cheeks as she tried to stem the flow. Valente laid in the dark cursing his inability to find the right words to comfort the lady in distress. He wanted to reach out, but he did not know how. Valente leaned on his arm and turned letting the lumps stab at his side.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you sadness. I only—”

  Cass forfeited to the depression her soul put forward. The tears fell as they dripped from her sad, green eyes.

  “It was a sick joke. A woman had a heart so large and she died because it loved too much. The worst part is, when she died, she told me ‘You will be alone and afraid, but don’t let my death be an excuse for hatred. I die because I love you. Never forget that.’”

  Cass clenched her fist in the air strangling the space between her fingers.

  “Now I can never be angry.”

  Cass threw her fist into the log accompanying it with a mouthful of curses. Valente rubbed the back of his neck. He was no stranger to this loss.

  “I miss my mother too. Taken away because life wasn’t fair enough to let her live. Maybe the gods are twisted watchers that care not for our feelings, but I didn’t let that stop me from carrying on.”

  Valente sat up a little taller as he spoke.

  “My mother is a memory, but that’s not the only thing she is. She is a beacon to what I can’t lose. A dream I hope to achieve.”

  Valente gleamed at Cass his humble grin full of real empathy.

  “I hope you can find your way to your mother.”

  The wind whipped through the trees as a silence followed it. The stench of the trees lightened as a fresher air blew in. Valente lowered his shoulders the weight of the stillness pushed on them. The prince laid down. He turned on his back trying to find comfort, but could only hope he had chosen the right words. Valente placed a hand on the crest he had stored in his pocket. Moments of unendurable emptiness passed. Valente closed his eyes. The memory of his own mother pulled at his faith.

  Divine Seven, I ask for not my blessings, but that of another. She needs your strength.

  Valente relaxed his back against the uneven bedroll. He was done with this day.

  “Val.”

  Cass’s gentle whisper surprised the prince. He tilted his head in the voice’s direction. The darkness had thickened.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to… I need to let you know that I—”

  The whisper washed aside as a heavy tread ran towards them. A massive Liosian broke through the wall of vines with a handful of armaments. Valente and Cass sat up as Gregor rushed into their camp. A crazed and desperate look on his face as he leaped over Cass and the log. Cass and Valente moved to speak, but the giant raised his hand and heaved his heavy claymore onto his back. Lines of lacerations riddled his massive arms. A deep sweat covered Gregor in a worrying film as he barked.

  “Get moving. We have to run.”

  Valente turned to his gear but was interrupted. Gregor threw a familiar-looking blade and sheath onto his bed.

  “No time, grab your weapons and follow me.”

  Slinging a bow from his back he handed it to Cass.

  “This is the right one?”

  Cass looked at the bow the elegant curves and the brilliant glimmer of spidersilk was unmistakable.

  “My bow!”

  Gregor firmly nodded as he moved his head to look through the vines and darkness.

  “Thank me later. We have to go and quickly.”

  Shouts echoed out of the distance. Many bandits awoke from their slumber and rose from their drinking. Valente equipped his sheath familiarizing himself with the weight at his side. If it were not for the newly advancing torches and threatening yelling, he might have felt safer. The prince directed his vision at Gregor who was helping Cass up to her feet. Blood covered the right side of his body, but either the dark covered any obvious wounds or it was not his blood. The shouts were now more audible.

  “Kill Gregor. The girl too if we have to. The prince is mine. Keep him alive and it’s payday boys.”

  If the camp was not lively enough, Tychan’s commanding shout ensured that it was. The drinking party of Lost Men turned into a war party as they mobilized and cheered in unison. Gregor ran northwards to the edge of camp towards a small building. Cass and Valente quickly followed. For Gregor’s size, he moved faster than any horse, his steps sent shudders as he ran. He called over his claymore.

  “Tychan found out. He knows you’re the prince Val.”

  Valente did his best to keep up with Cass and Gregor. A guilt shuddered through him. He had put them both in danger. The pump of his heart sent away the thoughts as he reached the small stable. Gregor had arrived a few seconds prior. He had obliterated the door with his fist. Crude smashes of splinters decorated the dirt. Anxious horses inside trotted in their stalls as the behemoth strode to them. The bar holding many of the horses shattered under the knight’s strike. The horses galloped free into the
darkened night. Gregor caught the reins of two and pulled them out. Their resistance staunched by his overwhelming strength. He gave one horse to Valente with a stern pat on his shoulder. This time Valente was ready for it.

  “Mount up.”

  Gregor heaved himself on the horse who adjusted its hooves against the unexpected weight. The grumpy horse snorted as it took its burden. Gregor steadied his mount and looked down at Cass and Valente. His head nearly scraped the dark canopy just above him.

  “You know how to ride?”

  Valente placed his hand on the horse and pulled himself up with a hearty leap. This horse snorted happy she had the lighter passenger. Valente outstretched his hand to the huntress. Cass looked at the animal and Valente’s palm with apprehension. Shouts called out behind them. Valente beckoned this time more desperately. Cass exhaled and grabbed hold of the prince’s hand as he pulled her up behind him on the horse. In unison, Gregor and Valente spurred their horses forward into the dark woods. Cass clenched onto Valente’s back. The bounce and gallop of the creature shook her sending doubts through her mind. A moving sickness formed itself in her stomach as she closed her eyes to force it away.

  I hate horses.

  Her thoughts sent spiraling as her head collided with the prince’s back as the horse leaped over a log. Valente grunted.

  “I’m so—”

  Cass’s head bobbed up and down causing her to bite her own tongue as she tried to apologize. The warmth and taste of iron spread through her mouth.

  I HATE horses.

  Cass looked back at the shadows and torches behind them. The commotion Gregor created bought them time, but it was not enough. A handful of mounted bandits were rushing after them. Tychan was among them.

  The horse dangerously swerved causing Cass’s heart to race. She buried her cheek against Valente’s back increasing her grasp on him.

  Valente grit his teeth. Cass painfully squeezed his chest as he rode. She was trying really hard to crush his ribs, but he did his best to focus on the task at hand. It had been a while since Valente had ridden a horse, but it was as they say: you don’t forget. The rush of wind through his hair reminded him of the freedom he used to enjoy with Jonathan. As soon as he remembered those times, he regretted it.