The Fugitive Prince Page 18

  The cold running off the grand range of rock rattled against the prince. Shaking himself from the cool blanket of frost, he stepped forward onto the base of the path. He shivered off the building cold and scaled upwards. Gregor took a moment to observe the mighty mountains from their base. His burning beard pointed upwards with his gaze as the curls of crimson lightly covered his eager smile. The knight followed.

  Cass watched the two men begin their climb. The wind gained a sliver of intensity as it forced the huntress’s hood to dance. She placed a hand on her head and held the hood in place. The path before her looked cold and long.

  Is this worth Tharian gold?

  A strand of golden hair drifted free from its restraints and obscured Cass’s vision. She pushed it up under her hood, as her eyes fell upon the royal figure trudging ahead on the path. Cass bit her inner cheek as her doubt was quickly quelled. Pulling her hood tight Cass stepped onto the stone slabs, as she joined the two ahead of her in the winding climb into the mountains.

  The path trailed up the stony sides of the range. The rock pathway itself was gruesomely carved into the mountain’s skin. Stone steps cut through the white frost a considerable way up before sharply turning and carrying on into more jagged and frigid paths. The entire trail formed several lengthy zigzags that the three continued to scale. Step by step through the burning forge of frost the three marched on.

  A few brave shrubs quivered and watched from their perches in the chilling wind above. Their minute and crisp leaves shook violently curling the gusts of frost around them into whistling cries. Valente passed beyond these bushes. His feet firmly etched into the snowy stone as he scrutinized his footing with every cold step. Travel up this far had not been easy or the least bit comforting. The prince was not keen on experiencing the quick and painful journey guaranteed by a misstep. The crunch of icy snow against his boot brought more confidence in his cautious strides. His eyes drifted beyond the stone under his feet and into the clouds of winding white above.

  Every step is closer to home.

  The snow’s crunch came again, however this time it echoed in the path behind. The large knight leaned on his knee a few paces further back. His burning beard dulled by the white ice that lightly formed upon it. The Liosian rubbed it free of the frost as he reached for his belt. A small and trustworthy flask emerged in his massive grip. Gregor took a swig of his flask then he outstretched his liquor to both his climbing companions.

  “How about a drink? It helps keep the cold at bay. At the least, this numbing is better than what the damn snow does.”

  Valente barely turned as he shook his head in his undeterred march. Gregor moved the flask closer to Cass directing the opening and the liquid to meet Cass’s eyes. She looked at the bottle, as the knight’s words attempted to push her inside. The frozen surroundings further beckoned her to partake. Even with her senses dulled, these winds would not let any arrow fly straight.

  Cass reached out for a half-second the cold blasted against her hand. She pulled it back against the chilling gust. Gregor swirled the bottle, and the liquid sloshed warmly inside as he smiled.

  “It doesn’t bite you know… not too badly anyway.”

  Cass looked into the opening once more and shook her head free of its enticing gaze. Cass politely raised her hand to decline.

  “Sorry I better not.”

  Gregor chuckled as he downed another gulp. He swished it loudly between his teeth letting the fluid burn him. Satisfied with his results he capped the bottle.

  “You’re as straight as those pointy sticks you shoot aren’t you?”

  Cass stopped her climb as a drinking Liosian knight stood in her path.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Gregor returned the bottle to his belt as he turned and continued to climb.

  “You keep things the ways that work for you. I can respect that. I reckon you could even pass for a proper Tharian.”

  The huntress shrugged at the statement and the cold.

  “Well, it works for me. Why change it?”

  The knight half-turned only revealing the end of his red and frost-tipped beard.

  “I guess that is a fair point.”

  The fiery hair wobbled as an unseen smile spread across Gregor’s face

  “Some things are worth changing. Other things are worth changing for.”

  The wind whistled over the winding pass. The prince, the knight and the huntress overtook the first several turns of the path. Each jagged pivot in the icy stone moved them further up the Nital Mountains. The violent song of gusting cold brought a frigid claw to their skins. Its long talon pierced even the well-made garment of leather the prince had borrowed. Faced with even this, Valente refused to stumble or refrain. Most reasonable Liosian nobles would declare such a grueling experience far from what even a lowly foster prince should face, but Valente made no complaints or signs of falter. Perhaps it was brought on by the Liosian knights prior recanting or the prince’s Tharian pride, however, a platinum royal sigil burned in his pocket. The small silver symbol did not smolder from heat but from allegiance.

  A leader’s most taxing duty is his people.

  Arthan’s words trickled down alongside the drifts of snow. Valente understood their meaning blaze with each of his crunching steps. Every moment spent was closer to a possible unprovoked attack that without proper warning could put his people and his father’s kingdom into immense danger. His home and his last living family. Valente grunted once more against the aching fatigue of his legs and pressed on into the shining mountains.

  The light had passed from the top of the sky and then down to the horizon below as it cast its last light of day against the stony face of the mountains. The group let the beams of sun warm them as they forged the last turn of the path. As the path and day neared their ends, Valente stopped and thankfully panted. His lungs heaved grateful for the cool air that was in abundance. The heat of the falling sun had cast away most of the clouds and flakes in the air. They had melted away below leaving the top of the mountain in a majestic clarity.

  Valente did not waste the rare opportunity and looked west over all of Farlos and the Kingdom of Two Kings. Lios shimmered to the south full of golden wheat and forest green. To the North, Tharia stood stalwart with frosted trees and glistening lakes and rivers. From here, all the fields and farms seemed like small patches on the grand cloak of the land. The forests served as a large, elegant mass that curled itself along the wash of landscape. Small and scattered clusters of spots defied the swaths of green. The many towns and villages of Farlos all seemed connected on the grand fabric by a dispersion of a grey thread throughout the land. The vast network of roads and paths appeared distantly silent from the lack of their prior bustling trade. The two kingdoms were once said to have been united. Two kings with equal rule. A Protector of the North and The Warden of the South. At least that was the tales Arthan once told the prince. Now, it seemed near impossible for the two rival kingdoms to have ever worked together. The unerring pride of Tharian traditions clashed against the countless charades and intricate posturing of Lios. Arthan had another lesson that stuck with Valente:

  “Panthers do not walk with Lions.”

  The prince’s gaze and thoughts were not alone on the mountain ridge. Pulling the hood from her golden hair, Cass looked towards the south. The Liosian Seas of Trees obscured any hope of her spotting the small cluster of wood and huts she had called home. Bustling green of woods glowed under the falling gaze of the sun. The aura seemed ever full of life, yet a cancerous streak of grey and fetid trees as the rotten Deadwood nestled between the green pulled it down. Cass absently smiled. She missed the freedom of her home that even the stain of grey could not wrench from her. The ability to do whatever she wanted and however she wanted to do it, she savored the memory with closed eyes as it faded. Helping the prince had forced her onto a path that was more regimented than she could comfortably bear. The doubt froze up and shattered away in the open and cool air of t
he high mountains. Her mother had traveled this path before for someone she cared about. Cass’s eyes opened as she shifted towards the prince. Perhaps she was more like her mother than she first thought.

  Valente peered across the Sea of Trees to the grey stone lump perched along the southernmost coast. The grey walls carried a stench further than the Deadwood before them as it sat and oversaw the lands of the South. These grand Liosian walls lost their entire supposed glamor from here. A simple speckled line on the horizon was all they could muster. Valente let himself smirk. He was glad to have created this distance. He was glad those walls and their oppression were nothing more than a streak in his vision so easily ignored. Valente blinked away the wind in his lashes. His smile grew cold as not only the wind struck it, but the vivid memory of fresh berries fabricated itself on the breeze. The fragrant image awoke in his heart and mind. A deep sensation that crept along this cold. A feeling rooted in his heart that sought its fulfillment and yearned as it was just out of reach over the mountain and into the flatlands. Valente blinked again forcing his heart below his pride as he let his eyes wander north of the Araheil river and towards Tharia. A wisping line of a forest ran near the mountains serving as a vibrant barrier. The wall of trees sprung up as a moat of a massive and river-generous lake hugged closely to its western treeline. Beyond this barrier of water, the hilly and open fields of Tharia, and just after the small hills and dips of grass glimmered the fortress city. The pride and might of Tharia, and the prince’s home. Odehelm.

  Will I ever return to Lios?

  Valente sent his gaze downward as he was torn where to send it. Lios would never accept him, and Tharia would never let Maria return to him. The world below seemed to constrict as this revelation finally landed a hit. Valente grit his teeth as to force the world back into perspective. Every chill on the wind reminded him of the duty he had to fulfill. A sadness clung to the underside of heart. He brought his gaze upwards towards the end of the jagged path and the beginning of the mountain ridges. His eyes crossed over and met Cass’s. She looked at him with a thoughtful and warm gaze. The hazel-green eyes burned past his thoughts and worries and obligations. Cass smiled. The weight seemed to fall away down the mountain. Valente could not break the gaze as he went to smile back. A heavy grunt came close from behind. The sudden sound echoed in the peaks and caused Valente to flinch. Gregor heavily gripped the prince’s shoulder as he heaved on him as an unwilling crutch.

  “I’m not built for all this hiking.”

  The prince’s legs wobbled under the new burden.

  Nor am I built for THIS.

  The knight gulped the cool air letting it revive his smile and stature. His hand and incredible weight lifted from Valente’s shoulders. The prince’s knees sprung up in cheer. Gregor pointed to the mountain’s ridge.

  “At least, the sun got rid of the falling snow. It’ll be nice to actually see where we are going.“

  Cass took off her hood as she responsively looked to the sky. The clouds were sparse when you were above them. Gregor took a deep breath once more before slapping his chest with both hands as to drum himself on and beat the fatigue of the hike into submission.

  “The village should be close by now. We should try to get there before it gets too dark and too cold… and too snowy.”

  The thought of the frosty flakes sent a shiver through the giant’s beard. Cass laughed as she prodded the knight.

  “The famous Winter Knight can’t handle a little snow?”

  Gregor shot her a challenging glare, before chuckling and bending down to touch the snow.

  “Snow is worse than sand. Sand you can brush off. Snow gets you wet too.”

  Cass moved to retort as a ball of snow exploded against the side of her golden hair. A shower of snow flew up in the air. Cass brought her hand to her head as she dabbed the cold clumps on her hair.

  “Hey!”

  Gregor laughed as he clapped off the snow from his hands. The huntress would not lose such an opportunity. Cass was quick to scoop a lump of snow as she sent it towards Gregor in a hasty counterattack. The knight’s chuckles were muffled as the snowball erupted on his beard. Gregor stood bewildered by the sudden shocking assault. The fiery beard was cooled off and converted into a white and jovial variety. The knight looked down at his new addition. Gregor patted his stomach and howled.

  “Ho ho ho! Joys and Blessings of the Season’s End!”

  The snowy peaks of the mountains echoed with the three’s laughter.

  -15-

  The path carved into the rock face tapered off as the mountain opened up to a more manageable ridge. Small bastions of evergreens littered the crags of snowy stone as a small dirt trail bisected it all. The whitened road was uneven and unkempt from being unused, however, a deep pair of lines hinted recent travels. The trail carried in both directions along the Spine itself, yet the group’s direction did not dare tarry south. In the Northern distance, the flickering lights in thick windows illuminated a small gathering of cold stone houses. The grey bricks stood out brighter than the lights in the white and green. They were crisp and cool as the surrounding air that threatened to freeze the traveling three.

  From the small settlement, a faint clang of metal beckoned the group closer. On the darkening horizon, a pillowy pillar of grey rose and grazed the sky. Gregor pointed towards the secluded village excited to see an end to all the hiking and snow.

  “Well ain’t that quaint and nice on the eyes.”

  The knight stood and regarded the nearby assortment of rock homes with a satisfied nod.

  “Come on. I bet they’d like to see new faces. That’s the only real excitement they get in small hamlets like this.”

  Cass nodded in agreement under her frosted hood. It had not been long since a stranger brought adventure to her doorstep.

  The numb layer of cold that clung to the group caused any further lack of motivation to cease. After the grueling hike and the cracking cold, the small stone huts were a godsend. Valente’s determined trudge turned itself into a hopeful trot. The path narrowed towards the town. Cass held her bobbing hood as she restrained herself from skipping towards the warm and welcome sight. The knight pulled the flask from his belt before carrying on behind the eager two. He took a heavy swig from his flask and snorted as he downed the fluid.

  “It’ll be nice to relax after that climb. These wounds and this snow are killing me.”

  It was not many strides before the village sprung up ahead of them. The stone shacks lined the snowy road that ran between the small grey walls and frosted greenery of trees. Speckled around this street, a large assortment of carts, boxes, and barrels gathered outside larger buildings. Grunting villagers moved some of these containers out of storage. Several of these dirt-covered miners emerged from the east of the village. They headed towards their homes and hot meals. Many were too tired to give the newcomers a moment or a glance. The hard work and the cold had tempered the folk into calloused craftsmen.

  One of the larger buildings echoed again with the sharp twang of metal against metal. Its dark stone held a large and charred smoke stack marking it from the rest. A billow of thick and blackened smoke heavily swelled from it. The powerful and rhythmic thud of stubborn metal continued to call over the mountains. The three moved towards the noise as it was more welcoming than the work-fatigued grimaces of the miners.

  Clang of metal called again as the group approached the building. Here, a short and burly woman stood in front of a blazing furnace. A heavy door nearby was marked with years of soot. The glint of metal and blade shined out into the fading daylight from the room. The blaze did not stop there as it roared against the open mountain air. Its fierce heat melted away the snow and sent the cold back in broken retreat.

  Cass and Valente further drifted their path off the main road and towards it as moths to a light. Gregor followed them towards the blacksmith. The woman bore a thick and black apron. Valente raised his eyebrows to appraise whether the garment was black by nature o
r rendered that way through years of work.

  The sparks and smoke took their turns while the heat pushed them out in waves that crashed against the cold. The woman swung a hulking hammer against her anvil; the bright red iron caught between clapped with thunder. Warmth of the flame pulled the weary travelers closer in. The woman went to swing once more but held her hammer in the air freezing it in inaction. Lowering her mallet, she turned her head to meet the oncoming spectators. Dropping the hammer onto the anvil with a mighty clang she shifted her body to look over the shivering trio. Valente’s eyebrow attempted to transcend as he pondered whether the woman’s face was born with a permanent grimace. Her scar-riddled face was ironed into a perpetual frown. The ridges of hard labor or unfortunate luck had etched themselves up and down the woman’s visage adding a handful of decades to her age. She looked as tough as her anvil. The blacksmith grunted frightening the prince’s brow back into its rightful position.

  “What are you foolish lot doing out here? Traveling up in the mountains dressed like that? They don’t make them too bright down there do they?”

  Valente and Cass looked at each other hoping the other would hold an answer. Gregor stepped forward and outstretched a hand to the soot-covered smith.

  “The name is Gregor, and this is my son and daughter.”

  The gestured as he leaned sideways to reveal the two behind him.

  “Valente and Cassandra.”

  The smith curled her lip as she looked down at the massive outstretched hand. Gregor instinctively flexed as to re-show the traditional greeting she seemed to have missed.

  “We are merchants looking to trade. Would’ve had more with us and some warm cloaks, but a pack of wolves attacked us. We got separated from our cart.”

  The soot-ladened smith pulled her gaze towards the knight as the judgemental silence built up. Gregor rubbed his brow free from a bead of sweat.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, do you know where we can find shelter and clothes for the night?”