The Fugitive Prince Page 26

  “I’m truly disappointed foster. I expected something more.”

  Rythor freed his head from his armor. He dropped the helmet into the snow letting his grey patch of hair tossed furiously in the wind.

  “The deserters in that dead swamp told me you were something a little more. I reckon I should not have given them such a swift execution.”

  Rythor’s scowl of a face fell for a moment his blade waved hesitantly over the crawling prince.

  “I hated you the moment I heard of you. Some enemy prince coming to spy on us for ‘peace’. Some weak Tharian blood polluting our capital. You were even tenacious enough to try poison our king with thoughts of friendship. I so badly wanted killing you to mean something.”

  Rythor’s gripped tightened on his blade; the black metal stood still in attention.

  “You’re nothing more than some privileged and spoiled child: not worthy of a throne letting others die around you to help a dying kingdom.”

  Valente pushed himself further back. Rythor grimaced past his remorseful thoughts as he raised his blade and dipped the point into the prince’s chest. The prick of pain halted Valente’s retreat. Valente pushed his hands behind him to lower himself towards the snow away from the blade’s tip. The snow collapsed around his hands. Entombing his numb fingers in a frozen crypt. His hands shivered under the snow. Valente stilled his shaking hand as it brushed against something lost under the snow. The captain frowned over Valente in agitated impatience.

  “Why are you running? Can’t you see you’re already dead? Your survival means nothing. What do you expect to be an icon of hope for your people? You can’t even be a good excuse for hatred.”

  Rythor spit in disgust towards the prince. The wind saved Valente from the worst of it. Rythor angrily pulled back his blade.

  “Tharia will be gone before the end of winter. You and your kingdom will be nothing more than dust on the wind.”

  Valente’s hand fumbled beneath the snow. His cold fingers weakly traced around the object. Even past the numbness, he could feel it: a slender and knotted branch of wood tipped with an iron point.

  An arrow.

  Valente’s mind raced as he looked into the dark eyes.

  “Very well. You’ve made your point. If I’m worthless, then make it quick.”

  Rythor pulled back his lip in disgust.

  “I wanted to make you suffer, but I can see that even you see you’re not worth the time or effort.”

  Rythor gestured with the point of his sword.

  “Kneel and I’ll try to give you a proper, quick death.”

  Valente slowly dragged his hands and the arrow in his grasp through the snow. He kept low to the ground doing all he could to hide them as he leaned forward. Rythor chuckled.

  “You’re bowing to me, prince? At least this has given me some satisfaction.”

  Rythor stepped to Valente’s side as he raised his black blade. The dark edge hovered over the prince as the captain guided it over Valente’s neck. The prince’s chest burned as his heart drummed against his rib cage. Rythor deeply inhaled above the prince.

  “Goodbye Valente.”

  The captain swung down his blade. The prince’s heart leaped pulling up his gut with it. Valente tumbled to the side under the black blade and jumped forward into Rythor. His hand swung at the captain’s uncovered face. Rythor dropped his sword to his side and threw his hand up. The quick collision sent both of them tumbling into the snow.

  Valente’s vision spun and the surrounding snow jumped into the wind. He darted upright trying to hold a ready stance as his mind and eyes drifted from the impact. Looking everywhere, the prince frantically searched for the captain. The chaotic drifts of snow flew all around him. Valente stuck a hand out to steady himself against them. A hunched figure arose and shook himself free of the snow a few strides away. Getting up, Rythor held a hand to his neck. A small, knotted arrow stuck from it deeply entrenched in the oozing part. The captain coughed as he marched forward with his sword still in hand. He spat into the snow this time with blood. Rythor seemed relieved as his smile emerged in a gruesome satisfaction.

  “There truly was something worth hating in you after all. In your last moments, you were a Liosian. Remember that as I take your worthless life.”

  Rythor raised his blade for a final time and he rushed the prince without further hesitation. Valente closed his eyes. His whole being yearned for rest. It ached and burned with pain, yet now his mind was clear. Visions of some strange life seemed to dance across his eyelids. A lonely child walking silently in an empty castle, then running through brilliant rose gardens with a friend in each hand. The fragrant smell of berries as a beautiful girl led him towards a hidden corner of the keep. A sorrow that never let go as a close friend became a lasting enemy. An old man whose lessons never ended, but always served a purpose. A smiling huntress who made the cold snow fade away. A sparking urge rumbled across Valente’s tingling flesh. Valente opened his eyes. Rythor angrily swung his blade forward. The air and snow around it parted from its very force as it headed towards its target. The blade hesitated for a split second as Rythor looked at Valente. His brows shrugged off the anger with confusion.

  “Your eyes…”

  A flash, a blur of shining white passed over Valente’s body. Rythor’s face twisted into unexpected surprise as he was flung hurtling into the snow several feet away. Valente’s heart forget to beat as he looked into the fray for answers. His eyes settled upon it. The drifting snow flew in frantic circles from its very presence. The mountain peaks and wild winds shied away at the very sight. A massive white beast stood in the snow. It was a king among wolves covered in a silvery white fur that stood between Valente and Rythor. Valente’s spinning head could not catch his dropping jaw.

  The White One.

  It snarled at the captain causing a deep rumble in the mountain itself. Rythor responded by quickly rolling to pick himself up and put forth his blade. Its barred teeth were each a Gregor-sized claymore. The beast’s nostrils flared with vents of steam. Rythor’s eyes widened as he shouted and fumbled backwards in the snow.

  “DEMON!”

  Rythor feebly threw his swings forward as the white wolf stalked around him. The captain bravely lunged towards the beast hoping anything would deter its meticulous advance. The grand wolf simply stepped back avoiding his strike with more curiosity than any form of perceived threat. Rythor’s desperation turned to infuriated rage as he poured everything he had outward. He rushed the beast and bellowed at the top of his lungs. The beast watched the captain run up as it took one step aside avoiding the charge in a single movement. The captain’s swing filled the empty air as he reeled to keep his balance. The creature moved its head downwards and clamped its teeth onto the captain’s arm. He howled in pain as the beast tossed him into the ground once more. An audible crack mangled his arm as he collided with the snow. The black blade flew free from the fallen captain’s hand and clattered deep into the snow. The beast batted the crumpled captain with its paw as though he were a plaything. Rythor swore as he forced himself up. His words poorly intermingled with his coughs of heavy breath and fresh blood. He angrily swung another hopeless attack at the beast. He landed the strike on its cloud of fur. The beast was unimpressed. It raised its paw again as it smacked the captain down into the snow with a hefty thud. Rythor had barely a moment to recover as it extended its teeth out and bit onto his leg. The captain groaned and cussed; his strength was quickly leaving him. The beast picked Rythor up swinging him by his leg. Rythor body was drenched and scarred, but he still attempted to strike out. The massive wolf flicked its snout and tossed Rythor deep into the white rage of snow. The beast snapped it jaw and disappeared after him. The captain’s fading yells fought against the unceasing din of the storm. Valente swallowed his disbelief and sat in the snow dumbfounded. The shouts stopped coming from beyond the snow. Valente looked to where the beast had gone into a wall of wind and ice. The spiraling drifts of ghostly snow flit freely as
though nothing had transpired. Valente pulled his hands close to his chest attempting to bring life back into their numbness. The snow shivered around him, and the wind halted its advance. The massive beast stepped out from beyond the icy gusts. Its growl subsided with the wind as it stood at full height in front of the prince. It was an unreal monument of sheer power. The wolf’s deep blue eyes stared down into Valente’s. They cut through the snow with a glowing intensity. It was a sea flooded with vengeful fury, and it pulled Valente inside. Lost in this ocean, Valente was swept to safety by a force beyond the anger of the beast’s eyes. There was something unmistakable: justice. The white wolf closed its mouth to hide away its pearled swords as it turned away from the prince. Raising its massive head, the beast’s chest swelled before it bellowed a last mighty howl. The sound rattled through Valente body nearly causing him to faint. Valente grabbed his head and steadied his vision. He clamped as hard as his frozen hands could manage. As the vibration in his sight and mind settled, he looked up. There was nothing there but the bitter wind and snow.

  -19-

  The beast was gone and Rythor with it. The prince head still spun from the experience.

  The dull ache in his numb hand where the captain had disarmed him was his only means of proof. Valente ran the formidable image of the wolf through his mind. A majestic and unmatched beast. Beautiful in form, yet its presence commanded strength. Valente rubbed some sense into his hands and shook his head.

  They’ll never believe me.

  Valente’s look drifted towards the raging Araheil. The frothy waters poured forth under the fog and continued to storm down the mountain. Valente’s gaze passed over the rumbling current to the other side. Though wrapped in swirling mist and icy gusts of snow, the other side was just out of reach. The prince eyed the jagged stones along the river and the powerful current that crashed within it. Valente nearly thought about taking his chances and crossing. He was tired of this journey.

  Maybe if I was Gregor.

  The thought sparked a sudden cascade in Valente’s mind. A quick reminder that pushed the prince from the snow. He brushed himself off as he rushed to the river’s edge. He tugged his cloak around him fending off the unstopping frost. Valente scoured the riverside for his companions.

  Bated seconds turned to dragging minutes as Valente diligently searched. With the ever-present fog of ice and snow, there was little to find but the rumble of the river. Shivering and fraught, Valente squinted and tried to pierce the veil of frost. It did not waver for even him. Valente’s worries built upon his doubt and solidified in the biting cold. Valente pulled his sleeves over his hands tucking them under his armpits. Even though he felt better about it, his hands remained stiff. Valente forced himself into a jog moving down the river. His eyes tingled from their growing dryness as he kept them peeled for any clue of his companions. Valente’s doubt grew heavier. His body beckoned him to give up and find shelter. Valente bit down clamping his jaw. He refused to give up just yet. The wind grew lazy and slowed the pelting snow that burned Valente’s skin. The sheet of frost waned. Valente took the opportunity. His eyes darted through the patches of clarity. In the faint distance, he spotted red dots garnishing the snow. He rushed towards them, and the wind met him as it grew to full strength again. Valente leaned down his eyes scouring the frozen ground. A vague trail of blood moved further down river. Valente relaxed his jaw unable to restrain a relieved smile. He jumped to his feet and forged through the icy clouds that swirled on the ridge. The trail was short lived and petered off near the base of the river. A mighty waterfall boomed below. The falls tossed up more icy vapors into the turmoil of rushing wind and cold fog.

  Valente moved his hand over his eyes shielding it from the elements as he peered towards the cliff. In sight, he saw two obscured figures laying at the edge of the watery cliff. Excited, Valente dashed forward through the storm. The veil of ice gained transparency as he got closer. Though with each revealing step his run tapered to a cautious step. On the ground before him lay two Iron Star mercenaries. The closest one had received a grievous wound he clutched. He bled no slower in this cold as he rested against a rock mumbling to himself. The other nearer to the river lay face down and unmoving in a circle of red snow. Valente stepped closer keeping his distance from the muttering and delirious man. He looked to the ground for more clues. Heavy grooves ran up to the riverbed here. A large and bloodied claymore lay discarded in the shallows. Blood from the blade intermingled with frozen water as it flowed downstream. The mumbling stopped. The wounded mercenary looked up and feverishly chuckled.

  “Heh. You’re the Tharian prince… aren’t you?”

  Valente spun to the man. The prince’s arms sprung out ready to react to the surprise. However as he turned to the man, all he saw was a tangible defeat and unmistakable sorrow. The man cleared his throat as he tried to push himself up the rock. He grunted in pain and cradled his gut returning to his slump. The weak man shook his head trying to free it from his remorse. He coughed again and addressed Valente.

  “They said we would get titles and gold if we captured you.”

  The man looked over to his face-down companion in the snow.

  “A lot of good that’ll do Lester now.”

  Valente stood in uncertainty; his body refusing to buy words for the situation. The man did not have the time to deliberate. He painfully coughed the building moisture from his throat.

  “You’re looking for your companions, right?”

  The prince lowered his arms and stepped closer. Valente looked to the man’s downcast eyes searching for answers. The man tried to lift his gaze, but it fell as he nodded to the snow. His head drooped downwards with each gradual nod.

  “They’re crazy. Those fools… jumped into the river to get away from us. Your giant got me. He wasn’t looking so well himself…”

  Valente looked towards the claymore and down river. His heart dropped further than the crashing waters below. The man coughed and wheezed a ragged breath.

  “Prince. If you make it off this mountain alive, could you deliver a message after everything is over?”

  Valente turned to the man. The mercenary had closed his eyes. His voice barely made itself known under the rush of wind.

  “I have a girl in Lios. Marlee. She runs a small pastry kitchen near the slums with her father.”

  The man violently coughed sending a red spray upon the snow in front of him. He did not bother to clean his chin as he continued in a fading whisper.

  “I… used to go there every day before training so I could just see her Seven-blessed smile. Please, make sure she knows how I’ve gone… when you’ve won the oncoming war.”

  Valente leaned down to meet the man’s fallen face.

  “Why support me now?”

  The mercenary attempted a laugh, but a rasping wheeze was the best he could offer.

  “That beast. That had to be brought by a miracle of old… only heroes can cast magic… heroes never lose.”

  Valente parted his lips to object, but the man before him was long past debates. Valente could do nothing but nod. The man wheezed quietly and let his arms relax to his sides. His gruesome wound now freely bled. The man’s words tumbled out in a final murmur.

  “Get off this mountain… I won’t let some upstart Tharian prince watch me die.”

  Valente leaned closer to the man.

  “I’ll let her know.”

  The prince rose from the snow. The wind rattled any order from his hair. He turned to face the cold and the snow. He walked towards it and left the man against the frozen rock. Valente inhaled the chaos of the storm that bore down on him. He tightened the grip of his jaw holding against his disorganized thoughts. In the storm’s midst and rumbling river, he let his mind settle. Marching onwards he arrived at the bank. He followed the faint wisp of blood down the river towards the crackling waterfall. Valente stepped towards the cliffs above it. The water rushed down and smashed against the frigid waters below. The mighty Araheil roared wi
th full pride. Valente’s eyes traced along the river trying to follow the trail of blood. His eyes strained to see through the fog down the mountain. The empty current carried on downwards with an uncaring thunder. Valente bit down harsher. A tear escaped his eye drawing a freezing line across his cheek. As it fell into the snow, Valente let out a sob. Valente rubbed his eyes trying to focus. The overwhelming numbness sapped his will. His thoughts passed to memories.

  Even near the end, she was only moving forward.

  Valente’s shut his eyes focusing the strange warmth of the memory.

  She said I was a prince.

  Valente blinked and shook his head back into sense. He had to keep moving. If not to dissuade the ever-growing numbness, he would carry on for those that had fallen to the mountain. Valente concentrated his stare into the void of snow. His eyes refocused to something that slowly moved underneath the veil. A sluggish shadow crawled from the river below. Valente’s eyes flickered trying to clear the snow as he looked again. On the riverbed beneath the drifting snow, a small hooded figure with grave weakness dragged a massive lump towards a patch of grass. Valente’s heart sprung nearly throwing him off the cliff he stood. His eyes dashed passed his spinning vertigo to the cliffs around the Araheil. The crags were nothing but sheer and cold. Valente looked at his hands for strength. They quivered with frozen and stiff movements. A quick fall would surely result from any attempts. Valente looked to the other side of the river. Even if he forged through the rage of the river, the cliffs there were as jagged and unforgiving. Valente looked down again at the moving shadows. The hooded figure had collapsed, and both shapes lay unmoving on the grassy knoll. Valente now set his eyes on the only option left: the waterfall. The cascade of frozen water threatened everything that opposed it, yet it still called to him as the only solution. A thought tugged at the back of his brain fighting against the strained pull of his heart.