The Fugitive Prince Page 3

  “Halt in the name of the Liosian King!”

  Valente ran.

  Valente rushed deeper into the woods. The wisps of fire disappeared among the foliage behind him. As the shouting grew far and quiet, his throbbing heart forced him to stop and wheeze for air. The frigid splash of wind scattered through his lungs satiating the inferno burning in his chest. The sensation reminded him of a similar strain as a child. But one not mixed with gripping fear, it was when he and Jonathan ran together in the Royal Liosian Gardens. The prince shook the nostalgic thought from his mind.

  He’s not that kid anymore.

  Valente clutched his side holding back the cramp that was clawing its way out. He forced himself into a march.

  The sun dwindled on the horizon that peeked through the clutter of leaves. The mighty ball of light continued to sink into the earth. Night was coming and Valente’s body yearned for a reprieve. He threw periodic glances behind him as he scanned the darkening forest. With urgency, He searched for a place to hide and rest until morning. His body demanded it. Valente continued to scour letting his eyes fall on a promising sight. Two trees crossed over each other in front of the prince forming a twisted cross. Their long wooden arms and extended course of leaves created a small covering over a patchy plume of grass. Valente furled his brow. It was not a soft and feathered mattress, but it would do. Valente dropped under the small, natural shelter. The exhaustion hit him hard as the soft grass caught his falling back. A hearty growl stopped the prince’s eyes from fluttering shut. A revolt broke out in his stomach. It fought for food. Around him, he saw trees, bushes, shadows, but nothing he would dare eat. Valente brought his knees towards his chest trying to quell the rebellion in his gut.

  This is terrible.

  Valente’s eyes closed as the night air rustled through his black hair.

  I guess this is what the servants meant. A poor man’s dinner:

  Valente’s stomach grumbled as his mind drifted up and away.

  Sleep.

  -3-

  The dainty chirps nestled in between the leaves in harmony with the trickling morning light. Valente groaned. Beyond the numbing headache, his neck furiously ached, his parched lips cracked with slivering pain, and his stomach growled with a wholesome demand. Valente inhaled hoping his breath would soften the edge on his body. It did not.

  The prince pushed himself free of the patch of grass. He diligently rubbed away the touring, green blades that clung to him. He put his other hand under his tunic and massaged his dour stomach.

  Food.

  Brushing the crisp bangs out of his face, Valente’s blue eyes surveyed the woods. Among the trees, some birds flitted in play, but not near enough to be caught. The prince yawned and marched onward using the rumble of his stomach as his drum. He was no soldier, but this was a regiment he could not desert.

  A trio of swallows landed among the branches above to watch the strange mass of tattered clothing walk. It groaned as loud as its stomach and trudged unevenly through the undergrowth. The little birds soon lost interest, chirped, and soared away. As their feathers vanished among the leaves, a hopeful sight took their place. Beneath the canopy, a small, proud crop of bushes huddled among the wooden stalks. Upon their small fluffy leaves were red and plump berries.

  Before his mind caught the vision, Valente sprung from his march. His knees met the ground before the bush with eager collision. His hands reached out and plundered the bountiful branches. Their leaves feebly rustled unsuccessfully holding off the prince’s ravaging assault. Valente tossed a few of the savory dots into his mouth and crushed them with a satisfying, juicy pop. Valente and his stomach thanked the gods. The bitter berries did little to deter the prince as he continued to harvest handfuls to appease his impatient hunger.

  His senses were all but swept aside by the meal; yet, a sound tickled his ear. Leaves rattled. A bush shook behind the prince. Valente stopped his greedy hand mid-reach. The shrub shivered once more. This time much louder and closer. Valente flipped onto his fearful backside. A small lone berry bush gently quivered in his gaze. Valente swallowed the most recent acquisition of red fruit. A berry dropped from his nervous lip.

  “Hello?”

  The foliage swayed in response. Valente’s voice cracked with uncertainty as he wiped the juice from his lips.

  “You there. Look, if you know who I am, you will reveal yourself and state your intentions!”

  The bush unfurled outwards releasing a furry menace towards the prince. Valente put his hands forwards to stop the oncoming beast. His heart leapt into his chest to join them. Valente’s vision went black. The bush’s noisy quivering stopped. An uneasy silence settled. Curiosity itched under the prince’s eyelids.

  Valente peeked open one of his eyes letting the light of morning reemerge. Staring at the back of his raised hand, he estimated he was still alive. Valente lowered his quaking hand.

  A small brown rabbit’s black eyes fearfully stared upward at him from his feet. Its small chest pulsed with terrified breaths. The rabbit squealed as it desperately smashed its legs against the soil to flee. The rabbit spun and ran. Sadly, it was far too late. A small wooden arrow weaved through the trees and bushes. The whistling missile pierced the rabbit’s body causing it to crumple. Its lifeless form crashed into the ground before Valente.

  An arrow glared back at the prince from its gnarled knot of its shaft. Valente sat in shock watching the creature fade away in his sight. The bush bounced once again. Valente’s shock retreated behind his revived fear. Valente’s throat twitched under his shallow breathing. The leaves rumbled apart.

  The girl cycled her bow onto her quiver then softly brushed the leaves off her cloak. Her hands continued their graceful movement as they swept up a knife from her belt. A streak of blonde hair fell in front of her rich, green eyes. The prince’s throat twitched again. She dropped into a quick crouch bringing her knife to the rabbit. If there was anymore life, it was now forfeit. Valente’s jaw loosened as his mouth gaped. The girl looked at the ragged prince with a curious look. Her mind traced over his garments and his face in an instant of silent judgment. The girl brushed the strand of hair back towards her braid.

  “Hi there.”

  Valente tried to swallow his stomach as he regained his royal composure.

  “Uh… Greetings.”

  The girl wiped her blade on the rabbit’s fur.

  “Are you lost?”

  She secured the dagger into a simple sash at her waist.

  “You look like you washed up on shore… twice.”

  Valente winced at the comment about his attire. Looking down, he saw the tatters of his royal vest clinging in strands. Valente weakly smirked under his concerned brow.

  “I’ll have you know it’s High Liosian style right now.”

  The girl lightly giggled. She placed the rabbit into a leather satchel underneath her cloak. Putting away her knife she smiled at the prince. Her welcoming and kind visage softened Valente’s mood. Her voice bore a spirited candor.

  “Well, I don’t think they’d let you in Rat Town looking that way.”

  The girl tucked the free strand of golden hair back into her braid.

  “I have to run. Patrols out in force, and they usually shoot at poachers. Thanks for luring out my dinner!”

  With a kick and a leap, the cloaked girl strode off into the woods. Her cloak spun around her like frolicking fog. Valente reached out a hand to stop her, but she was already gone. The bushes swayed around the prince circling him in his returned isolation. Her voice called out from beyond the overlying bushes. Valente perked up his excited ears.

  “Also, those berries are Ohm’s Grudge. They’re poisonous.”

  As the bushes settled from the girl’s departure, the prince’s stomach turned. The bubbling ache burned upward. He felt his mistake all the way back up. He promptly returned his meal to the ground before the berry bushes. Valente wiped his chin this time to free it of a less appetizing dribble. Valente relaxed his n
eck letting his sorrowful head look into the sky.

  At least I’m not hungry anymore.

  Valente leaned on the rugged bark of a tree. The spinning had slowed as the prince gained his bearings once again. The backlash from the berries had taken its toll. Every step more painful than the last; each seeped strength away from him. Valente squinted through the wobbling woods. The trees gently swayed in his vision part from the breeze, part from berries’ gift. A tree danced in front of him. It interrupted his staggered momentum. He held his gut and looked up at it. A small satchel was affixed to its bark. Stapled with a familiar, knotted arrow, a folded leaf pouch focused into his vision. In a curious gait, the prince approached. Plucking the arrow, the pouch fell into his hands; the resilience of the leaf unfolded itself revealing dried meats. Valente’s stomach hopped up to meet the meager ration as he swallowed it. The handful of jerky was more satisfying than any feast. Valente slumped against the tree and closed his eyes cultivating the small hope grown from his meal. His heart pumped the new energy back into his body. Opening his eyes, his gaze turned to the arrow he pulled from the bark. The carved splinter of worn wood contained a swirling notch. A spot of dried red caked itself to the old iron tip. The feathers were tatty with use, and their colors faded to gray. It was by no mistake the one the girl had shot at the rabbit. Valente held onto the arrow feeling the twisted texture of the knot with a firmer grip. Looking onwards he smiled.

  Thank you.

  Valente tucked the arrow into his belt. The sun gleamed through the canopy above illuminating a makeshift path through the trees. Valente steadied himself once more as the berries’ revenge finished its course. Led by the beams of light and his weak intuition, the prince walked blindly through the woods.

  Valente stopped amidst the trees. The gentle paddle of water whispered between the swaying song of the leaves. Within the gentle symphony, the wooden groans of moving parts spoke up in concert. The prince pushed past the tree line. The branches rose up and away freeing the prince from the forest’s domain.

  Sun sparkled in his eyes forcing the prince to fumble for a moment. Valente sheltered his eyes with a free hand and peered down the small slope. A few strides forward from the woods a watermill churned. The water dropped from its rhythmic and gentle paddles. The crisp river ran along the oaken wheel that turned within it. Beyond this outlying mill lay a small trail leading to several houses placed along the small river. A troupe of chickens roamed free pecking and scouring the grass. Valente’s heart relaxed at the sight of civilization, and a place where he hoped to find support for his upcoming journey.

  Valente’s thoughts dried up by the persistent thirst that tickled his throat. His legs took him to the river. He did not resist. Valente hastily reached out and dipped his cupped hands. The cool water seeped around his dirtied fingers taking away some weariness entrenched inside. The prince took a deep drink as the water restored and calmed him. Drinking this way stained the prince’s dignity, yet he did not complain. A certain audacious adrenaline buzzed beneath his skin. Wiping away the moisture from his stubbled chin, Valente looked up river where the remote houses peppered the riverside. A few common folks milled through their daily tasks. For a moment, Valente observed the commoners. One peasant pushed a cart of dirt towards a fenced field. A pair of jovial men cast their lines into the river drowning their eager hooks. Closer an elderly man tilled at his own field; his tattered overalls were browned with decades of dirt. Valente wrinkled his nose at the less-fortunate peasant.

  His sight drifted upriver. The village coalesced into a small hamlet of rugged homes. The prince sighed impatiently.

  Someone in town has to be capable.

  Valente walked up the dirt path towards the center of the village passing the old man and his field. The prince could feel the lowly eyes gaze at him. Valente focused himself on the road and the sky to appear as disinterested as possible as he passed by. The dirt road gained a few specks of proper cobblestone as the small town grew and wrapped around the prince. The path diverged into meager streets among the houses. One road led up the hillside to an assortment of patchy terrace farms accompanied by their patchier farmers. The other road continued to run along the scenic river and the few bigger buildings beside it. Valente chose the river. Its gentle rumble of water served a reminder of the thirst it had saved him from. The sparkling face of the river ran by the road. If Valente could follow it, he could find the mountains.

  North along the Nitals

  It was a lesson Arthan had told him once. Valente blinked his eyes for a moment. A phantom moisture accumulated behind his eyelids.

  Arthan is gone. Leonin is gone.

  Valente clenched his teeth over the passion and pushed close his eyes to hold back the tears. This was a technique he had taught himself to avoid those in the Liosian courts from seeing him in pain. They used anything they could. Valente exhaled helping his body relax.

  I have to be strong.

  Forcing the sorrow behind him, the prince walked along the houses and river. A few curious faces peered at him as he walked the path. The industrious peasants did not offer more than a lingering gaze. The prince returned any curious glances with a judging stare. No one appeared qualified to aid his woes.

  Valente carried down the small road as the houses dispersed once again. As the buildings became less prominent, the people grew fewer. Valente stopped at the edge of the village. A small gathering of shacks leaned daring to meet the ground in a fatal embrace. Many were lacking obvious maintenance and made up for it with many supporting dirt mounds.

  “You.”

  A low and graveled voice rang out from Valente’s flank.

  “You’re new around here.”

  Valente turned towards one of the run-down buildings he had overtaken. Out from the shadows of a limp overhang, a trio of shoddy peasants emerged. Their faces were indistinguishable from the mix of dirt on their skin and clothing. Looking at them, Valente decided they were not worth his breath and tried to carry on walking. The voice called again but closer.

  “We are talking to you there bud.”

  The men ran up and surrounded the prince in a tight triangle. Valente stopped unwilling to even touch the stench around the dirty villagers. The burdening scent of cheap liquor buried in sweat and grime dawdled on their words.

  “Lost your tongue?”

  Valente returned a slight sneer at the man’s remark.

  “Know your place citizen. Out of my way. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  The trio chuckled in a stilted unison. The dirtiest of the three stepped closer letting his smell invade Valente’s throat.

  “Look here. It’s rude around these parts to brush people off. Honestly, I’m offended. I like to be violent when I’m offended.”

  Valente’s body tensed at the threat and the stench of the man’s breath. The dirtiest snickered.

  “Do we have your attention now? Good. We were concerned. Looks like you’ve been through something pal. A fight maybe? Perhaps we could help you if you help us… you might have something useful in your pouch.”

  The trio closed in. They poked and grabbed at the pockets of Valente’s vest. The dirtiest one wrapped his hands around the crest on Valente’s chest. He pulled to set it free of the cloth. The prince exchanged a heavy shove the dirtiest away. The peasant grimaced at the prince, then nodded to his companions. The two behind him forced him forwards into the dirty cobbled road. Valente scrambled to get up. A quick and momentous kick to the gut interrupted him. Valente’s lungs faltered as they gasped for air. The dirtiest chuckled over Valente’s writhing body with a sickening and greedy grin.

  “We didn’t want to hurt you. Now stop fighting and let us take what we want.”

  The dirtiest reached for the crest again. Valente’s anger flared as he hit the filthy hand away. The prince squirmed as a boot stomped on him sending coursing pain through his back. Another kick smashed against his ribs followed by yet another against his temple. His mind bounced. Valente
gasped and coughed as dirt thrown up from the road rushed into his mouth. His thoughts were tossed asunder and his body quivered with pain. His mind cried.

  Help me.

  A voice rang out. The kicking stopped though their infliction refused to subside. The voice shouted. An arrow hit the ground in front of Valente’s face. His body shivered in temporary agony. The fading sound of feet running rumbled on the dirt. Valente clutched his body and curled inwards to squelch the pain.

  That voice… That arrow.

  A careful pair of footsteps approached the fallen prince.

  “I thought you’d stop finding trouble after the berries.”

  Valente turned on his back and looked up at the golden-haired lass, her head illuminated by the high hanging sun.

  An angel?

  She looked with etched worry at the prince. Her doubt melted away as she laughed.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I only saved your life.”

  Squatting down, she put her open palm out.

  “Here let me help you.”

  Fighting the pain, the prince grabbed the hand and found himself hoisted up by surprising strength. He faced the hooded girl with a humiliated grin.

  “Ah… I appreciate the aid.”

  Valente winced as he spoke. His aching chest burned when he talked. The girl stepped closer lowering her head to see the prince’s bruises.

  “They did a number on you.”

  The girl tilted her head to look at the prince’s side. A neat braid fell out of the right side of her hood. A silver, crafted clasp held it beautifully together. Bringing herself back to full height she grabbed her braid and pushed it over her shoulder.

  “Look. I don’t usually do this for people I’ve just met, but come back to my place. Let’s see if I can patch you up.”