The Fugitive Prince Page 6

  Valente winced at the thought. Arthan often told him of the tragedy of the Militia. Farmers, thatchers, fishermen, and other common folk were grouped up. All sent into battle with minimal training and even less leadership. They served as a ‘tactical shield’ for the more experienced soldiers’ positioning. None of the People’s militia had survived the Water Wars.

  Cass pulled on her braid; her thoughts outweighed the prince’s empathy.

  “If those damned Liosian aristocrats showed the smallest of care beyond the weight of their purses so many wouldn’t have died. The people that mattered may have survived.”

  A transparent bead tore away and broke free from Cass’s eye. The grass seemed to lose its resilience. Valente adjusted his uncomfortable seating.

  “I’m… I am sorry. I share no love for the Liosian court.”

  Cass blinked pushing back any future tears. Valente’s sincerity once again pulled her from the bleak recollection. This prince may have grown up in the Liosian castle, but he spoke with an honesty she did not expect from a noble.

  The grass refused to become soft once more. Valente moved from the ground and stood to gaze into the darkening woods. The layers of leaves and branches swayed as dark sails in the wind.

  “Once I return to Tharia, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure those nobles pay. All of those pompous fools that play with their words and refuse to do real action. I can’t guarantee it will be tomorrow or next year, but I can promise you that, for both of us, I will see they get what’s coming to them.”

  Valente ground his teeth together. His hatred could not falter when it pursued those in the court. Their jeers, their judgment, and their lies. All of it condensed into a viscous and burning directive of vengeance. Had it not been for them, there might have been a white peace achieved during the Drought. Valente placed his firm palm above his prideful heart as though it were his Royal Tharian seal. He gazed with purpose into Cass‘s eyes.

  “You have my word.”

  Cass’s heart leaped a moment as the dignified prince stood above the camp; the fire in his eyes dwarfed the one afore him. At this moment, he was a prince. And though his claim was ridiculous and far-fetched and likely impossible, she believed him. Cass wiped her cheek dry and nodded.

  “Well, first, let me get you home, fancy…”

  Cass stopped herself giving Valente the same quick scrutiny she had provided when they first ran into each other,

  “Val.”

  The meat tore away from the bone with ease. Valente guttled his part of the rabbit letting the juice of the meat flood his mouth with flavor and satisfaction. Cass bowed her head and gave a small prayer to the gods. She proceeded to eat with reservation. Valente took a moment to lick his lips preventing any stray rabbit from a daring escape beyond the grave.

  “Didn’t expect you to be a pious one. You seem to do just fine on your own. It’s not like the gods have ever done anything.”

  Cass looked from her morsel to the prince. A thoughtful eyebrow raised.

  “Well, maybe. Who is to say they haven’t provided us with this rabbit? I wouldn’t want to anger a god.”

  Valente bit into a new chunk of meat and smacked his lips as he chewed. Thus ensuring the forest itself knew how much he was enjoying his meal.

  “You would be low on their list. I’ve known priests with less respect than you. Besides, the gods most likely are nothing but a story to keep the church in power. I guess everyone needs to keep food on the table somehow.”

  Cass chewed her meal with a fraction more contempt.

  “That sounds like blasphemy.”

  Valente swung his meal like it was a playful mallet.

  “Well it may be, but I’ll let the Final Judge put me on trial for that one.”

  Valente eased his offense as he took on more of the delicious meal.

  “All I’m saying is every story and tale can’t be true. Those very texts say the gods went silent hundreds of years ago. They might have decided we aren’t worth the effort. Heck, they could be dead.”

  Cass tossed her bone into a hungry shrub that consumed it with its leaves. She pouted as she turned away from the prince and addressed her satchel.

  “Hope keeps us going. It would be foolish to waste it.”

  Valente sighed. She sounded like Arthan, but she was right. If the prince ever needed hope, now was the time. The prince looked at the stars that had emerged from the dark blanket above. The vast array of unerring and brilliant light was awe-inspiring. Valente threw out a simple prayer.

  If you are out there, a little help would be nice.

  The sky remained glowing and silent. The lulling sway of leaves and billows of wind caused a weight on Valente’s eyes. His stomach churned with gentle warmth and contentment. Valente placed himself between a log and the fire. The grass beneath him bent underneath to meld into a somewhat suitable bed. Valente lay for a moment before turning his head. His weary eyes blinked as they peered over the flame at Cass.

  The huntress was quietly folding out a thin bedroll from the bag at her side. Cass rolled it out before lying down and turning towards the glow of embers. Her green eyes grew crimson in the hot reflection. Her thoughts caught up beyond the turbulent flames. She had not traveled far north in a long while. Not without her parents, and certainly not with a prince. The night air attempted to drain the warmth from Cass’s skin. She rapaciously wrapped herself in her mother’s cloak. She closed her eyes and let the embers glow behind her eyelids. Soon the night overtook the dwindling light and sleep overtook the weary huntress.

  -5-

  The sharp chirping of birds broke open Cass’s cocoon of slumber. Sitting up, she did her best to force the tiredness away from her body. The fire was reduced to a smoking pile of ashes. The spit she had made had collapsed inwards atop the smoldering remains. Beyond the fire pit, she saw Valente. In his slumber, he had rolled into a nearby log forcing his face to rest in a fluffy and vibrant collection of moss. From this angle, it looked as though he possessed a green beard. Cass smiled as she rubbed her eyes clear of her bleary vision. The horizon through the trees glowed as the sun rose alongside her. The huntress smiled. Moments like these were often missed, but she cherished each one she could. Her hand drifted to the rings she adorned as a necklace. The warmth of the new morning rays of the sun paled compared to what the trinket provided.

  My little hunter… every sunrise you see is a blessing… remember that…

  Cass smiled basking in the light. As the glowing heat subsided, Cass got up and went to gather her supplies in her satchel. Testing the weight of the bag in her arm she searched the ground for a few heavier pieces of wood and tucked them neatly on the bottom of the bag. She walked over to Valente and dropped it forcing him into an abrupt awakening.

  “Wuaaah!”

  “Wake up sleepy. We have to get moving.”

  Valente incredulously looked back at his attacker. Bits of moss refused to leave the prince’s face making the illusion a near-reality. Cass stifled a laugh.

  “You’re carrying the bag today. Come on… Greenbeard.”

  Pulling the cloak over her head, Cass turned northward and began her jaunt through the wood. Valente yelped behind her as he tried to wake up, get up and keep up. His adorned new beard of moss fell apart along with the prince’s bearings on the world as he aimlessly stumbled. Cass gave up and stopped hiding the pleasure she got from watching the prince squirm. Her cheeks emboldened and stretched into a retributive grin.

  Hours heaved passed as Cass and Valente weaved through the ruffling trees. With the extra bag on his back, the building burn grew bolder with each of his breaths. However, it was far from as intense as the night he ran from Lios. He could even keep pace with his cloaked guide. Cass moved with more agility leaving Valente stumbling to keep up once more. Though the travel was arduous, the prince refused asking for a break. Each stride was fueled by his overlying directive. Each of his steps reminding him of every offense or regret the Liosians forced o
n him. Both propelled him further by just the same reasons. A grumble rattled through the prince’s brooding. One could not keep moving on thoughts alone.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Cass chuckled at the childlike demeanor the prince had, but a similar gentle tug from her own gut added sympathy for his plight.

  “I am not your maid.”

  Valente shrugged back his shame before asking with more gusto.

  “Well, I’m still hungry.”

  Cass looked at the surrounding woods. The fauna and small shrubbery around the base of the trees might suggest decent hunting in the area. Cass lifted her hand up running her fingertips over the feathers of her arrows. Her hand slid along the ruffles before wrapping around the curves of her bow. She slung it to her back. Cass ran her finger over the smooth string letting it focus her attention.

  Valente watched the huntress as she equipped her bow. The spidersilk string twinkled in the shadowed light of the forest. Cass stopped to glance back at the observant prince. Small freckles of green moss still persisted. Cass suppressed her grin as she gestured to the bow in her hand.

  “You know how to use one of these?”

  Valente looked to the huntress, and then at the brilliant bow, she offered in front of her.

  “I’ve trained in basic Tharian dueling. Arthan never liked fighting… or violence… or anything fun, really.”

  Cass caught the hint of sorrow hidden in his humor. Valente turned away as to watch the trees grow. Cass lowered her bow as her eyes traced over the back of the prince.

  “You mentioned that name before. Was he a friend?”

  “Perhaps he was that. Maybe more. He was my tutor. Part of the deal, the treaty, was that I had someone take care of me. He volunteered to come to Lios and watch out for me as I grew up.”

  Valente grinned as he looked upon the woods’ greenery.

  “He was the closest thing I had to family growing up.”

  Cass glanced at the same shrubs. Their oval leaves gently pranced in the wind.

  “I’m glad you weren’t alone in that Liosian court—”

  The leaves flapped in an explosive jig as a small feathered bird dashed away from the babbling intruders. Valente watched the ball of feathers waddle at an incredible speed. It reminded him of Lord Truffet. A small and spherical child he used to play with alongside Jonathan. Cass was not as easily surprised. She leapt into a measured and instinctive pursuit as she threw her voice over her shoulder. Her words hit the prince out of his nostalgic moment.

  “Hurry fancy pants. It’s time to show you how to hunt.”

  Leaps and dashes made up their quick pursuit. The prince hobbled in an uneven sprint. The weight of the huntress’s satchel and an unexpected passenger caused him unbalance. Valente had somehow gained a branch inside one gape of his degrading pants. He swore he had seen it jumped out of the opening in the satchel during a vault over a small family of shrubs. However, at this pace, he figured it was just the blur of movement confusing his vision. After all, why would there be a stick in the bag? The small fragment of tree forced itself inside the tattered pant leg of the prince. The stick created a most abrasive tapping against Valente’s shin. However, with the hasty chase set by the huntress, he could not address the issue. The stick whacked his shins in its temporary and annoying victory.

  Cass raised her hand for the pursuit to come to a halt. No more leverage or debate was required for Valente. The experienced effort was more than enough to slow his stilted gallop. He gasped and then grabbed the intruding stick from the hole in his pants. It had weight, but was well-balanced. The light barkless wood was smooth to the touch. The prince looked to the wood to form itself into a steel blade. Tragically, it was just an evil stick. Cass gestured again to get the prince to advance towards her. Valente tossed the stick aside remembering there was food on the line. The small visitor was sent discarded among the underlying bushes of the forest. Cass strangely chuckled. The prince was hesitant to drop his suspicion as he walked towards the huntress. Cass turned and brought a finger to her lips. Valente hunkered behind her. The air gently bustled through the trees. Cass let out a soft whisper as to accompany the wind.

  “Here.”

  Cass pointed at a strange pile of brown pellets.

  “That’s what we want to see.”

  Valente looked closer. His eyes leapt open in disgusted surprise.

  “Is… is that poo?”

  Cass put a hand on the prince’s shoulder holding back his revolted reaction.

  “Yes, silly, but that means that Farlosian thrasher is nearby.”

  Valente looked at the droppings scrunching his nose. The crumpled assortment of grass and seeds emulated his disdain as it stared back at him.

  “But… that’s poop. Have you gone mad woman?”

  Cass gave the prince an amused smirk.

  “After running this far, that little flightless bird got its guts moving and its heart racing. Made a quick exit in more ways than one. Which means. It thinks it’s safe, and we know it’s here.”

  The brown pile had more sense to it. Valente looked at it with appreciation.

  “Huh. Thanks, poop.”

  “Why are you thanking poop? Have you gone mad?”

  The prince soul shuddered in defeat. As Valente recovered, his guide crouched forward. Her eyes searched in a stealthy hunt for an answer to their stomach’s woes.

  A large arc of bushes surrounded the pair in an ominous gathering. A tense veil of wind swayed through the various leaves of the forest canopy. Cass remained focused and ready. Her experienced eyes scoured the undergrowth. The thrasher was close; she could feel it. The tingle under her fingertips, the buzz on the edge of her hairs, the clarity in her sweeping sight. She loved this.

  Valente fumbled behind her his misplaced footing making small, abrupt noises against the grass underfoot. The thrill of the hunt waned for a moment.

  He really is clueless.

  The life of the forest fluttered to a halt. The leaves grew unmoving, the branches lost their sway, and the air no longer washed freely through. Cass breathed it in and listened. The silence was blinding to someone who was not ready for it. Cass had experienced it many a time. The perfect moment before the strike. The eye before the storm. A small rustling bush stood alone in the quell. Cass notched her arrow and aimed for the bush.

  “Hey, Valente.”

  The prince leaned in. Sincerity shadowed his whisper.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a cryptwasp on your vest.”

  The prince flung himself backwards in a terrified panic. His body nearly flipped twice in an impressive and rushed back flip across the ground. When a rare insect known for its fatal sting is a factor, Valente was more than happy to show his hidden athletic prowess. Valente loudly stripped his vest and did a ridiculous dance. He swung the fabric wildly around himself as he obnoxiously whooped into the woods.

  The small bush rustled. Cass bit her tongue holding her composure and ground. Valente yelped once more. The bush violently shivered as the thrasher dashed out. Cass released the clench on her tongue and sent her arrow forward. The well-aimed wooden skewer landed home on the desired target. The bird squealed, the prince shouted, and Cass exhaled.

  “Where is it? WHERE IS IT?”

  Valente leapt and twirled faster and more passionately than a troupe of Liosian Ballerino.

  “Quit your panicking silly. There’s no wasp. I needed some noise. Knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

  Valente scrunched his brow in a menacing scowl. His blood, warmed from his elaborate evasion from the phantom threat, threatened to boil over. The prince gnashed his teeth together preparing himself for an angrily worded and well thought-out complaint. The huntress’s intuition kicked in. Cass pointed her head towards an appetizing bundle of feathers. A simple wood antenna beckoned him with a wave. After seeing his future supper, he let his frown flip into a playful grin.

  “You know, you could just ask.”

  “That
wouldn’t have been as fun.”

  The thrasher sizzled over the fire. Most of its plumes were plucked, but the occasional whiff of burnt feathers gave away the amateur’s job. Valente looked at his cooking attempt and figured it smelled good considering. The white meat still cast a pleasant string of white aromatic vapors between the small hot bursts of black feather fumes. The prince congratulated himself as he brought up his chin with an impressed nod. Cass stared at the regretful spit. Valente’s hunger woke him from his triumphant daydream.

  “Is it done? It looks done.”

  Cass sighed.

  “You know if you eat raw bird you might get stomach itch, and I won’t be helping you clean up that mess.”

  “My stomach is telling me it’s worth the risk.”

  Cass rubbed her gut with remorse.

  “Trust me, it’s not. You’ll be regretting it for a fortnight. Plus, you’d be leaving a trail anyone could smell for leagues. They don’t call it Malux’s Party Favor without reason.”

  Valente raised his eyebrows.

  “Wait… they call it that? But isn’t he like the God of Death?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh.”

  The bird continued to a broil over the heat. Valente did his best to restore some prestige to his quickly decaying garments. The string refused to conform to order as they splayed apart under the prince’s untrained touch. Valente, frustrated, tore a length of cloth from his vest tossing it away and discarding it along with his patience. His anxious hands riffled through his pockets as he took out his royal crest. He looked at it hoping it would offer him with some abatement.

  Cass watched the prince toil with his paltry clothes with increasing interest. As the spectacle ended, he went to busying himself with a small crest. He rolled it in his hands. A worried scar etched into his forehead. Empathy passed over Cass imbuing her for a moment.

  “Hey, fancy pants. Come on. I’ll show you how to shoot a bow while dinner cooks.”

  Valente stopped toying with his Tharian emblem to look up at Cass. The worried etched faded as genuine intrigue replaced it.