The Fugitive Prince Read online

  “No need. His lord will do the work for us. Loss of these goods… He might as well off himself.”

  The bandits laughed. Cass gingerly lifted her hood. Her braid dropped onto her shoulder.

  “Five.”

  Valente leaned closer to the huntress.

  “Five?”

  Cass lifted her hand to the quiver feeling the feathers of arrows.

  “Two in the cart. One on the man. One in the front. One in the back.”

  Cass turned to Valente her intent burning on her eyes. The prince saw her desire for justice. She lowered her bow and notched an arrow. Balancing the bow and arrow in one hand she reached up and handed Valente an arrow. The prince looked down at it and then back at the huntress. She gave him a stern nod.

  “I can handle the forward ones. You have the two in the back alright?”

  Valente blinked. He did not have this. Arthan only showed him fencing and battles in history. Most violence he had experienced was emotional, in the pages of an old tome or under the foot of a pompous captain. This was something else. The desired answer threw the prince in a deep well of uncertainty. He looked to Cass to find an answer to the question she asked. It was only a glimmer, but it shone brighter than any he had seen before. A determination and will that refuted the very idea of failure. Valente swallowed. There was no way he could let her down.

  “Yes.”

  Valente could not stop the words if he tried. Her aura sparked him to act. Valente tightened his grip on the arrow testing the small spear in the air. It was no fencing blade but it would serve as one. Cass tested her bow and bent her knees preparing to strike. The bandits returned to their looting. The merchant sobbed under the boot of one that sneered at him.

  “You really are pathetic you know that? You’re not going to die today! That’s so lucky. Stop yer belly-achin.”

  The bandit went to swing his foot once more into the merchant. Cass leapt up. The leaves of the bush flew upwards alongside her as a small concentration of arrows launched forth from her bow. Surprised and unprepared the two in the cart fell on their ill-gotten goods. Well-placed arrows silenced them. Cass advanced leaving her flank open to the two men looming over the merchant. Though surprised they shambled towards Cass. Their blades lifted in her direction. The merchant stopped his cries to reach up and cling to his attacker’s leg. The bandit growled and assaulted the merchant with an onslaught of kicks. Valente knew he had to act. He leapt from the bush with the arrow raised. The bandit’s neck exposed. Valente looked at the vulnerability.

  So easy to strike.

  His gut swirled and a bead of sweat emerged on his brow. Valente swapped the arrow from his hand and threw his empty fist towards his unknowing victim. He leapt sending his entire body into the mighty swing. The crunch of knuckles snapped against the bandit’s head just behind his ear. The crack resonated through Valente’s arm and the bandit’s skull. A cascade of pain shot up the prince’s arm as he withdrew his burning fist. Agony riddled the bone and skin as he clutched the wavering hand.

  Something has to be broken.

  The bandit turned towards the prince. His pupils disagreed on their dilation.

  “Arghh… you pretty boy… think you can fight me?”

  The bandit raised his blade to swing a fatal blow. The metal glistened with a sickening and shining purpose. Valente held out his hand out in a painful last effort. A tingle of despair trickled along his fingertips. The bandit twitched the blade poised over his head. His eyes rolled and fell with his body. The bandit collapsed unconscious in the dirt beside the beaten merchant. Another howl came from behind the cart. Cass had mounted boxes using them as stairs and shot an arrow at the bandit hidden behind it. The man joined the ground with a box of shattering glass. Cass pivoted on the pyramid of cargo. The large bandit in chain howled as he leapt up onto the cart. Even with the boxes’ height, the man met Cass face to face. Cass turned to aim her bow, but the large man moved quicker and with force. He threw his mighty palm into the huntress. The blow caused the cart to teeter as it knocked the bow and her arrows off the side of the cart. Cass flung her cloak outwards as she caught her footing before her breath. She grabbed at the dagger on her belt. She tore it free and swung it at her attacker cutting his shirt. A small wound of crimson soaked the bandit’s sleeve. The man threw an angry fist out. The collision sent a loud crack against the huntress’s forehead. Cass grunted as she dropped her knife. Her body reeled backwards from the powerful strike. The large bandit quickly moved to pick up the dropped knife in one hand. He caught Cass by her throat and hoisted her off her feet with the other.

  Valente’s heart pumped causing his mind and vision to pulse. Everything was moving so fast. Too fast. He had to do something. Looking desperately for aid, the prince’s eyes locked on the sword of his inert adversary. He shot his grasp outwards wrapping his hand on the hilt. He moved to clench and hoist the blade, but an immense pain shot up his arm. The bolt of agony shocked him. His whole body shook to overtake the pain. The bandit crushed his hand around Cass’s throat. Her gasps for air emboldening the growing despair.

  “This is how you die, little hornet.”

  The bandit swung his arm downwards and plunged Cass’s knife into her gut with a sickening squish. Her guttural scream echoed among the trees. Riddled with pain, she flailed at the man’s arms hoping to break his vice-like grip. Valente’s mind swarmed with regrets and fear. His spirit wavered and his mind numbed. Cass’s shout lowered into a whimper. Valente moved to act. His arm pulsed with a fiery ache as he swung upwards at the bandit. The large man caught the blade with his chest and followed it by a whooping howl from the agony. The bandit let go of Cass’s blade as he reached out his blood-covered hand. Grabbing the blade of the sword with a bloodied palm, he tore it from Valente’s weak grip sending new rivers of red down the steel. The bandit tossed the blade aside angrily looking at his gored palm. Cass opened a weak hand towards Valente. Her eyes fierce with fight, yet her battered body shivered. Valente stared into her fading visage her mouth moved, yet no words came. He traced the words on her lips.

  Arrow.

  Valente’s heart leapt up from the fog of despair as he threw the arrow he held. The simple wooden and iron missile jumped towards the weakened huntress. The bandit turned throwing a fuming glare at the prince. His fury was as red as the blood that soaked through his armor. Cass snatched the arrow from the air. The bandit rose a fist to strike.

  “Looks like two hornets die today—”

  The bandit’s words fell short as his life followed. Cass plunged the arrow deep into his neck. The man opened his mouth in shock. His raised grip grasped in the air for the strength that drained from him. The bandit lowered his hand and grimaced at his assailants with a rich hatred drenched in defeat.

  “Meddling fools…”

  His body crumpled as he collapsed off the cart. Cass followed behind him. Their two heavy thuds resonated underfoot through the mud of the road. Valente’s heart crashed against his chest. An uneasy silence encompassed the cart. Pain bounced up and down the prince’s arm. The overwhelming and burning sensation clouded his mind and blurred his thoughts. The heat from the moment and of his injury sent his senses in circles.

  “C-Cass?”

  The cart, corpses, and Cass did not respond. Valente swallowed. His mind fluttered between consciousness and lack of it. The prince wobbled around the cart. A small hooded huntress was in the dirt clutching her gut.

  “Are you okay?”

  Valente knew the answer. Cass curled herself holding back the bleeding of her stomach. Her light skin had turned a daunting pale shade. Cass’s body shivered as though it were slick with ice. Her pained breaths were slow and filled with a worrying heave. She turned her head in the dirt giving Valente her best grin she could muster. A frown would have been more convincing.

  “I think I’ll be alright. It’s only—”

  Cass’s distressing smirk melted away as she fell limp and unconscious. Valente watched his guide
plunge to the ground. His body lurched ahead to help.

  “CASS!”

  Valente pushed on to Cass with intrepid haste. He held his arm in a cradle. His flesh buzzed like a hive of anguish from each step he took. Valente pushed the pain away as he knelt before the huntress. He searched all of Cass’s form for something he could aid. Blood trickled over the huntress’s hand from the wound of her gut. He did not waste time. Valente tore his sleeve away from his tattered shirt. His vest brushed against his uncovered arm. Using the fragment of cloth, he wrapped it around Cass’s waist. A velvet shadow reemerged from behind the cloth. The seeping crimson etched a fatal painting on the white canvas. Valente looked at his shoddy bandaging with a token of optimism.

  It will have to do.

  Footsteps approached on the dirt behind the prince. Valente frantically spun. The merchant had stood up and approached Valente.

  “Thank you both. I cannot repay you enough.”

  The merchant’s gaze drifted to the fallen girl. He raised a concerned hand over his chest. A creeping fear caused his skin to mimic the pigment the huntress had.

  “Oh dear. That looks serious. We have to get her help. If we don’t, she—”

  The merchant stopped his mouth as he turned southwards and squinted down the road. Yells and galloping horses sounded out of the twisting trees. The merchant quivered.

  “No… more of the Lost Banners.”

  The merchant looked at Valente as he stooped over the huntress. Remorse riddled the merchant’s face.

  “May Shor forgive me. I have to survive for what I must do. I’m so sorry.”

  The merchant sprinted full force into the forest. A small and disturbing wake of wind followed his departure. Valente stood alone over Cass’s body. His arm pierced and prickled with pain. The huntress, once so full of life, lay crunched and gripping her gut in a near rigor mortis. Shallow heaves of her chest fended off her demise. The gallops advanced ever closer. The sound of the riders was distinct in this air.

  I need to run.

  The prince looked at the wounded commoner. She was below him in every regard: low-born, female, and dying. She could only serve as a dragging anchor that would sink his mandatory voyage. He had to warn Tharia.

  The girl is not important.

  Valente held his arm closer. A clawing sense of torment raked against his forearm. Even with his mind flooded with thoughts of abandonment, he could not tear his eyes away from her. Her helpless body tremored from her wounds. Valente’s heart beat against his ribcage chanting for the need of action. A pain flared from his arm and his inability to make a necessary sacrifice. Valente reached his good arm into his pocket. The prince instinctively grasped his crest. His eyes glimmered with a natural resolve. The same resolve he had witnessed mere moments ago.

  I am Tharian.

  The prince bit his teeth down clashing the pillars of white against each other. Valente hoisted his fallen companion over his shoulder. Her weight caused his uninjured arm to quiver and ache with the effort. Through labored breath, the prince stepped forward. A sparking tingle burned under the prince’s skin. The gallops grew ever closer. Valente could almost make out the number of horses. He pushed on. Each step was harder than the last, yet despite it, the prince’s vigor did not falter. Valente stepped among the bushes they had used for cover. The trampling of hooves and the call of men echoed behind him on the road. Valente marched once more concealing him and the huntress behind the many Farlosian Longbarks. The cries and horses stopped by the cart and surrounded it like impatient buzzards. A crimson snake of blood warmed Valente’s back. The gentle flow of this heat reminded him of the most pressing matter. Valente dared not look back. The North transfixed him. Towards Tharia. Towards hope.

  Seconds, Minutes, and Hours. All of them blended together in a thick stew of feverish pain and throbbing muscles. The ragged breath avoided satisfaction. All of it boiled onto the prince’s soul testing his resolve and his strength. Valente inhaled and stepped forward with a small piece of re-surged strength. The soft trees blurred in vision as the prince trudged on. A crescent of crusted blood scratched at his back. The small patch of wetness in the blood reminded him of its urgency. The trees lost form in the swamp of exertion. A whisper of the breeze blew over Valente and the pulsing silence that drowned out any sane thought. Valente grunted. He forced his weary and worn legs through the bramble of bushes. The fog of trees parted. In the short span, audacious rays cascaded through the prince’s failing vision. An obscured structure lay before him and a large tree before it. Or perhaps it was a figure. Perhaps it was surprised? His mind reached out of its strained haze.

  A man.

  Valente outstretched a trembling, weak hand. The drum of his heart boomed throughout his mind and body. Cass’s body overwhelmed Valente, and his muscles gave out. The world melted away into darkness. Valente’s eyes rolled shut as he collapsed underneath his taxing burden.

  -7-

  The young boy looked down at the broken vase. The many chaotic porcelain fragments sprawled across the marble tiles. A prickling sting on the tip of his finger tingled as a small bead of blood formed from his cut. He cried. Not from pain, but from fear. The horrid realization that this was his mother’s favorite vase. A priceless heirloom passed over time and family. He could only weep. Hearing the desperate cries of a child, the door sprung open. Out from behind it a royal gown flowed onwards.

  “Oh, Sweetie, what happened?”

  The queen wrapped her arms around the sobbing boy as he buried his mess of black hair into her chest. His muffled and broken sobs lost themselves in her dress.

  “I’m sorry, mommy. I didn’t mean to. I was just running, and the vase fell. Please don’t be mad!”

  The young boy pulled his face from the now moist fragment that clung to his face to look up at his mother. His eyes sadly glimmered to the brim with the desired pity. The somber queen looked at the scene that laid before her. Her eyes lingered over the shattered remains. The boy’s eyes welled up to prepare for his punishment. The queen pulled the boy closer and smiled. She grabbed the prince’s hand and wiped away the blood. Her face gleamed with soft sympathy as she looked at the cut.

  “You’re hurt. Here, let me see if I can get a bandage for you.”

  The queen moved to rise from the ground. The young boy wiped his eyes and pulled away from his mother. He sternly looked at his mother.

  “But mom, I broke your vase! Why aren’t you angry?”

  The queen looked at her young boy. She tilted her head letting compassion glow off of her smile. She put her hand out and placed the boy’s hand in it. She gently placed her other hand atop the boy’s, warding it from uncertainty.

  “My child, we can replace the vase.”

  The queen brushed back the chaos in the boy’s hair and placed a kiss on his forehead.

  “You are everything to me. Good and mischievous.”

  The queen placed her hand on the boy’s cheek. She held it there long enough for her warmth to just pass on to the young boy’s chin. She placed her hand on his head and ruffled his hair returning it to its former disorder.

  “You will learn that there are things that cannot simply be replaced. They are more valuable than all the precious vases in any kingdom. Put faith in people Val. Not Vases.”

  The boy rubbed his eyes once more and blinked.

  “So, I’m not in trouble?”

  The queen stood up and put her hands on her hips.

  “Well, just a little, you troublemaker.”

  The queen put her hands out and wriggled them like hungry and reaching spiders.

  “You better not let me catch you, or else!”

  The young prince ran with frightful glee out of the room. The queen followed after, as the door slammed shut.

  Valente awoke as the door abruptly crashed against its door frame. Weakly rolling his closed eyes, his body reminded him of its unrelenting ache. His legs tingled up and down with the echoing of the strain they had endured. His swoll
en arm burned against his side. The heavy creak of boards underfoot brought the prince’s attention out from the miasma of pain and sleep. Someone, a large someone, stepped through the room. The heavy steps paced with unknown intent. It exhaled and began its lumbering journey towards a sound of a crackling fire. The steps inhaled a deep breath. It hovered over the flames to savor the flavorful moment. The floor creaked dampening the crackle of the fireplace. The cries of the wooden planks were followed by scraping metal on metal. Valente strained behind his sleeping facade to listen in. A deep and satisfied slurp surprised him.

  “Almost done.”

  The graveled voice told itself. Steps approached Valente. The floor bounced. Valente tensed, and his body responded with wails of weary pain. The heavy tread stopped close by. The subtle and consistent creaks of the floor underlined the proximity. Valente swore he sensed eyes look over his body. Valente did his best to feign the deepest sleep he had ever had. An uneasy silence took prominence over the crackling flame and the creaking boards. The prince flexed his nervous jaw. The steps once more crossed the threshold. Valente loosened his bite. The door slammed itself shut once again.

  Valente exhaled and peeled open one eye. He surveyed his surroundings. He was low on the ground looking up at everything. The prince opened his other eye to help himself further establish his bearings. He found himself on a neat bedroll placed on the floor. A wrapped and crude bandage clung around his burning hand. Flexing his arm, the familiar pain danced from out of his palm into his fingertips. Valente pulled himself up and looked around. In front of him lay a bed. Valente looked at its massive size in disbelief. It was twice the size of any royal bed though half as elegant. Gentle breaths resonated from above. Valente’s eyes followed the sound up along the shoddily crafted frame. A golden braid ran down the rugged wood. A silver clasp hung from it.

  Cass!

  Before letting curiosity overtake his sense, the prince looked around once more. On the far wall to his right was a mighty hearth. Inside it sat a cauldron with small wisps of vapor bubbling up from an appetizing concoction. Valente absently brought his burning hand to his empty stomach. His eyes looked onwards. A wooden door stood on the hearth’s right. Its frame was near twice the size he would expect a normal cabin to have. Across from this entrance was another door. It was of the same grand size and forged into the wall. Metal and padlocked. This was no ordinary cabin. An ill-balanced table barricaded the metal gate it was placed against. A large and more stable stump was before it as to serve as a makeshift seat. A smaller lump of log accompanied the seat as to be its stool. Valente’s mind built on their worries, as Valente turned to the bed.