The Fugitive Prince Read online

  Valente pushed himself onto his knees for a better view. From this angle, he caught a buoyant glimpse. The gentle rise and fall of a wool blanket, and underneath a resting huntress.

  Thank the Divinities.

  The prince lifted himself further up and departed the bedroll. He stuck his arms outwards to quell the quiver of effort in his legs. The room swayed like a storm-trapped ship. Valente took a moment to close his eyes and let the world settle around him. The crashing turmoil waned to a manageable lull. Valente opened his waking eyes and looked to the bed before him. The light caught Cass’s brilliant and golden hair. The shimmer brought out the simple yet prominent softness of her face. Valente caught himself smiling before his features inverted themselves. A brown ring of bruises scarred Cass’s neck. The haunting image of the large bandit wringing her neck like a cloth caused the prince to step back. He brought a hand to his neck in regretful empathy. He blinked away the phantom memory as he stepped forward inspecting his fallen companion. Her rest was deep and quiet. His eyes caught a small sparkle under the light that ran along her bruised neck. A short necklace ran along her collarbone. Curiosity and care struck. Valente grabbed the blanket and tenderly lifted it revealing the huntress’s gut. Above her chest was a small pair of golden rings. Each beautifully carved, and each engraved with odd runes.

  Olde Speake.

  Valente let his intrigue subside as he looked downwards to Cass’s wound. Tightly bandaged, a red stain blotted the once-light fabric. Valente gasped, and he soon feigned the bandage in color. A wave of embarrassment flushed his face. Cass’s was in nothing but her undergarments. Dropping the wool cover in a flustered hurry, the prince smoothed back his hair as to push back his blunder. His tattered clothes seemed to restrict in judgement as he nervously adjusted them. The menial action was a hopeful attempt at putting himself to other thoughts.

  “Peeping are we?”

  Valente’s heart leapt into his lungs as he whipped around. A large bearded man filled the door. With one arm he held a bountiful bundle of wood and the other he used to slam shut the door behind him. The door resonated through the cabin into Valente’s feet and into his very bones. Valente looked up in reverent and fearful wonder. He was giant. He stood at least as large as a tall man and another half with the arms mocking the size of horses’ legs. His beard was as red and burning as the fire he stood before. The door now made sense. Valente moved his mouth open but his tongue stuttered refusing to form words. Placing the wood beside the hearth, the large man faced the prince and stepped towards him. Valente’s spirit shrunk back and hide behind his trembling gut. The stride covered more ground than he had in the past couple days. The man flung his hand forward. Valente flinched at the open hand.

  “I’m only yanking your leg. They call me Gregor.”

  The prince’s heart started itself again. The large man provided a reassuring grin. Valente regained his senses and grabbed the man’s palm. His hand regretted the decision as it was crushed in a leathery iron grip. His most recent injury flared up in revolt. Valente grit his teeth and barely held his ground. The shake almost sent him flying off his feet.

  “I… I am—”

  “Prince Valente.”

  The prince was not too sure if his body could handle the surprises and twists held on this day. The regretful tremors of pain amplified his thought. He was probably better off carrying a half-dead huntress.

  “I am… How did you know?”

  The giant released the prince’s suffering hand.

  “Your clothes may be tattered, but you don’t forget royal stitching once you’ve seen it before. Especially, when I was part of the escort that took you in.”

  Valente searched the man’s jovial face for a sense of familiarity. His features could have been many of the guards he encountered, but the prince couldn’t place it. Gregor politely smiled.

  “You were mighty young. Too young and too far from your home. I don’t hold it against you if you cannot recall. It’s better that way. That said, you have some explaining to do.”

  Gregor watched Valente rub his brutally aching palm.

  “People are looking for you. A king and soldiers in particular. None mentioned you were traveling with,”

  The bearded fellow looked over at the bed and returned to meet Valente’s gaze, “a friend.”

  Valente squirmed under the inquisitive gaze of the red-haired giant. He knowingly smirked and placed himself on the stump by the table. The cabin rumbled as the log hammered the floorboards.

  “Well, prince, it’s best you start from the beginning and you better tell me everything because I have half a mind to turn in a murderer.”

  Valente stood up indignantly, “You dare accuse a prince. I have done no such thing.”

  The man scratched his amused beard.

  “I figured you might say that. Students don’t have tendencies to murder their mentors and run for their lives. On a coronation day no less.”

  Valente grit his teeth in remembrance. The guards had mentioned it before, but he did not find the chance to react.

  Liosians and their lies…

  Holding back an annoyed fit of emotions, the prince faced Gregor.

  “My story then?”

  The knight kicked the smaller stump to Valente gesturing the prince to sit. Gregor spun on his log seat towards the fire taking two bowls from atop the hearth. He dipped one into the cauldron and brandished it towards the prince with a hearty smile.

  “Tis as good a time as any.”

  Valente took the bowl. The heat of the stew pushed past the wood and into the prince’s hands. The prince’s mind was in jumbles trying to put together the chaos that had brought him here. His old mentor, the strange huntress, the Iron stars, and so much more swirled around, yet to him, it was just the first steps to a greater journey. His mind drifted to his destination and his home.

  North.

  Valente’s hunger brought much of the savory stew to his mouth. The generous chunks of meat and aromatic herbs burst a wave of flavor throughout bringing the prince back to the cabin. Valente thankfully smiled at the knight and told his story.

  Gregor crossed his massive arms bringing one hand upwards to cradled his chin.

  “That’s some tale you tell.”

  Valente finished his stew with a satisfied gulp.

  “I need to get to Tharia as soon as possible. Lios plans to attack by the end of this season and I plan to be there sooner.”

  The large man furled his brow.

  “After the harvest? Does the new king want a winter’s war?”

  The crease in the large knight’s forehead grew stronger.

  “I hate snow.”

  Getting up from his seat Gregor placed his empty bowl on the table and began a slow pace in front of the flames of the hearth.

  “So you get there and then what?”

  Valente opened his mouth to answer, but he could not find the words for himself. He had never considered what he would do once he got across the border. He was not even sure any Tharian would recognize him. It had been over a decade since the prince had been in his homeland. They would likely never even hear of his escape. Valente got up and placed his bowl beside Gregor’s before facing the giant.

  “I would demand an audience with my father. Few people claim to be the prince.”

  Gregor stopped pacing a few steps away from the prince before bellowing with a hearty chuckle.

  “That’s a poorly thought-out plan! The guards would most likely throw you in the river before they let you even see the Tharian king’s footprint.”

  The prince’s mind racked itself for another solution. A metal symbol itched on his chest. Valente placed a hand in his inner pocket and brandished the crest.

  “Is this convincing enough?”

  Gregor’s laugh staunched itself.

  “Well, I’ll be…”

  Gregor’s eyes burned across the emblem, “Tharian black steel… it’s authentic.”

  Valente was sur
prised again.

  “How would you know that?”

  Gregor placed his brick-sized hands on his hips in a proud pose.

  “Believe it or not, I used to be a Liosian Exalted Knight.”

  Valente tensed at the news. The Exalted Knights of Lios were nothing short of legendary. They were known throughout Farlos for their unmatched skills , unerring effectiveness, and overwhelming deadliness. Luckily for those who opposed Lios, there had only ever been ten. Each handpicked and vigorously trained. They were the only thing out of Lios that Tharia respected. Gregor smiled at the prince.

  “Don’t worry. I’m retired. Well, sort of. I requested leave and a title. Got this plot of land out in the middle of nowhere, but at least I don’t have to kneel to any master anymore.”

  Valente shifted on his feet letting his uncertainty bide. Valente looked up at the bearded behemoth. Gregor had helped them both so far, and a man that size would have little issue taking them captive. Valente pondered his options.

  Cass would know what to do.

  Valente looked to his resting companion. Gregor noticed the prince’s concerned glance with a grin.

  “I’m glad you got here when you did. She was barely holding on. If I hadn’t learned a thing or two as a squire, she might have been long gone by the time you awoke.”

  The realization crept onto his heart. Without Cass, the journey would be a lonelier and a difficult one. Gregor’s smile inspired a new sense of faith in the prince. Valente had so easily forgotten the bandages and his resting companion. If this knight was kind enough to help them, Valente could be generous enough to trust him.

  “You have my thanks and gratitude, but as soon as we are able, we must continue our journey.”

  Gregor leaned against the hearth scratching his bolstered muscles.

  “I believe your story. You either don’t lie like any Liosian I’ve met or you’re telling the truth. Either way, you’re free to go.”

  “Well, then you have my thanks, once again.”

  Valente graciously bowed to his and Cass’s savior. Gregor met it with an equally humble nod and a gleaming smile wrapped in his fiery cloud of a beard. Valente rose. Curiosity scratched the back of his mind. Valente faced the lumbering Liosian, a question leaped from his tongue.

  “If you were a Liosian Knight, why do you not turn us in?”

  Gregor’s smiling cheeks receded a level.

  “That’s a fair question.”

  Retaking his seat, the red-haired veteran leaned forward on his knees.

  “I used to be a knight, but that was long ago. During the Water Wars.”

  Valente’s ear perked. He had not spoken with a veteran from the Great Drought. Arthan had always been dry on the subject. Gregor shifted his massive torso backwards as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes in recollection.

  “Back in the day of King Ezra IV of Lios, I used to be one of his knights.”

  The fond memories tugged at Gregor’s cheeks.

  “He was just and fair and he was just as tired of that damn war as us soldiers.”

  Gregor folded his large and experienced hands over his stomach as though it were a quaint blanket.

  “He tried to get the Liosian nobles to side with him for a white peace. Sadly, Liosian nobles have more in common with horse droppings than decent people.”

  The knight unfolded his hands as he scoffed.

  “Imagine that.”

  Gregor pulled himself a fraction forward as he opened his eyes gazing at his wooden rafters. A deep regretful sigh resonated out from his chest.

  “Then he went mad. Began seizing the little water away from the already barely surviving villages. Burnt clerics and priests as witches and demons. All because the whispers in the walls told him too.”

  The remembrance turned sour as Gregor’s smile soon followed.

  “Ah, and his crowning achievement: The People’s Militia.”

  Valente saw a shard of sadness in the large man’s eye as he blinked it away.

  “They said it was a dementia, but I knew that man better than most. He was sharper than any Liosian blade.”

  The knight curled his fist and raised it with fervent certainty.

  “That damn council. Those Liosian hierarchs have knives hidden behind them as they face you with a smile. I’m certain they poisoned Ezra with something that ruined his mind.”

  Gregor punched his leg sending a vibration through the cabin and the surrounding woods. The quake lingered as the giant regained his sense.

  “After Ezra died, I couldn’t serve Lios anymore, not while dukes and counts fought for power among themselves. Too many people suffering while they used their power for political gain. I am done with pompous lords.

  Gregor stroked his beard as he intently gazed into the floorboards.

  “Leonin was kind enough to set me free of my oath… So here I am.”

  Gregor pulled himself out his memories doing his best to smile.

  “If Leonin wanted peace… and this new royal runt Jonathan wants otherwise, then that just won’t do.”

  Valente thoughtfully nodded his head.

  “I appreciate your stance on the matter. I just hope I can make it back home. He sent the Iron Stars after me.”

  The Liosian knight nodded. His mind judged his oncoming thought thoroughly. Gregor rose and rubbed excitement into his legs.

  “I am certain you’ll make it to Tharia.”

  Valente looked at Gregor’s bright beard. Valente hopefully sat up and asked,

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Gregor stood up towering over Valente.

  “Because I’m going to take you there.”

  -8-

  Gregor had left the cabin. The distant din of rhythmic chopping served as his constant reminder. Valente could not help himself as he chuckled. Cass was alive, and he was closer to his home than he ever hoped. To top it off, a Royal Liosian Knight had offered to help him get home. It was a great victory, yet incomplete. The prince looked to Cass. Her chest quietly rose and fell as she rested. The prince nodded to himself.

  Just this once.

  Valente bowed his head remembering what Arthan had taught him long ago.

  I thank you Divine Seven for your aid. Ohm for your bounty, Shor for your grace, Malux for your balance, Lestro for your time, Agri for your courage, Yo for your wisdom, and Celestion for your Hope. I pray for your continued guidance.

  It was unnatural to recite the Seven’s Prayer. Valente thought he had sworn off the gods long ago, but something moved him. It was a miracle he had made it this far.

  “I thought you were a non-believer.”

  The weak voice caught the prince deep in his thoughts. He fumbled to turn and meet a welcoming and awake huntress.

  “Cass?! You’re awake!”

  Cass rubbed her face pushing the stray bangs of golden hair free from her sight.

  “I can still be knocked out if you want to finish praying. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a believer now would we?”

  Cass blinked her bleary eyes and turned her head towards the prince. Valente did not stop the thankful smirk from reaching across his face. Valente moved to the bed hoping to steady the huntress as she moved to get up.

  “You should stay resting. You barely stayed alive.”

  Cass forced herself up with a painful grunt despite the prince’s petition.

  “Ow.”

  Cass grabbed her bandaged gut hoping to settle its pain.

  “I’ll be fine. I just need water.”

  “Yeah. Let me grab you some.”

  Valente turned towards the door. Cass grabbed the retreating prince’s shirt.

  “Wait.”

  Her recovering strength weakly gripped his tattered garment as she looked into his eyes.

  “Valente, are we safe?”

  The prince nodded his head. He had forgotten that she had been recovering for a few days now. The last thing she would have remembered was her near gutting and death
.

  “Yeah. We have a new… friend. He’s quite brilliant. He’s a—”

  Cass’s body relaxed back onto the bed as she let go of Valente. Her body bounced off the mattress settling to retire. Valente watched her pull the blanket around her as she wiggled into a comfortable spot. Valente stood speechless for a moment. Cass peeked open one eye from her ball of bliss.

  “Hey. I still want that water.”

  Valente shook himself and his mind back to the matter at hand.

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  He moved towards the grand cabin door.

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Pulling the door, he stepped through. As it neared its closure, he held it open and peered through the gap. Cass had wrapped her braid around her neck as to warm it like a scarf. A growing smile of relief happily displayed itself. Valente let the door close and aimed himself towards the well.

  The door closed behind Valente leaving the huntress alone in the cabin. Her body hungered for warmth as she greedily pulled the blanket. As the heat returned to her, she peeked open her eyes once more. Cass noted her surrounds especially the big metal door.

  Cass gently touched her gut as the pain trickled from it. Her eyes and hand ran over the bloodied bandaged as she admired the work.

  Not Valente’s work.

  Her hand moved upwards to address a numb ache. She rubbed away the bandit’s phantom grasp that had nearly took her life. That memory stung as much as her wound. She closed her eyes to bring clarity to the memory, the trauma proved a challenging opponent. She could see the pain that wracked her entire body. It consumed her thoughts and her will. She remembered hearing the empowered beat of a heart beside her own. The fuzzy outline of black hair soaked in sweat. Determined grunts as he lifted her to safety. It must have been hours. Cass placed a hand in the center of her chest. Her eyes drifted to the door the prince went through.