The walk across the courtyard wasn’t normally tiring, but today, it was exhausting. Davinya had spent another long morning with Jor Bashi. Again, he had given her an unbearable amount of post-lesson studies to complete.
She was making good progress, however. She just hadn’t realized what a huge time commitment it would be. It seemed like every waking hour that she wasn’t attending to her normal duties as a princess she was studying or practicing magic, and if she didn’t arrive at her next lesson prepared, Jor Bashi would have fits. His view of punishment for being unprepared was, while not sadistic, came close.
Fortunately, she had been able to sneak off between her mother’s knitting lessons and Lord Smyton’s lessons on the etiquette and protocol of all the nations of Laryndor to work on her magical studies. She was lucky that she hadn’t been caught yet. Nearly caught many times, but not actually caught.
Her mother had asked her where she was hurrying off to so fast during their needlepoint appointment two days ago. She didn’t have a good excuse for not staying with her mother and her ladies-in-waiting, so she had to explain that her bowels were nearly bursting, and she needed the garderobe. Fortunately, that was explanation enough for her poor mother.
This time, it appeared, she had come and gone from her lesson without notice. She hurried through the courtyard and back into the palace. A few servants shot her strange glances, but she had bought their silence with some gold.
Just as she took the first turn out of the entry, Alfyn strode up and began walking beside her. Her stomach dropped. Though she had been taking lessons, she was far from prepared for him if he tried to do something disgusting. She thought it best to not react as though anything out of the ordinary happened.
“Alfyn,” she greeted him.
“Sister,” he said.
He said nothing for a while, just walked with her down the corridor standing uncomfortably close to her. If he was any closer, they would look like two lovers taking a stroll in a garden. She wanted nothing more than to break into a run and hide herself behind the nearest door.
“You know, I wonder,” Alfyn started. “You seem to be very busy lately.”
She didn’t like where this was going. Had he been spying on her? That sounded like something he might do. If he had, he’d been very discreet about it. Unless, of course, he had been paying someone else to do it. If a servant had to make the decision between keeping her secrets and telling her brother, well, her brother would be the king someday and she wouldn’t. They still took her money though.
“I just…I just can’t figure something out,” he continued. “Do want to know what it is?”
“No,” she said coldly; a little colder than she had meant to. It didn’t matter whether she wanted to or not. He was going to tell her.
“I just don’t understand why you are going to see Jor Bashi every day.”
She was caught, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He did plenty of things behind their father’s back that the king had expressly forbidden. She kept his secrets, so why wouldn’t he keep hers? Besides, it might put a little fear into him.
“Why else would someone go see a mage?”
He gave her a sly look as though he had caught her with a suitor in her bed. “Father forbid you to study magic,” he said.
“Since when has father’s opinions on things stopped you?” She retorted.
He smiled but said nothing. He just kept on walking. He stopped for a minute to study a tapestry, but soon caught up with her. She wasn’t going to wait for him to try to pick his favorite heroes out of the images. He didn’t say what he found interesting in the tapestry. He just folded his arms behind his back and kept walking.
“You know, when I’m king, I wouldn’t dream of forbidding someone from studying magic. I have the mind to allow them to participate in anything that arouses their desire.”
With that remark he gazed at her lustfully. She felt bile rising in her throat. If she had a dagger, she would have had to fight herself from taking it out and stabbing him in the neck right then and there, no matter the consequences.
She suddenly wondered if studying magic would actually protect her from him. He wasn’t going to use force to make her do something she didn’t want to do; he was much too crafty for that. No, he would manipulate the situation so that she had no choice.
She realized that she would have only a single option when Alfyn became king. She couldn’t stay around the palace when that happened. She would have to escape. Only she had no knowledge or contacts on how to do that. She never left the palace on drunken adventures like Ulfnar did. He was the only one she could go to for advice on the matter, and he was missing. Apparently locking him up in his apartments wasn’t as secure as their father thought.
She needed to make a plan. If Aeolwyn could sneak out, so could she. But how had he done it?
***
Ulfnar made it to Brigadoon’s Arms after dark. He had hidden out in a root cellar for a while to make sure no one had followed him. His predilection for hanging out in the Docks was well known; anyone chasing him would search there first. He wanted to allow a search to happen first, failed to find him, and then went back to report or find another location to search.
His plan, so far, appeared successful. He didn’t see any palace guards or city watch except for the ones normally on duty and they paid little attention to someone dressed in the rags he was wearing. He kept a stash of peasant clothes in a room he rented in the Docks for precisely this reason.
There were other types of clothing in the apartment as well, from the garb of a wealthy merchant to the lowliest farmer and everything in-between. He was prepared for any eventuality and means of escape should the worst happen. He just didn’t expect that the event would have come from the palace itself.
The Arms was fairly empty this time of night, though the hazy glow from the dim lights created shadows that an enterprising cutpurse might be hiding in. Not that a thief would pick their marks here. That was a quick way to find yourself full of new holes.
He dropped a couple of gold on the bar and grabbed a drink. Not the piss-ale that was served to most of the patrons. He knew this place well enough to know that the good drinks cost money, and they were worth paying for.
He found a table where he could set his back to a wall and see the door. This, being the Brigadoon Arms meant that all the tables along the back walls were set up that way. Even the scattered tables on the floor were arranged so that one or both sides of the table had a view of the door. They knew their clientele well.
He needed to find a ship. He hoped a captain would be in soon that was discreet enough to keep his mouth shut and eyes closed when he booked a passenger. He figured the safest place for him to go would be Fort Camulan. If, for some reason, Aeolwyn’s exile was his fault, then it should be his responsibility to keep him safe.
He planned to take a ship south to Feemoth where he could take a riverboat up to where it joins with the river Tyr and head north to Fort Camulan. If he found the right riverboat captain, they would let him off a mile or so from the fort so he could arrive on foot. He wasn’t sure what kind of news would have reached Fort Camulan by the time he got there. His father’s spies would certainly be on the lookout for him everywhere. It would be best if he could scout the area up before attempting to enter the fort.
As the night wore on and the empty glasses on his table grew, the bar filled up. Not one trustworthy captain was among them. A few sea captains showed up looking for crew, but none he would trust. Those that were looking for crew inevitably pressed their passengers into work, and so far from home, what could the passenger do but obey?
A few hours before midnight a new patron entered. One he recognized. Someone who bore an uncanny resemblance to him, albeit with much longer hair and a much larger build. It was his brother Wolfryn. This was exactly why he always faced the door. There was still time for him to plan his escape.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Unlike most who visited this bar, Wolfryn didn’t bother hiding his appearance, and why would he? He was as skilled a fighter as anyone here. He walked in with an air of danger that only someone skilled in death-dealing wore. Only a fool would try to start something with him.
Before Ulfnar could quietly slip from his seat, his brother spotted him. He waved and strutted over. He sat back down and motioned for two more drinks. It was useless to try to escape now. Hopefully his brother wouldn’t try to take him back to the palace.
“Are you crazy?” Wolfryn whispered as he sat down. “Everyone is looking for you. The city watch, the palace guards, everyone! Father has even forced servants to watch for you.”
“I guess my disguise wasn’t as good as I hoped,” Ulfnar said.
“Not to me. Now come on. Let’s go back to the palace. It isn’t too late to stem the damage you’ve caused.”
Ulfnar looked down. He was sad his brother didn’t see what was going on. He always did try to see the best in people, particularly their older brother. It was going to be the end of him one day.
“I’m not going back, brother. Something is going on; can’t you see that? I didn’t tell Aeolwyn to sneak into the Star Children’s temple. I didn’t tell him how to get out of the palace. And if I didn’t, then who did? It might have something to do with the two people who he was caught with.”
Wolfryn’s brow furrowed. Apparently Ulfnar was the twin that got all the intelligence, like Wolfryn got all the muscle.
“Rurik and Egnever?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ulfnar said. He was going to have to explain it to his brother. “Those two are friends of Alfyn’s. Why would they be on an adventure with Aeolwyn unless he put them all up to it? And for what? He’s going to be king someday, and all of us are going to be threats to him.”
“Ridiculous. He’s our brother!”
“No. He’s the Crown prince. He’s already gotten one threat to his rule out of the way, and he’s coming for me next. I’m not going to wait around until he decides he wants me out of the picture permanently.”
“Come on,” Wolfryn said, grabbing his arm. “We’ll go back to the palace and talk it over with father. He’s a reasonable man. I’m sure we will be able to work something out.”
Ulfnar pulled his arm away. “No. The only way you’ll get me to go with you is at the point of that sword; and I think you’ll find that I have more friends here than you.”
He leaned back and took a drink of his drink. “Now go. People have recognized you and are already whispering. Get out of here before they recognize me, too.”
Wolfryn shrugged and stood. He looked at Ulfnar one last time. “It’s not too late. I’ll leave a door open for you. Hopefully I’ll see you back there.”
He turned and stormed out. He held the door for another man as he left. The new man, dressed in pantaloons and a billowy white shirt over a long dark coat gave him a start as he entered. He shook his head as Wolfryn exited and went to the bar. This was just the man he hoped to see. He walked over and saddled up next to him.
“Don’t mind him Jeolm,” he said. “You know how rude those royals can me.”
Jeolm hand went to his dagger before relaxing it as he recognized Ulfnar.
“Ah, my good friend Eforic. I thought I saw your spitting image just now. Gave me quite the fright!”
Ulfnar laughed, patting Jeolm back as he did so. Hopefully he could avoid the old pirate from putting things together and realizing that they were brothers.
“It won’t be the last man I’m mistake for in my life. I just have one of those common faces. Why, I bet one of his forefathers raped one of mine!”
Jeolm chuckled. “Must have been an ugly son of a goat. Probably went through half the kingdom, I’d bet!”
“Indeed!” Ulfnar laughed, tossing some coin to the barkeep who poured a set of good beers for the two.
“What brings you to the Arms today?” Ulfnar asked. That was treading on dangerous territory. It was considered rude to ask someone what their business was in a place like this. If he didn’t know Jeolm, a question like that would have likely got him stabbed.
“Just a quick one before I’m away,” Jeolm answered.
“Heading south?” Ulfnar asked.
“I do be indeed. A quick stop at Fremoth before I make for Tambryne.”
That was the usual route for traders. They would usually stop at Tambryne and head up the mouth of the Tyr if they had a boat with a shallow enough draft, if not they would turn around and head back north. Most traders of Jeolm’s sort didn’t like crossing Cape Bryne. That was too risky for their cargo, and, depending on what they were carrying, their life.
“Have room for a quiet passenger?”
Jeolm glared at him. “Why? What’ve you done?”
Ulfnar smiled. “I might have bedded the wrong woman, my friend. I just need to get out of town for a bit, and a holiday in Freemoth sounds just delightful.”
Jeolm threw his head back and cackled. “I warned you, Eforic,” he said. “Hopefully not some noble’s daughter.”
“Thankfully not,” Ulfnar said. “But I can’t say that it wasn’t the king’s!” he laughed and Jeolm laughed with him. His stomach turned at the thought of him and one of his sisters, but it was the type of comment that would do wonders for throwing Jeolm off the idea that he might actually be a royal.
“Well, if it’s one of the king’s fine daughters, I can’t say I blame you. Either for bedding them or fleeing after. I got room for you, if you got gold for me.”
Ulfnar shook his purse. “Enough for a cabin and your thirst tonight!”
The two men laughed and drank until the wee hours of the morning. Having no other place to stay tonight, the two of them stumbled back to Cressard’s Folly where Jeolm secured a cabin for his friend.
He let out a great sigh of relief as soon as he closed the door to the cabin. No one saw him leave the bar, and they weren’t followed to the ship. By midafternoon the following day he would be safely out of one brother’s grasp and on his way to help another. He just prayed that Wolfryn would be safe in the palace.
***
The tea was too hot again. He liked it hot, but this new page still hadn’t learned how to properly make it. He was tempted to give the boy instructions on the method himself but thought better of it. He was a general, after all. The page needed to learn—by whipping if necessary.
His quarters were just as cold and spartan as he remembered. It made him happy to be here. After all the opulence and gluttony at the palace, returning to such simple surroundings brought peace to his soul. If he died on the battlefield, he hoped his spirit would return here.
They had been back at Fort Camulan for two days, and still no sign of the prince. Alaric had sent orders for scouts to head out in all directions. There must be some sign of him, and if there was, they’d find them.
Captain Flint had confirmed that magic had been involved during the bandit raid. There wasn’t enough of an Essence residue left for their mage to determine exactly what spell had been cast, but the consensus was that it was a teleportation spell. That was potentially good or bad. If it was Egnever who cast it like Alaric hoped, then the prince could just be wandering somewhere out there, and the scouts would find him.
If it was someone else who cast the teleportation spell however, that would be a different story. It was possible that he would still be wandering around somewhere, but it was just as likely that he was rotting in a cell somewhere, or that his body had been left to the carrion in some unidentifiable desert.
There was a knock at the door. Not the timid knock that his page, Elin would have used. No, this was the bold, forceful knock of someone who was used to command, and not at all afraid of General Alaric.
“Come,” he said.
The door was already opening even before he had finished the first syllable. Commander Boede strolled in. He was dressed in a chainmail hauberk covered with a tan tabard with the royal crest on it: the fish and bear cradled by the rearing dragon. His clean-shaven face and bald head gave him the appearance of youth, though the man was nearly forty.
“Report,” Alaric said curtly.
“The scouts are preparing to ride before nightfall, general,” Boede said. “I have impressed upon them how important this quest is, and the consequences of it if they fail.”
“Excellent. Tea?”
Boede shook his head. “No, thank you, general.”
“Good choice. This new page is terrible. Anything else to report?”
“Yes, sir. An entire group of soldiers deserted after the attack.”
“The new recruits, yes? Captain Flint already told me. I can hardly blame them for running during their first skirmish, especially considering they were untrained vagrants.”
General Alaric could understand them deserting, but he didn’t like it. If he had the men to spare, he would have sent a squad out to track them down and execute every single one of them.
“That’s what’s so strange about it, sir. These men were already competent with their weapons. Flint put them under the command of one of the newcomers.”
That was a strange choice, and not one Alaric would have approved had he known of it. “Who?”
“A man named Gelome. Flint described him as a strange fellow with a sour face and peaked nose, but he was excellent with a staff. The recruits seemed to know him, so Flint thought they would adapt to military life better if someone they knew was the one giving them orders.”
“I see,” Alaric said. Another mistake. He may have to punish Flint for these errors in judgement. It did give Alaric someone to blame for the missing prince, although Alaric wouldn’t escape punishment even if Flint accepted the blame. He was still the general.
“What of news here?”
“Nothing new to report there, sir. The Fenns have been raiding as usual, and our scouts have reported seeing a camp under construction in the forests across the river.”
Alaric felt the tension rising in his shoulders again. The Fenns were up to something, and he suspected they were preparing to try and take the fort. That would be a great first step in an invasion. They would have to prepare. He would need to send men to man and reinforce the river outposts.
“I don’t like this, Boede. They’re up to som-“
He was cut off as Captain Flint burst in. His face was flush, and he was out of breath. Wherever he had come from, he had run all the way here.
“Sir,” he said among ragged breaths, “Our men on the wall have sighted four people heading towards the fort!”
“From which direction, captain?” Boede asked.
“The northwest, sir.”
Four people? He resisted the temptation to hope but couldn’t help it. This had to be the prince, who else would be coming from that direction? He couldn’t take any chances though. He had to be sure.
“Do we have eyes on them?” he asked. “Send word to reinforce the walls and get the doors ready to close.”
“Should send riders, sir? We have eyes on them, and they don’t look to be in good shape. One of our men on the wall has described them as a tall, thin man, a man of average height, and two smaller ones that may either be women or boys.”
“That has to be them! Send out some men with horses and a cleric to tend to their injuries. Quickly now!”
All the tension flooded out of him. He reached up and touched the neck that was still firmly attached to his head, unstretched. He was saved. The prince had come!