"Don't expect this bastard to treat you with respect," Decus told Wildas as they walked up the castle steps. "Your father has been dealing with him all your life, and both their fathers before them. He has generations of strife with the crown to work off of."

Wildas nodded. "Shelton told me as much."

"Well, that's one step toward redeeming himself for sending you on this fool's mission," Decus said with annoyance and what was possibly anger. "Waste of time and resources, and too damn dangerous in my opinion."

"I requested this," Wildas declared, giving his uncle a sharp look. "I told you it was the only option to get me away from the dignified lords and ladies parading their sons and daughters in front of me like horses instead of people."

"Oh, not more of this," the older man grumbled. "You just don't want to accept that marriage is a part of life for you, and the longer you avoid it, the more unpleasant it will be. There isn't a single person you would even consider? Do you truly have no friends at home?"

Wildas shrugged, momentarily more interested in getting into the castle. He looked around for a guard as he answered, "No one wants to know me for who I am. All of them have this goal to seduce me and get me to marry them. It's rather annoying." He glanced back at his uncle, narrowing his eyes as he did so. "And last I heard you weren't married."

"I'm the Guard General," Decus replied. "It's easier this way. I wouldn't want to leave someone behind every time I had to go escort you somewhere. I'd better get a warning to Rohan, though. If you die without an heir, he's next in line."

Wildas knew the last thing his closest brother wanted was to end up as Grand King. Rohan was happy knowing he was the heir to the Guard General post.

"No one said I had to be married to have an heir," Wildas pointed out.

Decus gave a snort. "Oh yes, the court would love that."

That was the moment a guard chose to appear from the castle. "I take it you're the king's man?" the burly man questioned, looking at Decus.

"I'm here to speak to Lord Varin," Wildas clarified, stepping forward.

"You?" the guard laughed. "Have you even grown whiskers yet, boy? Lord Varin doesn't need to be wasting his time with a little pup like you."

"That's your future Grand King you disrespectful scum," Decus spat, a hand on his sword as he stepped in front of Wildas again.

Wildas put his hand on his uncle's shoulder, drawing the older man back. "I'd like to speak to Varin now," he said, directing his words and his gaze to the castle guard.

The guard removed his hand from his own sword and opened the door. "As you wish," he replied, his voice edged in sarcasm.

They followed the man into the castle, and Wildas noted how different the building was than the one he called home. The castle at Ryal was massive, constructed with magic as much as stone. Even the passageways were spacious, and the public halls were several stories high. The entrance hall in Arren was much smaller than he was used to, and he'd seen many other castles in his time as the official representative of the crown. As he walked to what was either Varin's personal office or some sort of audience hall, he took note of how bare most of the walls were. Very few tapestries filled the space, and those that did showed the very castle he was in, depicted on what had once been brilliant backgrounds.

They were led to an audience chamber, where Varin sat on what could only be described as a throne. Varin wasn't really sitting as much as he was lounging, though; one leg was draped over the arm of the chair while he leaned his back against the other arm, toying with a gold ring. There were no other chairs in the room.

"Ah, the spoiled princeling," Varin said with the briefest glimpse at him. "What have you come to waste your time with here?"

"Grand King Deandre wishes to reach an agreement that would result in the city of Arren paying its taxes to the crown," Wildas answered, ignoring the disrespect. "He is willing to forgive the generations of unpaid taxes if you agree to pay beginning only with last year's due. You are also respectfully requested to erect at least one temple to the worship of the gods."

Varin laughed. "Oh, child. You truly are wasting your time. Tell me, what do I get out of handing over my money to you?"

"Protection during war. Assistance from our sorcerers and engineers for defense and infrastructure improvements. Assistance from the crown so that your people can have better housing. Crown-sponsored healers to train your people to better care for each other. And you remain the Earl of Arren. As you know, anyone who controls a city must provide for its people. We know that you are failing in that duty."

Varin turned to face him then, slipping the ring onto a finger. Leaning back against the throne, he looked Wildas over for a long moment, almost as if he was truly considering the offer.

"Listen, princeling," the earl finally said, fixing his gaze to Wildas's. "I'll tell you exactly what I've told your father several times already. The fact is, if I gave in to your demands, I would be shaming all my ancestors. My several-times-great grandfather was given a grave insult by your several-times-great grandfather, and vowed to never allow Arren to be manipulated by him or his spawn again. I can't give dishonor to my line by being the one to bend to your inferior will.

"We always wondered if it would come to war, and someday I'm sure it will. So, I ask, what will you do to avoid a civil war? Will you turn your pretty spoiled arse around and go home to your selfish family? My suggestion is that you do, and that you leave before nightfall tonight."

"Is that a threat?" Wildas demanded.

Varin grinned wickedly. "It isn't an invitation to dinner."

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"We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Coulta crouched on the climbing spikes he'd installed below the inn's window when he heard the prince's voice. Dusk was beginning to set in, and he was forced to use magic to conceal himself from passersby. He'd been hoping to get into the prince's room before he and the captain returned from dinner. Then he would wait until the captain left for the night before –

Before what?

He was supposed to kill Wildas, Coulta knew that, but he wanted more than ever to disobey Varin's orders. Tonight would be the night he put all of his remaining effort into trying. If he failed and the prince died, he would end his own life before going back to Varin.

"Did it truly take all day to get in touch with Shelton?" the older man was asking.

"No, it took all day for him to make a decision. He had to talk to Brother Pelles and see if he'd had any visions. Shelton doesn't want us running away and letting Varin think he's won. He wants us to leave in the morning. He claims Brother Pelles would have seen something if there was real danger to your life."

There was a heavy sigh. "Always consulting the damn priests about these things. There is danger. We were threatened. You were threatened. I'll just have to watch your door all night. I'll leave the men to take care of themselves. Shut and bolt that window first, though."

"Who would come in the window?" the prince asked, his voice coming closer to Coulta as he spoke until he actually leaned out the window. He looked straight down at Coulta, who was hidden from sight by magic, and the same puzzled look from the day before crossed his face. Then he shook his head and leaned back into the room, saying, "Someone would have to be part spider to get in this way."

"It would add a decade to my life if you would shut and bar it anyway."

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

There was another sigh, then the shutters were pulled closed and Coulta heard a bar being set into place.

With the window closed, Coulta's ability to hear the occupants was almost completely cut off. He inched up higher, settling his feet on the highest climbing pegs and grasping the windowsill with both hands. Leaning his head as close to the shutters as possible, he tried to make words from the murmured voices he could barely hear, but it was useless. He could sit there until dawn and never know if it was safe to enter the room.

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"Thank you," Decus said as soon as the window was barred. "Get some rest so we can leave at first light. I'll be guarding the door if you need me."

Wildas waved him off. "I'll be fine. But thank you," he added, giving his uncle a smile.

"You're welcome," the Prince-General replied, smiling back, "spoiled princeling."

Wildas chuckled as his uncle left, but it didn't do much to end his discomfort. He'd been threatened and he knew Varin had assassins willing to kill him, but part of him still didn't want to leave the miserable city.

He might as well go to bed, though, he decided. Morning would come before he knew it, and it would be time to head home.

Just as he was beginning to unbuckle his sword belt, the door opened. Wildas looked up expecting to see his uncle, and was shocked to see a complete stranger. Who would Decus have let in, without even warning Wildas that he was to have a visitor?

The stranger was dressed in black, the hood of his cloak pulled up over dark hair. As he shut the door again he smiled at Wildas, an expression made sinister by the fresh scar on his left cheek.

"Hello there, troublesome boy," the man said, pushing back the hood.

"Who, by all the gods, are you?" Wildas demanded. He didn't like the stranger's tone, or the way he was caressing the hilt of a sword at his side.

The man continued to smile. "I suppose the doomed should be allowed to know the name of the executioner. They call me Roane."

Wildas felt sudden fear clench his heart. That had to mean... "How did you get past my guard?"

"How do you think?" Roane answered with a silky laugh.

Anger boiled up inside Wildas, destroying his fear and forestalling the heartbreak. "You bastard!" he snarled, yanking his sword from his belt and lunging.

Roane blocked his initial attack easily. "Oh how I do love a duel to the death. Always makes my job more entertaining."

Wildas attacked again and was pressed back. To his surprise, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Looking down, he saw a gash in his shirt.

"Unfortunately for you," Roane laughed, a dagger flashing in the hand that wasn't holding his sword, "I duel by my own rules. Makes things much faster."

Distracted, Wildas felt his feet kicked out from under him and he fell backward onto the floor. His sword flew from his hand and slid under the nearby bed. Roane towered over him, a dark agent of death poised to deliver a final blow.

Then the shutters on the window exploded inward.

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Coulta lunged at Roane, shoving him away from the prince. "Why are you here?" he demanded, pointing his sword at Roane.

Roane smiled. "I didn't think you could do it, so I thought I'd beat you to the task before Varin had to give the job to me in the morning." His smile brightened. "And now I can kill you, too. I'll make it look like the rotten prince there did it."

Coulta brought his sword up just in time to stop a deadly attack from the other assassin, and sidestepped to just barely avoid a knife cut to the side. He had worked jobs with Roane enough to know not to let the bastard's blades cut him. Magic leaked into his movements without him even trying to use it, allowing him to shove Roane back hard enough that the other assassin stumbled. Roane spread his arms as he fell back, and Coulta took advantage of the opening that it gave him. He kicked out, keeping Roane from finding his balance by knocking the wind from him. Roane landed hard on his back and Coulta, still moving with the flow of his magic, straddled him by placing one foot on each of his opponent's wrists. It was an unconventional and awkward move with the way Roane's arms were sprawled, but the magic was now guiding him instead of being guided by him.

And Coulta was pissed. That certainly helped.

He stood looking down at Roane while the other assassin struggled to get his breath once more. Coulta guessed he would probably get a kick in the back if he didn't end this soon. That was when it finally occurred to him that this was the moment he had waited for for years, when he could finally do away with Roane and his cruel ways.

Hopefully. That was what he'd thought just before putting the scar on Roane's sinister face after all.

Fueled by magic and anger, Coulta slammed his sword down with both hands into Roane's chest. He didn't have time to see Roane's face in that moment of death or even marvel at his ability to kill his rival without an ounce of guilt, because the magic decided to stop helping him then and he fell forward with the momentum of his attack. He stumbled gracelessly forward several steps before finally catching his balance. Turning back, he grabbed his sword without a glance at the body, and found the prince on his feet again, staring Coulta down.

"And who are you?" the prince demanded.

Coulta sheathed his sword and tried to look as unimposing as he could, which was probably impossible with his dark clothes on and having just killed someone right in front of the man. "My name is Coulta," he answered. "I'm not here to do any harm."

"Really? You're dressed an awful lot like him," Wildas snapped, pointing his sword at Roane's body.

"Yes," Coulta explained, "I was told to kill you. But I'm leaving the city." He hoped. Something did seem to be drastically changing suddenly. "I can't be a killer anymore. I know you don't trust me, but I just saved your life. It would have been easy for me to let Roane kill you, make it look like you killed him, and make Varin believe I had killed you."

Suddenly, a woman's shout came from the tavern room downstairs. "Poison! They've been poisoned!"

Apparently Roane had found a way to take care of all the soldiers the prince had brought.

"We need to go," Coulta stated. "Those are your men that were poisoned."

"And he killed my uncle," Wildas added, glancing at the door. "I'm not sure I trust you."

"I swear that I will do everything I can to protect you," Coulta said, knowing that he'd be bound to obey if this could overpower his oath to Varin. Princes were more powerful than earls, so he hoped it would work. "I swear that I will answer all of your questions when we've left and that I will get you safely back to your home. After that, you can tell me to leave if you want. If there is one thing I can do to redeem myself, let this be it."

Something undefinable flashed across the prince's face before he nodded and sheathed his sword. "I accept your promise, and I hope you have more honor than I would expect an assassin to have."

"There is honor among assassins. Or so I was always made to believe," Coulta added, giving Roane's body a glance. Stepping in on a job was against everything they'd been told by Varin's former senior assassin. He could hear the increasing panic downstairs and he moved to the door, leaving Roane and his deeds behind. "We need to go."

Wildas gathered two traveling bags and followed Coulta into the hallway. There the prince paused to give respect to the dead man laying by the door, but only for a moment. They managed to slip out of the inn easily amid the chaos. The panic would ease once everyone realized that only the king's men were dead. Unless Roane had been brazen enough to kill more than that. Coulta wouldn't put it past the man.

"What am I supposed to call you?" Coulta asked as they got to the stables.

"Just call me Wildas." The prince pulled the stable door open and they entered.

The stable had twenty stalls, all but two of which were occupied. Even late in the night the corridor was still lit from lanterns hanging in the rafters, encased in smooth glass to prevent fire. Coulta couldn't help but wonder how they were lit, hanging up there. Wildas went immediately to what Coulta assumed was his horse, a gray with a stripe down his face who nickered at the prince as soon as he approached.

Wildas motioned down the barn. "All our horses are on this side, plus the first four by the door on the other side. Choose whichever one you want."

"Thank you," Coulta said as he moved down the corridor, looking at each horse as he went. He had ridden several times before, but he wasn't exactly a skilled horseman. He hoped he could find one that wouldn't throw him. Finally a black caught his eye. He had a spot of white on his nose and white markings that faded into black from his hooves to his knees.

"That was Uncle Decus's horse, Quiver," Wildas said, coming up beside him. "He's a little hard to handle. You might want a calmer one."

But the stallion came up to rub his face on Coulta's shoulder, then nuzzle his chest.

"Or maybe he likes you," the prince amended.

Coulta rubbed the horse's face. "I don't want to take him if he was your uncle's. It doesn't seem respectful."

Wildas shook his head. "You saved me. I think Uncle's spirit will rest easy knowing that his beloved steed was helping you to help me."

Coulta nodded. "I will honor his spirit."

"Thank you," Wildas told him quietly.

They saddled the horses and set out for the city gate, hoods pulled up. The gate was closed and the guards looked bored when they approached.

"What are you doing leaving the city at this hour?" one of them asked.

"I just received word that my mother is ill," Wildas told the man, clearly allowing some of the real anguish he felt to seep into his voice. "My brother and I need to see her. Her farm is only a few hours from here."

The guards shrugged to each other, probably not even caring what they were up to outside the city, Coulta thought. They asked no more questions as they opened the gate and let them out.

"I feel terrible leaving them there like that," Wildas said quietly. "They should have a funeral."

Coulta nodded in understanding. "There was nothing that could be done."

The prince nodded and fell silent. When Coulta looked over at him, he saw Wildas holding the charm of a necklace he must have been wearing under his shirt earlier, and staring off into the distance.

Coulta finally let himself be relieved. They were out of the city. For the first time since he was a boy and his father had left him in Arren, Coulta was outside the city walls. And he didn't even feel the slightest pull to return. Somehow, swearing to protect the prince had gotten him free of Varin's control, and Coulta wasn't about to question it.

After a while, Wildas finally said, "There is a village a day's ride from here. We can get food and supplies there for the ride to Ryal. It will take us six more days from there to make the capital. Five if we don't stop to rest very often. Will Varin send men after us?"

Coulta shook his head tiredly. "I don't know," he admitted.

Wildas nodded. "Maybe we have enough of a lead on them, if someone does come after us."

"I hope so."