A young man stood on the edge of a cliff, on a fine summer’s day. He held his hand up to shield his eyes and took in the view, careless of the fact that he was inches away from a drop of more than two hundred feet to the sea below. All along the curved bay, white cliffs towered over a placid emerald-green sea that sparkled under the midday sun. These were the Southern Cliffs, where the Verstalan Mountains met the Boundless Sea and the most South-westerly point of the kingdom of Meninfel. Out in the bay stood several white pillars, the remnants of mountains that stood defiantly against the relentless assault of the wind and waves.
“My Prince, that isn’t safe,” a heavyset man warned wearily as he held onto the reins of two horses.
His name was Arlen Ganford. He was a heavyset, middle aged man who sported a neatly trimmed beard. He had been a ferocious fighter in his youth, but age had forced him out of front line service. Being appointed as bodyguard to the prince served as a graceful retirement in recognition of years of dedicated service.
Vendel Setranium, the king of Meninfel’s third son, and fresh out of his teenage years turned around and grinned brightly, flashing two rows of strong, white teeth.
“Come now Arlen, it’s not every day we are blessed with a view like this,” he beamed. “Tell him, Lady Orla.”
“Your brother said that this task was of the utmost importance before entrusting it to you,” a sour faced young woman pointed out from atop her horse. She wore a wide brimmed hat to protect her eyes from the sun’s rays, and her long, red hair was tied into a neat braid. “Need I remind you that you begged, begged, your brother to let you go in his stead and to keep it quiet from your father.”
Vendel’s face turned bright red, and he quickly turned away from the others. “I didn’t beg…”
“That’s not important,” Arlen said quickly. “But Lady Orla is right, My Prince. Your brother risked his neck for you. You shouldn’t…”
“We haven’t found a way down to the shore yet,” Vendel pointed out excitedly as he pointed to a small clump of buildings perched atop one of the cliffs along the bay. “There’s a village over there. Perhaps they know a way down.”
Orla scowled. “It’s a long way off. We could waste half a day getting there and end up learning nothing.”
“We might find a way down on the way there.” Vendel paused, and his grin broadened. “Who knows, they might know something about…”
“Might I remind you that your father wants this to be kept quiet,” Arlen interjected.
“Then I’ll give the people of this far-flung part of my father’s kingdom the opportunity to see a prince of the realm with their own eyes,” Vendel grinned, undeterred.
The prince strode forward and snatched the reins out of Arlen’s hands before climbing onto his horse. Once he was settled, he stared at the crimson steel helmet that was resting on the pommel. The other two saw what he was doing and exchanged looks.
“Do you think I should…”
“We need to be discrete,” Arlen reminded the prince wearily as he mounted his horse.
Orla rolled her eyes. “It’s not as though anyone will recognise him.”
“Hey, everyone’s talking about the Crimson Prince back in Maeburn,” Vendel sniffed.
“They’re talking about the Black Prince,” Orla snorted, referring to Vendel’s older brother and heir apparent to the throne. “Not his copycat.”
“I am not copying him,” Vendel insisted.
His brother, Vengian, was their father’s favourite, and beloved by the people. His father had commissioned him a suit of jet black armour as a coming of age present. He had worn it at last year’s Summer Tourney, which he won handily, and had become the talk of the kingdom. Vendel swore to everyone who would listen that he wasn’t trying to copy his brother with his crimson helmet, but that was a lie even he didn’t believe. To make matters worse, crimson paint was eye wateringly expensive, and he was only able to afford enough to give his helmet a single coat, making it look more mauve than crimson.
“The path is treacherous, My Prince,” Arlen added as he cast an eye on the rocky path that led up to the village. “You’d best not impair your vision.”
“Good point,” Vendel agreed as he nudged his horse down the path. “I’ll wear it when we get closer.”
Though he would never admit it, the helmet was a poor fit and was terribly uncomfortable. However, he couldn’t afford to paint a new one, so he was stuck with it for the time being. Perhaps if all went well, his father would make his fief larger. He also knew that Arlen was right and that they should focus on the task at hand. The prince desperately wanted to return to the palace with good news, but the Southern Cliffs were remote, and they hadn’t seen another soul for three days. It would be good to talk to another person, and who knew, perhaps the villagers might have heard of what they were after.
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The village was deceptively far away as the path meandered away from the cliff edge and then back again several times, and Vendel could tell that his companions were at the limits of their patience by the time they approached the fields of corn and barley that were planted on either side of the path on the outskirts of the village. The stalks were thin and sickly, and they bore few grains despite it being the height of summer.
“This place doesn’t sit well with me,” Orla murmured as she looked at a pair of sad looking cows whose ribs were visible through their skin grazing in a fenced off pasture. The grass was yellow and sparse and seemed to provide the beasts with little nutrition.
Vendel was caught off guard. Instead of sounding irritated, the young woman sounded almost afraid, but Vendel couldn’t fathom why. There were fewer than twenty tired buildings in the village. They were made from stone and in various states of disrepair. A windmill was the largest structure, and it stood away from the village, perched on a cliff edge. It was missing two of its canvas sails and turned lazily in the evening breeze.
“Yes, something isn’t right,” Arlen agreed worriedly as he nudged his horse ahead of Vendel’s to serve as the prince’s shield.
“The two of you are just being paranoid,” Vendel declared loudly, trying his best to sound confident.
“No, this land isn’t fertile,” Orla remarked. “Why is this village here?”
“Oh you’re a farmer now, are you?” Vendel sniffed.
“My parents are, as is everyone else in my family,’ Orla replied absently.
Vendel raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t known that. Perhaps that was why she was so contentious and lacked manners in general.
“There should be plenty of fish in the sea below,” Arlen added. “But we haven’t seen a single boat.”
“I’m sure they have their reasons,” Vendel snorted. There were no signs of life from the village up ahead, and he too was growing more unsettled. “Perhaps we’ll all have a laugh about it when we ask them in a few minutes.”
“I think we should withdraw,” Arlen said abruptly. “And look for a way down the cliffs.”
“I didn’t see any on the way over here,” Vendel pointed out. “Perhaps they know a way down.”
“Look, up ahead!” Orla cried.
Vendel looked down the path and his hair stood on end. Villagers were filing out of their homes. Their faces were grubby, and they were dressed in rags. There were twenty of them, all men, and all stared unblinkingly at the newcomers.
“I think you’re right, Sir Arlen,” Vendel swallowed nervously. “Perhaps we should withdraw.”
He turned around and his heart nearly leapt out of his mouth when he saw the path blocked by a rickety wagon that was pulled by a tired looking plough horse. The driver sat on a bench holding the reins in his hands, but Vendel’s eyes were immediately drawn to the mattock he had within easy reach.
“What brings you nobles to our humble village?” his voice was taut and his eyes hostile. He was an old man, roughly twenty years Arlen’s senior. He was wearing rags and was as thin as a reed but exuded wiry strength.
There was a tense silence, and Vendel looked at the fields on either side of the path, wondering which one they should ride through to get around the wagon. Then, he shook his head. He was letting his companion’s paranoia get to him. He forced a smile and replied, “We’re just here to admire your beautiful lands. What makes you think we’re nobles?”
The man raised an eyebrow, but his deadpan look told Vendel that he didn’t believe the prince’s story for a second. “Which House do you serve?”
Vendel tasted bile. Which House? What gave this peasant the right to ask? He’d soon change his tune.
“I am a son of House Setranium,” he boomed in his most imperious voice. “You are speaking to a prince of the realm.”
The wagon driver clicked his tongue irritably. “You’re here on official business, then?”
“No…” Vendel began.
“His Majesty knows we are here,” Arlen added quickly. “We will be looked for if we go missing.”
Vendel felt a ball of ice form in his stomach when he understood what Arlen was trying to say. Never in his wildest dreams had the prince thought that peasants could be so bold as to raise arms against him.
“Why have you come?” the driver demanded.
“The prince is merely on a tour of the Southern Regions,” Arlen replied. “He wishes to dip his feet in the Boundless Sea. Do you happen to know of a safe way down to the shore?”
The wagon driver bristled. “It’s dangerous down there. The sea looks calm now, but it can turn violent in the blink of an eye.”
“That’s a shame,” Arlen began. “Now we have a busy schedule, so we’ll be taking our leave…”
Arlen moved his hand discretely to the hilt of his sword as he waited for the wagon rider to move out of the way. Vendel glanced over his shoulder and gasped out loud when he saw that the villagers were now less than twenty paces away.
“It’s getting late, My Prince,” the wagon driver remarked. “The three of you will be our guests for the night.”
The man’s tone was matter of fact. Vendel glanced at Arlen, who shrugged. His expression seemed to say that they could allow themselves to be guests for the night, or they could fight their way out. Neither option seemed palatable to Vendel. However, neither he nor his companions had seen a way down to the shore on the ride over.
“Please, I insist,” the wagon driver said after a tense silence.
Vendel glanced at Orla, who shook her head vigorously. However, the prince had already made his mind up. “Very well, I accept your humble offer.”
Orla cursed under his breath, and Arlen nudged his horse closer to the prince’s. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“If we fought our way out, it would make searching for a way down to the shore a lot harder,” he whispered back.
“Yes, it’ll be much easier if they slit our throats in the night,” Orla hissed.
Vendel forced a smile and turned back to the driver, who was staring at them. The prince could tell that the old man was deep in thought but what about? He blinked when he noticed Vendel looking at him and gestured at the villagers.
“These three will be our guests for the night,” he announced. “Bring them to my home.”
He then locked his eyes onto Vendel. “My Prince, I’m afraid that I have some things to take care of. I will be with you shortly.”
“Are you the chief of this village?” Arlen ventured.
The driver nodded and flashed an empty smile. “My name is Hogris. I apologize if you’ve been unsettled by the welcome you’ve received, but I can’t remember the last time we had a visitor in our village.”
“Please come with me, My Lords,” Vendel turned around again to see a girl who was around fifteen or sixteen years old approach them from the village. Her face and hair were filthy, and her clothes were little more than rags.
Vendel then looked at the other villagers, who had kept their distance. They stared back with cold eyes, and Vendel noted that many of them were old. Older even than Arlen. The girl who was leading them was the youngest in the village by at least twenty years.
“Come on, let’s get going,” Arlen began, doing his best to sound cheerful.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Orla warned as they fell in behind the girl.