Mercy's Prince
Authors: Katy Huth Jones
Tags: #Christian Books & Bibles, #Literature & Fiction, #Fantasy, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Coming of Age, #Epic, #Sword & Sorcery, #Teen & Young Adult, #Children's eBooks, #Religious & Inspirational Fiction, #Religion & Spirituality, #Christian Fiction
Mercy’s Prince
He
Who Finds Mercy:
Book
One
Katy
Huth Jones
All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording,
or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for
reviews. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the
Internet, without the publisher’s permission and is a violation of
International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or
imprisonment.
Mercy’s Prince
Copyright © 2015 by Katy Huth Jones
Editor—Alex McGilvery
http://celticfrogediting.com
Cover
art by Colleen Clarke, of Mystique Book Designs
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons or
dragons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
First electronic edition: July 2015 by Quinlan Creek
Press
Dedication
This
book is dedicated to my father, Walter Huth, a second son, a mighty warrior,
and my hero.
He
shall descend into battle, and perish.
It
is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting.
The
king’s favour is toward a wise servant.
His
arrow shall go forth as lightning.
The
quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield.
By
wisdom kings reign, and princes decree justice.
I
gave my heart to know wisdom.
As
cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
There
was given unto him a great sword.
He
that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind.
Better
is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred therewith.
His
heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone.
You
have condemned and killed the just, and he does not resist you.
A
merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of the heart the
spirit is broken.
Thou
shalt be called by a new name.
Thine
own friend, and thy father’s friend, forsake not.
The
grey head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
Every
wise woman buildeth her house.
Every
man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour.
A
false witness will utter lies.
The
words of the wicked are to lie in wait for blood.
I
found him whom my soul loveth
As
a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair woman without discretion.
Deceit
is in the heart of them that imagine evil.
I
am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
In
a dream, in a vision of the night.
I
sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
I
will open my lips and answer.
Thou
hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of
death.
His
breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.
Thou
hast covered my head in the day of battle.
A
wise son maketh a glad father.
How
fair is thy love, my sister, my bride.
He
shall descend into battle, and perish.
Something
scaly crawled across Valerian’s cheek. He startled awake, shivering in his
cloak where he lay curled up on the bare ground. Late summer predawn in the
foothills of the Dragon’s Backbone was cold, especially since Valerian wasn’t
accustomed to sleeping out of doors.
A
small warm body slid inside his cloak. Valerian flinched and managed to catch
the creature, careful not to squeeze too tightly. As he suspected, it was a
young burrowing dragon. Its heart fluttered against Valerian’s hand.
“You
must burrow elsewhere,” he whispered to the dragon. “And don’t let my brother
or Sir Caelis find you.” Valerian slipped the creature into a fissure of the
smooth rock that was his pillow. Its long tail grazed his hand as it
disappeared.
“Get
up, you wretch.” A boot nudged his back, hard.
Valerian
sat up and pushed his long dark hair from his face. Crown Prince Waryn towered
over him. The dim light of a gray dawn silhouetted his brother’s form.
“A
squire anticipates the needs of his knight. He does not oversleep.” Waryn
pointed to the faint orange glow in the nearby fire pit. “Kindle the fire.
Now.”
Valerian
scrambled to his feet, avoiding another of Waryn’s kicks. Blinded by tears of
disappointment, he stumbled to the stack of wood he had collected the previous
night, envying the men-at-arms still asleep in their tents.
With
a grunt, Valerian lifted a heavy armful of wood and carried it to the fire pit.
He arranged the firewood over the glowing coals and then used a stick to stir
the embers to life. While he fed bits of dried grass and twigs until the logs
caught fire, acrid smoke assaulted his nose. The warmth dried the dew from his
face. He stared into the flames, grimacing.
No matter how hard I try
,
I
will never prove my worth to Waryn, not as long as he remains under the
influence of Sir Caelis
.
When
he stood, Valerian turned and gasped. Sir Caelis stood uncomfortably close,
staring at him. The knight’s eyes glittered in the firelight, cold as his chain
mail, and an unpleasant grin distorted his handsome features.
“Was
there something you needed, sir?” Valerian forced calm into his voice. He knew
not to complain, though it went against his sense of fairness that a royal squire
should be required to assist any knight, especially when Caelis took advantage
of the situation.
“Yes,
boy, I am hungry.”
Valerian
bit back a retort. It was too early in the day to run afoul of Caelis. Besides,
hadn’t Valerian painfully learned how useless it was to fight back?
Waryn
returned to stand beside Caelis. They formed a solid wall of contempt, as if
daring Valerian to report their treatment of him to the king. They knew, of
course, that he never would.
“I
am also hungry, squire.” Waryn’s malicious smile mirrored Caelis’ own. “But I
tire of camp food. I wish fresh meat on this evening’s table.”
Caelis
folded his arms across his chest.
“Fetch
your bow, whelp, and find meat while your betters break their fast.”
“Yes,
sir.” Valerian sighed and went to collect his bow and quiver.
The
rest of the camp stirred to wakefulness while Valerian left with his bow. The
glow of the rising sun barely penetrated the morning mist, making the world
appear contained in this one valley. He climbed the hill. Perhaps, from its
height, he could emerge from the damp fog and spot a deer or other animal
grazing nearby.
Upon
reaching the summit, the sun’s harsh light temporarily blinded him. When his
eyes adjusted, Valerian first glanced back down toward the camp. The fog was
beginning to dissipate. He could make out the shapes of Waryn’s men waking and
milling around. Drew, Waryn’s junior squire, darted toward the stream to refill
water skins.
Shading
his eyes from the rising sun, Valerian turned his gaze to the east. Just beyond
the blood red hills lay the desert land of Mohorovia and the mysterious Horde.
The king’s scouts had found evidence of raids on outlying farms, and the
garrisons had sent reports of Horde activity, but no one Valerian knew had
actually seen a Mohorovian.
Movement
caught his eye. Valerian whirled to face a copse of trees, and the bark of the
nearest one shimmered. With a rustling sound, a scaly tree dragon unfurled its
wings and took flight in a westerly direction. Several more flew from the other
trees while Valerian watched, enthralled. He never tired of seeing these tiny
cousins of the great dragons. Hoping there might be a few more, Valerian
scanned the trees.
There,
in the distant shadows of the wood, another movement, a blur. Had he imagined
it? No, there it was again. Sunlight flashed on large burnished scales, and
Valerian glimpsed multiple battle-axes.
Ambush!
Valerian shouted the
word inside his head, but his mouth would not open, his throat ceased to
function. He managed to unlock his legs, and they propelled him down the hill
at breakneck speed. He nearly knocked over Drew in his haste to reach Prince
Waryn.
“There
are, there are—” he said, gasping for breath.
Waryn
grabbed Valerian’s arms and scowled. “Spit it out, squire.”
“Ambush!”
Valerian pointed to the trees.
Waryn’s
eyes scanned the hills and widened.
“To
arms,” he bellowed. “Enemy sighted! Positions, all!”
They
had no time to pull on surcoats or fasten greaves. Valerian gathered Waryn’s
helmet and shield, then his own. A bone-chilling howl filled the air. The sound
vibrated down Valerian’s spine, and he cringed. Clutching his spear, he heard
the first clash of weapons and turned to face the enemy.
The
Mohorovians were man-sized lizards striding upright on muscular back legs. Each
carried a battle-ax with a razor-sharp flint blade. The spear Prince Waryn
hurled at the advancing creatures bounced off their thick scales. Valerian
gripped his spear more tightly, but he couldn’t stop the trembling of his
hands.
Every
scream, every thud of battle-ax into unprotected flesh magnified itself inside
Valerian’s head. An arrow grazed his helmet. Blood spurted from the severed arm
of the knight in front of him. In three years as Waryn’s squire, the ordered
drills in the castle yard had not prepared him for this melee of screaming,
howling butchery.
“Caelis,”
Waryn shouted. “Take care of those archers before they wipe us out!”
As
the best bowman among them, Caelis hurried to obey.
Poison
. The Horde
used poison on their arrows. What little courage Valerian possessed shriveled.
Grunting,
Waryn deflected one of the Horde’s axes. He dropped his shield, gripped his
spear with both hands and yelled as he shoved it between the scales on the
creature’s chest. The Mohorovian roared as it fell back, lashing out with its
tail, but Waryn leaped aside. The creature thrashed on the ground, pulling at
the spear. Green stained its fangs and it lay still.
Snatching
up his shield, Waryn deflected another battle-ax, grabbed the weapon from the
surprised Mohorovian and swung it around in a crushing blow. The creature’s
green blood spattered the air.
Waryn
had been born for this moment, had dreamed of war all his life. Valerian stood
on quaking legs, paralyzed. Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to throw down
his spear and shield and run from the battlefield. Ashamed, he looked away from
his brother, but his gaze drifted to the first Mohorovian felled by Waryn. The
monster opened its eyes.
To
Valerian’s traumatized senses the surrounding sights and sounds moved more and
more slowly, as if time prepared to stop. The Mohorovian shoved itself off the
ground and snapped the shaft of the spear imbedded in its chest, then picked up
a fallen ax and swung it toward Waryn’s exposed side.
Valerian
opened his mouth to shout at Waryn, but nothing came out. Why couldn’t Valerian
make his feet move? Why, oh
why
wouldn’t his sweaty fingers tighten
around the spear? If he could just lift his arm, he could strike down this
threat to his brother’s life.
The
Mohorovian’s muscles tensed. The flint blade glinted in the sunlight. Finally
the horror of it loosened Valerian’s tongue.
“Waryn!”
His
brother would not be able to turn quickly enough. The ax blade swung down, down
toward his blood-spattered chain mail. Waryn began to lift his shield, but the
blade pierced the coat of mail and tore into his chest.
“No!”
Valerian’s scream released him from his paralysis. He let his shield fall and
grasped the spear with both hands. He stabbed the point into one of the
reptilian eyes, ramming it to the bone. The force of the blow jarred down his
arms to his shoulders. The creature’s hot blood spurted over him as it fell.
Valerian
backed away, searching for another spear, desperate now to protect his injured
brother. But the battle had moved away from them.
“Waryn!”
Valerian knelt beside his brother. Waryn lay gasping. Blood seeped from the
terrible chest wound, his life kept from gushing out only by the imbedded chain
mail.
Valerian
pulled off his gloves and pressed on the wound. He had to stop the flow of
blood, or Waryn would die. In moments Valerian’s hands turned red. His brother’s
face went white, and his skin grew cold.
“Waryn,
please don’t leave me.” Even if Waryn heard him, he could no longer answer.
Valerian
lay beside his brother, to keep him warm, to take hold of his fading life. One
last breath gurgled through the ruin of Waryn’s chest, and his heart stopped
beating. A wail escaped Valerian’s throat. How could someone who seemed
invincible be so easily cut down?
“What
have you done?”
Valerian
sat up. Sir Caelis ran toward him and dropped to his knees.
“You
could have saved him, craven whelp.” Caelis clenched his fists. “You were
beside him, close enough to help him. Why didn’t you cut down that Mohorovian?”
His eyes glared through the slit in his helmet.
Before
Valerian could think of a reply, he met Caelis’ stare, and a veil parted
between them. Without knowing how, he could
See
the knight’s desire to
destroy him as if Caelis’ mind was laid open, exposing his secrets. Caelis’
thoughts and emotions bludgeoned him, making his head spin and his empty
stomach heave.
“He
died because of
you
.” Caelis picked up Waryn’s body and struggled to
stand. “You are no warrior. You belong in a monastery. I will not be ruled by such
a weakling.”
“I
wish someone else could take his crown.” Valerian choked on a sob. “I never
wanted it.”
“Be
careful what you wish for, boy.” With one last glare at Valerian, Caelis strode
away, carrying Waryn in his arms.
When
Valerian turned away, the body of the Mohorovian with the spear protruding from
its bloody head was a stark reminder of his costly timidity. Death lay all
around the quiet valley. The stench of it hung in the air. Where was the glory
of war celebrated in the bards’ songs?
Valerian
pushed himself to his feet. Were there any Mohorovians left to strike him down?
He had no right to live now that Waryn had died. How could he be crown prince?
No one could take Waryn’s place, Valerian, least of all.
“Please,
take me now.” He flung his arms wide to welcome one of the Horde’s poisoned
arrows.
No
arrows came. Valerian could not escape by his own death.
One
moment of Valerian’s cowardice had changed everything: Waryn the Invincible was
dead. That left him, Valerian the Unready, heir to the crown of Levathia.
How
could he rule a warrior kingdom when he hated war and killing?
