Prince of Wrath (9 page)

Deran shrugged. His men were trained enough to ride well, but were they any good for anything else? One way to find that out. “Very well. It shall be a good test of the young men and I can see whether they have learned anything. They look good in the courtyard but what about out there? Yes, yes I agree it is time. Are there any enemies we must face?”

“Apart from bandits? Not likely. Lord Elas was in a hurry, and I don’t think he’s someone who likes being kept waiting.”

Deran nodded and ran for the stables, shouting at the top of his voice. The young men either riding up and down the yard or standing watching were galvanized into action. They sprinted for the stables and Vosgaris had to admire their enthusiasm. They were only a couple of years younger than he, yet they seemed full of energy and youthful recklessness. Had he grown so old these past few years? Where was his life going? He had a respectable position in the palace, yet his life seemed to have stalled. What did it lack? There was something missing, something that would give him a spark. Shaking his head, he watched as the men came out of the stables, tugging on their leather vestments, boots and jackets, slipping onto their backs a quiver full of arrows and sliding their short bows into their holders attached to each saddle. That was a modification created by Deran who said that the Tybar had those and it kept the strings dry rather than having the bows slipped over the shoulder.

The equines pranced back and forth, sensing the excitement. Their ears were pricked and they were a little skittish, but the riders calmed their beasts. They weren’t the huge male equines used by the heavy cavalry; these were the females, much more manoeuvrable and agile. Not ones to use in a melee, but they were excellent in scouting or using as skirmishers.

Vosgaris watched as Deran waved the thirty riders into a line and then led them towards the exit. The palace guard captain waved to the guards by the doors to open them and watched as they filed out, leaving the courtyard empty and silent. The captain stayed for a moment, looking at the now shut doors, then turned and walked slowly back to the palace to resume his duties, wondering whether Lalaas and Amne were, indeed, in danger.

Elas saw the riders emerge from the palace building and wheeled to meet the leader, a swarthy looking individual. “Lord Pelgion?” the leader, Deran, asked, halting next to Elas.

“Indeed. You are?”

“Captain Deran, commander of the Kastan Mounted Archers. We are at your disposal.” The rest fanned out behind, eager to hear what was going to happen.

Elas was dressed in his rich attire; the thought of action had not occurred to him, so he was not exactly dressed for combat. Nevertheless he sported his sword and had a pair of riding gloves on. “We are to ride hard and fast into the Frasian countryside. I shall tell you more when we are beyond these walls away from ears and eyes. Follow me!”

He led the group through the city, their hoofs clattering on the stone-surfaced streets. They emerged from the side streets onto the main thoroughfare, scattering the citizens who pressed back against the sides in panic. The sight of thirty equinemen thundering down the streets of the capital wasn’t something they saw all that often, particularly as they didn’t look like Kastanians. One even looked suspiciously like a Tybar. Heads bent close together and whispers were exchanged. Elas neared the Turslenkan Gate and waved the riders through. He looked down at the guards who were looking with alarm at the sight. “We will be returning after dark. Keep a watch out for us!”

The guard tapped his chest by way of a salute and Elas followed the last of the archers out into the countryside. He galloped up to the front again and waved them to follow him off to the left. The day was fading now and the sun had gone down behind them. It wouldn’t be long now that the darkness would cover the land. They had to find that farm before it got dark. His heart told him he had to be fast, and he jabbed his steed in the flanks with his heels, urging it on faster and faster. Behind him came the mounted archers, riding as if the entire Tybar Horde were on their tails.

___

Amne got up off the plank she had been using as a bench and walked up alongside the silently waiting Lalaas. He was staring out across the land to where the distant riders were walking their mounts up and down, across his line of vision from left to right and back again. They had remained out of range except on one occasion when two tried out his nerve, walking forwards. Lalaas had instantly raised his bow and shot an arrow that had nicked one of the men’s arms. Both had retreated, one to have his arm tended.

Since then they had waited. They knew that once darkness fell and the night covered the land, then they could close in all round and pick the time to attack. The only advantage the two cornered people had was that their rear was more or less covered with the collapsed roof, but even so they could climb over the debris to attack from above. It would make a lot of noise, but perhaps by distracting their prey, the others could press home their attack from the front.

“Will it be long, now?” Amne asked, hugging herself.

“Not long,” Lalaas said. His eyes were constantly moving, checking on the enemy, counting them. There were twenty-six of them, and as long as he kept them all in sight, he could be certain that nobody was sneaking up from behind. “Night is coming. That’s when they’ll strike.”

“Lalaas…” Amne’s voice caught. “I-I’m sorry.”

The hunter turned and looked at her for a long moment before he returned his attention to the front. “There’s nothing to apologise about, Amne.”

“Oh, there is! If I hadn’t been so hard-headed and single-minded about coming out here, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Lalaas – I’m really so sorry to have put you in this position.”

The hunter checked on the distant riders once more before taking one pace towards the princess. “Don’t apologise; I’m not sorry I met you, and I’m not sorry I’m here with you now. I wouldn’t swap this for anything. It’s a pleasure to be with you.”

Amne bit her lip. “But you could have had such a good long life. I’ve ruined that!”

“Rubbish. You’ve ruined nothing. Don’t go beating yourself up. Nothing is certain; those rogues out there haven’t done for us yet, and it may well end up with them failing in their task. We’ve been in bad situations before, and we’ll somehow find a solution to this. Remember that village in Valchia where we sheltered in the rain, and they wanted to take us as slaves?”

Amne nodded. “You got us out of that mess; but this is different! I mean, there’s so many of them!"

Lalaas checked on the riders once more and noted that the light was beginning to fade. He kept the dismay out of his face as he looked at the princess again. “I would not trade my place with anyone, ever. If I am to die then I would wish it to be with you.”

Amne held her breath. “Oh, Lalaas, that’s the sweetest thing anyone could say! Even if I’m bossy? Even if I’m a she-canine?”

“Even if.” He grinned. “Just promise me one thing if we do get out of this mess.”

“Anything!”

“Go easy on poor Vosgaris; the man’s going through sleepless nights because he’s fantasising about you. He can hardly do his job because he’s so tight with frustration. You’d have him crawling on all fours barking if you commanded him, you know.”

Amne’s face was becoming hard to read with the fading light, but he thought she smiled slightly. “Very well; mother’s sweet on him anyway. I can do without the rivalry.”

“Ha!” Lalaas said, “that’s another issue I must try to solve. Between the two of you he’s virtually in a frenzy. Did you see him almost drowning in his supper yesterday when you were bent over tending young Argan? I almost fell over his tongue.”

Amne fought back a laugh. “Yes, yes, Lalaas, I promise! Oh, it’s almost dark!”

Lalaas sighed and looked back at the riders. He could hardly see them now. “Ah, well, it’s almost time.”

Amne’s hand touched his and they laced fingers. He looked at her, and she came up close to him, her head tilted back, her lips parted. Her eyes gazed into his, drawing him into her. Lalaas pressed against the princess, looking down at her smooth face, her red lips, the slightly upturned nose, the wide blue eyes, the tumbling fair hair. Imperceptibly, they edged closer. His lips closed towards her’s.

A thundering sound alerted them and they jerked away from each other, Lalaas reaching for an arrow. Amne edged deeper into the shadows, her eyes wide and fearful. She wanted to touch her guardian but the fear of what was coming overrode that wish. Lalaas squinted into the gathering gloom. Vague figures were moving ahead, but they were not coming towards them. There were certainly equines moving about, but the sound that reached him was not of an attack, but of manoeuvring. Shouts came to his ears and he stepped forward one pace, trying to make out what was happening. There were more riders out there than there had been before, and now a few torches were being lit.

Three equines came closer, riding across his line of vision and he gaped. Three mounted archers, dressed in the livery of the Imperial Kastanian Army, galloped past, aiming their weapons ahead of them. Even as he looked, they loosed off, whooping with delight. “What?”

Amne came up to him. “What is it?”

“I think that’s Deran’s men! You know, those kids with those small bows who practice in the yard.”

“Oh! How did they find us?”

“Don’t know, but they’ve saved us, for sure.” Lalaas lowered his bow and waited. To go running out would be folly; he could be mistaken for an enemy in the darkness. Just then a single figure rode slowly towards them, a tall shape on a larger beast. Lalaas raised his bow once more.

“Lower your bow, Hunter,” Elas’ voice came to him.

Lalaas exhaled noisily and complied. “Lord Pelgion.”

Amne bit off an exclamation and rushed forward, reaching the side of Elas and looking up at her husband-to-be. “Elas! Oh am I glad to see you!”

“Get your equine,” he snapped. “And then you will follow me back to Kastan. You have a lot of explaining to do!”

Amne’s delight vanished. Her shoulders slumped. Lalaas stepped forward. “Sire, your arrival was timely.”

“Indeed,” Elas regarded the hunter for a moment. “You appear to have taken a good account of yourself, though you should not have been put in this situation in the first place. I thought you possessed more sense and awareness than this!”

Lalaas said nothing. He remained facing the annoyed Elas while, behind him, the mounted archers galloped hither, shouting in excitement. Lalaas breathed out deeply as Amne passed him, her face wet with tears. “I’ll go fetch my equine, Lord Pelgion.”

“Indeed. You will follow us back to Kastan City.”

Lalaas went back to his mount. Amne was standing by her’s, silent, her back to everyone. He stepped alongside and saw she was crying. “Strength, Princess,” he said softly, surreptitiously squeezing her arm. “We live to fight another day.”

Amne nodded and smiled through her tears. She wiped them away and both of them walked their equines out into the night, under the severe gaze of Elas. The mounted archers were coming to him in ones and two, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Their captain, Deran, waved them into order and Elas looked at him. “Report.”

“Sire. Rebels fled. We killed four, wounded three more. They are our prisoners.”

“Did you indeed?” Elas sounded interested. “Bring them to me.”

Deran flashed a toothy smiled and waved curtly to his men to fetch the three prisoners. They were roped to one of the equines and were tugged forward roughly. One had a bloodied shoulder, another a head wound and the third was limping badly.

Elas waved for Amne to mount up. He left Lalaas to do so without telling him. He assumed the hunter knew what to do. At least, if he knew his place he would. If he didn’t he wouldn’t last long in his household. The nobleman slowly walked his steed up to the three uncomfortable men roped in a line. “To whom do you work for?”

The men said nothing; they merely looked at the ground and clutched their wounds. Elas waited a few heartbeats, then repeated his question. Again, they said nothing.

“Very well,” Elas said. “Hang the first.”

Amne gasped and the three hirelings looked surprised. Deran chuckled and waved to his men to arrange a rope from one of the projecting charred beams that protruded into the sky. The first man was grabbed and separated from the others, and dragged to the noose now hanging in mid-air. An equine was provided and the man, his hands tied behind his back, forced up onto the back of the animal. The noose was looped over his head and tightened.

Elas slowly walked to the rear of the equine and raised his hand above its rump. “I’ll ask you one last time, peasant. To whom do you work for?”

The man shook his head. Elas’ expression didn’t change, and he slapped the equine which leaped forward, leaving the man dangling from the noose, kicking thin air. He struggled for a few moments, feeling his neck stretch, a pain knifing through his spinal cord like a red hot poker. His bowels turned to water and his body shook, heat burning through every nerve fibre, then he jerked once more and fell limp, his face contorted.

Amne looked away, a sick feeling in her stomach. Lalaas watched stone-faced, alongside her. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed again.

Elas returned to the other two. “I’ll ask you once more,” he addressed the second man. “Or you’ll share his fate.”