Princess Yummy
Under me, Bayonne galloped hard, leaping dead fall and rocks, dodging twisted trees, his heavy legs crashing through dense thickets. Up hills and down short valleys, we splashed across an untold number of streams, frightened herds of deer, elk, a few foxes and a bear as well as an untold number of wild birds. My company galloped behind, on my heels, following like a curse.
Inside my head, I sang the same damn refrain around and around: Why have those idiots stopped? Why did they hold up in a bloody cave to wait for me when they needed to ride hard toward the border? My father’s messenger, via a pigeon, informed me that the princess had fallen ill. The men were desperate for instructions. What do we do? We cannot move her.
The hell they couldn’t. I needed no set of eyes in that cave to know she faked it. The longer she delayed them, us, the closer the Bryn’Cairdhans were to rescuing her. If the King’s Atans dropped around our necks – gods help us all. I cursed under my breath. Those stupid, stupid fools. We’re in enemy territory, dammit. Who knew what the hell watched us. Any wild creature might be a Shifter in disguise.
I glanced up at the faint scream of a hunting eagle. I caught a brief glimpse before it vanished over the tree-lined mountain top. A dreaded Shifter? Or perhaps was it in truth a Griffin, that abominable lion-eagle creature set to spying on us? A shiver crept down my spine. We’d crossed the border three days past, riding around the eastern end of the deadly Shin’Eah Mountains and into the heart of Bryn’Cairdha. We rode deep into enemy territory with no protection and a zero back-up plan. In my curses, I didn’t fail to mention my father’s name rather frequently.
Commander Blaez spurred his jet black stallion to gallop hard just behind and to the right of Bayonne’s silver shoulder, spur-blood flecking his flanks. As my father commanded me bring Blaez along, I’d no choice. I despised the man and rightfully so. Folk disliked me, but Blaez they hated and feared. He loved to kill and savored it. He adored pain and forced much of it on his victims. A fire-worshipper of the worst order, he created the many bombs my father’s fanatics took into Bryn’Cairdha. He’s blown up soldiers and commoners alike, his victims innocent and guilty (although I, forced to admit it, knew most were in the former class), and one day hoped to murder the Bryn’Cairdhan royal family in a riot of blood and fire. He sacrificed puppies and prayed to his demon gods that he, single-handed, might break the magical powers of Bryn’Cairdha.
That we rode to take into custody one member of that self-same family, the one more powerful than all the others, never seemed to enter his ugly head. That my father, the King, commanded I marry this latest scion of the royal Bryn’Cairdhan family branch jolted him not one jot. That she was the only one who knew the location of the secret child, he cared less. If he could, he’d set her afire with one of his naphtha creations and, under her agonized and dying screams, roast weenies.
Gods above, protect us all from that flaming idiot, I prayed.
The gods never answered my prayers before. Why would they now?
The hills rose and dropped as we thundered on into the late morning, leagues upon leagues from safety. The terrain slowly changed the further from home we rode. The thick forests of Raithin Mawr slowly changed to rolling green hills, tall grass, thickets of oak, juniper, pine, fir and evergreen dotting a landscape as open as a whore’s legs. Any fool might see us, riding hard, our dark cloaks flapping in our wake. High above, tall barren cliffs offered the unlimited sight of us as we galloped across highland tundra, dodging heavy boulders and light deer, exposed and vulnerable.
So far, no army soldiers, Atan or otherwise, descended upon us with wild yells and waving swords. While that, in and of itself, was no comfort, I at least tried to remain hopeful. In a desperate attempt at optimism, I half convinced myself that we’d caught a lucky break. A gift from the gods. The Secret Police, the Weksan’Atan, had no idea where their High Priestess and princess was. If they didn’t know about her, they didn’t know about us.
You’re not an idiot, the voice in my head said. It sounded eerily similar to my father’s bellow. Don’t believe that, not for a moment. As depressing as it was correct, I knew my hopes held no concrete value. They, those clever, magical beasties, knew very well we’d invaded their borders, and knew exactly where their royal heir lay, feigning a deep coma.
I’d braced myself time and again for the Bryn’Cairdhan troops to fall. I almost hoped for a confrontation – an attack, any attack, that told me my enemies didn’t just watch from afar. A straight-forward fight reassured. This very weird silence crept under my skin like brazen fleas. Though not exactly cold, I shivered and tightened my cloak around my neck as I gazed up at the frowning cliffs.
Though I heard no voice of complaint, no vocal worry, no muttered curse from the men riding hard behind me, I didn’t have to. Their silence spoke volumes. Like me, they feared this oppressive calm far more than any spooky Shape-Shifter, or man-horse. Though too well-paid to cut and run, I realized these mercenaries weighed their skins against my gold. Was it worth it?
Our enemies watched us, and I knew they watched us. If that was an advantage, I doubted it’d help much. They bided their time, drawing the enemy in, cutting off our escape before pouncing. They but had to wait for me to make a mistake. If I didn’t make one –
I knew the gods laughed their celestial asses off over that.
“Gor, mate,” Blaez grumbled. “Where are they?”
“Not a town, nor a village,” commented Blaez’s man, his favorite guard dog. I knew him as an out-of-favor knight named Sim, who long-since should’ve lost his title along with his lands for his heinous and bloody crimes. As Blaez’s best friend, my father overlooked the rapes, the murders, and the molestation of young peasant children. If Sim aided and abetted in the kidnap of the very powerful High Priestess, his sins were forgiven. “Not even a cotter’s patch. Where the devil are they?”
“We’re inside their lines by a hundred leagues,” said a mercenary knight who went by the unlikely name of Buck-Eye. “They can’t just let us ride straight in and grab their heir? Right?”
Blaez and Sim spent every waking moment together, fast friends and co-conspirators. Had my royal sire cared about the raped, murdered and plundered peasants unlucky enough to cross paths with this pair, he might have strung them up by their ankles over a mau’la’ti ant mound. One bite of the inch-long, carnivorous insect brought forth a nasty blister on a man’s skin. A hive? The longest any prisoner lasted was twelve agonizing hours. Perhaps he didn’t taste good.
“Suck it up,” I snapped over my shoulder. “They watch us. Deal with it.”
“Prince Pussy,” Blaez muttered at my back.
We climbed higher yet through the late afternoon of our fourth day in Bryn’Cairdha, the lowering sun blinding our eyes. Our mounts’ hooves dug into broken rocks and dodged the occasional pale tree corpse and thickets of thorny, tough-looking green-grey bushes. Discovering a twisting game trail, I followed it up and up, my horse thrusting himself higher and higher. I leaned forward over the pommel, my left hand on his reins, my right tangled in his mane to prevent an embarrassing slide over his dappled rump.
An elk trotted away from Bayonne’s sudden invasion of his territory, pausing just out of bowshot to stare at us over his shaggy grey shoulder. Flipping his tail over his butt, he ambled out of my sight, ducking under the scrawny, high-altitude trees. Was that a true elk or an Atani Shape-Shifter? Sweat tricked down my back.
The sheer, steep angle of the trail slowed us to a careful walk, our mouths all but tasting our mounts’ manes. I spit out charcoal horse-hairs and glanced back, down. In single file, stepping exactly in Bayonne’s hoof-prints, they watched where their horse placed their feet and not at their surroundings. Bloody fools. Should an Atani patrol rip into their flanks, they’d sit their saddles and gape. I almost wished they would, just to witness the looks of surprise on their idiot faces.
While, no obliging Atani force arrived to entertain me, a nasty looking storm rolled in from the west. Black and oily clouds loomed on the horizon, lightning flashing with their murky depths. The humidity level rose as electricity danced across my skin. Thunder growled in the distance, long after the lightning flashes ceased. An hour away, no more, I guessed, listening to the rising wind.
Since birth, I’ve the knack of not just predicting storms, but also foreseeing its individual severity. I often informed those listeners, who cared about such things, of its intensity and its power. My father not just heeded me, but often bragged about me to his friends about his talented and bright son. I suspected that was his only source of pride for me, his eldest born. In all else, I rated a close third, or perhaps fourth, in the race for his affections.
I sniffed the chilly breeze as the temperature dropped several notches. At this high, alpine altitude, cold rain easily turned into sheets of slick ice. I cursed my lack, or my father’s, sense and foresight. For bad weather, only our thick wool cloaks offered scant protection. I knew this bloody tempest meant business, and we were ill-equipped to handle it. Could that evil Atani magic create early winter storms? One part of me doubted they were that powerful. The other part screamed in dire panic.
My clothes and my hair clung to me in a sticky mess, and I sweated heavily. Bayonne gasped for every breath, white foam slicking his neck and chest. Behind me, my crew of Blaez and his three cronies, as well as the five soldiers loyal to me, cursed as their mounts slowed to traverse the treacherous terrain in relative safety. I heard mutters of ‘shelter’, ‘this is madness’, ‘think it’s got hail in?’ outside the clip-clop of Bayonne’s hooves and the rising wind.
Twisting in my saddle, I waved my arm, impatient. “Idiots. Kick those beasts. Keep up.”
The ominous storm and the terrain made them nervous. Did I know what I was doing? I didn’t need to hear their mutters to know they wondered if I wasn’t as mad as the Bryn’Cairdhans. Madder than the proverbial march hare I may be, but they still owed me their allegiance. I planned to make full use of that.
“Damn your eyes,” I yelled. “Move your asses. We stop for nothing.”
The storm rolled inexorably toward us as I urged Bayonne to a never asked for pace. His hooves tripped and slid over the sharp rocks as he took the steep climb at a lunging trot. We must reach the river before the King’s Atan, I thought, sweating. We must. Or we’ll never see home again.
I grew up on tales of the Atani viciousness, their cruelty, their lust for the blood of my folk, the Raithin Mawrn. While I wasn’t stupid enough to believe them all, considering how much grief my father’s fanatics brought upon themselves, I knew this much: we kidnapped their heir and they’ll stop at nothing to get her back. If they catch us, I seriously doubt they’ll send me home with a smack on the wrist.
Amongst the tales of the impressive Atani, I’d heard stories of their Braigh’Mhar. The terrible cold, the ice, the high walls and the guarding trolls. Word spread long ago of the prison gangs who killed the weak, and preyed upon one another. Catch Prince Flynn in the act of stealing their High Priestess and throne’s heir? If they didn’t execute me first, I’d face a very short life sentence inside their wretched prison. In Braigh’Mhar, I’d be jail bait within a day.
As the landscape grew increasingly treacherous, I, cursing under my breath, reined Bayonne in to slow his headlong pace. The ground rose steadily, pocked with stunted trees and rocky ground, eclipsed by huge boulders that forced a horse to go around at a careful walk. The sky and the storm vanished behind tall hills strewn with heavy, jagged stones, scrub oak and thickets of pine, fir, dogwood, and twisted, stunted trees I could put no name to. Wild roses with thorns as long as my finger grew amid the harsh rocks, and tiny purple flowers with a sickeningly sweet scent forced me to sneeze time and again.
“I don’t like this,” Blaez muttered, his black puffing just behind Bayonne’s tail. “We’re too exposed, too vulnerable.”
I rubbed the stinging itch from my nose. “This is your fault.”
“Mine? How?”
I slewed in my saddle, leaving Bayonne to mind his footing. “These are your lads, Blaez. And not a one has the ability to find his own ass with both hands and a map. You sent in stupid spies.”
“They’re all I was given,” Blaez muttered, a sharp whine raising his tone.
“Spare me,” I gritted, facing front once more.
Stumbling over jagged stones, Bayonne kept his feet as easily as he kept his head. I let him pick his way down the far side of the tall hillock, casting an uneasy eye on the approaching storm. Lightning flickered with its inky depths, thunder growling in the distance. Darkness filled the entire sky, dropping bright daylight into gloomy nightfall. The sun vanished, the threatening clouds shrouding me in a misty half-light. Fine droplets of rain kissed my face, dampened my hair and Bayonne’s tossing grey mane.
“Who has the bloody map?” I yelled over my shoulder. “Where’s the bleeding Khai River?”
“Two leagues,” Boden’s voice from the rear shouted. “That way.”
That way indicated a steep climb up into the sheer, dark sky. Lightning flickered deep within the bank of angry, roiling clouds. Of course. A river cut deep channels between mountains, and the tall cliffs around us trapped the Khai within their stony embrace. Should we ride to the top, follow the cliff-face, we’d soon descend into the long cut in the hills to the great river. Dead easy.
Nudging my horse with my heels, my weight tilted forward to allow him his balance, Bayonne bucked and heaved his way up the perilous incline. My left hand tangled in Bayonne’s thick mane, I shot a swift glance over my shoulder. Blaez cursed fluidly, and struck his black with his whip to increase impetus. I hid a grin when his actions merely served to panic his horse. Fearing the whip more than the perilous rocks, the black bounded up and away from the whip’s lash –
– only to trip, hard, over the uneven terrain.
Blaez fell off, tossed over his stallion’s shoulder, shouting invectives. He hit the merciless rocks on his back and shoulders, his whip falling from his nerveless fingers.
Too well-trained to bolt, the black stallion stopped and sweated, knowing he’d earned a sound beating. His head rose as his nostrils flared, and he cast a white-ringed eye at his master. Fear-sweat bloomed on his neck and flanks.
Prepared to deliver righteous justice, Blaez roared himself to his feet and advanced on his luckless mount. He caught his whip up and raised his hand –
I reined Bayonne around and ripped my sword from its sheath. I swung at the same instant Blaez’s whip-hand swung downward.
My razor-honed blade parted the lash from the whip’s stem. The descending whip, without its punishing lash, hit nothing save air and earth. Blaez faltered, stumbling, knocked his shin on a sharp rocks. Blaez yelled, incoherent with fury, trying to stumble forward while rubbing his leg. His horse backed away with white-ringed eyes, seeking shelter amid the horses behind. I pushed Bayonne between the two.
“Leave off,” I ordered.
“How dare you –” he sputtered, staggering to his feet, snatching at his own sword. “You should learn some manners, princeling.”
I whistled sharply.
My father, while hoarding his love, gave generously of his gold. My monthly allowance might easily support a high lord’s estate and arm a dozen knights. I used it to purchase the loyalty of hard-bitten soldiers, and preserved the rest. My own men didn’t like me any more than anyone else, and gossiped about me behind my back. Even so, they guarded it faithfully. Dead princes didn’t pay well. Live ones had their uses, and I rewarded them handsomely.
At my prearranged signal, two soldiers wearing my sigil, hand-picked and chosen for their skills at arms and their mercenary hearts, spurred their mounts through and past Blaez’s cronies. Bows creaked above the sound of the rising wind as they drew arrows to their ears. Blaez stared up, gaping and stunned, as my henchmen pointed razor-tipped arrows at his face and chest.
In a similar move, my other three drew down on Blaez’s pals, effectively halting them when they sought to ride to his aid. His three friends carefully sat their saddles and raised hands from sword hilts, their throats bobbing as they gulped. The sweat trickling from their ghostly pallors wasn’t from the sheer drop a mere rod away nor from the howling wind that threatened to toss them over its edge.
No one ever accused the Commander of cowardice. He fought well and hard, and the men he led lived to drink his health. Blaez glared around at the hard eyes and deadly armament surrounding him and his followers. His lip curled.
“You don’t have the guts, Prince,” Blaez scoffed, sheathing his sword, then brushing dirt and rock dust from his hands and breeches. “Your sire sent me along to keep you in line, boyo. Don’t you forget that. I’m in charge here.”
I leaned my arms over my pommel and grinned down into Blaez’s smarmy, sneering face. “Care to wager on that – boyo?”
I straightened, and, leaving my reins on Bayonne’s heavy neck, nocked an arrow to my own bowstring. “You, dear Blaez, must be taught a lesson on respecting one’s betters.”
As his jaw tightened and his muddy eyes narrowed, I knew he expected me to point my arrow at him. My smile widened.
“Care to pick or shall I?”
As his thick lips tightened, his eyes bulging in their sockets, Blaez stared toward the direction my eyes travelled: into his own sworn men, his bodyguard and constant companion. I all but felt his denial along my skin: Flynn won’t do it. He’s a coward and no mistake. He’s never killed a human being and to do so now, with cold blood, he’ll rip his soul to shreds.
Will it? Perhaps. Did I care? Not one jot. My father always said a prince should never shirk from his duty, no matter how dirty the task. Leaders must often be executioners, and to gain the respect, the fear, of these men, I’d have to dirty my hands. Unless Blaez, his men, and even my own henchmen feared me, they’ll always threaten my life.
The big dog rules here, I thought. And I’m the big dog.
I lowered my bow, squinting down my arrow’s sight. My tip sharpened on Blaez’s leading pal, his friend since boyhood and sworn liegeman. That bad boy raised both hands in surrender, sweating worse than his horse and his eyes pleading for mercy. “No, my lord,” Sim whispered, fear-sweat sliding down his cheek. “I beg you. Please.”
“Do you also beg, Commander?” I asked softly, my arrow trained on the pudgy face blubbering within my sights. “Implore me not to. Plead for my mercy and perhaps your chum will live.”
“You haven’t the balls.”
I relaxed my fingers.
The best arms masters my father paid trained me, beat me bloody, but gave to me the best instruction in the world. Those beatings taught me how to aim a bow, loose an arrow, and kill my target. My reputation spread as a poor swordsman, but no rumors spoke as to my talents as an archer. No one cared enough to listen to those that praised my skills.
My arrow took Blaez’s best friend between his panicked eyes and knocked him over the rump of his roan stallion.
He fell to the rocky, unforgiving earth, stricken, his limbs still dancing as his heart thought he yet lived. He jigged and jagged on the stony soil before his heart failed to communicate with his already dead brain. Thus he died, a trickle of red seeping from my arrow down his heavy, hooked nose. Lying still at last, his spirit fled to the folk who kept count.
I suspected I just forced them to sit up and take notice.
My victim’s mates cringed away, shrinking, as Sim’s horse danced sideways, tail lashing and dark eyes panicked. My own lads eyed me sidelong, still pointing their arrows, and nervously wet their lips. They hadn’t believed I’d do it, either.
“Is this what you mean by balls?” I inquired politely, nocking another arrow.
Blaez stared at his fallen friend, his ruddy skin drained of all color. “You – oh, gods –”
“Tsk, Blaez,” I commented dryly. “Your sentimentality is showing.”
Shock clearly took control of Commander Blaez as he mumbled incoherently, stumbling toward his dead friend. Dropping to his knees, he lifted the corpse into his arms. His voice, thick with tears, spoke not much above a mutter. “Gods – Sim, gods, no – Sim – “ were the only words I clearly heard. His shaking hand closed the dead man’s glazed, staring eyes.
At his obvious grief, my conscience reared up and stabbed me in the ribs. “You killed in cold blood.”
“Who cares?”
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“Yes, I did,” I replied fiercely.
“You’ve done murder.”
“So? It’s done every day. He needed to die.”
“No, he didn’t. You could have wounded him and still make your point.”
“Wounded he’d have slowed me down.”
“You murdered a defenseless man,” Blaez muttered, staggering sideways as he groped his way to his feet, staring, pale, at the corpse. Grief etched long lines into his already creased, leathern face, his brow dotted with sweat. Hiding behind his hands, a short coughing bark of lament emerged to tickle my conscience.
“What have you done?”
“Only what I had to do to stay alive.”
Blaez’s shocked, dull brown eyes and lank, oily hair showed over his thick, bulbous knuckles. Did I know how much he cared for Sim, a scoundrel who liked to rape young girls and boast about his courageous feats in the taprooms? Did I care that that I killed a man my father would have hanged from the turrets had he been anyone save Blaez’s best friend?
The answer to both questions was no.
“Truthfully,” I answered, nocking another arrow. “I murdered your defenseless man. Shall I murder another?”
I pointed my deadly tip at Blaez’s second favorite, Buck-Eye. I knew this wretch as a traitor, thief and mercenary soldier no regular army officer wanted under his command. The type of man only Blaez could attract. While his crimes should surely see him strung up by his ankles and his throat cut, the King granted him pardon. For Blaez’s sake.
He blanched and raised empty hands. A weak grin crawled across his blunt face and terror filled his pale blue eyes. “Please, Your Highness,” he begged, his voice soft. “Please, don’t.”
“‘Please’ is it?” I replied lightly. “I like this new respect. How ‘bout you, Commander Blaez? Care to share with the class? What have you learned here today?”
Blaez dropped his hands from his ugly face. Sweat, and tears, slid like tiny rivers down his flat cheeks. He stood as tall as he could, lightning illuminating his eyes, the icy wind whipping his damp hair across his mouth. “You’re in charge, Your Highness.”
“Um,” I muttered, my eyes rolling sideways and up. “You sure? I thought I heard you claim the big dog position here.”
“My mistake,” Blaez answered, lowering himself to lie flat on his belly. His huge nose and brow struck the damp, stony earth. “You’re the big dog, Your Highness.”
“Ah,” I replied casually, lowering my bow and returning my arrow to its quiver. “Is this a true conversion? Or are you saying what you think I want to hear?”
“No, Your Highness.” Dust blew out from under his face. “I mean, yes, Your Highness.”
“Well, that’s certainly clarifying. What of you chaps?”
Buck-Eye and his pal, Kalan, slid down from their horses. Keeping hands clear of their weapons, they each dropped to their right knee, their hands behind their backs. In unison, they bowed their heads. “You’re the big dog, Your Highness,” Buck-Eye choked.
“Your will, Highness,” Kalan muttered.
“So glad you agree. Now then, you boys will, very carefully now, draw your swords. With your hands on the hilts, you swear your undying loyalty to your new boss.”
“You can’t –” Blaez inhaled the dust beneath his nose and coughed.
“Oh, but of course I can.”
I grinned down onto Blaez’s squirming body and trampled on no doubt a dozen royal laws as to fealty and obligation. “I can and they will.”
The pair exchanged wild glances. “My lord, we’ve already sworn –”
“Oh, very well, then,” I snapped, impatient. “First they’ll disavow their loyalty to you, Blaez. Then they’re clear to re-swear to me. Come on, let’s get this done.”
Rade, the oldest and most experienced of my henchmen, lowered his bow and returned his arrow to its quiver. Nudging his horse in behind Buck-Eye and Kalan, he urged them to their feet. Unless they wanted stallion hooves imprinted on their backs, they’d best get up and walk. Into their new future.
As they stumbled forward, Blaez lifted his face enough to watch, half-horror, half-disbelief warring across his broad, flat face. Buck-Eye and Kalan walked a few steps toward me, yet never once looked to their former liege lord. As one, they nodded.
“I disavow of my oath of loyalty and fealty to my lord Commander Blaez,” Buck-Eye said, his tone low. “I do so swear to honor and obey His Royal Highness Prince Flynn of Raithin Mawr. The gods strike me dead should I prove false.”
“I accept your oath and your service, “I said. “I’m curious, however, Buck-Eye. How’d you get that handle anyhow? Buck-Eye?”
“M’lord, I once shot a buck through his eye at three hundred paces. M’lord.”
“Well done. I’m certain to have a very good use for you and your marksmanship. Kalan, are you ready?”
His comrade nodded, dull eyes on the rocky ground. “I, Kalan of Alamara, disavow of my allegiance to Lord Commander Blaez and forthwith shall owe my sword and my life to His Royal Highness Prince Flynn. Gods strike me dead if I prove untrue.”
“Welcome,” I said, my tone light and expansive. “I accept both your oaths as binding and lasting. As your liege lord and master, I command you in all things.”
“You do, sire.” Buck-Eye bowed his head.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Kalan said, his tone low. “I’m your man from now on.”
“Good. Commander Blaez.”
At the sound of his name, Blaez scrambled to his feet, staggering, dark rock dust coating his damp face. “Eh?”
“Will you also swear your undying loyalty to me?”
As though struck by a poleaxe, his brown eyes cleared. A scowl crept across his thick lips and heavy brow. He wiped dust and grit from his dark face with his filthy hands. Balancing himself at last, on his feet where he belonged, Commander Blaez straightened his spine. He remembered to whom my father offered his devotion. My royal father loved him. However, he hated me. Blaez’s fingers tickled his sword’s hilt, safe within the warm, defensive blanket of my sire’s fickle affections.
“Never.”
I half-shrugged. “So be it. With or without an oath, you’ll do as you’re told.”
“Bastard,” he hissed, his pronounced lips thinned to the point of emaciation.
“You wish.” I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, my parents were wed within a temple in front of hundreds of witnesses. Royal weddings and all that. I popped into existence a mere two years later.”
I snickered. “Did it take that long for Pop to finally approach her? And she’s so beautiful, too.”
“You’ve no right.”
“The one who bears the might is always right.” I sniffed, feigning mild annoyance. “Doesn’t that just suck rocks?”
Blaez found his courage and a nasty grin from somewhere amid his personal possessions. “It does indeed, prince of nothing.”
I laughed. “Oh, how you make me smile, Commander. You’re the life of the party, what?”
“Of course, Prince. I bring smiles wherever I go.”
“No doubt,” I murmured. “Shall we ride, gentlemen? My bride awaits me in those barbaric caves yonder.”
My new henchmen, Buck-Eye and Kalan of Alamara, swiftly mounted their horses, while Blaez obeyed more slowly. I jerked my chin at the dead man’s horse, nibbling on weeds with his reins tangled in his mane. “Take him behind you,” I said to Rade. “That’s a nice roan. I think I’ll keep him.”
Blaez shot me a glare filled with hatred as he settled himself in his saddle. “You’d best watch your back, Prince,” he grumbled.
I chuckled. “I have seven good men right here who watch it for me,” I replied easily. “Meanwhile, you lead the way, Commander. I think I’ll keep yours in sight for a while.”
Muttering curses, Blaez kicked his black into a lunging trot up the hill, and cast one last lingering look over his shoulder. Not at me, but at the dead man we left behind. I squashed the inner voice when it wanted to berate me again, gritting my teeth. I had to do it.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Shut up.”
I nudged Bayonne into line behind him while Rade, leading the blue roan stallion, and Buck-Eye paired themselves at my back. The others followed in single file as my man Boden, my clever navigator with the map, hollered instructions from the rear.
Princess Yummy, I thought. Here I come.
The storm delivered all its menacing promise.
We rode along the top of the rocky cliffs, the massive Khai River thundering below with another league yet to ride before we reached the cave and the princess. The footing, treacherous without the added howling winds, slashing rain and lightning cracking right over our heads, grew a starkly evil attitude. Blaez’s black horse stumbled and tripped his way downward, half blinded by icy sleet. The rocks, large, rounded and in the best conditions tricky, were now slicked with clinging ice. Sure-footed Bayonne slipped and slid down the narrow trail with me clinging desperately to his mane.
I hugged my cloak more tightly around my neck, my hood up for added protection. I was wet through, and shivered uncontrollably. Peering through the half-light and rain, squinting against the stabbing lightning, I watched for every potential step before Bayonne put his hoof there. His quarters slung low, fighting against gravity and the screaming winds, Bayonne remained calm, and used every good sense in his quiet head.
“This is madness!” Blaez shouted above the wind and barking thunder. “We’ll ride right over the edge!”
“My prince!” Rade called. “We must stop! We should wait this out, it’s too dangerous!”
I reined Bayonne in long enough to swivel in my saddle. “We keep going,” I snarled, taking my hand from my cloak long enough to point upward.
A black raven swooped, blowing past, its wings wide as it permitted the wind to carry it along. Buck-Eye and Rade followed my gesture, tracking the bird until it vanished into the heavy trees above the cliff.
“Those devil-spawned Shifters are watching us,” I bellowed, my throat sore from yelling. “We must get to the caves before the Atan. Or none of us will see home again.”
Rade nodded and turned to wave the others forward. As I nudged Bayonne into his careful walk down the slippery, treacherous slope, Blaez called over his shoulder again. “We’ll go over the bloody edge, you stupid fool.”
“When I see you go over,” I called back. “I’ll know not to go that way.”
Had Blaez actually fallen into the dark depths of the Khai as he feared, I might have cheered. He didn’t, the lucky bastard. I rode several rods behind his black, guiding Bayonne to follow in his exact hoof prints. The storm pounded away at us, making me curse and shiver, my saddle as wet and slippery as the rocks. Time and again, the bright lightning lit the sky with a light that rivaled high noon, revealing the terrain ahead for brief seconds. I saw no more evidence our enemies watched us, but I felt no comfort. Those hell-cat Griffins might watch us even now, stalking us from above.
A nerve-wracking hour later, the nasty weather blew past and into the east. It left behind a cold wind and sullen sky, but at least the rain no longer blinded us. Thunder growled in the dim distance, and I gauged the time as mid-afternoon. Wet and cold, the wind still cut through to my very bones. Had anyone suggested a stop for a fire and hot wine, I’d be the first to jump from my saddle. No one did. I cursed my luck, and stuck to Blaez’s back like a burr.
The terrain eased as well, the high cliff slowly vanishing behind as the slope gentled. The churning river, swelled with rainwater, rushed swiftly past a mere rod or so below. Marshy earth, dotted with pockets of twisted oak and pine trees offered decent footing. Bayonne tried to nibble the tall grass as we trotted amid thickets of bramble and wild flowers.
“We are on the correct side of the river?” Blaez asked, half turning in his saddle. “Right?”
“If we’re not,” I replied, eyeing the swift, deep Khai, “we’re screwed. There’s no swimming that bugger.”
“Yes, my prince,” replied Boden, my henchman who I’d appointed as our guide. I’d given him the map and the messenger’s report to compare, as he was not just bright and able, but owned an uncanny sixth sense for direction and terrain I’d swear only the gods owned.
He urged his horse into a rolling canter up beside Bayonne, pointing. The youngest of my band, he was also one I wished I could trust. Close to my own age, his open, pleasant expression, curly brown hair and smiling grey eyes made me wonder if he could be ever be a friend. I reined Bayonne in as Rade, Buck-Eye and the others gathered around us.
“See those tall rocks, there?”
I followed his finger, nodding. “Yes.”
“If the message is accurate,” he said, his tone eager. “The caves are just below them.”
“Well away from the water,” Blaez added, walking his stallion toward us, “yet sheltered from the weather.”
“Did the message say what the terrain around the caves was like?” I asked.
“No, my prince. It only gave instructions to follow the river from the cliffs until we saw columns of tall rock towers.”
Blaez, no fool, frowned. “We could walk into a trap and never see it.”
“Exactly.”
I glanced around, uneasy. As though eavesdropping on our conversation, from several rods away a doe stepped daintily from the twisted knot of trees toward the river, her white tail flipping back and forth. Broad ears twitching, she found an eddying pool and dropped her head to drink. Blaez, Boden, and Rade all followed my stare.
“You don’t think –” Buck-Eye began.
Though she clearly heard his voice, knew we stood there watching, the doe finished her drink and lifted her head. Her huge liquid eyes regarded us solemnly, before she, tripping lightly, ambled back into the forest. A deer, unafraid of our presence, in daylight – how could there be any doubt? A bleeding Shifter.
“They want us to know they’re watching,” I gritted, my fear rising.
Above, a hawk screamed from on high, its chirk-chirk-chirk call rising over the rushing of the huge river. I glanced up, only to see it vanish over the rock towers. Another one circled lazily over the river, soaring on the cold breeze, before drifting away until the trees behind us blotted it out.
“What do we do?” Blaez asked, his voice tight. His hand gripped his sword hilt, yet his muddy eyes ever watched the river, the trees, the sky, waiting for the attack to come.
“We’ve no choice,” I said, nocking an arrow to my bowstring. “We have to go in and get her.”
“But –”
“There are eleven of us,” I said, making my tone as confident as possible. “Plus the spies in the cave. The Atan haven’t had time to get here. A few Shifters – we can eliminate them if we have to.”
“Of course we can,” Rade said, following my lead and readying his own bow. “Grab her and get out. Right, Your Highness?”
His respectful tone and form of address caught my attention and interest. Glancing around at their faces, I observed little of the contempt I was used to seeing and instead recognized an eagerness to ride at my side. Might I actually trust these men to fight for me and truly guard my back? Could Sims’s death have not been in vain, in truth?
“Time to find out, I reckon.”
Nudging Bayonne into a swift trot and trying not to watch every way at once, I estimated the distance to the rock formation. Though thickets of bramble and knots of trees stood in the way, I guessed the caves were a hundred rods from us. The closer we rode, the more open the country became. The grass grew thicker, yet the thick pockets of pine, birch, oak and bramble thinned out. I breathed easier when I sighted the caves, for the lack of cover and no bristling Atani troops waiting to take my head meant we’d gotten there before them.
I raised my fist, calling a swift halt. “Blaez, you, Buck-Eye and Torass, you flank right. Rade, Boden and Lyall, you flank left. Stay on your horses and watch. Yell if you see or hear anything. Kalan and Todaro, and you, Kadal, come with me.”
As Blaez and Rade led their men to the left and right, I nudged Bayonne forward at a quick trot. Kadal and Todaro flanked Bayonne while Kalan placed his mount directly behind Bayonne’s tail. As Rade had handed over the reins to the blue roan to Kadal, I had an extra horse. A mount fit for the princess, I half-thought, my instincts on high alert. Rather than unsheathe my sword, I kept my arrow nocked and guided Bayonne with my knees.
I tried looking everywhere at once, suspecting a trap. This was too easy, I thought. No way we should get this far without a fight. Yet, I found nothing out of the ordinary. No bizarre deer drinking water, no raptors screaming from on high. I tried to relax, but my shoulders refused to unwind and my fingers incessantly drew down on every moving shadow.
All seemed peaceful and tranquil, outside the rushing river, that was. The breeze blew dank and chilly, but the sun rolled out from behind the grey clouds. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I heard muted voices coming from inside the cave, the tones of casual conversation. Not panic or alarm. If the kidnappers had horses, I saw none in evidence. How did they get her this far without horses?
Approaching within ten rods of the cave, I stopped. Blaez, Rade and their men halted to either side of the towers, bunched together like sheep before a storm. Though armed and mounted, they kept their backs to the forest. I didn’t like that. Their stances, their postures screamed like an irate fishwife: We’re scared and we’re idiots.
There was nothing I could do about it, however. I had to get Princess Iyumi out, on a horse and galloping as hard as I could for the border with no time for stops. If the Shifters watched, they’d soon report my presence and the direction we travelled. The ruthless Atan would dog my heels every mile.
“Ho, in the cave!” I yelled. “This is Prince Flynn. Come out with the princess.”
Exclamations and curses abounded, and I listened to the mad scrambling as men got to their feet. The caverns echoed, resounding and drifting out and upward on the light wind. I cursed under my breath. What were they doing in there? Playing dice around a fire and drinking ale? Why didn’t they have a guard posted?
A dirty man in leather breeches, faded green tunic and a floppy hat emerged from the cave’s mouth, a sword in his hand. Several days growth of beard covered his face, and his eyes rolled around as he tried to see every which way at once. Instantly, I knew he knew he felt out of his element, that this errand to fetch a girl brought him to the brink of his limited ability. This time, I cursed my father for sending an idiot to do a competent’s job.
Those orbs fastened upon me, and his tired face lit like the rising sun. “Your Highness,” he gasped. “Thank all the gods you’re here, she’s inside, we can’t move her, she –”
“Shut up, you moron,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Bring her out. Now.”
He stuttered and stammered, his pallor beneath the dirt paling to the color of old wax. “We can’t, Your Highness. She’s out cold. If we move her, we might –”
I waved my hand and he shut his teeth on his rapid tongue. Hell and damnation, I thought, swinging down from Bayonne. My men dismounted with me, leaving their reins on the ground. Well-trained, our horses remained where they were as I led my crew of three toward the moron with the sword and floppy hat.
“Put that thing up,” I snapped, striding forward, pointing my nocked arrow at the ground.
I glanced around, seeking trouble before it landed on me with both feet as the stupid spy hastily sheathed his blade in my presence. As I stood fairly tall and he didn’t, I loomed over him, witnessing, with no small satisfaction, him blanche. His skin paled into the same shade as a dirty sheepskin. His fear only made me angrier.
“Where is she?”
“In h–here, Your Hi – Highness,” he stammered. “N–next to the f–fire.”
I jerked my head at Kalan, ordering him to mind the floppy hatted spy. I certainly didn’t need him to create mischief while my back was turned. Who knew where his true loyalties lay?
Hesitating a rod or so from the cave’s mouth, I glanced around, my bow and arrow at the ready. Some small bird fluttered in the trees to my left and I swung sharply around and raised my bow, expecting an immediate attack. When none came, I took a firm grip on my runaway fears and stalked forward, one slow step at a time.
I entered cautiously, glancing around, taking in as much information as I could on short notice. The cavern was huge, many rods tall and twice as many deep. Sand covered the floor, and the bones of some predator’s victims poked through here and there. Sparrow and barn swallow nests erupted like crusty pimples across the pillars of salted rock formations. A fire burned merrily amid a rock ring, collected firewood piled against the cave wall. Three spies stood up as I, and my escort entered. They dropped to their knees as they recognized me, shivering with panic. I paid them no mind.
She lay on a pallet of pine branches and blankets near the blazing fire, on her side, her back to me. Her Royal Highness, Princess Iyumi of Bryn’Cairdha. My future wife. I paused, taking in the sight of her. For a moment, my heart hesitated, paused in its rhythmic beat. It began again, pounding in my chest in long, heavy strokes. My lungs ached, for I hadn’t drawn breath since entering the cavern. Have mercy, I thought, my brain short-circuiting.
I’d imagined her hair blonde like mine, but the long tresses that burst over the woolen blanket owned a silvery sheen that set my blood afire. Never before had I seen it’s like. Damn, but it appeared, in the firelight, the same color as the chasings on Bayonne’s bridle. Molten silver poured across the dark blanket in a river, glimmering with a light of its own.
Pale, alabaster cheeks met my inspection, but as her eyes were closed, I guessed they matched the blue of a summer sky. Under the blanket, her small, trim body lay outlined and forced me to guess that while standing her head might reach my chest. A full, rounded breast slowly rose and fell with her deep, even breathing. I almost forgot my business, and the Atani threat, as I gazed at this exquisite creature. Next to her, Sofia’s regal beauty paled as the full moon eclipsed the stars.
“She fainted, Your Highness,” the floppy hate spy whined, wringing his hands. “She’s sick, I tell you. Something’s wrong. She hasn’t moved since we put her there.”
“The only thing wrong is your presence,” I murmured, stepping lightly on the balls of my feet. “Get lost.”
I glanced behind, out of habit, and found my men urging the other wretched spies to their feet and shooing them out the cave mouth. Like chickens seeking shelter to roost in, they fled, scrambling to escape. Even my floppy friend vanished, leaving me alone with the legendary She Who Hears. My boys hovered near the entrance, watching both inside and outside the cave, never relaxing for a moment.
“Hail and well met, Princess,” I said, my tone conversational. “My name is Flynn, but you already knew that.”
She didn’t move nor did her breathing change. I tipped my head sideways, considering. Did I see her eyelids flicker or was it the firelight? “Get up now, honey, it’s time to go home.”
Iyumi didn’t move. Though I knew in my head she faked it, my heart wondered. How could one person have such strict control? Perhaps she was as sick as the spies thought.
“Up you go,” I said, seizing her by the arm and dragging her upright. The blanket slid to the sandy cave floor, exposing a slender waist and lovely legs beneath a short blue tunic, skin-hugging black leather breeches and a dark grey cloak lined with scarlet. Her body limp, hung from my left hand –
My quick perception captured the flash of steel illuminated red by the firelight.
My right hand rose from instinct and a sharp need for self-preservation. Many years of arms-masters beating competence into me gave me a reflexive speed similar to that of a striking snake. I seized her wrist, and twisted sharply.
She cried out once, a brief exclamation of pain as the deadly knife dropped to the sand, killing its light. Still she fought on, raising her left hand to smack, hard, against my cheek. Her blow rattled my teeth and burned my skin, but hadn’t enough weight to actually force me to let go. I didn’t, and raised my left fist. Her tiny, frail body hung from my hand as though dead, gutted and ready for butchering. She weighed as much as newborn fawn, and dangled from my grip with her toes barely touching the sand. I held her there, mildly amused as she cursed invectives, dancing on tip-toe, and swiped at me again with a knife in her hand.
“Princess Yummy.”
She yowled like a feral cat at the name, and lunged toward me. Only my grip on her right arm kept her both in place and my guts inside my belly. The second dagger followed the first, and I half-wondered how many she kept hidden in so few hiding places. Regaining my sense of humor, I half shook her, gazing up and down her luscious length.
“Are you through?” I asked mildly. “Cuz, you know, I can do this all day.”
“Animal,” she grated, twisting and struggling, trying to break my hold. “Put me down, you’re hurting me.”
“If I do, will you behave?”
For answer, she shot a rapid foot toward my crotch. Like the knife, I saw the blow’s arrival and reacted, instantly. Her toes caught my thigh and hurt her more than it did me. I tsked in annoyance.
“Oh, cease with the drama already,” I snapped. “You’re caught and I’m an evil bastard, so let’s just move on shall we?”
“Pig.” Her spittle struck my cheek below my right eye and oozed south.
Now that was uncalled for. Reddish haze crossed my vision as my rage grew out of proportion, rising high and fast. Oh, you stupid bitch.
I answered her insult with my knuckles. My right fist exploded across her left cheekbone, my heavy signet ring cutting deep. Her head snapped to the side, droplets of blood slinging wide and far. Iyumi half-screamed in pain and anger, her silver-gilt hair cloaking her, half-hiding her face. Her hands reached for my tunic and fell away. Limp and boneless for a moment, she almost blacked out, yet her clenched hands still sought to strike at my face, my throat. Never did she instinctively cover her injury to protect it.
A fighter, I thought, a warrior bred and true.
“Calm down,” I said, my tone low. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I knew she had sky-blue eyes. Those beautiful orbs narrowed with hate and rage as she sniffed back her tears of pain. Her free hand wiped blood from her lacerated cheek. “Oh, but I want to hurt you.”
A third knife – where did they come from? – stabbed toward my gut. Knowing she didn’t have many weapons, but plenty of magic, I sucked in my belly as the dagger kissed my tunic.
“Bad girl,” I growled, my tunic shredded. I seized her left wrist and twisted hard. The third blade joined the first pair as she cried out.
Ignoring her curses, her obvious pain, I twisted both her hands behind her back. My foot kicked her ankles shoulder-width apart. That kept her effectively off balance as I wrestled her into some semblance of quiescence. “Rope,” I gasped, tossing my sweaty hair from my eyes. “Quick.”
My newest henchman, Kadal, ran forward with not a rope but a belt. Good enough. I wrapped the tough leather around her wrists, behind her back, and cinched it tight. She may use magic against me, but she’d do it without her hands. When I let go, she staggered away and screamed foul invectives.
“I’ll kill you slow, you Raithin pig,” Iyumi snarled, blue eyes sparking fire. “No one touches me and lives.”
Her creative vocabulary startled me. Princesses shouldn’t speak like longshoremen, I thought. But this one added interesting words my experience in rough taverns never encountered. I could use that one, I thought, as she compared my manhood with that of a pygmy monkey.
“Is this how the girls of your land greet their intended grooms?” I asked mildly, turning her around.
I snapped my head sideways, just in time. Her aim, while accurate, missed me and shot past my shoulder. “Cease this nonsense or I’ll have you gagged.”
“Raithin Mawrn shit,” she hissed.
I sighed. “So be it.”
At my gesture, Buck-Eye rushed into my territorial bubble with a length of cotton sacking in his hand. Dropping it, he dashed out again before I might shoot him for his lack of good manners.
“Open wide,” I gushed, forcing the gag into her mouth, past her wicked teeth and tied it within the lengths of that incredible hair behind her neck. Keep her rebellious spirit, I thought, praying. Give me that body and that hair. All I ask, oh ye Lords of Grace. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.
Bound, gagged, Princess Iyumi glared as if by looks alone she might slay me where I stood. Having weathered such looks since the ripe age of four, I shrugged it off. Years of hatred and contempt thickened my skin to the potency of an elephant’s, and Iyumi’s hatred bored me silly.
“I know you can do better than that,” I sighed. “But, it’ll have to wait. Commander Blaez.”
“What?”
His obnoxious voice from outside the cave mouth annoyed me further. “Gather the men. We’re leaving.”
“About bloody time.”
Dragging the resisting princess with me, I pushed her past Buck-Eye, Rade, Boden, Torass and Blaez. The useless spies watched me from several rods away, sweating more than the mild afternoon required. With no horses and no weapons, I knew they hoped I’d take them with me. They were my father’s faithful servants, after all. I’d an obligation to save them.
They seemed to forget one tiny matter: me and that silly whore named ‘obligation’ parted company a long time ago. If my father wanted them saved, let him come get them. I’d neither the time, the manpower, nor the horses to help them get home.
“Run,” I advised them, dragging Iyumi across the sand toward Bayonne and the roan’s empty saddle. “Before the Atani come.”
“But – Your Highness –”
I ignored Floppy Hat’s plea, and pushed past Bayonne to lift Iyumi into the roan’s saddle. Struggling, trying to scream past the gag in her mouth, Iyumi whipped her head around, trying her best to smack me in the face. Yet, all she accomplished was to blind herself with her own hair. On she struggled, whipping about like a viper in my hand, always trying to bite. I deftly avoided her fangs, and set her in her place aboard the blue stallion.
Blaez, Rade and others trotted their mounts into a circular ring about Iyumi and I, forming a protective ring as Kadal and his mates swung into their saddles. About bloody time, I thought, approving of their alert, military stance. Rade, Buck-Eye, and Boden raised bows with nocked arrows aimed high, while Blaez, Kalan, Torass and Lyall bared their swords as their horses sidling sideways, nervous. Todaro edged his champing, sweating mount closer to me, acting as my immediate bodyguard. The horses – the men – they sensed something –
Too impatient to heed their warning, I grabbed Bayonne’s slack reins and growled to Buck-Eye. “Keep her there.”
He nodded, his dark eyes wide, and his lips thinned as his own fears showed. He gripped Iyumi’s shoulder, holding her in firm place when she would have thrown herself to the ground. The roan tossed his fine head, his huge eyes ringed white. He snorted, and his charcoal tail lashed from side to side. I half-hoped he wasn’t planning to buck his passenger off.
Seizing my pommel, I vaulted into Bayonne’s saddle. Taking my reins, I groped for my stirrups as I opened my mouth to –
Bayonne exploded into a vicious series of bucks. His head dropped between his knees as his hindquarters thrust skyward, kicking high. I had time for a ‘What the –’ before his third wild buck catapulted me from his back. Never a horseman at the best of times, catching me off guard and without stirrups, I stood no chance.
I landed, hard on my back and hips, my lungs swooshing out my air supply. I had difficulty getting it back. My head smacked something hard that splintered upon impact. Stunned, wrenched, breathless, I blinked dirt from my eyes as Bayonne stepped between the sky and me. His dark mane fell over his cheek as he lowered his muzzle. Huge equine eyes danced with mischief.
“Hail, Your Highness,” Bayonne said, his reins spilling to the ground beside me. “Sorry about that, I know it was rude. Hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Before I could make my mouth form a word of reply, all hell broke loose.
Wildly, I stared past Bayonne’s huge shoulder to the trees and sky beyond. Screaming Griffins in full flight mode, wingtip to wingtip, blasted past, low overhead. The wind of their passage blew Bayonne’s mane across his eyes and my hair across mine. The effect they had on the horses was nothing less than catastrophic.
Bayonne planted himself in a position of protection as the horses belonging to Blaez and the men exploded in all directions. Like me, Blaez came off almost immediately, as did Kadal and Rade. Their horses bolted into the forest. I lost sight of the others and had no idea if they managed to remain aboard as their horses fled, or if they were tossed to the ground out of my sight.
Princess Iyumi –
The wild thought of her, bound and gagged on board a panicked horse, flitted across my mind – what have I done?
In the midst of horses careening in all directions, massive Centaurs galloped across the grass and river sand, raising bows ready with nocked arrows. Pale grit, kicked up by their slashing hooves, drifted amid the long tossing grass as at least a dozen of them scattered wide. Never before had I seen the legendary half-man, half-horse creatures. Terror sang from my every nerve ending, and had I the ability to run in that moment, I’d have run screaming like a girl from that sandy clearing.
Kadal, with more courage than I’d given him credit for having, yanked his sword for his sheath and bellowed. A challenge, no less. Despite the chaos, he heard Bayonne’s words and knew him for a Shifter. Running, raising his blade, he lunged toward the silver creature pinning me to the ground. Though he’d been my henchman for almost a year, he took his bodyguard responsibilities more seriously than I did.
A great black beast, his massive chest crisscrossed with leather and his wild mane of hair bound by a headband arrayed with a star, galloped from amid the rearing, shouting Centaurs, his bow nocked and aimed. Kadal never stood a chance. That bastard shot Kadal through the throat as he lunged toward me, his sword raised. Kadal stumbled and fell, gurgling, his fingers trying to yank the feathered shaft from his gushing neck. He fell on his face, bleeding out like a slaughtered lamb.
I groaned, wanting to shut my eyes from the sight of Kadal, a man who offered his life up for mine, dying like a hunted buck. I didn’t, and watched him gasp his last breath out on a stream of red. Despite my need to protect myself from my enemies, and those who hated me, I never truly thought anyone might actually die in my defense. While I hadn’t an opportunity to pause and reflect on my worthiness of his sacrifice, I did swallow hard and offer a quick prayer of thanks that he didn’t suffer.
Amid the organized chaos of Centaurs and Griffins securing the area and the perimeters, the Minotaurs arrived. Slower moving, I guessed they’d been held back as the reserve, ringing the area. Just in case any of us managed to escape. If I, or they, slipped past the Centaurs and Griffins, we’d never pass the alert and deadly Minotaurs.
Troops of royal cavalry galloped in from behind the rock towers and circled the area, ringing the outer limits. As the last of them arrived and rode into position, the uniformed cavalry faced inward and their entire unit stood at parade rest. At least fifty of them, I guessed. With swords in hand, the humans aboard their snorting mounts waited for their next orders.
How in the name of hell did they hide all these man-horses, two-legged bulls and flying lions? Magic, my mind whispered. Evil magic hide them, waited until I blundered into their trap. They used the princess as bait, and like a supreme idiot I blundered straight into it. Braigh’Mhar, here I come.
Buck-Eye, in terror, fell to his face, screaming in horror. Two Minotaurs and a Centaur glanced at one another in confusion. After watching this spectacle for several moments, the Centaur reached down and gently raised Buck-Eye to his feet. Buck-Eye slowly calmed as the huge chestnut rested his hand on Buck-Eye’s shoulder and spoke quietly for several moments. My man nodded slowly, half-smiled, and unbuckled his sword belt. The Centaur accepted it with respect and grace.
Blaez, of course, fought on. He screamed and thrashed, trying to fight with nothing but his hands and his terrors. A Minotaur, annoyed, kicked his feet out from under him. A huge bay and white Centaur with a lion’s head emblem on his chest scowled in irritation and flipped him over onto his face with one lazy hoof. Within seconds, my father’s pride and good friend lay on his face with his hands tied behind his back. He breathed in dust and coughed out his curses.
Beyond the huge body of the Griffin and Bayonne’s heavy form, I caught a swift glimpse of a huge Griffin loom over Rade. With a nearly black mane that crept down his chest to his belly, he reached out a deadly talon, aiding Rade to stand. Thrown from his horse, coughing, bleeding from his nose and mouth, Rade accepted the assist. A grey-coated Centaur offered a white cloth for him to clean himself up, and even tilted Rade’s chin back to more closely examine his injuries. I suspected he offered light, clinical advice, and saw Rade half-laugh in answer.
Rounded up like cattle, Lyall, Kalan, and Boden surrendered, raising their hands high as the Centaurs herded them into a tight group, arrows trained. Torass was pushed into their midst by a huge Minotaur with a broadsword nearly twice the size of mine. Todaro, keeping his whimpers of panic behind his tightly clenched teeth, stumbled into their company with a Centaur’s heavy hand on his shoulder. His weapons lay in the huge bay and white Centaur’s hand, seized from him at his surrender.
Between the half bulls and half horses, and the cavalry units that sat their mounts with bows in hand and arrows at the ready, we hadn’t a hope in hell of escaping. That didn’t preclude the spies from trying, however. Floppy Hat and a fellow spy, creeping like mice to the side, suddenly fled, and broke for the forest and freedom. Twin Centaur arrows caught them in the back. The third man watched his brothers fall, and screamed in utter terror. He bolted in the opposite direction. A Griffin the size of a barn dropped on his back like a hawk on a mouse, and snapped it in two. He died, his eyes bulging from their sockets. A faint, shrill shriek squeal, a high-pitched eee-eee-eee, sound emerged from behind his bloody lips.
The other spies fell into the heavy grass, twitching, screaming in agony and terror. Not yet dead, but dying too slowly. A single Centaur, similar in color as Bayonne with grey hair falling to his broad, bare shoulders, advanced slowly. He pulled his dagger from his belt. Leaning down, he cut first Floppy Hat’s throat, then the other spy’s. His heavy mouth frowning, as though he touched something nasty, he cleaned his blade on Floppy Hat’s shirt, sheathed it, and stalked away. He left them to bleed to death, choking, gasping for life. Their life’s blood soaked into the sand, turning it black.
I fought to get up, find my breath, help them –
Bayonne planted a heavy hoof on my chest. “Sorry, old son,” he said regretfully. “Your pals are toast.”
He raised his grey head, watching as the Centaurs rounded up the skittish horses, herding them back across the sandy clearing. Several enormous Griffins landed to all fours, furling angel’s wings across their eagle shoulders. My horse paid me no mind, as his attention seemed riveted upon the organized chaos that was once a silent clearing beside the mighty Khai. My hand crept toward my sword hilt. Perhaps I could stab him before he realized –
The pressure on my chest increased, shutting off all hope of breathing and listened as my ribs creaked. Bayonne’s head swiveled down, his ears cocked, and his formerly mild brown eyes now hard and menacing.
“Don’t, boy,” my horse warned. “Think you can draw that before I burst your heart like an overripe plum?”
Gasping for air, my chest slowly sinking under the weight of what I thought was my horse, I raised my hands. In surrender.
“Good lad.”
The pressure withdrew, although Bayonne kept his hoof squarely planted, should I get stupid again. I breathed in deep, ragged pants, the pain slowly receding. My ribs ached fiercely, but I knew none were broken. I’d had every rib busted in the past I knew what it felt like. Bayonne knew just how to apply enough pressure to get the job done without lasting damage.
More Griffins joined the flock already present, bellowing questions and orders to one another and the Centaurs. Several others back-winged to join their mates on the ground, their long lion tails lashing. Three circled low overhead, while others flew higher, over the towers and the trees. Keeping watch, I thought. In case I had more soldiers with me, hidden and ready to ride to my rescue.
Another troop of Minotaurs, marching in step with massive broadswords in their hands, stomped in from the north and entered the bristling ring of cavalry. Like their brothers-in-arms, they carried banners of a grinning skull on a field of azure. I recognized it, a shiver crawling down my spine. The symbol of the King’s dreaded Weksan’Atan. The Bryn’Cairdha Secret Police.
“Where’s the princess?” the black Centaur with the star headband shouted. He half-reared, his front hooves boxing the hair as he raised his bow in his right fist. “Your Highness! Princess Iyumi!”
He dropped all four hooves to the ground. “Find her! Search everywhere! I want every orifice within a league from here turned inside out. Go!”
They might appear disorganized and frenzied in my opinion, but those beasts under his command obeyed instantly. The Minotaurs split into smaller clusters and bolted to the four points of the compass. The cavalry, up till now silent and watchful, also sprang into action, and formed smaller units that galloped into the woods and followed each direction of the surging river.
“Boy,” Bayonne commented, his tone low and thoughtful. He raised his silver head and glanced around, up and down, seeking their lost heir. His black-tipped ears canted backward at the same time his nostrils flared red. “You better pray she’s all right.”
“She was,” I wheezed, choking. “Until you showed up.”
“If she’s dead,” my horse said, his tone dark. “So, my friend, are you.”
“Princess!”
“Princess Iyumi!”
A cadre of Griffins launched themselves into the air, calling Iyumi’s name as they split into a wide aerial circle. Those Centaurs and Minotaurs not guarding Blaez and my henchmen widened their search, probing into the forest, the river, endlessly calling. Was she dead? She had no hope of controlling her terrorized horse. Did she fall off and break her neck? In taking her captive, had I sentenced her to death? I’ll never live with my conscience if I killed her by putting her on that horse.
“There she is!” screamed a huge Griffin, owning a collar of gold and an emblem of a stars glowing over a half-moon dressed in silver around his pristine, white-feathered mane. He crouched, his massive wings wide, lion haunches coiling beneath him. He launched himself skyward, his white and brown wings taking him higher and higher with every downward stroke.
I’d no idea Griffins appeared as barbaric and beautiful as pagan gods of lore. I watched, entranced, by the sheer grace and raw elegance of these beasts as they flew or prowled like hunting cats around the caves and the river. On the ground, they furled those incredible wings across their shoulders, mantling them in tan and white feathers. Long feline tails lashed with unrepressed emotions. Large, tufted ears flattened or rose according to their anger, curiosity, or personality.
The impressive beast I admired suddenly dove like a frightened trout and flew no more than three feet off the ground, the tall grass kissing his feather-fur belly. Wings wide, his front talons taut under his wide shoulders, his lion rear trailed far behind him. Graceful, awesomely beautiful, he rose, his colossal wings wide to capture the wind. He blew past Bayonne’s silver head, offering me a swift, grim glance from those yellow raptor eyes.
“Your Highness!” he called, back-winging to slow his forward speed. The black Centaur galloped past, sending stinging sand into my eyes, as two more Griffins, a second grey Centaur and a huge Minotaur with immense curving horns and a rayed star on his breast ran past. I turned my head to see, but between the grit, my hair and the many hoofed legs, I saw nothing.
“You can get up now, Your Highness,” Bayonne said, taking his hoof from my chest. “Try anything stupid and I’ll knock your head off.”
“I won’t,” I said, staggering to my feet. I cast a quick glance up, under my brows. “I promise.”
My ribs still ached and my head swam, but I could stand. Courteously, Bayonne offered his shoulder for support, and feeling oddly grateful, I accepted it. “Who are you?” I asked, but my horse didn’t answer immediately. I followed his high head and bright piercing glance.
In an amazing feat of horsemanship, Princess Iyumi trotted the blue roan out from under the trees and into the milling midst of shouting Centaurs, flying Griffins and bellowing Minotaurs. Still gagged, her hands belted behind her back, she urged the reluctant horse forward. While the roan tried to shy from the massive, unfamiliar and dangerous beasts, her knees guided him expertly and firmly.
“She may be a royal bitch,” Bayonne said, his tone admiring. “But she sure can ride a horse.”
“I reckon so,” I said, awed.
No doubt the roan bolted with her still aboard, yet she not only kept her seat, but turned the horse around to return to the frightening place amid her rescuers. Never in a million, ten million years, could I have accomplished the same. The black Centaur took her down from the sweating roan, and, with gentle fingers, removed the gag. She raised her lovely face to speak to him, yet I heard not what she said.
His already gloomy face darkened further as he examined the swelling and cut left by my fist. My guilt returned. I hit a helpless woman. Why in the hell did I hit her? So she spat, so what? Our countries are enemies after all, and I was there to kidnap her, for gods’ sake. I lost my temper – the long and short of it. I deserved whatever punishment they gave me.
As I watched the huge Minotaur wearing the purple cloak untie her hands, the huge Griffin with the black mane landed to all four feet beside Bayonne. His heavy collar amid his neck feathers gleamed under the sullen, shadowy sunlight. I jolted and swung around, fearing an attack.
I reckoned seeing my entrails hanging from his talon wasn’t his first priority. He merely eyed me up and down, his expression cold. I never thought an eagle’s face could offer such a wide variety of facial emotions. In less than two minutes, I’d seen more Griffins smile, scowl, grimace, laugh, frown, light with enthusiasm or hope than a barroom of tavern crawlers.
Raised on tales of the monsters who lived south of our beloved Raithin Mawr, I couldn’t help but feel death’s cold finger on my neck. Evil magic that slew in the night; the mix-breed horrors who flew across the dark skies – winged lions who murdered in cold blood all who crossed their paths. Minotaurs fed their greedy, thirsty calves on the corpses of small human children. According to our righteous and fanatical priests, the worst of them all were the Centaurs: the accursed blend of man and horse. The devil’s spawn I was taught – neither horse nor man. All Raithin Mawrn knew they sucked their victims dry and nursed demons on their breast milk.
What I witnessed for myself, first-hand, dropped my jaw.
Unprepared for the raw, elegant beauty of the beasts, I caught my breath as they flew, wingtip to wingtip, over the tops of the low forest branches. None on the ground seemed interested in eating my men; in fact, two Griffins spoke firmly yet kindly to Boden and Torass, politely asking for their surrender and arms. My lads obeyed them, smiling hesitantly up into the savage beaks that pointed downward. A Minotaur with the same muscles as an aged bull lifted Torass’s face with his finger under his jaw and smeared a cut on his cheek with a salve.
I returned my focus on the huge tawny and black Griffin in front of me. He furled his wings and raised his talons to push at my shoulder. I gave ground, realizing those razor-tipped talons might gut me in a blink. A contemptuous snort erupted from his nostrils and his black-tipped tail lashed.
“You got him under control, Van?” the Griffin asked, eying me up and down.
“No worries, Windy,” my horse said, turning his great head to eye sidelong the savage Griffin who stood more than thrice his size and outweighed him by tons.
Instantly, Bayonne vanished. I gaped, my mouth working soundlessly, as a young man with coal-black hair and striking green eyes stood in his place. He stood as tall as I, and bore the slender, athletic body of a dancer. Two slender scars crossed each high cheekbone – from a ceremony, I suspected, rather than a fight. I guessed him about my own age, our only similarity. His expression was open and his mouth smiled, an endearing boyish grin that I’d never replicate in a hundred years. I seldom smiled and he owned a face that couldn’t help but. People despised me at first look. This young man was both charismatic and confident, and I liked him on sight. No doubt all who met him did.
He wore a simple tunic of grey with black leather trousers, a wide belt that held his sword and dagger around his hips. A cloak of deep blue, clasped at his throat with the pewter emblem of a lightning strike surrounded by glittering stars, lay back from his shoulders. He raised his hand and rested it on the Griffin’s shoulder. “Wind Warrior,” he said, his voice as deep as the river behind him. “Meet His Royal Highness, Prince Flynn of Raithin Mawr. Say hello, Windy.”
Wind Warrior snorted, his tone contemptuous. “He’s a snake, Van. You should tie him up before he escapes.”
Van chuckled. “Oh, I think he’s a model prisoner. Don’t you?”
“You should at least disarm him.”
Van merely laughed. “Your Highness,” he said. “Forgive my friend. He’s a boor, and very suspicious. And my apologies for not introducing myself properly.”
He rested his fingers on his chest and bowed slightly, his even white teeth gleaming amid the scruffy half-beard on his cheeks and jaws. “I’m First Captain Vanyar of His Majesty’s Royal Atani Forces. This is Lieutenant Wind Warrior. He doesn’t look it when he’s being so stiff and unfriendly, but he’s a good fellow, truly, and a fine comrade to drink with.”
“Don’t lie to the boy,” Wind Warrior hissed, glaring. “We haven’t drank together.”
“We haven’t? Gotta fix that, Windy.”
“Uh,” I began, sizing Wind Warrior up and trying to imagine him drinking in a tavern. “Drink with?”
“Sure,” Van replied easily, his white grin flashing. “He does like his white wine.”
“Shut up, Van,” Wind Warrior grumbled. “And how the hell do you know I like wine? Here now, if you don’t disarm him and tie his hands, the Captain will have you scrubbing floors. Again.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” First Captain Vanyar replied cheerfully, holding out his hand. “Makes my knees ache something chronic. Sorry, Your Highness. Your sword, please.”
Under the tense scrutiny of Wind Warrior, his talon raised to strike, Captain Vanyar’s pleasant but firm resolve, and the three huge Minotaurs with heavy blades drawn and ready crowding my back, I half-shrugged. Only surrender might keep me alive.
“I’m for Braigh’Mhar, I expect,” I said, trying for lightness as I unbuckled my swordbelt. “Or the executioner’s block. Either way, I’m dead.”
“Above my pay grade,” Vanyar said, accepting my sheathed sword. “Turn around, Your Highness. If you don’t mind.”
I obeyed, facing the bristling Minotaurs who stood high over my head, staring down at me with hard bovine eyes. They fingered their weapons as though wishing to try them against my neck. I put my hands behind my back as Vanyar bound them together with fire-hardened leather thongs. I noticed he didn’t bind them too tightly, whereby my hands might die via a strong circulation lack, nor did he tie them so loose I might escape them. Comfortable enough as a prisoner, I met the calm gazes of these creatures I’d been taught to fear since childhood.
Nursery tales spoke of the blood-thirsty Minotaurs who slaughtered children in their beds and ate them raw. As I gazed up into their savage, shaggy bull faces, human hands clasping bared steel, I found a small shred of courage. “What do you gentlemen prefer for supper?”
The huge creature on my right blinked in surprise. “A good, steamed cabbage with carrots and onions,” he replied, his deep voice mellow with an odd quirky lilt. “Lettuce and alfalfa work just well, though I do love cabbage.”
“Cabbage!” the huge bull to his left grumbled, nudging his mate with a sour expression. “Give me lentils, peas, turnips and lots and lots of green beans. Though I must agree on the alfalfa part. Mwwaa!” The Minotaur kissed his fingers. “Gotta love sweet alfalfa.”
“Don’t forget the turnip tops. Mixed with timothy, clover, and sweet, sweet bean sprouts,” the third massive bull-soldier commented. “And mushrooms. And buttermilk. Mustn’t forget hot, fresh bread covered in honey.”
As the other two condemned their mate for his love of mushrooms, Vanyar’s breath tickled my ear. “Minotaurs are vegetarians,” he murmured. “Forget the buttermilk part, though. Not a one of them would refuse a tall mug of warm ale. All that wheat and barley, you know.”
“You knew what I was thinking?”
“I guessed. Raised on nursery tales, were we?”
“Er, yes, rather.”
Vanyar turned me around to face him, his once smiling face now earnest and sincere. “Listen, Flynn,” he said, his voice pitched low. Although I knew Wind Warrior and the Minotaurs heard our conversation clearly, ‘twas as though only he and existed. Alone, the two of us. The chaotic, dust-raising Atani capture of us and the rescue of their princess might never have happened. We might be friends sharing a laugh and stories over ale in a rustic tavern.
“My time as your horse,” Van began, his hand on my shoulder, those piercing green eyes intent, “told me much about you. You’re not a bad fellow, really. Let go your hate. Find your own soul, not your father’s. Be your own person.”
I choked, never imagining I’d hear such from another human being. Floundering in unchartered waters, I grasped at the only question that made sense. “How long?”
Van grinned. “Since your mid-morning break. You saddled and bridled me, not him.”
“Where’s Bayonne?”
“On his way home. He’s safe, no worries.”
I nodded, more afraid than when the Van bucked me off and the Griffins screamed in. I feared more for the safety of my soul than my own life.
“Listen, Flynn,” Vanyar said, glancing toward the group of Blaez, Buck-Eye, Rade and the others stood amid their Griffins and Minotaur captors, hands tied behind their backs and their weapons seized. “They planned to kill you.”
He smiled as he caught my eye. “Men speak freely in front of their horses,” he said. “Blaez and Sim. They plotted your death on this enterprise.”
My breath caught in my throat. My blood chilled in my veins. “What?”
“Your own men wouldn’t avenge you, had they seen you with your throat open. They’d cut and run, the bloody cowards.”
“My father –”
“Sanctioned it. I’m sorry.”
My fear dropped and my guilt fell away. My father connived with Blaez to kill me. That nasty, scheming bastard paid Blaez to assassinate me. Murder his own son and heir. Cold leeched into my bones. Why?
As though reading my thoughts, Van murmured. “You’re a threat to him. Why, I don’t know and neither did they. They spoke of hints and vague rumors, no absolute truths.”
I met Van’s sincere emerald gaze with my own. “Thank you.”
“Had you not killed Sim when you had,” Vanyar said softly. “You’d be dead now.”
“It doesn’t absolve me,” I murmured, shrugging my shoulders, trying to make sense of it. “I murdered him.”
Vanyar ducked his head. “So you did. You’ll have to live with that.”
“Smarten up,” Wind Warrior hissed. “The Lord Captain comes. And is he looks righteously pissed off.”
Van straightened and retrieved his hand. His shoulders squared in tight military discipline, yet he shot a swift glance and a quick word my way. “Courage.”
The massive black Centaur with the star on his brow-band stalked toward me, Princess Iyumi straddling his massive equine back. Her silver-gilt hair streamed down her body to the Captain’s sleek, equine shoulder, her porcelain cheeks bloodless and pale. Her incredible blue eyes hardened when they latched upon me, and a dirk appeared in her right hand without her drawing one.
Flanking the black commander were no less than five Minotaurs, the one with the rayed star on his mantle marching at his right hand. Another Centaur stalked at his left, long black hair streaming over his bare shoulders. Three Griffins circled low overhead as two Griffin pairs, wings furled over their lion backs, flanked the group and towered heads tall over their brothers.
I’m in serious trouble now, I thought.
The black Centaur, obviously the Lord Captain of which Wind Warrior spoke, halted before me, his stern visage a mask of restrained rage. The slender princess on his back rested her free hand on his massive left bicep. The colorful bruise I gave her, plus the nasty cut, showed clear on her pale cheekbone. Dried blood oozed dark down to her chin, as she never wiped it off.
“You craven coward,” the black said, yanking his dagger from his belt. “You gutless wonder. You hit her.”
“Malik, don’t,” Vanyar began, stepping between us.
The huge Centaur jerked his head, once. Instantly, two Minotaurs pounced on Vanyar and dragged him back, out of the way. He yelled and cursed, but the bulls paid his much heed as they might a yowling cat. Wind Warrior stood behind me, stiff and unrelenting, and prevented me from backing away from that bared steel and those hate-filled dark eyes.
Have mercy, I thought. Kill me quickly.