A Princess of Sorts

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  “It will be interesting to hear what your husband has to say. I am looking forward to his insights.”

  ***

  What Orwen Miller had to say to the War Council that evening was that Gryor’s citizens were starting to grumble with unrest in regards to their corrupt leaders.

  “I am not hearing much blame for the young king, who has no power,” Orwen told them. “However, he has no respect either. He is known as the Puppet for good reason.”

  “Yes, we have heard as much,” said Mako, with the others nodding agreement.

  “The priests of the court and other advisors took control upon the death of the previous king. The High Priest is known as the Protector and acts as the leader. His name is Woliff and it is whispered that his avocation is the study of magic. He and the others rule for their own ends. It is an ugly rule and getting worse.” He shook his head. “They have begun stripping the land to the extent that the people are beginning to talk revolt. I have been hearing it for weeks now, perhaps even months. But Gryor like Rellant has been a peaceful, prosperous land, and the citizens have waited too long to see what was happening. I do not hear rumors of anything but bewilderment and complaint.”

  “Is there no man or group stepping up to lead a revolt?” asked Mako.

  “Not that I have heard. Recent resistance was met with brutality. There is enough of an army under the corrupt leaders that the country is falling into disarray. I would not call it open war on the citizens yet, but I believe Gryor’s people are starting to wake up to a new unpleasant reality.”

  “Do you think it is too late for them?” asked Scylla.

  Orwen shrugged. “Who can say? Every day, I suppose, is one step closer.”

  “We have been warned that danger is spreading to Rellant from Gryor... that Darwyn’s treachery may have been supported by Gryor’s corrupt court,” said Mako. “With our king and princes dead, Darwyn could well have been another Puppet King. And even without Darwyn, the priests showed their intentions at Queen Scylla’s coronation. There was still Prince Leon, who would likely have become their ‘puppet’.”

  “So far, at least with the exception of King Tobin’s murder, the luck seems to have gone your way.”

  “So far it’s holding,” agreed Mako. “Even the two priests at the heart of the treachery are now dead, we believe. But, as I have said, we are aware of a continued threat from Gryor. Not only because of recent events, but also because a party of messengers is on its way with a proposal of marriage from the Puppet King to our queen. Or so we have been informed.”

  Orwen grimaced. “I had heard a rumor of such... A – it would be an unhappy fate for our queen. B – this is not looking good for Rellant. I wonder what plans Gryor has for our small kingdom!”

  “Thus Queen Scylla has declared a state of emergency and assembled the War Council you see before you.”

  “And our plan,” Scylla interjected, “...is to infiltrate Gryor and conquer it... or at least its corrupt court.”

  Orwen’s eyebrows rose in exaggerated amazement.

  “It is not my idea. It is Mako’s, and quite likely Captain Coltic’s and Renold’s as well. However, I like it! Rather than sit tight here in our small and peaceful kingdom, waiting to be invaded, Rellant will strike out in a surprise attack. How – we are not sure! Are there any other options?”

  There was silence around the table.

  Orwen’s eyes fell to the herbed roast of lamb, which had not been totally eaten, as there was also a roast of pork, two roast chickens, half a rabbit cooked in a wine sauce, and a pickled ham. “May I have some more of that excellent lamb?” he asked. Mako slid it along the table to him.

  “Well,” said Orwen as he sliced into what was left of the roast. “I hope you will include me in your plans!” His mouth stretched into a wide grin and he looked around at the members of the War Council. “I had many adventures in my youth, you know, and I have far too much to lose to sit idly and watch Gryor’s ambition destroy my country – and my business! ... What was that?”

  The others turned their heads towards the sound that had come from Scylla’s curtained alcove.

  “It is nothing,” said Mako.

  “It is our trellet,” Scylla explained at the same time. Keet screeched again.

  “I will check on him,” Minda offered. Some moments later she returned, carrying the basket where Keet was nestled.

  “I am dying!” Keet shrieked. “Ewww, what happened to my arm?”

  “We had to amputate it,” Minda told him firmly. “We could not leave it.”

  Keet flopped around in the basket, flailing his remaining limbs. “Where is it? Where is my arm?”

  “Keet, I am sorry, but we put it in the fire. It was of no use to you, and may have led to infection and death,” Scylla said, adding, “If you look at your arm, you will see it is healing up and you will soon be yourself again.”

  He wailed again and huddled back into a motionless bundle.

  “Good Goddess!” Orwen marveled, whose fork had stopped halfway to his mouth. “Is that...? I do believe that is a stick man – a... a... is that not called a tree-let?”

  “It’s our trellet,” Scylla told him. “His name is Keet. If not for him, I would have died at least three times.”

  “Four!” screeched Keet, without reopening his eyes. “I saved your sorry self four times! How is it you giants can eat so much and so often? No wonder you are all so fattened and sluggish!”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Scylla, with a hint of humor. “Keet, may we take you back to the forest?”

  “The forest! The forest!” he wailed. “I will never see my land again. I cannot ride on the back of the great white swan with only one arm... what if I fell into the roiling sea!”

  “Could we send you home on one of the boats?” asked Mako. “We will be shipping to Gryor again within the next day or so.”

  Keet gave such a cry of horror that he nearly choked. “Water! Water! Noooooooo!”

  “Remember, he is terrified of water,” Scylla reminded Mako.

  “Well, I hope we are not stuck with the creature,” said Mako uneasily. “Do you not find him rather difficult?”

  “A little,” Scylla admitted. She looked at the creature shivering in his nest. “Keet. Have you any words of wisdom for us? We are aware of the threat from Gryor... and to Gryor! Can you help us?”

  “You giants know it as Gryor,” Keet spat. “We trellets call it by another more suitable and melodic name. I wish you success in your pursuits, but I cannot help you... I am dying! I shall never see my beautiful forests again...” His voice died away and his intensity slackened, the sticklike limbs drawing up tightly to his body.

  “Is it truly dying?” asked Orwen with interest. “I have never seen one of those, but I’ve heard they can be very nasty, very nasty indeed!”

  “Axit from our farm, who is now looking after Prince Leon, has recommended we put him back in the forest,” Minda told him. “Do you remember where you first saw him, Princess?”

  “It was the last night,” Scylla said slowly. “He directed me towards the forest village, where Bart’s smithy is. I’m not exactly sure how far it was to the village, but he showed me the way. He said he had been sent to intercede... now, how did he put it?”

  “I was sent to intercede in the hunt for the royal princess.” The trellet opened his eyes, sat up and pointed his skinny hand at her in shaking intensity. “As I told the foolish creature when I found her, there are those who felt this realm has taken a dangerous turn... for more than just these lands! A terrible blow would have been struck if the princess had been lost. I saved her, did I not? ... but no one told me I would die in this forsaken backwater...”

  “He also warned me of the arrow before we were attacked along the road,” said Scylla. “And then again it was he who warned us of the danger from the priests, the vial which Sorrell struck down.”

  “And he said that the danger in his own land – which is Gryor, as we unders
tand – is a danger to us if it isn’t stopped. He babbled about ancient powers. I do not know how much to believe,” Mako added in a lowered aside to Orwen.

  “The ancients... their power has been awakened by ambitious fools,” Keet moaned. “They must be stopped! I have done my part... I shall never see my beautiful forests again...”

  “I will take you back to the forest,” Scylla promised him. “It is the least I can do.”

  He curled up again, moaning sadly to himself.

  “Very interesting,” said Orwen. Another forkful of lamb disappeared into his mouth.

  “Are we truly fighting some sort of magic as well as men? Have you come upon magic of any kind – I mean whatever this creature is talking about?” Mako asked.

  Orwen’s big shoulders lifted in a shrug. “The countryside is rife with whispers that the castle wall was cracked with priests’ magic...”

  “I have an eye witness who swears it,” Mako told him gloomily. “It is difficult to believe, and yet...”

  “I have also heard that Gryor’s court – the High Priest Woliff and the others – carry out strange rituals more and more openly. There is no one to stop them and the Puppet King behaves like a madman at times.”

  “So did I... at times!” said Scylla dryly.

  “I hope it is not too late,” said Mako. “If this was confined to Gryor it would be bad enough, but all our exports go to or through Gryor. As do our imports. And we have already lost our king and the royal family to treachery – supported or even instigated by Gryor.”

  He and Orwen exchanged gazes. A gleam of excitement passed between them and sparked a sort of electricity in the room, which also glowed on the faces of Coltic and Renold.

  “Curses!” said Scylla, staring from one to the other. “Minda, your husband is as bad as Mako and so are Coltic and Renold. Look at them all – the thought of war makes them as excited as children promised a treat!”

  “I also hear a growing legend in our own land,” said Orwen. “Pardon me, Queen Scylla, but you have gained a reputation of power that your father did not have. Recent events have shaken Rellant’s people badly, and they look to you with admiration and expectation.”

  “I am to save them? Good Goddess! We are in terrible trouble!”

  “ ‘The Queen of Rellant thrives!’ ” Orwen quoted with his cheeky grin. “I hear it throughout the land.”

  “Good luck to all of us!” Scylla snapped. “Well, this is why the War Council is assembled. Where do you plan to start, gentlemen?”

  “We are gathering information over the next few days...” Mako reminded her.

  “And I already have information and contacts, which I will add to yours,” said Orwen. “There are those in Gryor who I believe are ready to resist.”

  “We will attempt to have the whole country ready to ignite at a word.”

  “Like a forest fire?” Minda enquired acidly.

  “Exactly! If the countryside as a whole can prepare to be ready, and at a signal take up arms, the corrupt leaders will be taken by surprise. The army that is currently in existence cannot subdue thousands of angry citizens prepared to fight.”

  “Who will lead this revolt?” The trellet’s thin voice rose from the basket. “There are many who wish to see Gryor’s corruption rooted out, but who is to step up and lead?”

  “We cannot say as yet,” Orwen answered, exchanging glances with Mako. “There is no time to waste. I am shipping out to Gryor tomorrow with a fleet carrying raw wool. I will take some good men and send them out to contact certain people in Gryor, while I carry out my own inquiries.”

  “Rellant’s army cannot suddenly appear in Gryor in large numbers, as there is no real way to transport soldiers and horses. The mountains are impassable, and the journey by boat is too slow,” Minda reminded them.

  “Men could be transported, with their weapons, under the guise of wool shipments. If Gryor’s countryside could supply our soldiers with horses, at least a certain number could beef up the resistance,” Renold spoke up. “As I have said, the district lords are readying troops of soldiers, with weapons and fighting practice, for our home army.”

  “What about the proposal of marriage from the Puppet King?” asked Sorrell. “It may be used as a decoy.”

  Scylla gave her a scathing glare. “I as decoy?”

  Sorrell shrugged and then winced with pain from her ribs. “Rellant is already in danger, as are you. There may be an opportunity to invite the king and his advisors here, which would split Gryor’s court, and weaken it.”

  “We will be thinking on our feet,” said Mako. “We have surprise on our side, but we also have desperation driving us. The proposal of marriage gives both Rellant and Gryor some time, I believe. We will use negotiation to buy more time as necessary.”

  “As yet there has been no proposal of marriage,” Scylla pointed out.

  “We have been told that the party bearing this proposal is on its way,” Mako said. “Via boat, of course. It is said to be a party of several and is expected to arrive within days. The king is not with them, as he has gone north to buy horses.”

  Everyone stared at him. “This is what I have been told – by our spies,” he explained. “The far north plains horses are exceptional, as we have heard before. Every year some are brought south, mostly for the king and his troops. King Tobin had plans to import a few of the plains horses, but had not as yet acquired any.”

  “I am surprised,” Scylla said. “Why not?”

  “They would be difficult to import by boat. They’re hot-blooded and a challenge to train.”

  “Well, we cannot sit back and ignore the threat we see ahead.” Orwen returned to the original subject. “I for one am heartened to see that this Council is so ambitious. I believe Rellant has a chance to make the first strike a telling blow!”

  There was a sudden flash of movement and, almost faster than their eyes could follow, Keet leaped from the basket and dashed across the floor. There was a faint squeak. The trellet came back a little more slowly. His mouth was mumbling and munching and he held something in his remaining hand. He skittered back to his basket.

  “Good Goddess!” Mako said, astounded. “What was that?”

  “Keet must be feeling better – he has caught a mouse,” said Minda. Sure enough, a headless furry body was clasped in the sticklike hand, and the tiny tail hung twitching below. A few drops of blood ran down the thin arm.

  “And on that note, I believe my appetite has vanished,” said Orwen expansively. He put down his fork. “An excellent dinner! I look forward to returning to consult with this fine Council when I get back from Gryor!”

  ***

  For the past day and a half, the young king of Gryor and his Guard had indeed been traveling north to visit an old horse dealer. Around midday, they neared their destination on the northern plains. The sun was high and hot. The wide, grassy land spread out in all directions in rolling vistas broken by low rocky ridges – toward forests and mountains in the north and west, and distant hills in the northeast.

  The old horseman’s wagon, a cabin on wheels that had been painted oxblood red at some point in the distant past, stood in a hollow that kept it from the worst of the winds. One of the wooden wheels was broken and the axle was propped up on rocks.

  On the ridge near it, a shelter had been built of gray stones, with a sloping roof of poles covered with sod. It held an open two- or three-horse stable with a smaller enclosed hut attached. At the far end of the ridge was a spring, its trickle of clear water feeding a nearby waterhole. Countless hoof marks in the surrounding mud indicated the wild horses came often to drink at the waterhole.

  An undersized youth sat on the doorstep of the hut, in the shade of the roof pole ends. In the shelter, two horses were tied and standing patiently. Nothing was moving around the camp but the swaying grasses. The constant breeze lifted strands of the boy’s unkempt brown hair. He wore a ragged rough tunic and leggings from which his thin tanned limbs stuck out, making it
obvious he had grown and the clothing hadn’t.

  The boy had been watching a small drift of dust for a while. A group of horsemen was traveling fast in the middle distance, flinging up the dusty cloud as they approached. They would arrive at the wagon before too much longer. His master, the old horseman, had told him they were due any day now, and he had been expecting them.

  He cast a wary glance toward the open wagon door but stayed where he was, waiting.

  ***

  “I hope the old man has some good ones to show me this time,” one of the riders was shouting discontentedly as the group cantered towards their distant marker – the stone shelter on the ridge at the water hole.

  “He did have last time,” came the calm response from the soldier riding at his right.

  “Yes, but I want more!” The rider shook his long hair out behind him as if it irritated him. It was dark-blonde and coarse, but clean. He turned his head, casting his suspicious, darting brown eyes to the mountains in the far distance. “What would it be like to ride all the way into those mountains... I have never done it!”

  “You can if you wish, King Joff. It will take a few days of riding.”

  “Set it up – set it up!” the young king responded. The corners of his mouth were pulled back and down in a permanent expression of agitation, and there was a deep line between his brows.

  “Yes, your majesty. When do you want to go?”

  King Joff flapped his elbow and hand in an irritated gesture. “Whenever you can! Set it up! I am turning eighteen soon – I want to go then!”

  The horses continued their fast pace across the rolling plains. All the riders – the young king, the captain riding to his right and the other seven soldiers of the King’s Guard – and all the horses were used to the hard riding the king demanded. No one discouraged it, as the king’s behavior was unpredictable and he was at his calmest while riding fast.

  “Before or after your birthday?”

  “Oh, I do not care! I am turning eighteen soon and he is planning something, I know he is. What is he planning? Do you know, Ryall?”

  “No – they tell me only what I need to know.”