Royal Captive

by Shannon West

  “I’m Tygerian. Have you never heard of them?”

  The boy shook his head, his eyes wide, and Larz lifted one eyebrow. “No? Well, it doesn’t matter. I need some information from you. Were there any captives during the battle today?”

  The boy nodded his head this time, one sharp downward thrust of his chin.

  “Good. Was one of them a king? King Janos of Herkon?”

  “What does he look like? Is he a man with long, braided hair?”

  “Yes, have you seen him?”

  The boy nodded again. “General Sung questioned him for a while and then put him back in his tent. Are you a Herkon soldier? Why are all of you so naked? And why do you paint your faces?”

  Larz shook him a little. “Concentrate. Was the king hurt?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The old man with him was, though, I think.”

  “What old man? One of the generals?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. He was bleeding a lot.”

  Larz sighed heavily. “Can you show me the tent?”

  The boy got a sly look on his face. “If you show me the gold coin again.”

  Larz huffed out a breath, though a bit impressed by the boy’s boldness. He quickly fished the coin out of his argyss and held it up in front of him for a second time. The boy grabbed for it, but Larz pulled it away again just as fast and the boy flushed. “I only wanted to see if it was real.”

  “It’s real enough. Now show me. And if you give me away to the guards, I’ll gut you with my knife before they can save you.”

  “I won’t give you away,” he said, looking indignant. “I hate the Athelonians. My people are the Brytals—a small tribe to the north. My brothers sold me as a slave to the Athelonians after our father died.”

  Larz had to admit to being shocked. He and his brothers didn’t always get along, but they’d never sell him. He and his little brother Nicarr had always fought a lot, as a matter of fact. But Nicarr had always been, as his omak said, his partner in crime, and he would never make Nicarr a slave if something happened to their parents. Well, probably not, anyway.

  “Your brothers sold you?”

  He shrugged. “It happens. Come on, and I’ll take you to the tent they put your king in.”

  “Show me first where it is.”

  The boy pointed at a tent near the middle of the encampment. “There. Two down from the one with the lanterns.”

  “And just how do you propose I get to that one? Just stroll into camp?”

  “Well, I suppose you could. The guards might stop you though.”

  “Oh, you think?”

  “I think you’re being sarcastic. I did my part. Now give me the coin.”

  “Not so fast. I have to make sure you’re telling me the truth. How stupid do you think I am?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but after Larz gave him a fierce and threatening look, the boy smiled and shrugged.

  “They tied your king and the old man up, but I don’t think the old one will be alive by morning. He was bleeding bad.”

  “Damn it. They gave him no medical care?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “He’s the enemy.”

  Larz growled and clenched his fists. “I need to get to my king, even if…” He started down the hill, but stopped when the boy took hold of his arm. “What is it? I don’t have time for this, boy.”

  “Wait. I have an idea. I know how you might be able to get your king out of here, and I’ll tell you my idea—if you take me with you when you leave here.”

  Larz gave him an incredulous look. “Take you?”

  “Yes. I’m a slave here. If I help you save your king, maybe he’ll reward me and make me a free man again.”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Taran.”

  “Well, Taran, I think you’d have to be a man first if you want to be a free one.”

  “Oh, very funny. I’m almost thirteen.” At the look Larz gave him, he shrugged and grinned. “All right, almost ten. But I can take care of myself. I won’t be any trouble. Well? Do you want to hear my idea or not?”

  Larz made an exasperated “go ahead” motion with a wave of his hand and the boy grinned. “See, my idea is to create a distraction, a diversion to cover our escape. And then no one will stop us or try to come after us because they’ll be too busy with it.”

  “What kind of a distraction?”

  The boy drew closer with a conspiratorial air, lowering his voice. “How much do you know about black powder?”

  “Whatever that is. Why would I know about it? What is it?”

  He rolled his eyes at Larz. “How do you not know about black powder? Where did you say you come from? It must be a backward planet.”

  “Tygeria, and it’s one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe. We don’t use anything so antiquated as cannons and shells or this-this black powder. I was using a disrupter when I was only ten years old!”

  “Whatever that is.”

  They glared at each other for a moment and then Larz gave in with a roll of his eyes. “Tell me.”

  “My father used to work at a rock quarry before he died, and I would go with him to help some days toward the end when he wasn’t feeling so good. I got to the point where I was pretty much an expert with the black powder. Anyway, he used it to blast the rocks out of the ground. My father said they mix a lot of chemicals together to make it. I don’t know the names of all of them, but some smelled bad and some looked like the burned wood left over from a fire. Only, it’s not wood—just black and brittle like that. Anyway, your people would probably have their own name for it. But when you add fire to the mixture, the heat and the gas build up and…” He made an explosive noise with his lips and tongue and popped his fingers wide to indicate something like an explosion.

  “It blows up?”

  “Yes. And they put the black powder in those cannons to blast the shells out of the barrel.”

  “All right. So what?”

  Taran sighed with exasperation. “I thought you were smart. Look, they use it in the cannons. So there’s a whole tent full of the stuff right down there.”

  Larz raised his eyebrows. “You mean to blow up the tent?”

  “Not exactly. Or not all of it, no. But say we dragged a few barrels of it over and put them under the cannons, and then set them on fire. They’d blow up, maybe take the cannons with them and create our distraction. Then, when everybody runs over to find out what happened, we take the king and the old man and slip away.”

  “And what will the guards be doing while we’re dragging barrels around and lighting them on fire?”

  “Well, the idea is to not be seen doing it. The tent with the black powder is there at the back of the camp. We should wait until things quiet down and most of the men are asleep. Do you have anything to make fire with?”

  When Larz looked at him blankly, Taran rolled his eyes. “Don’t you carry flint and steel? Pieces of charred cloth?”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s what I thought. Starting fires is my job in the mornings, so I keep everything I need on hand. Why don’t you let me take care of the fire and you go get your king?” He sighed with exasperation at the look of suspicion on Larz’s face. “I want to escape Athelon. You can trust me.”

  “I’m not so sure. I think we’ll stay together. First, we go get Janos. Then we cause the diversion to help cover our escape.”

  “Whatever you say. After we find your king, and you kill the guards, we’ll go together to the tent where they keep the black powder.”

  “Wait a minute…back up. Who said anything about killing the guards?”

  “They’re not just going to let you take the king! You’ll have to cut their throats.”

  “You’re a bloodthirsty little thing. Let’s just see how it goes.”

  “You’re right. They’ll be tired after the battle today and most will be drunk.”

  “So we’ll find the king
and the general too if he’s still alive and then what?”

  “Then you can use your knife to cut the back of the tent open, we pull out the barrels, I’ll get them started burning and then we’ll run for cover. Easy.”

  Larz was pretty sure that none of it would be easy, but he stood quietly for a moment, thinking it through. Finally, he nodded. “I like it, I guess. But where do you plan on running to? Should we come try to make it to the Herkon lines? Make a run for it?”

  “How far do you think we could get with a sick old man and a pampered king before they caught up to us? No, we should stay here and hide.”

  “Here?” Larz glared down at him. “They’d find us here right away.”

  Taron rolled his eyes. “Not here. Over there. Inside the cave.”

  Larz glanced over to where he was pointing. “What cave?”

  The boy grinned in excitement. “I found it earlier today when I was supposed to be helping to stack up the bodies to burn up on the hill. I was actually planning my escape already. I was going to hide in it when they left in the morning. And the best thing is, it’s right here!” He crawled over to the place on the rocky face of the hill where the water from the stream fell over a small boulder and some shrubs and foliage before cascading down into the pool. To Larz’s surprise, he reached right through the foliage and stuck his entire arm directly into the mountain. Or so it looked. He grinned at the look on Larz’s face and gently pulled back some of the bushes to reveal a hole in the side of the mountain. It was completely hidden behind the shrubbery.

  “Gods!” Larz said, and crossed over to kneel beside him. “How big is it?”

  “Big enough. It might be a tight squeeze for you, seeing as how you’re so big, but you can get in. And though the mouth isn’t too big, it opens up on the inside. There’s a big enough place inside for all of us before it narrows down farther back.”

  Larz clapped him on the back and grinned at him. “You may not be as useless as I first thought. Good. I like this plan.”

  “Then let’s get started,” Taran said. “Give me my coin, and I’ll go get my firestarter ready and meet you by the tent. Then we’ll wait until the camp quiets down around midnight. All you have to do is watch for my signal.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The minute Larz handed over the coin and watched the boy slip away into the shadows and back into camp, doubt began to assail him. What if the boy was lying? What if right now he was going to find the nearest guard and tell him about Larz? Or even if he was telling the truth, what if the “man with long braided hair” wasn’t even King Janos? Or he was mistaken about which tent they were keeping him in? Larz put his aching head into his hands and sighed. He wished he had Mikos here to help him. Or his omak. Blake would know what to do. He sighed and felt a tear slip from his eye. Angrily, he dashed it away. He was a man now, damn it, and he had to stand on his own two feet, the way his father had taught him.

  His stomach gave an unhappy rumble and he sagged a little. He was exhausted and hungry, though, and his head hurt. It felt like hours since he’d had anything to eat. He wondered what Mikos would do in this situation, and then he got determinedly to his feet. Mikos wouldn’t sit around and cry about it, that was for damn sure. He looked up in the sky and saw the three Laltanan moons. Luc had told him that he sometimes used the moons to tell time, because a third quarter moon always rose at midnight and set at sunrise. There were only two moons in the sky—one full and one just a quarter, so all he needed to do was watch for the rise of the third moon. Since it wasn’t long past sunset, Larz figured he had a few hours to wait. Plenty of time to rest. As for food…

  He made himself go back up the hill to walk among the dead. There was an eerie hush over the hill, as if the corpses were all watching him to see what he was doing. Superstitiously, he crossed his fingers like his omak had taught him to ward off evil or angry ghosts that might be jealous that he was still walking around, and trudged wearily around the piles of dead. He remembered seeing a captain lying on his stomach with his face hidden in his arm, and he was fairly sure he’d recognized him. He thought it was Captain Sureta, and if it was, the man had a medical condition that caused him to carry small amounts of food with him in his argyss. If he could find him again, and if he still had some of that food…he wouldn’t need it now and Larz thought he wouldn’t begrudge him taking it.

  It didn’t take him long to locate the rock he’d sat on earlier that evening after he woke up and the captain’s body was nearby. Larz knelt down beside the man and gently rolled him over to his back. It was indeed Captain Suretta. He had a head wound that was similar to Larz’s, but his was farther back on his head and it had caved in the back of his skull. Larz used his knife to cut the ties of his argyss and looked inside. There was a wrapped bundle inside that held two pieces of sliced bread with some kind of white, peppery cheese between the slices. There was also a small piece of a fruit Larz wasn’t familiar with. He took them both and rolled the captain gently back to lie face down again so the birds wouldn’t be at his face. He said a quick prayer over the captain’s body to speed his soul on its way and patted him on his back before he rose again to his feet and carried his food back down to the small stream to eat.

  He must have fallen asleep despite his best efforts to stay awake after he ate and drank his fill from the stream, and he woke up in a panic. He looked up at the sky and saw that the third moon was just beginning to rise and he hurried to slip down the hill close to the tent near the cannons. The camp was still with no one about and there was no sign of the boy Taran. Larz had just enough time to worry before someone gave a hard pinch to his backside. Larz jumped and fell on his ass, much to Taran’s amusement. The boy laughed so hard he fell over, in fact, holding his sides. Larz narrowed his eyes. This Taran reminded him greatly of his brother Nicarr.

  “Very funny,” he hissed at him. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting.”

  “No, you haven’t. You just got here. I’ve been right here for at least a semsec waiting on you.”

  “A what? Oh, never mind. Let’s do this if we’re going to.”

  “What’s in that bag?” Larz asked, motioned toward a cloth sack the boy was carrying on his back.

  “My clothes. Some food,” he said with a shrug.

  Larz pulled his knife from his boot in a sudden motion and was gratified to see Taran’s raised eyebrows, but he turned his back on him and slid farther down the hill. He looked around to make sure nothing was moving and then ran, hunched over, to the back of the tent, motioning for Taran to follow him. He quickly sliced down the back and there, as Taran had promised, were the boxes of the so-called black powder that Taran said were used to fire off the cannons. He dragged two boxes out and placed one under each cannon. If these things really did explode the way Taran said they would, then maybe they’d do at least a little damage to the cannons. He turned to find Taran at his elbow.

  “Maybe we should put out a little more.”

  “You think? How much more?”

  “I…uh…well, I don’t know. But if two are good, then three or four would be better, probably.”

  Larz sighed and went back over to the tent. He pulled more boxes out until they had six boxes under each cannon. When they finished, he turned to Taran. “Surely that’s enough for a diversion.”

  “I think so. Go and get your king and the old man and I’ll wait here. When you get back, we can start the fire and light them up.”

  “How long will it take them to explode?”

  “Uh…not sure, really.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure! I thought you worked in a quarry with your father!”

  “My father worked there. I just brought him his midday meal.”

  “Oh, for the gods’ sake! You said you knew all about it! So you’re not really sure of anything!”

  “I’m sure the guards will hear you if you keep making so much noise. Now go get your king and leave the black powder to me.”

  “I’m c
ounting on you to do as you said you would and create a diversion. You’re sure they haven’t moved him again? He’s still in the same place?”

  “He’s there. There are two guards outside his tent. You’ll have to take care of them without them raising an alarm.”

  “Like I said, I’ll have to see.”

  “Go on then and I’ll be here trying to get the fire started.”

  “Trying!” he hissed incredulously. “You mean you’re not sure of that either?”

  “I’m sure. It just takes some time. I’ll build some fires. Go,” he whispered hoarsely. “Leave it all to me.”

  Shaking his head, Larz began to slip through the sleeping camp, trying to keep to the shadows and avoid the campfires as much as possible. He stayed along the back as long as he could, then darted out to the one where he thought Janos was. He crawled up to the back of the tent, cut a long swath down the back and peered inside. It was dark and smoky inside the tent from the lanterns that were burning down low. A shadowy figure raised up from the floor and, in a soft whisper, asked in Herkon, “Who is it?”

  ****

  Janos had just fallen into a fitful doze when he heard the sound of a knife on the back of the tent as it was sliced open. He sat up, afraid to dare hope it could be some kind of rescue attempt. He didn’t even know what had become of his army.

  The last thing he remembered was standing on the hillside with his generals around him, watching the course of the battle and keeping a close and nervous eye on one tall figure in particular. He watched as the powerful warrior, his red-gold hair shining in the sun, fought off one attacker after another brilliantly. He seemed unstoppable and the field around him was littered with bodies. Then came the cannons and the soldiers’ wild retreat back up the hill. His uncle Losef had come to his side and urged him to flee. Their transport was parked near the bottom of the hill, but he didn’t want to leave before he knew his men—and Bastion—were safe.

  “No, Losef,” he’d said. “Go ahead and I’ll follow in a moment.” Of course, he hadn’t and stayed by him fighting alongside him until their position was overrun, and Janos saw the brave older man cut down right in front of him. His grief had overwhelmed him, and he himself had been hit on the head. The next thing he knew he woke up lying on his side in the back of a wagon, his wrists and ankles tied and his head throbbing. Beside him in the wagon was another of his generals, General Hage, who was unconscious and had a vicious-looking, open chest wound.