“Well, that’s a little better,” Relam replied. “It could be a little awkward though, seeing as Sebast Garenes did not pass the trials.”
“What?” his father demanded, surprised.
“Sebast failed the first trial,” Relam repeated. “Master Agath threw him out.”
“Why on earth would he do that?” the king demanded, clearly confused. “Sebast is from a powerful and influential family, and by all accounts he is a good fighter.”
“He’s a good fighter all right,” Relam muttered. “That’s all he does.”
“What was that?”
“Er, nothing.”
“Hmm. Did Agath say why Garenes failed?”
“Better. I was there. It was during the practice bouts part of the trials. Agath paired me up with Sebast and I beat him two times in a row. The second time, I disarmed Garenes using one of your tricks.”
“I don’t imagine he took kindly to that,” the king murmured, glancing at his wife for confirmation.
The queen nodded gravely. “The great lord families are proud, and demand much of their children,” she confirmed.
“Of course, we’re no different,” the king said, somewhat apologetically. “We put a lot of pressure on you too, son.”
“I’ve turned out all right,” Relam replied, grinning. “But when Sebast lost, he drew his actual sword and attacked me before the third bout had officially started.”
“What?” the king demanded, eyes popping with surprise and anger. “He attacked you?”
“With a real blade?” the queen added.
“Yes to both,” Relam said, nodding.
“There must be some mistake,” the king decided, turning away and scratching his head irritably. “Sebast Garenes is the son of a major lord and you are the heir to the throne. It’s just not logical for him to attack you!”
“Who said logic had anything to do with it?” Relam demanded. “Sebast Garenes is not the honorable lordling you think he is. He is a dishonest, aggressive, power-hungry-”
“Enough,” the king said flatly, cutting Relam off. “I will make no judgement until I have all of the facts. And do not talk about the great lord heir so, Relam.”
“Even though it’s the truth?”
“It is your opinion. By most accounts, he is a good fighter, well-versed in court protocol, intelligent, and more than fit to take on his father’s role.”
“That’s because nobody else knows him like I do!” Relam retorted. “I’ve sparred with him every day for years, and I can tell you that the ‘honorable lordling’ face he puts on for the rest of the world is nothing more than a thin disguise.”
“Silence!” the king shouted. Relam stumbled back, surprised and a little hurt. “Silence,” his father said again, in a hushed voice. “As king I cannot rush to judgement. I will look into this, son, I promise. I will speak with lordling Garenes and his father, as well as Tar Agath. Were there any others present?”
“No,” Relam said, shaking his head. He wished he had not brought the incident up at all. The discussion had quickly evaporated the joy of passing the trials. Now all was suspicion and hard feelings. And more than a little frustration with his obstinate father and his ‘investigation’.
“Let’s not overshadow Relam’s accomplishment with this incident,” his mother said, as though reading his thoughts. “Our young prince has passed the trials!”
“Yes,” the king agreed resolutely. “That’s what matters right now. Congratulations, son.”
“Thank you,” Relam said, glad they had moved on from Sebast. “By the way, during the trials, Master Agath showed me how to counter a few of your tricks.”
The king laughed, a real booming laugh that shook the walls. “Did he? We should see if you can use that knowledge against me some time. Or maybe Tar and I should spar. It’s been a long time,” he added thoughtfully, gazing off into the distant past. His smile faltered a little and he frowned slightly. “We used to be very close,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think I’ve even spoken to him for several months, and only then at a formal event.”
“Kings are busy,” Relam said, shrugging.
“Maybe, but still . . .” The king frowned thoughtfully.
They were interrupted by a perfunctory knock at the door.
“Enter,” the king called, shaking himself.
The door opened and Relam braced himself as he recognized Marc Clemon, resplendent in emerald robes with golden stoles over top. “I hear there’s excellent news, your highness!” he said, smiling patronizingly at Relam. “Completed the trials, well done, well done indeed!”
“Thank you, Lord Clemon,” Relam said, bowing slightly. “It was all thanks to Master Agath’s hard work and teachings.”
The king’s chatelain nodded gravely. “Maybe, but you still had to pass on your own, without his help. And it’s a big milestone on the way to being a warrior.” He turned to the king then, all but dismissing Relam. “My lord, I have here some reports that require your attention. Another border dispute between the lord of the marshes and one of the plains lords.”
“Again?” the king sighed. “What is it this time?”
“The swamps have been shrinking due to the recent droughts in the area and the plains lord, Lord Tal has claimed the newly dried swampland as part of his holdings, while Lord Fenmere is claiming that he still holds the land, even though it is not swamp.”
“The things these lords find to argue over,” the king muttered. “Very well. Back to work, I suppose. I’ll see you at dinner son, and we’ll celebrate properly as a family then. Does that work for you?”
“Of course,” Relam said, grinning impudently. “My schedule for the next twelve months is wide open!”
The king scowled. “I’d forgotten about that. You wouldn’t care to take some of my kingly duties for me, would you?”
“I don’t think so,” Relam said, glancing at Lord Clemon. “I might be tempted to drown Fenmere and Tal in the swamp they’re fighting over.”
“That would solve the problem,” the king said hopefully.
“It would set an unfortunate precedent, your majesty,” Clemon said quickly.
“Matter of perspective,” Relam’s father grunted in reply. As Clemon opened his mouth to protest, he cut him off. “I’m only joking, Marc. Mostly.”
“Oh, well, in that case, we had best get on with solving the problem,” Clemon said, straightening his stoles. “Besides the marshland dispute, there are also some officer positions in the guard and some issues of overcrowding in the barracks to consider. Plus, the problems at the harbor of not enough space to offload cargo and such, though what we’re to do about that I really don’t know. If I’ve told Harbormaster Treran once I’ve told him a thousand times that there simply-”
“Come on,” the king said sharply, taking Clemon by the elbow and propelling him out the door. “I’ll be back later,” he called over his shoulder. “Much later.”
The door slammed shut behind the two, abruptly cutting off Clemon’s never-ending stream of dithering. Relam sighed heavily and turned to his mother.
“Well, at least that’s over with. I don’t know how father puts up with him every day.”
The queen smiled ruefully. “It is his duty as king, Relam. He has to deal with it.”
Relam shrugged. “Can’t say I’m in any hurry to be following Clemon from one problem to the next all day.”
“Nor should you be,” the queen agreed. “Enjoy being young for now. There will be plenty of years down the road where you have to shoulder the burden of royalty.”
“The burden of royalty,” Relam mused. “Most people think those words shouldn’t go together.”
“And most people are wrong,” his mother said, frowning. “A king has to put his own interests last, and those of the kingdom first. A king who does otherwise-”
“Is a sorry excuse for a king,” Relam finished. “Yes, I know.” He stretched, groaning slightly. “I think I’ll take some time off,”
he decided. “Maybe read, do a little woodcarving. Or just sleep.”
“You can do anything you want,” his mother agreed. “You’re free for the next year.”
Relam grinned. “Then back to slaving away under the whip of a master.”
“If that is what you want,” she agreed.
The prince frowned. He hadn’t been aware he had a choice in the matter. “If that’s what I want? I thought I had to complete my training?”
“No,” his mother said, shaking her head. “You don’t have to do anything, Relam.” She turned away slowly, and sat down in the chair closest to the fire, shivering slightly. “You are free, son, to choose your own path.”
Relam shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, watching his mother gaze at the coals in the fireplace. Finally he retreated into his room, closing the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, one hand still on the latch, and thought about what his mother had said.
You are free to choose your own path.
The prince shrugged and sat down at his desk, pulling out his dragon carving and holding it up to the light filtering through the windows. The hind legs were finished now, muscular and slightly bent, ending in dangerous clawed feet. He tested the wooden claws with the ball of his thumb, felt the points prick his skin ever so slightly. It had taken a good deal of careful work to accomplish that, but what to do next?
Eventually, Relam decided to continue working on the shape of the magnificent beast, extracting its back and underbelly from the block of wood. This task proved simple enough, so simple in fact that he finished with time to spare before dinner. Not wanting to waste a moment, Relam immediately began on the right foreleg, gouging with the knife where the limb met the dragon’s thick body. As he did, the knife slipped and struck his left hand, running all the way down his thumb.
For a moment, Relam just stared at the wound. Then, the pain hit him and blood began welling from the gash. Gritting his teeth, Relam set the carving down and snatched up a towel, wrapping his injured hand in it. The towel quickly turned red-brown around the injury.
Swearing under his breath, Relam hurried to the washroom, taking great care not to drip blood all over the floor as he did. Quickly, he rinsed out the gash and applied pressure, staunching the flow of blood. The wound stung and burned where it contacted the towel, and Relam grimaced in pain. While he waited for the bleeding to slow, he dug in a lower cabinet for bandages. After several minutes of awkward, one-handed rummaging, he came up with a length of clean cloth that would serve well enough.
Relam tossed the towel aside and quickly wrapped the bandage around his thumb, winding it around and around until the injury was effectively cocooned. The pain was beginning to fade to a dull throb now, and only the first two layers soaked through with blood as Relam wound the bandage.
The prince tied off the cloth with the aid of his teeth and surveyed his handiwork. His thumb was completely encased in white linen, wrapped over and over all the way down to where it joined his hand, tied off with a small but sturdy knot. He flexed the fingers of his left hand experimentally, frowning as he realized how restricted his movements would be until the injury healed.
“No more carving for a while,” he muttered ruefully.
As Relam was cleaning up the debris from his frantic rush to the washroom, he heard a knock at the door. The prince whirled around.
“Who is it?”
“Aven.”
“Come in.”
Aven entered smartly and shut the door behind him. His eyes widened when he saw Relam’s bandaged hand. “What happened?”
“Cut myself,” the young prince replied gruffly. “Nothing to worry about. I got it cleaned up and bandaged pretty quickly. I’m just cleaning up everything else now.”
“Oh. Isn’t that my job?” Aven asked.
Relam shrugged. “You’re welcome to help if you wish, but I made the mess. Makes sense that I should be the one to clean it up, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Aven agreed. “But, I’m still your servant, so I’ll help.” He knelt beside the cabinet in the washroom, which Relam had emptied of its contents in his search for bandages. “How were the trials?” he asked, suddenly remembering.
Relam shrugged. “I passed.” Frankly, the trials were already a distant memory, almost a nonevent compared with the immediacy of his injured hand. Except for the fact that Garenes had attacked him. Relam remembered that detail of the trials extremely well. Over and over he replayed that scene in his head, trying to pass it off as an accident.
And failing each time.
“That’s it?” Aven asked, clearly disappointed with Relam’s brief reply.
“Pretty much,” Relam grunted. “We’re not really supposed to talk about what happens during the trials. That way word doesn’t reach the next round of cadets.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” Aven agreed as he stacked towels and containers in the cabinet. “Were the trials hard? Did anyone fail?”
That was a question with a lot of sharp edges. “They were challenging,” Relam finally said. “One cadet failed the trials and was sent home.”
“Really?” Aven turned around, eyes wide. “Who?”
“I won’t say,” Relam replied immediately. “Though I daresay the whole city will know eventually.”
“Hmm. I can’t remember ever hearing about anyone failing the trials before,” Aven mused as he finished repacking the cabinet. “It’s rare, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “Master Agath does an excellent job training his students, so it’s a surprise when one of them doesn’t pass the trials.”
“But you passed, and that’s what matters,” Aven said smugly. “I knew you would!”
“Thanks,” Relam said, mopping up the last droplets of blood that had splattered on his desk. A thought struck him and he looked at Aven quizzically. “Hang on. You’re dressed differently than normal. And is that a dagger on your belt?”
Aven tried to puff out his scrawny chest and failed miserably, but he grinned anyway. “I received a message from a captain in the guard just after lunch. Wanted me to go to the armory immediately to get fitted for a uniform and get my weapons.”
“That’s great!” Relam said, grinning, the pain in his hand momentarily forgotten. “So, it’s official? You’re going to join the city guard?”
“Yes,” the boy said proudly. “I start training next week, once they can get all of the paperwork straightened out. I’ll be issued a sword and armor then, but they did give me these today.” He tugged at the uniform tunic, trying to straighten a crease caused by the broad leather belt around his waist. Relam noticed Aven was wearing new boots as well. He even looked taller, and more confident. Maybe it was the fact that he finally had something to be proud of.
“I’m glad it worked out,” the prince said quietly. “You’ll be a great soldier, Aven, if that is the path you choose.”
Aven shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe when I start training I’ll get stronger and bigger. Maybe big and strong enough to train as a cadet.”
“You don’t have to be big to be a warrior,” Relam reminded him. “Just look at Cevet Thius.”
“Yes, but he’s been training almost since birth to make up for his size,” Aven replied. “I haven’t. I’ve been working as a servant, cleaning up messes since I could walk.” He scooped up the towel Relam had wrapped his hand in earlier. “Speaking of, anything else you need from me, Relam?”
“Maybe some fresh towels later on,” Relam replied. “Can’t think of anything else at the moment. Thanks for your help cleaning up.”
“No problem,” the youth replied. “It’s my job. Well, one of my jobs anyway.” He flashed a quick grin, then left, closing the door behind him.
Relam sighed and sank into his chair, taking a moment to catch his breath and revel in his accomplishments over the past few days. He had sparred with his father, passed the trials, and now secured his friend and loyal servant an opportunity to grow and become something much more tha
n a mere servant.
“Who knows?” Relam said to himself. “Maybe someday he’ll be in my personal guard.”
Smiling at the thought, the prince turned to face the tall windows. As he did, his eyes drifted across the bloodied knife and the carving of a dragon. Hastily, he stowed the carving in its secret hiding place and wiped the knife clean.
“Good thing Aven didn’t see that,” he muttered. The carving was not something he was ready to share with others. Yet. It seemed so childish a dream, seeing a dragon. Touching one. Maybe even flying on one or fighting one. The prince could not say which of those possibilities excited him more.
Tomorrow, he would go back to the libraries, he decided. He would reread the old tales and spend the whole day in the company of the books he had once so loved. The ones that provided a world of adventure despite his insulated life in the palace, secure from any threats, from outside contact, from the rest of the world. What was the kingdom like, beyond the walls of Etares? He knew of far off places certainly, even had some idea of their geography. Maps could tell him that. But what were the cities and villages like? The people? How tall were the mountains, how broad the plains, how wide the rivers that bordered the plains? Were the swamplands really a festering, stinking realm? Was the north really as cold as the stories said? What of the tales that spoke of whole armies being swallowed by vicious storms?
Once again, the prince felt the call of adventure. To roam, to live by his wits and blade. What it must have been like to be a hero of old. A law unto himself, a force to be feared because of ability, not because of some title bestowed at birth.
His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of the outer door opening. “-and there really is no reason why we should go personally to sort out the dispute. Trust me, your majesty, you want nothing to do with those lands.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Relam’s father replied loudly. “I don’t want to visit them, experience them. Smell them.”
“So, you want me to refuse their request?”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 9