The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “Are spread thin enough that you are likely to be outnumbered if the assassins continue to move in a concerted group,” Relam finished, twirling the borrowed sword experimentally. “Well balanced,” he observed to no one in particular.

  “Yes, it is,” the guardsman agreed. He paused then added, a trifle shamefaced, “I had not considered that the guard was spread so thin.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s a big palace,” Relam replied, shrugging.

  “ ’Scuse us, your highness,” a man gasped out from behind the prince.

  Relam and the guard dodged to the side smartly and let the servants through. They were towing the king between them, panting under the burden. The king’s eyes were open, staring blearily at his surroundings, and his mouth sagged open. He appeared to still be mostly asleep.

  “There’s no sign of pursuit,” Griff reported, following the queen in.

  “Then maybe they are trying to make their escape even now,” Relam mused. “Griff, arm the kitchen staff. Knives, hearth pans, rolling pins, roasting spits, anything that will serve as a weapon. You are in command. I’m going after the assassins before they get away.”

  “Alone?” Griff yelped fearfully.

  “Not alone,” the guard countered, standing to attention.

  “Just the two of you?”

  The sound of many rapid footsteps reached Relam’s ears. He looked over his shoulder and saw the four guardsmen he had requested, flushed and out of breath, but heavily armed.

  “We’ll take them as well.”

  Griff nodded slowly. “Good hunting, your highness. Stay safe.”

  Relam smiled tightly. “No worries. I’m a soldier now, after all.”

  “You passed the trials just this morning,” Griff pointed out.

  “Yeah, just in time,” Relam muttered. “Come on,” he said to the guards. “Be ready for battle at a moment’s notice.”

  “Your highness?” one said tentatively. “Are you-”

  Relam held up a hand to stop him. “Fine. Let’s deal with this now, shall we? I passed the trials this morning, am a full soldier now, and it was my family attacked by these assassins. I will go after them and I will lead you into battle.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “Are there any other questions now?”

  The guards shook their heads mutely. Some still looked doubtful, but from their determined gazes, Relam could tell that they would obey.

  “Good,” he said, nodding jerkily. “Let’s go.”

  The young prince led the way out of the kitchens, into the main corridors of the palace. The servants’ corridors may have been faster, but Relam knew the main corridors better and these were the ones the assassins were more likely to use. Relam jogged up the first two flights of stairs and along a hallway, his five guardsmen in perfect formation behind him. The clanking of their armor was nearly deafening but there was little he could do about that. The next loudest sound was the heavy breathing of the men directly behind Relam. That sound was far more concerning. It told the prince his men were tired, and possibly out of condition. He frowned, wondering why the palace guards were not made of sterner stuff, then pushed the matter aside.

  “Your highness, where are we going?” the man behind and to his left gasped between strides.

  “To the royal suite,” Relam replied curtly. “That’s where the assassins were last seen. We’ll start there, then try and guess the most likely escape routes for them.”

  “Good plan,” another guard grunted. “Unless they have already left the palace.”

  “In which case no plan is a good plan,” Relam countered. “Or at least, no plan would have much chance of succeeding.”

  They jogged on, finally turning onto the corridor the royal suite branched off of. Ahead, Relam could see the bodies of the guards that had stood outside the door to the main room. As they drew closer, the prince could make out noises as well, the sounds of someone searching the room.

  As they approached, a third palace guard crawled slowly out of the royal apartments, his hand covering a massive wound in his stomach. His face was contorted with terrible pain, his eyes squinting nearly shut. Blood welled from between his fingers and poured from the ragged hole in his armor. When he saw Relam and the others approaching though, he stopped moving and stared, openmouthed.

  The prince broke into a run, hoping maybe this man would know what was going on, where the assassins were. But, as he drew within ten meters, a black-clad figure leapt out of the royal suite, knelt on the guard’s back, and cut his throat with a leaf-bladed dagger. The guard gurgled horribly, then lay still, his blood mixing with that of the other two slain guards.

  The assassin looked around then and saw Relam and his small band of guards. He gave a warning shout, then flipped his dagger in the air, caught it by the point, and threw it in one seamless movement. Relam, surprised by the swiftness of the attack, froze in panic. He had no shield, no way to deflect the spinning blade. He threw his sword up in defense, but at the last moment one of the guardsmen reached over and stuck his shield in the dagger’s path. The dagger hit the unexpected barrier side on and clattered to the stone floor.

  “Get him!” Relam shouted, rushing forward at the assassin, sword flashing.

  The assassin hesitated, then reached for another dagger. Before he could draw it though, one of Relam’s guards was on him, kicking his hand away from the blade and smashing his shield into the side of the man’s head. The assassin crumpled, unconscious. The other four guards dashed past and into the royal suite, shouting and yelling. Relam blinked in surprise as they passed him by, trying to catch up with everything that was happening. Belatedly, he realized that maybe he wasn’t as qualified to lead them as he thought. Maybe, because of their experience, they outranked him by a little.

  The prince followed the guards into the royal suite, moving quickly through the doorway. The guards were facing two black-clad assassins, each of whom was standing with a knife in either hand, waiting calmly.

  Relam turned around, glancing at the guard in the hallway. “Is he alive?” he asked, gesturing to the downed assassin.

  The guard felt for a pulse, then nodded. “Barely,” he grunted.

  “Take them as well,” Relam said, gesturing to the remaining two assassins. “Just in case. Better yet,” he continued, turning back to face the black clad men. “Throw down your weapons and we will let you live.”

  The assassins exchanged a glance, then lowered their blades, holding them with the hilts towards Relam and his guards, as though prepared to surrender. Relam stepped forward to take the daggers. As he did, he caught a glint of triumph in the eyes of the nearest assassin.

  Then, the black-clad men casually flicked their wrists and sent the four daggers spinning towards the prince.

  Relam started to drop flat, then was tackled bodily by a large man, knocking him off of his feet. He felt three heavy impacts through the body of his rescuer, then they both landed heavily on the stone floor. The prince heard several heavy thuds and grunts of pain from the direction of the assassins, then the room went remarkably quiet.

  The prince rolled out from under the other man and sat up, looking around. The two assassins were now unconscious, lying beside each other and securely trussed. Three of Relam’s guard stood watch over them, menacing them with the points of their spears. A fourth was still out in the hall and the fifth-

  Relam looked sideways and his stomach clenched with anger and guilt. The fifth guard was lying on his side, eyes wide open, three daggers centering a trio of bloody circles on his back. The prince looked around and saw the fourth dagger had somehow missed, embedding itself in the door frame instead of in the body of the guard.

  “They’ve all been rounded up, your highness,” one of the guards reported.

  Relam nodded briefly, watching the downed guardsman for any sign of life. “Is he-?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

  The guard obligingly knelt over his comrade, though there was reall
y no need for such a close examination. “Dead,” he said shortly. “He gave his life for yours.”

  Relam took a great shuddering breath. Strangely, the image of the dead guard seemed to be blurring before his eyes. Then, a single tear rolled down the prince’s cheek and splattered on the blood-soaked floor. He wiped the rest away before they fell, not wanting to appear weak in front of the guards.

  “He did his job, your highness,” the guard beside him said gently. “He knew the risks.”

  “If I may, commander, I think you’re wrong,” another guard said from behind Relam.

  The guard beside the prince shot the man a warning glance. “Not now, Narin,” he said brusquely. “His highness has had a trying day.”

  “He needs to hear this,” the guard called Narin said forcefully, kneeling before Relam. “Grant here was doing more than his job, Bannen, and you know that. We of the guard are trained to protect the royal family and keep them out of harm’s way. We are not trained to sacrifice ourselves when they recklessly put themselves in harm’s way.”

  Relam flinched and looked away from Narin. Unfortunately, that meant looking back at the downed guard. Grant. He’d had a name, Relam realized, and likely a family. How could Relam explain to them that his mistake had cost Grant his life?

  “If his highness had not taken it upon himself to lead us into battle, into a terribly dangerous situation with highly trained adversaries and a great many unknown factors, Grant would be alive,” Narin continued. “I’d put our five lads against those three black-clad curs any day of the week. But because of the prince here, we had an additional complication. We had to protect someone determined to place themselves in the greatest possible danger.”

  Relam found himself agreeing with Narin, which only increased the weight of his guilt. Had he not been thinking only moments earlier that maybe he wasn’t quite ready for this, that he wasn’t qualified for such a mission? And then he had turned right around and charged to the front of the battle.

  “Grant should not be dead,” Narin continued, less forcefully now. “His death is on you, princeling, and you alone. We told you to wait, to let us handle it. And you didn’t listen. You may not be used to living in a world with consequences, but it is past time you learned what the real world is like.”

  “Enough, Narin,” the commander growled.

  “No. Look at me princeling,” Narin said, leaning forward.

  Relam raised his eyes and met Narin’s gaze. The guard’s green eyes were not unkind, but the force of his gaze brooked no argument.

  “I realize now,” Relam said softly. “Thank you, Narin.”

  The stern look was replaced in an instant by blank shock. Narin blinked in surprise and sat back on his heels.

  “I allowed anger and excitement to cloud my judgement and make me overconfident,” Relam continued. “I see that now. I should have listened to you in the kitchens, let you lead, stayed behind and waited for the result. It’s just so . . . frustrating to be left out or to wait helplessly.”

  “I can appreciate that, your highness,” Narin said, nodding. “But it is easier for us to do our jobs right if you let us get on with it ourselves.”

  “Understood,” Relam said gravely. “Now, let’s get these thugs somewhere secure before they wake up. But first,” Relam continued, “I want my own sword.” He got to his feet and was about to enter his room when a guard stopped him with an outstretched arm. The prince hesitated, then jumped back as Narin went past at a run, leaping into the room and scanning it for threats. Relam watched the man relax, then turn back. “Clear,” he announced, beckoning for Relam to enter.

  Relam did so and quickly retrieved his sword belt, buckling it around his waist and settling the scabbarded sword against his left hip as comfortably as he could. “Much better,” he muttered. “Now, let’s get these assassins to the Citadel. There’s nowhere more secure is there?” he asked, glancing at Narin.

  Narin shrugged. “Nobody has ever escaped the cells there to my knowledge. Not alive anyways.”

  “We need these three alive,” Relam pointed out. “We need to know who hired them if they were working for someone, and why they attacked if they were working alone.”

  “We’ll make that clear to the Citadel,” Narin promised.

  “One other thing,” Relam said, stopping the guards as they made to leave. “I want palace guards on their doors at all times. This is a matter of the security of the royal family, and you are all handpicked for your loyalty and bravery.”

  “That will stretch the guard,” said Bannen, chewing the ends of his mustache. “Especially now that we have lost a few of our number.”

  “We’ll add a few more,” Relam promised. “I’ll speak to my father about it.”

  “Thank you,” the commander said, bowing. “Narin, escort his highness back to the kitchens, then wait in the entrance hall for us. We’ll be along shortly.”

  Narin nodded and turned to Relam. “After you, your highness,” he said politely. The young prince nodded and led the way out of the royal apartments.

  The journey back to the kitchens was uneventful. The halls were completely empty, with the palace still officially on lockdown. They encountered no other assassins, and no guards either. When they reached the kitchens, Relam blinked in surprise.

  He had never seen so many people crammed into such an insufficient space. Every servant in the palace seemed to be present, huddled together, whispering, shooting nervous glances at the entrances, where volunteer fighters stood guard with all manner of improvised weapons. When the masses saw Relam, they crowded around the prince, eagerly asking questions, wanting to know what had happened.

  “Did you get the assassins?”

  “Is the palace secure?”

  “Is it safe to go somewhere else?”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  Relam did not answer, merely moved through the crowd as best he could with Narin. They would get their answers soon enough, even without his help. And right now, there were only two people he really wanted to see.

  He found them at the back of the kitchens, near the ovens. It was a warm place to wait, but not uncomfortably so. Griff was hovering a few feet away, clutching the carving knife fiercely, eyes scanning the room ceaselessly. Beyond him, Relam’s mother and father sat on a low bench beside the ovens. The king was slumped against the wall, muttering quietly to himself. The queen had a tight hold on his right hand and was watching his face anxiously, hoping to see some sign the king would be all right.

  As Relam stepped closer, she noticed him and Narin and looked up, startled.

  “Oh, you’re back!” she cried, rushing to embrace Relam. “You’re safe? You took no harm?”

  “Thanks to the palace guard,” Relam said meekly, shooting Narin an apologetic look. Narin shrugged fatalistically.

  “The assassins took most of the harm,” the guard said. “Five of them down all told, three of those captured for questioning. We lost Grant though, and two or three others who were guarding the royal apartments when the assassins first struck.”

  “We’ll need to see about replacements,” Relam added, glancing down at his father. “How is he doing? Any better than when I left?”

  The queen shook her head, biting her lip. “He is conscious at least, but he must have gotten a much larger dose of that sleeping potion than you did.”

  “Sleeping potion?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Griff explained. “We couldn’t find any residue or a container or anything so we don’t know for sure, but the effects certainly are what one would expect from a standard sleeping potion.”

  The young prince grunted thoughtfully. “A sleeping potion, huh? So, they wanted us alive, whoever they were.”

  “Or they wanted to make you easier to kill,” Griff suggested.

  Narin pointed out the obvious flaw immediately. “Why do that when they could simply poison the meal the same way they added the sleeping draught?”

  “Oh,
” Griff said, his face falling. “Yes, I see what you mean. Silly of me.”

  “We need every idea we can get to sort this mess out,” Relam replied encouragingly. “And we must figure this out, before there’s another attack that does real damage.”

  “Like killing more guards?” Narin said quietly.

  “Oh,” Relam said, chagrined. “Well, yes, I suppose this one did cause lasting damage. But what I meant was an attack that accomplished its objective.” Grant’s blank, staring gaze appeared in front of Relam again and he looked away quickly, trying to regain control of his emotions.

  “We do need to prevent that,” Narin agreed. “The question is how.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments, save for the fitful mutterings of Relam’s father.

  “We’ll start by questioning the assassins and tightening security,” Relam decided. “We’ll go from there once we have more information.”

  “The assassins likely won’t talk,” Narin warned. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before.”

  Relam fixed Narin with a penetrating look. “If it comes to that, we’ll get the Citadel to make them talk,” he declared. The others present flinched uncomfortably and looked away. “We will get to the bottom of this,” Relam said, glancing at his father. “Whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 9

  The next few days passed slowly. The royal family moved back into their rooms the morning after the attack, once the bodies had been removed and the floors and walls cleaned up. In the meantime, Relam and his parents slept in a heavily guarded guest suite on an upper level of the palace complex. In addition to the guards, they were attended by a healer, who kept constant watch over the king as he slept fitfully. Relam’s father muttered off and on, but for the most part lay in a near comatose state.

  When the royal family moved back into their normal accommodations, almost everything was the same as before. The furniture was arranged the same way it always had been, the walls and floors were spotless. The only major difference was the new hearthrug. The old one had been spattered with blood during the attack, to the point it was simpler to replace it than to clean it.