The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “Any willing to train me?” Aven asked curiously.

  Relam shrugged. “Tar, maybe. He’s fair and open minded about such things. Why? City guard not living up to your expectations?”

  “Being a member of the guard is good, but if I am in as much danger as you say it would be nice to be able to fight with something other than a bow.”

  Relam nodded thoughtfully, seeing Aven’s point. “I’ll speak with Tar Agath. He may have some thoughts.”

  Aven stood and made for the door. “Thanks, Relam.”

  “You’re welcome,” Relam said. “It’s only fair since I dragged you into this mess.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t thanking you for asking about training with Master Agath,” Aven said.

  “You weren’t?” Relam asked, frowning in confusion.

  “No,” Aven said, opening the door. “I was thanking you for giving me a chance to be part of something.”

  Before Relam could figure out what exactly Aven meant, the boy was gone.

  Chapter 12

  Over the next couple days, Relam quite forgot about assassins and sword masters and the like. Everything seemed to revolve around the graduation banquet for the cadets of the nobility, which was fast approaching. And with his father ill and his mother under the weather, Relam found himself receiving all manner of people and dealing with dozens of minor problems. He also became the messenger for all of the major problems his father needed to resolve.

  “If this is what it’s like to be king,” Relam grumbled to his father as he delivered yet another message, “Then you better have a long, long reign.”

  The king laughed and wadded up the message Relam had just handed him, something about Lord Clemon being delayed on the way back from the swamplands. “You’ll have to do this every day eventually,” he said, laying back and closing his eyes.

  Relam eyed the recumbent figure skeptically. “You know, I’m not entirely sure you’re still sick.”

  “Oh? What makes you say that?” his father said, opening one eye.

  “You’re just enjoying making me do all the work,” Relam guessed.

  “I am insulted!” the king said dramatically. “You accuse me of using my illness as an excuse to avoid my duty as a monarch and get some rest instead?”

  “Yes,” Relam said with growing conviction.

  “Smart lad,” the king muttered ruefully.

  Relam grinned, then sighed with frustration as Narin summoned him from the outer room. “I’ll be back,” he promised, before bolting out of the sick room.

  “In an hour,” the king said gleefully.

  “Heard that,” Relam called.

  Narin frowned at the prince. “I beg your pardon?”

  Relam waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “Never mind. What do you need?”

  “I have some names here that I would like approved to add to the palace guard,” Narin said, holding out a sheet. “I think your father knows all of them.”

  Relam scanned the list curiously. “Twelve more guards? We already added an additional eight, plus replacing those that were slain.”

  “This is a dangerous time,” Narin said, shrugging. “The assassins very nearly succeeded and there is growing unrest in the Assembly of Nobles.”

  “There is?” Relam asked, surprised. “I hadn’t heard about that. What have they found to complain about now?”

  “All the disruption of trade is causing some fortunes to diminish,” Narin explained. “Some lords seem to think the king should be doing more to prevent ships being lost at sea and caravans being attacked.”

  “Are they willing to pay for more soldiers to accomplish that?”

  “Probably not,” Narin said, shrugging. “They’re nobles. They don’t tend to think about the resources involved in tightening security or other consequences.”

  “I’ll give these names to my father,” Relam promised. “Is there anyone else out there waiting on me?”

  “The florist,” Narin said as he made to leave.

  Relam threw up his hands in exasperation. “If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a thousand time I don’t care what type of flowers they put on the tables!”

  “Shall I tell him you are busy, then?” Narin asked, struggling to hide a smile.

  “Please,” Relam said wearily.

  “Very well. I will see you tonight, your highness, when we escort you and your family to the banquet.”

  Relam nodded. “See you then, Narin.”

  The guard commander bowed his way out, shutting the door firmly behind him. Relam sighed and went back to his father’s sickroom. The king was asleep, so Relam left the names on the bedside table for him to look through when he woke.

  For the next hour, no one disturbed Relam. Either every problem had been solved, or Narin had ordered his guards to intercept those with meaningless questions and reroute them to other quarters. Whatever the case, Relam was grateful for that hour of peace. He used it to check the gash in his hand, which was healing nicely but still needed a bandage, eat a light, late lunch, and steal a short nap on the couch in the main room. Unfortunately, he was woken all too soon by the sounds of his parents getting ready for the evening.

  “Son?” his father called, sticking his head out of the sickroom.

  “Huh?” Relam said blearily, struggling to his feet.

  “Time to get ready,” the king announced briskly, clapping his hands together. “This banquet is in your honor after all.”

  “If it’s in my honor then I shouldn’t’ve had to micromanage the thing all day,” Relam muttered.

  His father waved the complaint aside. “Well, these are hardly typical circumstances. Any other messages come in while I was asleep?”

  “Narin brought some more names,” Relam said, gesturing to the sickroom. “I left them on the table in there.”

  His father retrieved the list, scanning it briefly. “Hmm. No complaints from me. If you see him before I do, tell him I approve all of them.”

  “He’s coming to get the lot of us an hour before the banquet,” Relam replied as he stumbled to his room.

  “Better get ready quickly, then. That’s a half hour away.”

  “A half hour!” Relam glanced out the tall windows in his room and noticed for the first time how low the sun had sunk in the sky. “I thought I was only out for an hour!”

  “More like three,” the king observed drily.

  Relam shook his head and closed the door, practically running into the washroom. He bathed at top speed and dried off so forcefully his skin turned red in places. Then, he dressed in his finest: black breeches, a royal blue tunic with a silver crown over the left breast and a dark blue half cape hanging from his right shoulder. He exchanged his everyday belt for a wider one of black leather with silver tracery and an ornate buckle. There was a ceremonial sword and scabbard attached. Relam eyed these critically, then withdrew the sword, which was little more than a dull bit of metal stuck on a fancy hilt.

  “I think a real blade would be a little more practical,” he muttered. He grabbed his everyday sword, removed it from its sheath. It fit just barely in the ceremonial sheath, but it wasn’t quite the right shape so the hilt jiggled slightly and the smallest stretch of steel was exposed around the top of the scabbard. It would only be noticed if someone looked extremely closely though.

  “Relam?” his father called. “Commander Narin is here, waiting on us.”

  Relam tugged at his tunic one last time, eliminating two wrinkles and creating another, then bolted out into the main room. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “Overslept.”

  “Fair enough. You’ve had a busy day covering for us,” his mother said warmly. “You look wonderful, Relam.”

  “Yes, very princely,” his father agreed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He had little patience for court finery, but somehow he had been wrestled into a flamboyant purple and gold doublet and beige trousers, a cloth-of-gold cloak swinging from his shoulders. He wore the crown of the Sthan Kingdom as well, b
urnished bronze and gold with eleven twisted points.

  “And you look extremely kingly,” Relam said, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Just as long as he doesn’t trail his sleeves in the gravy or wipe his fingers on his shirt front,” the queen said critically, adjusting the set of the crown slightly.

  “Can we get going, Narin?” the king pleaded, swatting the queen’s hands away as she tried to straighten a crease in the doublet. “Wouldn’t want to be late after all.”

  “No danger of that, your majesty,” Narin replied. Then, noticing how Orram’s expression hardened he said quickly, “There’s nothing wrong with being early though.”

  “Well said,” Relam agreed, eager to get moving before his mother could start fussing with his attire as well. “Lead on, commander.”

  Narin ushered them out into the hallway, which was packed with palace guards. Before anyone could protest at the excessive number of soldiers, Narin had eight formed up around the royal family and the remaining six stationed in and around the royal apartments.

  “Merely a precaution, your majesties, your highness,” Narin said grimly. “I don’t want anyone intercepting us in route and it would be extremely embarrassing if you were safe all through the banquet only to return and find assassins in your rooms. You will arrive with just me as a guard. The others will split off in pairs and patrol the entrance hall and the banquet hall. Is that a satisfactory arrangement?”

  “Of course, commander,” the king replied. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for trusting me to do my job,” Narin replied, bowing slightly. “Guards, attention!”

  The palace guards snapped to attention, standing in two rigid ranks of four. The king and queen stood between them, trying to look strong and in control despite their lingering illnesses. Relam followed a pace behind, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his not-so-ceremonial sword.

  “Forward!” Narin said resolutely, stepping off at a slow pace. The guards copied him in perfect step, the hallway echoing with the sound of their booted feet hitting the stone floor. The king and queen began moving as well after a moment, striding gracefully and calmly in the midst of the palace guards. Relam followed at a measured pace. Every so often, he looked back to make sure there was no one following them. But the corridors remained empty.

  It was not long before they arrived at the top of the stairs that led down into the entrance hall. Narin raised his left hand in a clenched fist, and the guards crashed to a halt.

  “You have your instructions, men,” he said gravely. “Carry them out to the letter. The moment you see something suspicious alert me. If you are outnumbered and alone, do not engage. Retreat and find help. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the guards chorused.

  “Dismissed,” Narin finished curtly.

  The palace guard peeled off in twos, their heavy spears held perfectly upright, their flanged armor glittering in the light of the lanterns lining the hallway.

  “Now we wait,” Narin said, turning to face the royal family. “We still have ten or fifteen minutes until you are expected to arrive. The other guests will be gathering below. The herald will introduce you, and then everyone will move to the banquet hall. There is only one table since there are so few attendees. The three of you will take the head, and I will be beside the prince. Next, those great lords whose children are not Cadets, then the Cadets and their families.”

  “Where is Garenes?” Relam asked curiously.

  “Far end of the table,” Narin grunted. “Oh, and the sword masters will all be there.”

  “How many?”

  “Four,” Narin replied immediately. “D’Arnlo, Agath, Yavvis, and Oreius.”

  “Who?” Relam asked. He did not recognize the last two names.

  “Yavvis trains those of common birth that have passed the trials,” Narin explained. “That’s why you have never met him. Agath and D’Arnlo you know. Oreius . . .” the guard commander shrugged. “He is the oldest of the masters, and has not accepted a student in many years.”

  “I do not know anyone by that name in the royal courts,” Relam mused.

  “He keeps to himself, lives on the river front not far from Agath’s facility. I don’t blame him for spending so much of his time there,” Narin continued, smiling. “I’ve been there before. Beautiful house, a little large for a lone old man but comfortable enough. But the gardens are spectacular, and the view of the river.”

  “Better than the palace gardens?” Relam asked, grinning slightly.

  “Begging your pardon your majesties, but yes, I think so,” Narin said, to Relam’s surprise. “It is a place of peace, tranquility. A very natural place.”

  “Hardly where you would expect a warrior to retire to,” Relam’s father grunted. “He was one of the finest in his day, led one of the campaigns against the old Orell kingdom as I recall.”

  “He must be old then,” Relam observed. The Orell War had been many years ago.

  “Many years older than I,” the king agreed. “Some say he’s gone a bit strange, too. Doesn’t take students anymore and has some interesting ideas about this kingdom. Pity, he used to be the very best.”

  “Maybe it’s the students who are the problem,” Relam suggested. “Maybe he has very high standards.”

  “Could be,” his father agreed with a shrug. “But there’s no way of knowing is there?”

  “It’s time,” the queen interrupted. “Everyone is assembled below.”

  No sooner had they gotten in position once more than the sound of the herald’s staff against the marble entry floor rang through the hall and up the stairs.

  “Most esteemed ladies and gentlemen of the court,” the herald called, his voice carrying to every corner of the space with ease. “The royal family! His majesty, King Orram, her majesty the Queen, and his highness Prince Relam.”

  Relam’s parents began to descend the front steps as everybody below bowed deeply. Relam followed a few paces behind, feeling rather insignificant and superfluous. Beside him and a step above, Narin was watching everything at once, his left hand strangling the hilt of his sword. By glancing around casually, Relam was able to count all of Narin’s guards, spaced out in pairs at strategic points to monitor the entrance hall. No doubt, there were even more guards outside.

  “All clear,” he murmured to Relam as they reached the base of the stairs. “Though I’ll be more at ease once we enter the banquet hall.”

  Relam nodded imperceptibly, then smiled and nodded to the nearest guests, as protocol demanded. Fortunately, he happened to be close to Cevet Thius and his family. Cevet winked at Relam, while his parents bowed even lower. Cevet’s father, the leader of the Assembly of Nobles, was a thick man, nearly as wide as he was tall, and rather short. His emerald doublet was practically bursting at the seams and his thick belt was obviously bent as it tried to restrain his stomach. Cevet’s mother on the other hand was almost painfully thin, but she had a fierce and proud demeanor. She met Relam’s gaze boldly and frankly, with none of her husband’s groveling.

  “My noble friends!” the king boomed, raising his hands. “Welcome! Welcome, and thrice welcome! Tonight, we celebrate several outstanding young men, who have achieved a great milestone in their lives. A scant few days ago, they faced the trials under sword master Tar Agath, and succeeded. They are men now, soldiers, and are on their way to becoming full-fledged warriors.”

  The audience applauded politely, noble fathers clapping their sons on the back. Relam searched the crowd for Tar Agath and found him, leaning against the back wall, a contemptuous expression on his face. He saw Relam looking at him and started, surprised, then smiled and nodded in a friendly manner. Relam returned the greeting, then moved on, scanning the crowd for other faces.

  “And now,” his father continued. “We celebrate! To the banquet hall!”

  The audience laughed and cheered as the king led the way to the banquet hall, the queen still on his arm. Relam followed close behind, with Narin tr
ying to keep up. The guard commander was muttering darkly about the swarming crowds and trying to herd the royal family along as quickly as possible.

  Then, they were through the doors and into the spectacular hall. Relam had been to many formal dinners and feasts in this place before, but it never ceased to amaze him with its beauty and elegance. White marble pillars marched down the left and right side of the banquet hall, leading up to a domed ceiling coated in gold leaf. Five brilliantly lit silver chandeliers hung down from the roof, and elegant lanterns hung from the pillars on the walls. Between the pillars were tapestries, depicting famous scenes from the Sthan Kingdom’s history. All showed the Sthan people in a powerful, triumphant light as they overcame adversity: be it enemy armies or natural disasters or political turmoil.

  The floor of the room was pure marble as well, cut in diamonds that ringed a central circle usually reserved for dancing. Tonight, though, the hall was split right down the middle by a long string of tables covered with spotless white cloths and silver plates and utensils.

  Relam followed his parents to the far end of the hall, where three ornate chairs headed the table. His father’s chair was the largest, gilded, heavy, and solid. The chairs for the queen and the prince were no less ornate, but the throne had something extra to it, a sense of power and prestige. The young prince stood behind his chair and waited for his mother and father to sit, as protocol demanded, wondering why the trappings of royalty were so different from reality. A glance around the hall said that royalty was power and privilege, wealth and control. But his father was working constantly, with little free time, a significant amount of stress, and long days.

  His parents sat and Relam followed suit. All up and down the tables the other families were sitting as well. The Garenes family was not as far away as Relam had hoped. But, he was pleasantly surprised when Tar Agath took the seat beside him rather than a great lord.

  “Last minute change,” the sword master explained briefly. “And I wanted to congratulate you in person, your highness. You were one of my very best students. I am sure you will go far, no matter who you choose as a master.”