The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “They weren’t,” Relam assured his father, touching his broken nose gently. “Time will heal all. There is no lasting damage. I won’t even hold a grudge about it. I’m just glad your back.”

  “Well, not entirely,” his father said, voice trembling. “Part of me died with your mother. But I am slowly finding myself again. Finding purpose.” He frowned suddenly. “Clemon seems to be doing his level best to help with that. He brought in a mound of paperwork this morning and threatened to sit on me until I took care of it all.”

  Relam gave a lopsided grin. “And how did that work out for him?”

  “The threats of a scrawny chatelain are not to be ignored,” the king replied gravely. Then, he couldn’t stop the smile from breaking through. “As though Clemon could ever restrain me,” he added. “He also told me that you were the one responsible for helping me out of that black pit of despair.”

  “It was nothing,” Relam assured him. “I just yelled whatever came to mind. It seems to have worked.”

  “No,” his father said, shaking his head. “No, nobody else could have dragged me from within myself so effectively. None of Clemon’s talks of duty stirred me. Only my son could have saved me as he did.”

  Relam felt his own eyes start to tear up. He leaned forward and embraced his father, felt the king’s strong arms go around him. They sat there for some time, father and son, united once more.

  Chapter 33

  Weeks passed. The trees began to lose their leaves, littering the city streets with brown, red, orange, and gold. The air turned crisp, but not cold. The weather stayed fair, with none of the terrible gales that sometimes raced down from the north.

  During that span, Relam trained with Oreius five days a week, continuing to develop his fighting skills and his battle awareness. His sixth sense was growing ever stronger, and it was becoming easier and easier for Relam to focus on an opponent and remain aware of his surroundings. Occasionally, Narin would sneak up and join the fight, but Relam was never caught unawares. Often, he turned the tables on his would-be ambusher, surprising Narin before the former commander realized he had been discovered.

  Oreius continued to develop more practice patterns for Relam, all the way up through thirty because he had far too many ideas to stop at twenty. The old man was an endless source of knowledge and experience. No matter how much Relam learned, Oreius always defeated him handily, confident, capable, and devastatingly skillful.

  There was no trouble from the lordlings. They left Relam alone mostly, unless they happened to be walking home at the same time. Then, they would stop for a brief time and talk about training, complain of sore muscles and sympathize with each other’s shortcomings. Sebast had grown quiet and distant, and usually removed himself from these conversations, but it was an improvement over his old, argumentative self. Relam was sure the Garenes heir would come about eventually and regain some of his old confidence.

  The only unsatisfactory development during this time was the lack of developments in the case of his mother’s murder. Occasionally, when Narin would eat lunch with Oreius and Relam, the former guard commander would mention that he was meeting an informant or that he thought he might finally have a lead to follow up. Each time, Relam would ask about the result the next time he saw Narin. In every case, the answer was a disappointed shake of the head. The assassin had covered his tracks well, and effectively disappeared.

  One evening towards the end of the season, Relam was returning to the royal suite when he heard raised voices echoing clearly down the hall. Frowning, he hurried to the door, where the guards were on duty.

  “What’s going on?” he asked worriedly.

  The guard he had addressed shrugged. “Don’t know. His majesty and the chatelain seem to be going at it about something. Commander Eckle tried to go in and calm them down, but they kicked him out pretty quick.”

  Relam raised an eyebrow. “That’s . . . interesting,” he said finally. “I better see what’s going on.”

  “Please,” the guard said, stepping aside. Relam moved forward and laid his hand on the door knob. As he started to turn it, a fresh round of shouts burst out and he quickly opened the door and slipped into the room.

  “Just take care of it,” Relam’s father was shouting. “It’s not even that far from Ardia, you’ll be down there anyways.”

  “But, your majesty, we only have a few isolated reports and what he speaks of seems to indicate a pattern of numerous raids. This just can’t be true or we would be receiving messages from all over the kingdom!”

  “We got one from Ishkabur too, didn’t we?” the king shouted. “And you told me yourself that you were concerned about these raids weeks ago, even if the Assembly was ignoring them. And now that we know there is vertaga involvement our worst fears seem to be confirmed. I will not-”

  He stopped abruptly, noticing Relam for the first time.

  Clemon looked around too, surprised by the sudden break in the tirade. “Ah, your highness,” he said, glancing at Relam’s father. “Back from training I see.”

  “Yes,” Relam replied looking between his father and the king’s chatelain. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing,” the Clemon replied immediately. “Just a . . . minor dispute.”

  “That’s not what it sounded like,” Relam said, looking at his father.

  “We can tell him,” the king decided. “He’ll be a crown prince in just a few months, when he turns twenty. He can be trusted with this.”

  “Seeing as it is an irrelevant matter being brought up by an alarmist I couldn’t agree more,” Clemon sniffed haughtily.

  “That’s not-”

  “Maybe you should fill me in,” Relam interrupted. “Then you can go back to arguing.”

  “Excellent idea,” his father agreed. “We’ve been receiving reports from Ishkabur and the West Bank. Apparently, there have been a few vertaga sightings.”

  Relam frowned. “Vertaga? Didn’t we fight a war with them ten years ago or so?”

  “A little longer than that, but yes,” the king agreed. “You would have been pretty young then. You probably don’t remember much of what went on. I led the army south in time to turn them back, but much of the Renlor Basin was lost to the monsters before they were stopped.”

  “Monsters?” Relam asked, rolling his eyes.

  “It’s true,” his father assured him. “These beasts, they’re not human. Heavily muscled, over two meters tall with great horns growing out of their skulls.”

  “I never saw one myself,” Clemon put in. “I was involved in a dispute out at Gobel-Tek at the time.”

  “Yes,” the king muttered. “I’d forgotten about that. Something about grazing rights?”

  “Maybe,” Clemon agreed. “Seems like the sort of dimwitted thing that would become a major problem with those plainsmen. Honestly, I don’t know why we bothered to do anything in response to-”

  “Can we stay focused?” Relam interrupted.

  “Oh, right,” his father said, clearing his throat. “Anyway, a young soldier called Janis Kurkan turned the tide, mustering what was left of our forces in the south at Ganned’s Gorge. He held the vertaga off there until a huge storm blew up out of nowhere, dropping buckets of rain over the surrounding lands. The gorge filled up in no time at all, drowning many of the monsters. Janis’ forces were safe until the water receded. By the time the remaining vertaga were preparing to move on, the rest of our forces had arrived and we chased them back into the Fells, scattering them and driving them before us.”

  “How did the war start?” Relam asked. “And where did they come from?”

  “We still don’t know,” his father admitted. “They came out of the Fells with no warning and began raiding, pillaging, and destroying in the Renlor Basin. Apparently, that’s what is happening again now. Or at least over the last several weeks.”

  “Now, hold on just a moment,” Lord Clemon protested. “We have just a few isolated incidents. Lord Kurkan mentions three, I t
hink-”

  “Kurkan?” Relam interrupted. “The same Kurkan who stopped the vertaga at Ganned’s Gorge?”

  “Yes,” his father confirmed, nodding. “He was named a national hero after the war. Unfortunately, he’s gone a little . . . strange. He lost his brother in the early stages of the war and he hasn’t been able to handle his grief since then. I made him an instructor at the academy to give him purpose again, but I had to move him eventually because he just didn’t fit there. He’s at the West Bank now, one of the two fortresses that guards the perimeter of the Renlor Basin.”

  “Kurkan is a drunk,” Clemon sniffed. “Nothing more. He probably saw some deer one night walking out of a tavern and thought it was a vertaga. In all likelihood there is a very frightened buck out there somewhere-”

  “There are no taverns at the West Bank, and deer would be rare in the area, not many trees,” the king pointed out.

  “Whatever,” Clemon grunted. “The point is, this is a waste of time.”

  “What’s a waste of time?” Relam asked, feeling he was missing an important piece of information.

  “Sending me to investigate the West Bank and see if the rumors have any truth to them!” Clemon said indignantly.

  “Is that what all of the shouting was about?” Relam asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Yes,” his father and the chatelain chorused.

  Relam rolled his eyes.

  “Marc,” the king said, “You are already going to Ardia to oversee a minor trade dispute. The West Bank is not much further and I think we should at least look into this.”

  “Especially if these raids are a prelude to war, like they were last time,” Relam added.

  “Send someone else,” Clemon spat. “I won’t go, do you hear me?” His voice was positively shaking with anger and frustration.

  Anger, Relam wondered, or fear?

  “You’re afraid,” he observed, looking at Clemon.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re scared of going to the West Bank,” Relam said with growing conviction. “This isn’t a matter of not wanting to and wasting time, it’s a matter of facing your fear.”

  “Marc, if there really is nothing there then there is nothing to be afraid of,” the king pointed out. “All you have to do is ride down there and check. You can take an escort if you like, say a dozen men or so. But I need you to do this. I trust your ability to handle delicate situations more than anyone else.”

  Clemon nodded slowly, realizing that he had been outmaneuvered. “All right,” he said finally. “If this is what you want, your majesty, then I will go. It’s just that I’ve become so accustomed to peace. Trade has finally been increasing after all of the disasters last year and there haven’t been any major disputes to adjudicate and the Assembly is behaving-”

  “I still can’t believe that,” Relam’s father said, rolling his eyes. “They’re up to something, I’m sure of it.”

  “Perhaps,” Clemon agreed.

  “I’ve grown fond of peace too,” the king said gently. “But if war is coming, we must know. Now, I won’t start mustering the armies or briefing generals. Not yet. I think this is just as likely to be a hoax or a minor occurrence as you do, Marc. But we need to check it out anyway.”

  “As you wish, your majesty,” Clemon said, bowing deeply. “If you will excuse me, I have some packing to do. I’m going on a very long journey.”

  “Be careful,” Relam called.

  “Yes,” his father agreed. “Don’t leave me alone with the job of running the kingdom. I’d never get all of the paperwork right on my own.”

  Clemon smirked at that and withdrew, leaving Relam and his father alone. The prince turned to the king and raised an eyebrow. “Vertaga?” he asked skeptically.

  His father shrugged uncertainly. “You can read the report for yourself if you want,” he said, gesturing to the low table by the fireplace. “Lord Kurkan details three separate attacks in the south, all in the last few weeks. The first was a raid on a trade caravan headed for Ishkabur, somewhere in the Fells. The lord of Ishkabur contacted us, but since it occurred in the Fells, which is dangerous country at best, we didn’t pay it much heed.”

  “What if the reports turn out to be true?” Relam asked worriedly.

  “We’ll see,” his father replied dismissively. “We have a lot of other things to worry about right now. There’s the winter solstice celebration in a couple months, and not long after that you will be old enough to be confirmed as crown prince. And you’ll still be training with Oreius five days a week.”

  “Training does keep me fairly busy,” Relam agreed ruefully.

  “It should. I remember when I trained under a master,” his father said, thinking back. “Those were some of the most grueling years of my life.”

  “Thing is, I feel like I’m handling it all right,” Relam said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m making progress every day, and nothing that Oreius asks me to do seems impossible. And everything has a clear purpose and a significant benefit. I’ve already moved way beyond the students in Master D’Arnlo’s class at the Citadel.”

  “How much of that is Oreius and how much is you?” the king asked, smiling. “Even with Tar you were always ahead of the game, son.”

  “True,” Relam agreed, brushing the praise aside. “But I think Oreius is a significant part of my success as well. He’s a great teacher.”

  “Some say the finest,” his father agreed wryly. “He is a bit eccentric though. My father made him a national hero and he practically ran away afterwards. Nobody saw or heard from him again for months.”

  “Seems to be a common trend with our national heroes,” Relam observed.

  “Well, D’Arnlo is handling things a little better than Oreius or Kurkan. He was named a hero for serving honorably in the Vertaga War as well. He led a smaller, lesser known force in brutal retaliation near Narne, along the coast.”

  Relam filed the information away for future reference. “Good to know,” he muttered. Then, a thought occurred to him. “You forgot something when you were listing the upcoming celebrations,” he reminded his father.

  “Oh?”

  “The Harvest Hunt.”

  The king clapped a hand to his forehead. “How could I forget that,” he wondered aloud. “And it’s only two weeks away, too. I’ll have to get busy planning that event.”

  “So, we are doing it?”

  “Of course,” his father replied immediately. “Usual precautions, obviously, two guards each with more stationed nearby as a mobile reserve. Most impressive kill wins.”

  “I can’t wait,” Relam said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “It’s been a year since the last one, and it was hardly fair.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” the king pointed out. “I can’t help it if an enormous buck just wanders out in front of me twenty minutes in.”

  “But you could have let it go in the spirit of sportsmanship,” Relam countered.

  “That would have been a waste of good luck,” the king replied, shaking a finger at Relam. “A terrible offense.”

  Relam rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, I’m going to clean up before dinner. Any other earth-shattering developments I should be aware of?”

  “Not at the moment,” the king said, shaking his head. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

  Relam nodded then ducked into his room. Ten minutes later, he emerged refreshed and ready for a relaxing evening. It was the fifth day of the week, which meant he had two days of rest on the way, time to recover from Oreius’ training and give his muscles a chance to heal and strengthen before the first day of the next week began.

  The king and the prince ate together, but there was little conversation. Meals were the time when they felt the loss of the queen most acutely, her empty chair staring back at them. Relam thought it was a rather accusing stare, as though she were wondering why he had not avenged her yet. Why the assassins-

  Relam swore suddenly and jumped
to his feet, slamming a hand down on the table and setting the dishes and silverware rattling.

  “What in the-?” his father demanded, picking up his fork from where it had fallen. “What’s going on son?”

  “The assassins,” Relam replied. “I’ve been meaning to question them for weeks now, always telling Na- myself that I would get it done on the weekend when I hadn’t been training all day, putting it off.” The prince shook his head in disgust, though inside he had gone cold with fear. He had nearly slipped up and said Narin’s name. The name of a man that Relam had supposedly executed himself. This was one of the few orders during the king’s dark time he had expressed no regret over so far, and Relam was not going to admit anything until he knew where his father stood on the subject.

  “Well, then go tomorrow,” his father told him now, waving his laden fork irritably. “No need to interrupt dinner, son. Food is important you know.”

  “No, I’m going now,” Relam said, coming to a decision. “I’ve put this off long enough. He strode quickly to the door and threw it open. “Fetch Wil and Galen,” he called to the guards beyond. “We’re going out for a while.” Then, he shut the door again and hurried into his room, donning a long, emerald green cloak with a hood and his sword belt.

  “Wait, hold on just a moment-” the king protested.

  “I’ll be back later, father,” Relam replied, waving a hand briefly in farewell. “This won’t take too long.”

  “But-”

  Relam shoved through the outer door and into the hallway, just as Wil and Galen were emerging from their own quarters two doors down.

  “Come on,” Relam told them. “We’re going to the Citadel.”

  “The Citadel?” Wil asked, puzzled. “Bit of an odd time for that, sir. Do you think they’ll even let us in with it being night and all?”