The Hunting of the Princes

by Peter F. Hamilton

  She’d heard that a lot of young royals went travelling incognito, so they might enjoy the Realms as they were meant to experienced, rather than under the constraint of an official tour.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Dad said, smiling, as they cleared Blogalham town. ‘Here she comes.’

  Taggie didn’t have to ask. She searched keenly through the air above, and saw something producing a thin red contrail that streaked towards them at an astounding rate. Seconds later the twinkling contrail’s tip was overhead, and Taggie half expected to hear a sonic boom. But the contrail curved round, and its energetic tip finally slowed down. Taggie stood up and waved frantically.

  Sophie the skymaid dropped out of the sky to hover directly in front of Taggie. She was the same age as Taggie, but Sophie’s hair was a vivid red, with its long strands waving round her head in languid motions. She wore a grey-and-green tunic with turquoise stars embroidered round the short skirt. Her big translucent wings shimmered behind her. ‘Taggie!’ she exclaimed breathlessly.

  ‘Sophie!’ Taggie squealed and held her arms out. The two embraced happily. They’d met last year, and Sophie had played a vital part in rescuing Dad from the Karrak Lords and restoring Taggie to the throne.

  Mr Anatole and Dad shuffled along the bench so Sophie could sit beside Taggie. Her feathery triangular feet folded up neatly as she landed, and the girls nestled up close.

  Sophie grinned at her friend. ‘I’ve missed you loads,’ she said. ‘It’s no fun around here while you’re away.’

  Taggie sighed wistfully. ‘I missed you too, but I could really do without any more excitement right now.’

  ‘I know! I heard. So go on then, tell me all about the assassination attempt.’

  The palace of the Queen of Dreams stood just outside the city of Lorothain. It was a huge building of high stone walls and courtyards and towers that was practically a town in itself. Surrounded by gardens and extensive parkland the palace was visible from a long way off.

  As the turtles paddled along the river Trambor, Taggie saw the palace rise out of the summer haze; it was a comforting sight. The heart of the palace was an old castle, with sturdy fortifications and deep protective enchantments. Dad was quite right to say she’d be safe inside. She hadn’t realized how tense and nervous she was until she saw it.

  There was a huge crowd clustered round the royal wharf, comprised of a huge variety of folk. Taggie got to shake a few hands and say hello to some overexcited children as the palace guard hurried her to a covered coach. Then it was a swift five-minute drive to the palace along the mighty greensward lined by oaks and cedar trees.

  Work on repairing the palace after the Karrak Lords had tainted it with their own alterations was nearly complete. Dad spent a couple of hours before supper, proudly showing them the restorations he’d supervised. At least the Queen’s private wing was now finished, which gave Taggie a huge suite of rooms all to herself. Here the furniture and decor was elaborate and formal, like some kind of five-star hotel. The luxurious four-poster bed was practically the same size as her entire bedroom back in Mum’s house. Then there was a lounge, a day room, a dressing room, a study . . . The walk-in wardrobe was packed with clothes, both formal and normal – so many vintage dresses from princesses down the ages, all hers now! And the adjoining marble bathroom was just plain decadent. She loved it. Plus, here she got a personal maid from the palace staff.

  She’d lost track of what time it was when she finally had a quick supper with Mum and Dad and Jemima. But her body knew it was very late, and Jemima was practically asleep in her food. Mum left as soon as they’d finished eating, to inspect the protective enchantments. Taggie didn’t mind. She was too tired. As the nightshadow swept across Lorothain, she crept into her huge bed. Sleep came almost at once.

  And as always when she was in the First Realm, Taggie dreamed.

  In her dream she sat on the shell throne in the palace’s huge throne room with its crystal dome roof and three tall arching doors. The line of anxious visitors waiting to see her wound along the corridor outside into an unknown hazy distance.

  The first person to stand before her was a young boy of perhaps seven years. He smiled up expectantly at Taggie, though she could see he’d been crying.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘I have trouble with my letters, Your Majesty. I try hard at school, I really do. I want to read, but . . .’ He shrugged.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she told him. ‘I know how overwhelming classes can be sometimes. I’m still at school, too, you know. There’s so much teachers want to make us learn, and it always seems difficult.’

  ‘I know,’ the boy said miserably. ‘But my teacher Mrs Pengath is impatient with me. She shouts at me all the time. It’s scary.’ He glanced fearfully over his shoulder. ‘Now she’s followed me here. She always follows me. Every night. I can never get away.’ His shoulders started shaking in misery.

  Taggie looked to see a grotesque woman standing behind the boy on the throne-room floor. Almost as tall as a giant, she wore a grey cardigan and skirt made of some thick wool that clinked like chain mail. She stood hunched over, with her hands trailing along the ground. Her mouth had jagged yellow fangs sticking out as she jeered at the poor boy, and her fingernails were made of chalk. When she scraped them on the throne room’s tiled floor they made the most appalling screeching sound.

  Taggie felt so desperately sorry for the boy who conjured up this nightmare figure every time he slept. ‘You,’ she said firmly to the caricature of Mrs Pengath. ‘Go back to your classroom.’

  The nightmare Mrs Pengath let out an annoyed grunt, but she turned and started to shamble out.

  ‘That is where you are to stay,’ Taggie ordered. ‘Do not venture out after dark again. I, the Queen of Dreams, command it.’

  Mrs Pengath passed through one of the throne room’s big doors and into nothingness.

  ‘There,’ Taggie told the boy. ‘She’s gone. And look,’ she said with her arm round his shoulder. ‘Here are your friends, waiting for you to play.’

  Sure enough, one of the other doors now opened on to a meadow where a dozen children were running round, laughing happily. ‘Off you go,’ Taggie told him. She watched for a long moment as the boy joined his friends, and together they all raced off into the warm summer’s day.

  When she turned back, a young woman was standing in the middle of the throne room.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Taggie asked.

  ‘It’s my husband, ma’am,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve only been married these past four months, and now he’s left to go to sea. He’s a fisherman, you see. I miss him so. I know that’s stupid.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s stupid at all,’ Taggie assured her. She beckoned. The woman’s husband strode through one of the doors. ‘See, here he is.’ And Taggie smiled as the two embraced.

  The next person was one of the spherical people who lived in the First Realm, all anxious and swaying about.

  ‘How can I help?’ Taggie asked.

  Taggie woke with a big smile lifting her mouth. As always when she’d spent her own dreams helping the people of the First Realm get through their troubled nights, she felt as if she’d been asleep for days, and was refreshed and completely content. Back when she was in the Outer Realm she often felt a pang of guilt that she wasn’t here to use her magical talent. Mr Anatole had informed her that not even her grandmother, the last Queen of Dreams, had dreamed every night, which made her feel better – and anyway she visited every school holiday.

  PRACTICE REALLY SHOULD MAKE PERFECT

  ‘Come on,’ Mum said. ‘Try again now.’

  Taggie wanted to slump her shoulders and stomp away in a sulk. It was a lovely day. She was in the palace grounds, in a garden surrounded by high beech hedges so no one could see. And Sophie was somewhere close by along with her older cousins, Tilly and Elsie, who’d flown in specially to have some fun. Taggie could hear them all laughing with Jemima.

  As
Mum held Taggie’s wrists, she could feel a weird tingle of magic seeping into her flesh, magic that was different from any enchantment stored in the charmsward.

  ‘It feels odd,’ she said, fighting the impulse to squirm.

  ‘This is the kind of magic practised in the Third Realm,’ Mum said. ‘It is stronger than anything you’ve been used to. So treat it carefully. But you have nothing to fear. Any daughter of mine is perfectly capable of handling so much power.’

  ‘Why is magic more powerful in the Third Realm?’

  ‘We were brought to the Third Realm by archangels rather than the ordinary angels who delivered the people of the other Realms from the heavens at the start of the First Times. Naturally that makes us considerably more robust.’

  ‘Is that why the Third Realm wars were so much worse?’

  ‘Great ability always makes people more demanding, less tolerant. A culture like that, backed up with power . . . It wasn’t good. Millennia of politics in a Realm where the slightest sign of weakness can prove instantly lethal tends to sharpen your own survival skill to the highest level.’ She gave Taggie a lofty smile. ‘And you’re the end product of that evolution – even though you haven’t learned how to apply it yet.’

  ‘All right. I’d like to learn.’

  ‘Good. Now feel the shape I have placed in the magic,’ Mum said hypnotically. ‘That is the spellform we call Adrap. Hold it in your head.’

  Taggie closed her eyes, and tried to keep hold of the spellform’s complicated shape – difficult, so difficult.

  Mum let go. ‘That’s good. Now search your memory for the dog.’

  Taggie remembered Jaspar, the neighbours’ chocolate Labrador. Bounding about the kitchen, happy and excited, tail wagging, beautiful slick dark-ginger coat. She murmured ‘Adrap’, and clicked her fingers, which was the normal trigger for Third Realm magic. The spellform closed about the memory of Jaspar, and the two merged. Taggie could feel a tingle as the magic began to expand, sliding along her skin, tickling . . .

  She grinned, which made the spellform waver. When she opened her eyes she saw her arms had become dog forelegs covered in brown fur.

  ‘Yes!’

  The spellform broke. Magic burst away from her in random spurts. The collapsing enchantment was like an electric shock zipping through her fingers.

  ‘Oww!’ Taggie yelped, and flapped her hands frantically.

  ‘That’s because you didn’t concentrate,’ Mum snapped.

  Taggie hung her head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘All right,’ Mum said, taking a breath. ‘Practice is the key here. We’ll start again after lunch. You must keep that spellform together in your mind. That’s the key to this.’

  ‘I know. It’s just that the charmsward normally does it.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mum raised an eyebrow in disapproval. ‘When I was training to be a sorceress, we weren’t allowed any artificial help. We had to memorize every spellform, and woe betide us if we didn’t.’

  ‘Really?’ Taggie was fascinated. Mum rarely spoke about the Third Realm.

  ‘Yes, really. But the old sorceress mistresses who taught us were complete terrors. It’s just as well you don’t attend their academies, they’re very strict. And Jemima would be zapped to a cinder thirty seconds after she walked through the front gate – the mistresses wouldn’t put up with her cheek.’ Mum looked up at the top of the palace’s Layawhan Tower, the tallest structure in the whole First Realm. ‘Sometimes I think I made a mistake leaving.’

  ‘I’m glad you left,’ Taggie said. ‘I’m glad you met Dad.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, pay no attention to me. I couldn’t be prouder of you.’

  ‘So how long were you at the academy?’ Now Mum was talking about the Third Realm, Taggie suddenly felt bold enough to ask for more detail.

  ‘Twelve years.’

  ‘No wonder you’re so good at magic.’

  ‘Sweetheart, you only found magic existed last year. I think you’re doing quite brilliantly despite your lack of formal training. At the academy, they wouldn’t even begin teaching you shapeshifting until year ten. Shapeshifting is one of the most demanding enchantments there is.’

  ‘What are the other tough ones?’ Taggie asked immediately.

  Mum laughed. ‘Oh, you really are my daughter, aren’t you? Alchemy is supposed to be the most difficult of all, turning ordinary metals into gold. Personally I believe it’s levitation, lifting yourself off the ground and flying like one of the skyfolk.’

  ‘Really?’ Taggie asked breathlessly. ‘There are enchantments for those things?’ She couldn’t find them in the charmsward.

  ‘Oh my, what have I done?’ Mum laughed.

  ‘Do you know them? Can you teach them to me? Pleeease!’

  ‘Yes I know them, but I’m not even going to start teaching you things like that until you’ve mastered how to shapeshift. Prove you can do that, that you have the discipline, and I’ll think about the others.’

  ‘I will, I promise, Mum, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’

  ‘Mum, what about curses? Can you lift those?’ Taggie asked eagerly.

  ‘You mean the one affecting Felix, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose . . .’

  ‘The Karrak Lords brought that vile discipline with them through Mirlyn’s Gate. I know the Third Realm’s senior sorceresses had been studying these Dark Universe curses for an age without much success in devising counters. I would say that it probably cannot be lifted because the enchantment is now a part of him, what he is. Remember it has been passed down his family for generations, it runs through the Weldowens as brown eyes run through our family line.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t worry. He seems able to live with it, and all such curses have to have an end clause woven into their structure in order for them to begin. Not even a Karrak Lord can bind magic for eternity. So there is always hope.’

  ‘And the Great Gateway? Do you know the spellform to forge a Great Gateway? Oh, and what about walking on water? That would be so cool. And—’

  ‘Enough! It’s lunchtime.’

  The palace’s banqueting hall was huge, with a vaulted ceiling supported by great carved timbers arching overhead. Big colourful paintings of merry scenes hung on the walls below the high circular windows that sent sunlight streaming down on to the marble floor. It was all very elegant, and Taggie couldn’t wait for the first state banquet to be thrown. But that was still a while off; a third of the hall remained covered in scaffolding so artisans could remove the runes and crude carvings left behind by the Karrak Lords and Ladies during their brief occupancy.

  But the ash table long enough to seat a hundred and fifty people was unscathed. It was quite fun to have just ten people using it. Taggie sat at the end, flanked by her friends as the kitchen staff brought in quiches and salads and sausage rolls and Scotch eggs and new potatoes (the palace cook had never quite mastered chips). Felix got a big bowl of seeds and nuts. Taggie found it odd to have both Mum and Dad sitting with them. Odd but nice.

  Mr Anatole arrived barely a minute after they’d all started tucking in. ‘Majesty?’ He bowed.

  ‘What is it?’ Taggie asked.

  ‘There is an envoy from King Manokol outside, a Lady Jessicara DiStantona. She urgently wishes to speak with the Queen of Dreams.’

  ‘Then show her in,’ Taggie said.

  Lady Jessicara DiStantona was a young woman dressed in an extravagant purple velvet tunic. Her glossy blonde hair was woven into long braids which then blended together into a wide scarlet cloak. With Mr Anatole escorting her, she strutted into the banqueting hall, gazing round as if she found it unsatisfactory. Taggie waited until Lady Jessicara stopped at the table in front of Mum. She swept the oversized beret with five huge fluffy emerald feathers from her head in an extravagant gesture, and bowed low. ‘Majesty.’

  From the corner of her eye Taggie could see Jemima starting to giggle. She scowled a warning at her s
ister.

  ‘Welcome to the First Realm, Lady Jessicara,’ Taggie said gracefully from the other side of the table, and stood up.

  The envoy gave her a surprised look. ‘You are the fabled Queen of Dreams?’

  Taggie was suddenly conscious of her jeans and scruffy T-shirt.

  But Mum rose to her feet, suddenly clad in the full lustrous pearl-and-gold robes of a Third Realm sorceress, implausibly tall and intimidating. Her transformation was wonderfully impressive.

  ‘Have a care, madam. You address Usrith’s heir, The Queen of Dreams herself. Protector of the First Realm. Conqueror of the King of Night’s army. General of the Palace Guard. Knight Commander of the Dolvoki Rangers. And my daughter!’ she said in a regal voice.

  Lady Jessicara gulped, and bowed even lower in Taggie’s direction. ‘Majesty. I meant no disrespect.’

  ‘Please,’ Taggie said, slightly overwhelmed herself. ‘None was taken. Now do join us, you must be hungry after your travels.’

  Sophie moved along a seat so the envoy could have the chair next to Taggie – though the skymaid made sure she took the Outer Realm ketchup bottle with her. As Lady Jessicara sat, her peculiar hair cloak slowly drifted down out of the air.

  ‘I’m afraid I bring unwelcome news, Majesty,’ the envoy began, as the kitchen staff brought her a plate of food. ‘Prince Rogreth, King Manokol’s first son and heir is dead. We believe he was murdered.’

  Taggie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘No!’

  ‘What happened?’ Mum asked.

  ‘The prince was leading a hunting party,’ Lady Jessicara said. ‘He was trying to bring down a tothgat. They are vermin in our Realm, flying predators which almost rival a rathwai for their size and bad temper. This particular one had been causing trouble for some hill farmers, carrying away livestock, damaging barns and fences. The prince and his friends undertook to bring it down for them. Unfortunately, it takes a great many crossbow bolts to dispatch one of the wretched things. One struck the prince.’