by Tony Roberts
“They’re all so serious looking, ‘Gan,” Kerrin remarked. “Do you think we’ll be serious like that when we’re grown-ups?”
“I don’t want to be,” Argan said, nodding to emphasise his words. “I’m always being told that to be a prince is serious stuff. It’s so stuffy! I got to do this, and not that, and it gets my head all wobbly! I can’t remember when I’ve got to do something at the right time. I tell you, ‘Rin, being a prince is stinky.”
“Well I think it’s great. You get people bowing to you all the time and you’re in charge, telling them what to do. If I was a prince I’d tell lots of people what to do, like do their buttons up properly and don’t wipe their noses on their sleeves.”
“Who does that?” Argan asked.
“Oh, runny-nose Davan. Have you seen his nose sometimes? Great huge green blobs falling out of it. I think it’s his brains coming out, I tell you!”
Argan sniggered. “Davan’s a stableboy, so he’s going to have a runny nose. Did you see that equine the other day with a green nose? Ugh! Davan’s just being like them!”
“How do equines get rid of their runny noses? They can’t wipe it on their legs, can they?”
The prince looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t know that one. Maybe they get the stableboy to wipe it for them, and Davan’s showing them we can get runny noses too.”
They giggled again. They had to stop as footsteps came to them and Argan tugged on Kerrin’s sleeve and motioned him to be quiet. A guard passed by, whistling. Kerrin tutted. “He’s not allowed to do that! Whistling on duty – I heard father say that the other day. Whistling is not allowed on duty! He’s very strict, you know.”
“I know,” Argan said with feeling. “I still got sore fingers from that sword.” Argan’s weapon training had been intense. He’d been given a wooden sword to practice with and had sulked, wanting a proper one, until Kerrin’s father had slapped him on the fingers for not holding the sword correctly with a wooden one he was holding.
“Until you learn to use that one properly, Prince Argan,” he had said sternly, “you will not use a proper sword.”
Argan hadn’t told his mother as he didn’t want to be thought of a cry-baby and a tell-tale. Besides, he thought telling his mother might get Kerrin’s father in trouble and he was Kerrin’s friend. “That guard should know better,” he said.
“You going to tell Vosgaris?” Kerrin asked. “He should know.”
“Nah, Vosgaris is too nice. He won’t tell him off. You father would, though! By the gods – if your father was in charge of the guard they’d all be scared stiff!”
“I bet,” Kerrin agreed. “He’d shout at them and make them wee their armour!”
Argan put his hand to his mouth and sniggered. “If they did that, would it squirt out anywhere?”
“Yeah, would it come out of the sides or front? All over the place? Father would be even more cross!”
The two broke into chuckles and jabbed each other on the arm.
“And what’s so funny, then?” a voice from above made both jump.
They looked up and saw Vosgaris peering at them over the top of the plant. He’d heard them giggling as he had come walking along, having left the council meeting. “Uh, nothing!” Argan said, smiling, but he could feel himself going red.
“Now you should know better than that, young Prince. You two had best get out of there before anyone else sees you.” The two boys reluctantly got to their feet and pushed through the foliage and stood before the captain, looking down at their feet. Vosgaris stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly. “So what was funny, then?”
“Uh,” Kerrin looked at Argan, nudging him. “G’on, tell him!”
“Young Prince?” Vosgaris asked patiently.
Argan clucked his tongue at Kerrin. “You shouldn’t have said anything, ‘Rin! We were wondering where a guard wee’ed out of.”
Vosgaris stared at the two boys, resisting the urge to explode into laughter. “Did you now? Well that isn’t something little boys should think about, is it? Best you don’t talk about such things again. I’m sure there are other much more pleasant things to talk about. Anyway, what were you two doing behind there in the first place?”
“We were having a rest, Vosgaris.”
“A rest,” Vosgaris repeated slowly. “Beds are for resting on, not statue alcoves. Now I’m sure you two have something better to do. I’m sure it’s time for studies. Shouldn’t you be going to see Mr. Sen, young Prince? And you, Kerrin, I’m sure your father would be pleased to see you. He must be wondering where you’ve got to!”
“Oh yes,” Kerrin nodded. “Got to go. See you later, ‘Gan!”
“Later, ‘Rin!”
Kerrin vanished along the corridor by turning the next corner. Vosgaris sighed. “Prince Argan, I could get into deep trouble with your mother if she knew what you were up to.”
“I won’t tell her; she’s such a fuss-pot anyway. Will you walk with me to Mr. Sen’s room?”
Vosgaris tousled Argan’s hair. “Of course, you rascal. What is it you’re going to learn today, then?”
“I think its languages – can you speak any, Vos’gis?”
“Apart from Kastanian? No. I didn’t get a big education like you’re getting, young Prince. I learned enough but it wasn’t in languages. What languages are you being taught, then?”
“Oh, a bit of Mazag and Mr.Sen said I may have to learn Tybar.” They had got to the door of the tutor room and Vosgaris opened it, allowing Argan to precede him. The boy took two steps into the room and stopped suddenly, drawing in a sudden breath through shock.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The mountains always seemed to stay in the distance. No matter how far the three travellers rode each day, those white-peaked jagged guardians of the horizon remained a distant sight. Amne had commented the previous day that it seemed they would never reach them, but Lalaas had assured her they would. Theros said little whilst in the saddle but each time they stopped, either for lunch, comfort breaks or to pitch camp, he kept close to Amne and ignored Lalaas, almost shielding the princess from the hunter.
Lalaas didn’t appear to be concerned; he just kept on collecting vegetables and fruit from the countryside and on occasions, returning with a kill to cook. Lalaas pitched his own tent and left Theros to cope with his. Amne was skilled enough to put up her own and she had caught the look of approval from him on one occasion, something that cheered her immensely, and she realised just how much she missed the closeness that had existed between the two.
Theros remained a clumsy outdoor type; never managing to put his tent up properly and was always the last to pack and mount up in the mornings. He was fully aware of the look of contempt he received from the hunter and deliberately avoided looking towards him. Lalaas said nothing to him unless it was absolutely necessary, and then it was with ill-disguised hostility.
Amne hated the bad feeling between the two. It made for little conversation while they were on the move. When they camped, however, Theros spoke to Amne at length, but he was too dull and pompous for Amne’s liking. She would have much preferred to sit and talk to Lalaas who had a much wider range of subjects to speak about, and, she had to admit to herself, she preferred his company. Lalaas stayed clear of the two, keeping to himself. He was, after all, one who was used to it, being a scout and hunter, his days often spent alone. The crowds of a town or city were not to his liking, after all, and so he cared little that he was once more on his own, even though he was part of a trio.
That evening they sat around the fire Lalaas had made and ate their evening meal. The nights were beginning to draw in once more and it was clear summer was coming to an end and autumn was approaching. Although the sky was clear and stars glittered, there was the hint of a chill. Amne kept her blanket on her back to make sure she didn’t get cold. Lalaas was opposite her, chewing quietly on the leg of the herd beast he’d shot with his bow. Theros sat to Amne’s left, carefully picking through t
he thigh he’d selected, making sure no bones were amongst the flesh.
“We can’t be far from Mazag,” Theros said, smacking his lips. “Those mountains are in Mazag territory, and we’ve not seen a soul for days on end. Now, ma’am, you will have to conduct yourself as befits a member of the royal house of Kastania. All this – rough – lifestyle you’ve been used to these past sevendays will have to be cast off and forgotten. You must remember why you are here.”
“I am well aware of that, Theros,” Amne replied softly, glancing at Lalaas who smiled briefly. Theros noticed it and cleared his throat testily. “This is no laughing matter, hunter. Out here you may be king, but once amongst civilised surroundings you will once again be the pauper you are.”
“I was smiling at your statement, diplomat. Princess Amne will never forget this – rough – lifestyle as you call it, for as long as she lives.”
“Really!” Theros snorted and looked at Amne. “You must forgive his manners; he’s low born, after all.”
Amne smiled gently. “I take no offence, Theros. How can you find offence with his words when he’s saved my life countless times? No, I won’t forget this journey ever, but neither will I forget I’m a princess and that I must behave accordingly once we reach Mazag.”
“Quite,” Theros said, casting one last glance Lalaas’ way before returning him to the unimportant place in his mind. “How is your Mazag, ma’am? I doubt these foreigners have bothered to learn our language, so it is vital you understand what they are saying. Of course, I shall be with you to guide you should you require it. I wouldn’t put it past these people to try to deceive you.”
“I shall be careful, Theros, be sure of that.” Amne took a slow drink of water, as much to shut Theros up as to quench her thirst. She glanced Lalaas’ way again, and the hunter grinned briefly before finishing his leg and throwing the bones onto the fire which flared up. He then wiped his mouth and looked out into the night, staring into the darkness.
Theros, feeling as though he were outside some unspoken conversation, cleared his throat and gripped both knees. Sitting on the ground was not to his liking. He longed for the comforts of a cushion once more. He wondered at Amne who seemed to be at ease with the outdoor way of life. He hoped this vagrant Lalaas hadn’t changed her too much; there would be the depths of damnation to pay if that were the case. “The moment we reach civilised surroundings we must change into our best clothing. It’s important to convey a suitably grand impression on these less advanced nations. They are so easily impressed by riches and superior dress. I know.”
Amne was half listening. Lalaas was still looking out into the dark but his demeanour had altered. He now seemed tense and his head was pushed forward, as if trying to see something. His right hand was reaching for his hilt. Amne had been with Lalaas long enough now to know something was not right.
“The Mazag are a young nation; consequently they are like a child,” Theros was saying, “and therefore are swayed fairly easily. If we appear grand and colourful, they will be in awe of us. Sadly I don’t think there’s much we can do about the Hunter, but we can always keep him in the background, I suppose.”
“Quiet,” Lalaas suddenly said softly, standing up, his sword in his hand.
“I shall not be quiet,” Theros said, piqued. “You cannot doubt that your appearance is…..” He got no further as Lalaas moved quickly round the fire and jabbed the tip of his sword into Theros’s throat.
“One more squeak from you, you windbag, and I’ll puncture you. Shut up.” Lalaas cocked an ear, not even looking at the wide-eyed Theros who was shrinking back from the point of the sword. “Do you hear anything?” he asked Amne.
Amne listened intently, not even appearing to notice Lalaas hadn’t addressed her with any mark of respect. She thought she heard a noise, but couldn’t be sure. Hesitantly, she pointed out in the direction she thought she had heard something.
Lalaas nodded. “Get close to the fire, both of you.” He now gripped the sword in both hands and stepped across the two, facing out. Amne shuffled round, staring hard into the night. Theros followed, wondering what it was, but picking up on the tension the other two were displaying.
“What is it, ma’am?” he asked in a whisper.
Amne shook her head, indicating she didn’t know, but Lalaas appeared to know, for he was slowly bending down into a half crouch, sword now raised in front of him. His feet were planted wide and Amne studied his body, watching as the muscles moved under his clothing. Her heart beat faster, not just through the tenseness of the situation. A thought popped into her mind, one she would have thought shocking a year ago – one of wishing she could see him naked.
Eyes suddenly came visible from the darkness, reflecting the flames of the fire. Two pairs, three, four. Amne whimpered and got as close to the heat of the fire as she could, and Theros put a hand to his mouth, uttering an incoherent cry to the gods. Dark shapes came into vision, four legged, hairy, threatening. Lalaas slowly moved to one side, blocking the first one’s attempt to get past him and at the two huddled fearfully on the other side of the fire.
“Grab a blazing log,” Lalaas commanded. “They fear fire. If you’re holding one they’ll think twice about attacking you.”
Amne reached out and picked one up, gripping it tightly. The other end was well afire and she waved it to one side, trusting in Lalaas. Theros was gibbering in terror and too frightened to move. Amne ignored him and watched as Lalaas moved back again as a second beast moved, trying to run past and get at the princess. Lalaas swung his sword hard and the beast jumped to one side, growling. But his movement gave the other an opening and it sprang forward, jaws agape. Amne screamed but Lalaas had been waiting for such a move. Pivoting on his right foot, the sword came arcing through the air and cut through fur, flesh and bone, and the creature screamed in pain and fell off to one side, rolled and scrambled to its feet, then fell again, whining.
Lalaas snapped back into a guard posture and watched the other three as they circled in front of the man, eyes fixed on him. The wounded animal lay on its side, whimpering for a short while, then it shuddered and remained still. The hunter stepped forward, sword tip angled up, ahead of his body, as he advanced on the three remaining beasts. They moved backward into the darkness. Growls came from them as they recognised he was stronger and a killer. They preyed on the weak and helpless, and this was not to their liking. The other two were their prey, but this strong one was in their way. With one of their number down the odds were turning against them, and they turned and trotted back into the night, searching for easier kills.
Lalaas waited for a short while, then relaxed and took out his cleaning cloth and wiped his blade. “They’re gone,” he said calmly. “It’s over.”
“What were they, Lalaas?” Amne asked, throwing her log back onto the fire.
“Scavenger beasts. We know them as krolls. Farmers hate them for they take their animals. They hunt in packs.” He walked over to the one he’d killed and examined it. The hide was cut open along one flank and its lifeblood had flowed out over the ground from the wound. He sighed. “Pity; this would have made a good cloak. No matter.” He took it by the legs and dragged it off into the night. He returned a few moments later. “Not something we can eat. Foul taste.”
“Are-are there more out there?” Theros queried, still looking fearfully over his shoulder into the night.
“Of course; but the local pack know better than to come here again. They’ll leave us alone for the rest of the night. They sleep during the day. Just to be sure, I’ll keep watch for a while. You two may as well get some sleep. Tomorrow we carry on towards the mountains.”
Theros looked doubtfully at the hunter and said nothing. He knew he’d get a scornful reply if he said anything more. Amne nodded and made her way to her tent, just a few steps behind her. Lalaas threw another branch of a tree he’d found lying on the ground close by onto the fire and it began crackling as the flames greedily licked at it. Before Amne drew the fla
p of her tent together she gave the hunter one last look, and Lalaas caught it. Both shared a brief moment of understanding and Amne smiled before drawing her flap shut.
She lay there for a while, not being able to sleep at first. Images of Lalaas filled her mind, and a warmth remained within her, something that wouldn’t go away, and her heart refused to slow down. Memories of his arms around her came to her and she shuddered in pleasure at remembering it; if Theros hadn’t been there she may well have asked Lalaas to hold her that night, excusing it on feeling frightened from the kroll attack. Her last conscious thoughts were that of his muscles showing through his tunic and hose as he had defended her. “Lalaas…..” she whispered before she fell asleep, a smile on her lips.
Theros was not smiling. He wasn’t blind. His duty to the empire was clear in his mind. After watching the scout cleaning and then sharpening his sword, and convincing himself that there were no monsters of the night waiting out there, crouching just out of sight ready to devour him, he plucked up the courage to walk over to him.
Lalaas looked up as Theros approached slowly. He ignored him and went back to honing the edge of his sword in the firelight. The log he was sat on wasn’t big enough for two so he was damned if he was going to make space for the diplomat to sit next to him.
“Humph,” Theros cleared his throat. “I have a delicate matter to speak to you about.”
“Then say it, Theros,” Lalaas said brusquely, still not looking him in the face.
“I’ve noticed the – attachment – between you and the princess. This is simply not something that can be permitted to continue,” he said in a low voice, so as not to disturb the sleeping Amne.