Copyright © 2021 by M. H. Woodscourt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover designed by Whimsy Book Cover Graphics.
To the unsung heroes in every era who stand for truth against despots, traitors, cynics, cowards, liars, and fools.
Your bravery astounds me.
Contents
1. Wanderlust
2. The Lady Queen
3. The Dying King
4. Rille
5. The Dungeon
6. The Holy Empire of KryTeer
7. In Hiding
8. Traveria
9. Death
10. The Vices of Men
11. A Battle of Wits
12. The Journey South
13. Children of the Earth
14. The Missing King
15. The Honor of Blood
16. The Hut in the Woods
17. Threads of Freedom
18. Where Deception Ends
19. A Storyteller True
20. The Lost Prince
21. Fairy Wings
22. Unfolding Visions
23. The Curse
24. The Drifting Sands
25. Beyond the Arch
26. The Second Prince of the Blood
27. The Shepherd of Shing
28. The Way of the Elders
29. The Snake
30. Within the Fortress
31. A Thread of Smoke
32. Envy and Revenge
33. A Plea for Help
34. Sea Bells
35. Before the Emperor
36. Five Spears
37. Caught in a Trap
38. Almost Dawn
39. Between Two Pillars
40. The Man from Shing
Addendum
Dearest Reader
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by M. H. Woodscourt
1
Wanderlust
There was nothing special about him.
He traveled with a satchel over one shoulder, his gait slow, ignorant of the world rushing on without him. His clothes; threadbare, vest open, every button gone, shoes worn out. The traveler didn’t appear to mind, meandering as he was through tall meadow grass beside a trickling stream. He strolled with a full smile on his lips, eyes bright as he gazed all around. Rarely did he look ahead, yet his steps were certain, and he never stumbled. When he looked forward, there was a light in his face that left no room for doubt: He knew his destination, but he was in no hurry to get there.
Crouched against a hillside west of the stream, Yeshton watched the man. One hand gripped the pommel of his sword.
One thing Yeshton didn’t understand: How could this man have a price on his head? Not that Yeshton would receive any reward for bringing the traveler in. As an Amantieran soldier under Duke Lunorr’s banner, this was duty, not fortune. But by capturing the wanted man himself, no one else could claim the reward either. Two hundred gold kana was a lot of money.
Yeshton’s eyes narrowed. Is he from Shing?
The black hair and short stature implied it. Was this simple man a spy for the KryTeer Empire? In that case, the price was too low.
But the Shingese weren’t really of the KryTeer Empire. Shing had surrendered only five years ago. Odd that a loyal spy would come from there so soon. A paid informant, then? Not duty-bound but seeking profit or maybe a decent meal. The latter was probable, judging by his apparel.
You’re a soldier, man. Do your job. Yeshton raised his hand, bracing to signal the other men stationed in the shadows around the point of ambush. The traveler approached the sloping path between two steep inclines. Yeshton had guessed right. This was the way toward Kavacos of Rose Province, the Royal City of His Majesty King Jetekesh the Fourth.
The rabbit strolled toward the snare.
Yeshton pressed against the slope. Patience. No mistakes.
The traveler stopped before he reached Yeshton’s position and turned to study a large elm. Had he seen Brov hidden in the higher branches?
The traveler whistled up at a nesting bird. The bird trilled a reply. Hitching the satchel higher on his shoulder, the man continued walking.
Three more steps. Two. One.
Yeshton signaled and his men appeared around the hill, three wielding bows and arrows, the rest with their swords unsheathed. Yeshton stood tall and folded his arms as the traveler stopped to gaze up at the eight armed soldiers.
“Jinji Wanderlust,” Yeshton said. “By order of Her Majesty Queen Bareene, you are under arrest.”
The man turned to look up at him, a gentle smile on his lips. “What is my crime, sir?” His accent was faint. His eyes were a teal blue color. Perhaps not from Shing after all.
“Rabble-rousing,” Yeshton said.
Jinji blinked. “I can’t see how that is so.”
“Contend with the queen if you dare. You’re to come with us.”
“I will come.” Jinji hitched up his satchel again.
Yeshton nodded to Kivar, who slung his bow over his shoulder and moved down the slope. Near the bottom he stumbled. Jinji darted forward and grabbed the man’s arm before his feet caught even ground.
“Take care. The dew is abundant this morning.”
Kivar jerked from his grasp. “I don’t need your help, spy.”
Jinji held out one wrist. “Do I go in irons?”
Yeshton looked him up and down. Pale and thin, white threading through his hair, though he appeared little older than Yeshton; perhaps thirty years. “I doubt that will be necessary.” He trotted down the hill and started along the path. His men followed, Jinji at their center until they cleared the hills and reached the horses tethered to several fallen trees. Yeshton untied his horse and swung up into the saddle. “Can you ride, Wanderlust?”
The man studied the horse. “I’ve never tried, but I can learn.”
“We don’t have time. Nallin, help him up behind me.”
The young soldier helped Jinji to clamber onto the horse’s back. He rested his hands against Yeshton’s shoulders, his touch light as a breath. “I am ready.”
“Move out!” They rode in single file, following the rough path to straighter, wider roads, where they spread into two columns. Twenty minutes later signs of civilization appeared along the King’s Highway. Yeshton’s eyes darted every which way. Amid the wagons and peddlers, he found several unsavory faces, but none looked ready to hinder an armed company; not even for a royal reward.
Jinji Wanderlust began to hum.
Yeshton glared back at him. “Stop that.”
“Is something amiss?” asked Jinji.
“Yes, you. Are you so unconcerned with your fate?”
“What, pray, is my fate; do you know?”
“Sedition usually ends in death.”
“Indeed, so do all things. But I am innocent of inciting crowds in Amantier.” The man’s tone was not the whiny protest of other condemned men. His smile remained.
“Say what you will. Queen Bareene feels otherwise.”
“Her Majesty does not know me yet.”
Yeshton snorted. “Will that make a difference?”
“I should think so. Is a man condemned before his trial?”
“You’re a foreigner,” Yeshton answered.
“My mother was of Shing,” Jinji said. “My father, Amantieran.”
“Then you had best hope your father appears at your trial.”
“He won’t.”
That wouldn’t help the man’s case.
“What is your name?”
asked Jinji.
“Why?”
“Because in my head I cannot help but call you ‘the man who frowns,’ and I think it would be better to call you by name.”
“Fine. Yeshton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yeshton. I am Jinji, as you know.”
Yeshton tightened his fists over the reins. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“It’s not a pleasure. Your situation is bleak. Don’t hum, don’t smile, don’t exchange pleasantries. You’re going to die. Do you understand, or are you mad?”
Jinji laughed. It was a soft sound, like water. “Such a dismal outlook. Of course I will die. Everyone will, someday. But today, in this moment, I am alive. That is enough for me.”
Yeshton stared at the road ahead. “You are mad.”
“Perhaps,” Jinji said. “Or perhaps you are mad, not I. Who can say?” His voice was still smiling.
As the stone gates shut behind him, Yeshton let out a breath and pushed his shoulder-length, dark blond hair away from his face. After the hustle and bustle of Kavacos, the palace grounds were a welcome reprieve, frequented by only the handful of guards on duty. No incidents had occurred on the streets outside, but there had been a lot of inquisitive gazes.
The captain of the guard stood on the gravel drive. Was the heat too much or had he been born with that snarl? “This is the infamous Wanderlust?”
Yeshton helped Jinji stumble off the horse, then swung down. “It’s him. He fits the description and he answers to the name.”
The captain looked Jinji up and down, then turned his critical eye on Yeshton. “And you are…?”
“Yeshton of Duke Lunorr’s militiamen. He sent us to confirm a report of Wanderlust’s location, then bring him straight here, should the informant be truthful.”
“Your orders?”
Yeshton pulled the crinkled parchment from under his hauberk and smoothed it before he handed it over.
The captain read through it as he sucked at something between his teeth. “All right. Wanderlust is now in the custody of Her Majesty the Queen.”
Yeshton saluted and stepped back. He kept his gaze away from the prisoner.
The captain signaled with his hand. “Jinji Wanderlust, you are hereby under arrest for sedition.”
The prisoner made no sound as two armed guards stepped from the shadows of the gate. One claimed his satchel. Yeshton moved beside his horse; its body heat wafted under the scorching sun. Sweat pricked Yeshton’s brow. His eyes wandered to Rose Palace. Its sandstone towers stretched wide and tall across the green lawn, and the banner of Amantier limped in a half-hearted breeze.
The captain of the guard glanced his way. “Still here?”
“Duke Lunorr will want proof I’ve obeyed his orders.”
The captain grunted and ran a hand through his short, coarse hair. “I bet he’ll want the reward, too.”
“His reward is the queen’s smile.”
The captain snorted. “Right. And yours?”
“Only proof I’ve done my lord proud.”
With a sigh, the captain gestured, and a young boy scampered from the shade, paper and quill in hand. “Jot this down, boy: ‘To Duke Lunorr of Sage Province. Your men did high service to Her Majesty the Queen this day by bringing in the notorious Wanderlust. He will stand trial for his crimes against the Crown. Her Majesty’s smile is yours.’ Got that?” The captain snatched the parchment and quill. He scrawled his name and rolled the parchment up. “Take it and begone. You’re stinking up the royal gates.”
Yeshton took the parchment with murmured thanks. He glanced toward Jinji as the captain turned away. The prisoner eyed Yeshton with an open smile, even as the two guards flanking him set hands on his shoulders to guide him to his fate.
“I am glad I met you, Yeshton. Farewell.”
Yeshton turned away, but the man’s eyes remained in his vision. Bright and unafraid. No accusation harbored there. Yeshton swallowed and looked at his waiting men, then swung up into his saddle. “Move out.”
It was odd, Yeshton thought as he rode through the gates and entered the milling streets of Kavacos. Most traitors were heralded by angry mobs on their way to trial, but no one had tried to waylay Yeshton or his men, though they had a highly prized criminal in tow.
Why? Why was Jinji different?
He spotted a crowd of children staring at him and his companions with wide eyes.
“It’s him,” one whispered, “the lost knight.”
“Nuh-uh,” said another. “He’s Prince Sharo.”
A third shoved the second. “Does he look like a prince to you, you poxy oaf?”
The second boy shoved back. “Course not. Neither does Sharo though.”
Yeshton turned away, hiding a smile. Even in these dangerous times when the world was at war, children played make-believe. He remembered long, long ago pretending to be Sharo, fabled prince of fairyland.
A woman darted into the street ahead of Yeshton. His horse reared as he yanked the reins. The woman danced out of the way.
“Watch it, wench!” Brov barked from his own startled mount.
She bobbed an apology as Yeshton laid a calming hand on his stallion’s neck. “Terrible sorry, I am, honored sirs!”
“No harm done,” Yeshton said. He shot Brov a look. The man held his tongue.
The woman bobbed again. “You’re most kind, honored sir.” She whirled on the children. “Hush, ye fools. Don’t play near the palace.” She swatted one boy’s backside. “Get away. Y’know the queen hates fairy stories. Off with ye.”
The children scattered, shouting and laughing. Yeshton frowned up at the high spires of the palace visible beyond the gates. It seemed silly to ban fairy stories because of a war, but then fear did strange things to people, even queens.
2
The Lady Queen
Queen Bareene stretched out on the settee and kicked off her slippers to flex her toes. With a sigh she sank her head into the pillows, then glanced across the room to where her son sat in silence before the fire in the hearth.
She puckered her lips. “Do not fret, my dear boy. It isn’t the end of the world.”
Prince Jetekesh threw up his hands. “How am I ever to govern the land if you keep intervening, Mother?”
Bareene’s smile stretched wider. “It was a sensitive issue, darling. You hesitated.”
“I was thinking!” Jetekesh snatched up the poker and prodded at the burning wood. “For all of two seconds before you took over!”
“Please don’t sulk, dearheart. It spoils your looks.”
Jetekesh smoothed his face. He was a fine-looking young man, twice what his father had been even before his illness ravaged him. Straight golden hair framed the prince’s face and fell past his shoulders in the present fashion of young men. His eyes, a beautiful teal blue shade, danced in the firelight. His cheekbones, high and delicate; frame lean, not yet a man’s. He promised to be tall, but not gangling. A perfect specimen of good breeding.
Ah, yes. He would make a fine ruler, if only he learned to control his temper.
“Mother, next time I hesitate, count to five. Can you promise me that at least?”
“Whatever you wish, pet.”
A scowl gathered at his brow, but he sighed and relaxed his face. He was learning, just…slowly. “Thank you, Lady Mother.”
A knock hammered the door. Bareene sighed. “It had better not be about your father. He’s so demanding these days.”
Jetekesh started to rise, but Bareene waved him back down.
“Come in.” She narrowed her eyes. “We never walk to a summons.”
A servant poked her head inside. “Your Majesty, Captain Frebe of the Royal Guard seeks an audience. He comes with a gift.”
“How intriguing.” Bareene sat up and smoothed the layers of her full dress. She tucked her toes under the fabric and nodded. “Let him enter.”
Frebe marched inside the ornate, wood-beamed chamber and bowed. Bareene’s
lip curled as the reek of sweat and stables wafted toward her. “This had better be important, Captain.”
“I would not come otherwise, My Queen.” He straightened and waved his hand. Two more pungent guards entered, a papery-looking wayfarer between them.
“What in the name of all the holy saints is this?” She eyed the threadbare apparel. The cut of his jaw and the fine lines of his cheeks. The upward slant of his eyes. “You bring a Shingese peasant to my private parlor, Captain?”
“Your Majesty, I present Jinji Wanderlust.”
Her eyes darted up and down the frail frame before her. A smile tugged at her lips. “Oh really?” She rose with a rustle of cloth and approached, gathering her skirts to keep them back. “You are Jinji Wanderlust? You’re the madman selling tales of sedition to my people?”
“I am named Jinji,” the prisoner said. “But I do not claim the title Wanderlust.”
“You really ought,” she said, drawing as close as she dared to half-blood filth. “I gave it to you.”
He inclined his head. “I thank you, Your Majesty, for the gift.”
“You know why I gave it to you, I daresay. You’re an elusive man, wandering from place to place, avoiding those sent to keep you from your foul purpose. It’s poetic, perfect for the seditious storyteller who ignores my royal decrees, don’t you think?”
“Are you a storyteller, truly?”
Bareene pursed her lips and turned to Jetekesh. The boy stood beside the fire now, his eyes flickering with light as he studied Jinji. “Two hundred gold kana just to catch a storyteller. Really, Mother?”
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