Rebel Prince

by Justine Davis

  “Yes,” Lyon agreed, “he will. In full force.”

  “They must hold until he arrives,” Shaina said. “Will they? Can they?”

  “I do not know,” Tark said, sounding as uncertain as the words.

  “They will hold,” Rina said. “Once the hero of Galatin returns to rally them.”

  THE FLOOD OF refugees began before they got down to the flat. The mountain seemed a likely place to escape the next round, and people, mostly women with children, were hastening there. They were too frightened to even notice the four headed against the tide, except to occasionally shout to them that they should turn around, get out, not head into the chaos.

  “You have a secondary meeting place, for the watchers?” Rina asked.

  “Yes,” Tark said, and something in the wry twist of his mouth told her.

  “Your dwelling?”

  “Yes. They will be there if they are able to get there.”

  Neither Lyon nor Shaina questioned when they left the main road. They exchanged glances, but it was clear neither of them was about to question the decisions of Commander Tarkson in war. Pride filled Rina, pride in them, in him. She wished more than anything that Tark would not have to do this. But she knew he would because he must, because it was who he truly was, and she loved him all the more for it.

  They reached the ramshackle shed, and she saw Lyon and Shaina both grin when the hidden door swung open.

  There were fewer of them there this time. Kateri was giving instructions, assigning those who remained to different districts, and Rina guessed that was where the others were already. For she had no doubt all of the watchers would fight, even those who were reluctant. It took courage to go against the common stream of thought as they had.

  Kateri had turned the moment the door opened.

  “You heard the battle begin?” she asked Tark.

  Tark said nothing, just stood aside to let Lyon and Shaina step into the circle of light cast by the huntlight. The older woman’s eyes narrowed as her gaze fastened on Lyon, and then Shaina. She’d known who they’d gone after, but seeing the resemblance in person was always startling. Thanks to his parent’s protectiveness, there were not that many images of Lyon allowed beyond Trios, but he looked enough like his father for anyone who had seen Dare to guess, and Shaina looked even more like Dax.

  Rina heard whispers running around the room. She heard “Trios” and “Dax” more than once, and knew others had realized. She turned to the two subjects of the stir.

  “This is Kateri Reyks,” she said to Lyon and Shaina. “She is the leader of the watchers, the only ones on Arellia with the wisdom and heart to see this coming. She has been the clarion call of a truth no one wanted to hear.”

  She turned then to the woman, who was smiling now. In the short time she’d known her, Rina had never seen Kateri smile so widely.

  “I introduce you to Prince Lyon of Trios.” A buzz of sound went around the cave as those who had not guessed his identity realized who was among them. “And,” she added, “Shaina Silverbrake.”

  The sound erupted then, chatter, even cheers, continuing until Kateri raised a hand for silence.

  “We have just received,” she said slowly, “our best weapon.”

  And so it begins, Rina thought.

  THE SMELL OF smoke was strong. Lyon’s eyes stung as they made their way against the growing tide of terrified people, all seemingly intent on getting out of Galatin. Kateri and Crim had come with them; the others had scattered to their prearranged points to assess both damage and atmosphere among the people.

  “Fools,” Crim muttered. “As if there is any escaping this.”

  “They are afraid,” Tark said.

  “And a hundred times more blind with two eyes than you are with one,” Crim said. The man did not wince, Lyon noticed, a measure either of his acceptance of his circumstance or his respect for the speaker. Or both. There was much to admire about this man, he thought.

  “Some are not running,” Lyon observed as they reached the square. There was a large cluster, fifty, perhaps more, near the statue. The argument was fierce, and even from several feet away Lyon could hear that these few at least did not want to abandon their city.

  “Too few,” Shaina said.

  “Five times what Tark had at the Council Building,” Rina said.

  Lyon turned to look at her, and couldn’t help but smile. Rina was so fierce only about her own, those she loved, which told him all he needed to know. It was as well he was impressed with the man.

  “But we had Dax and the Evening Star above, then,” Tark said.

  “He is coming,” Lyon said, glancing up at the statue of his godfather. Somehow, in cast metal, the resemblance between him and Shaina seemed even more marked.

  “But not soon enough,” Crim said grimly.

  “But,” Kateri said, “we have Dax’s daughter here now.”

  Shaina blinked. “And what good will that do?”

  “They will rally to you.” She glanced at Tark. “Despite their willing blindness, with Tark at your side they will rally. Not all Arellians are fools and cowards.”

  “We,” Lyon said mildly, “would hardly be the ones to argue that, given that we sprang from two of the smartest and bravest, and stand here with three more.”

  Kateri smiled widely. “I see you have your father’s gift for speech.”

  “And calm,” Tark said with a wry quirk of his mouth.

  “Which makes his anger all the more fearsome when roused,” Rina said.

  “And your father?” Kateri asked Shaina.

  Shaina gave a shrug. “He is the best flashbow warrior Trios has ever known,” she said simply.

  “So far,” Lyon said quietly, letting her see the pride he felt that she had justified his faith that she would be able to set aside her anger when faced with something bigger than them all. Shaina flushed, looked away. But she was smiling.

  For a moment none of them spoke, and in that silence Lyon realized the tenor of the sounds from the group near the statue had changed. The mutterings punctuated with occasional angry or frightened exclamations had changed to an excited sort of buzz. And when he looked toward them, he saw the entire group was staring at them.

  “Now, Tark,” Kateri said.

  “I am no speaker—”

  “You must. They must see you willing to stand once more.” She turned to Shaina. “And you must join him.”

  “Me?” Shaina was so startled she nearly yelped it, something that happened so rarely Lyon wished they were in a position for him to enjoy it.

  “Now,” Kateri insisted. “The base of the statue.”

  “But I’m no warrior, not like my father.”

  “Have you not realized,” Lyon said softly, “that he has prepared you for this, every day of your life, even if he kept from you your true destiny?”

  Her gaze met his. “My job is to protect you,” she said.

  With an effort he fought back the thoughts of what dangers that could put her in. And realized he had never appreciated enough the partnerships both his parents and godparents had built together, how hard it was to let the one you loved beyond all others do what they must.

  “And what better way to protect me than to drive the Coalition back from here?” he asked in a tone of calm reason he supposed was much like his father’s.

  The crowd of people was pointing now, and he heard Dax’s name repeated, along with Tark’s. One man called out to Shaina, “You! You are Dax’s daughter!”

  “You are,” Lyon said to her. “Now show them.”

  He sensed her reluctance as clearly as he could see the same emotion on Tark’s face. The two exchanged a long glance, and finally, they almost simultaneously nodded.

  Shaina leapt up on the base of the statue of he
r father. Tark followed.

  “Yes, I am the daughter of Dax Silverbrake, the flashbow warrior of Trios,” she said loudly. The crowd’s milling stilled, and at her ringing cry even some of those fleeing paused, turned, stared. “And he, as he did before, is coming to aid those who will fight for their homes, for their world. Will you make him regret it?”

  “You are with her, Tark?” The question was shouted from the crowd.

  For a moment Tark said nothing. Lyon wondered what was going through his mind as he looked out at the people who had scorned him once they no longer needed him. He would be within his rights to turn his back on them, now that they needed him again.

  But he did not. For that, Lyon thought, was not what heroes were made of.

  “I will stand with the daughter of my greatest ally. And friend.”

  Shaina, looking so much like the man immortalized larger than life and towering above her, let her voice ring out even more strongly, the note of challenge unmistakable. “And I will stand with the man my father and my world reveres, the hero of Galatin.”

  Cheers erupted. Even in these few minutes the crowd had grown. Lyon saw people gesturing, urging others to join in. He saw communicators in use, as people called others. Perhaps, he thought, they had merely been bewildered, dazed by the attack.

  The crowd seemed to multiply with every moment. He should have known, Lyon thought. The planet that had produced the likes of his mother, and Shaina’s, couldn’t be populated with nothing but frightened brollets. Although he suspected they would encounter a few of those when they tried to rally the leadership that was, according to their scouts, holed up in the Council Building once more.

  If necessary, they would do without those whose expertise ran to talk instead of action. It would make it more difficult, but nothing about war was easy, as his father had so often said.

  Many might run, but many would stand. They would be untrained, and need strong leadership, but they would fight. He could only hope there would be enough of them.

  And that they could hold long enough.

  Chapter 42

  THE LIGHT HAD begun to fade when they finally left the now-crowded square. There were at best a couple of hours until nightfall. Places that had been full of revelers now were full of those fleeing, belongings stuffed into any available carrier, vehicles ranging from sleek airspeeders to rovers full of dozens, to even children’s air scooters, clogging the streets that had been the scene of a never-ending party just hours ago.

  But as their party passed, people stopped, stared.

  As it had been at the base of the statue, Rina heard people calling Dax’s name.

  And Tark’s.

  “Are we fighting?” someone called out.

  “We are,” Tark answered. “With or without them,” he added, jerking a thumb toward the Council Building.

  Rina was gladdened by the cheer that rose, and by the number that abandoned their flight to follow.

  The debate was in full force as they entered the chamber. The upper and lower galleries were packed with citizens. Down on the council floor shouting, most often simultaneously, was the most prevalent means of communication. From what Rina could decipher, the question wasn’t whether to surrender, but who would actually do it.

  “Cowards,” Crim muttered.

  “They did not want this fight,” Tark said.

  “Nor did you,” Rina said to him. “And yet you are here.”

  “More fool I.”

  Before Rina could respond to that, there was a lull in the vociferous discussion. And into that lull Kateri walked, head up, eying them all as she went.

  “Such brave souls, we Arellians!” she proclaimed loudly. The room fell silent in shock as all recognized the woman who had warned them again and again this was coming. “We do not gather to discuss how to repel this unprovoked attack, we do not gather to discuss how best to defeat this enemy whose evil we know too well. We gather instead to decide who shall announce our cowardly capitulation.”

  There was a stir in the room, a shuffling. But there was no denial. How could there be? Rina thought.

  “I care not that you would not listen,” Kateri said, as if she had read their thoughts. “But I care that you will not fight.”

  “We are not prepared,” someone called out.

  “I could remind you who is at fault for that, but there is no time for blame now.”

  “We cannot withstand this!” The high-pitched, querulous cry came from one of the men on the council floor.

  Rina recognized the voice immediately. Beside her, Tark’s head snapped around as he searched for the speaker. When he spotted the man, he muttered, “I thought so.”

  And then he moved. He strode onto the council floor as if he owned it. As, indeed, he once had.

  “I recall you saying the same thing once before, Bratus. You were wrong then, too.”

  A gasp went around the chamber.

  “Tark.”

  “It’s Tark.”

  “Tark is with us.”

  His name was repeated from all quarters, in tones of awe now, as if this man were somehow different from the man they had scorned for so long.

  “You were the first to cut and run then. I see you have grown no braver since.”

  A wave of barely suppressed snickering went around the room. How on earth had he managed to get himself chosen mayor? she wondered.

  Tark turned then, looked at the officials gathered. Shrugged dismissively, then lifted his gaze to the galleries above.

  “Is this what you wish, people of Arellia?” he called out. “To surrender without even a token resistance?”

  The “No!” that echoed around that room was nothing less than a roar.

  “You,” Tark said, his head still lifted, “I will fight for.” He lowered his gaze back to the politicians gathered. “You, can go to Hades.”

  The cheers that erupted threatened to take off the roof as surely as Coalition cannon fire. Tark strode off the floor, coming back to her. Rina felt her eyes sting with moisture as pride in this man filled her anew.

  “People of Arellia!” Kateri shouted. “You must decide. Cravenly surrender, or push this”—she glanced at the fuming council with disgust—“deadwood aside and do what should be done. But before you decide, there is something you should know. We do not fight alone.”

  She looked toward them. Toward Lyon, Rina realized. For an instant she wanted to take his arm, reassure him as if he were the boy she’d known. But Lyon wasn’t a child who needed her encouragement. Even since he had left Trios, only a matter of days, he was changed. He and Shaina both. They were no longer the unproven heirs who had left Triotia such a short time ago.

  And he rose to the challenge now. He walked toward Kateri as if he wore the royal cape, his bearing making the humble clothing and lack of royal insignia—save the ring now back on his finger—irrelevant.

  “I give you Prince Lyon of Trios!” Kateri exclaimed.

  The murmur that went around then was quieter, more assessing. They had known Lyon was coming, so there was no surprise, but he had their attention nevertheless.

  Lyon didn’t waste any time. Nor did he waste his breath on the now-chastened men before him. As had Tark, he addressed the people in the galleries, the citizens. “Trios will honor the Pact,” he said. “Help is already on the way. My father is readying even more. We will stand with Arellia, as we have before. But you must stand.”

  To Rina’s surprise, Shaina moved suddenly. She strode out onto the council floor much as Lyon had, confident, determined, as if her success in the square had inspired her. A gasp of recognition went around the gallery. They clearly had recognized the daughter who looked so much like the father.

  “And in case you have forgotten, people of Galatin, how Trios answers a call for help,
” Shaina called out to them, “that help will be led by my father!”

  Shouts went around the room.

  “Dax!”

  “We have the daughter of Dax with us!”

  “I am with you,” she said, “as is my father and my king. We will fight with you. But we will not fight for you.”

  It was not, perhaps, the most politic thing to say, Rina thought. But politics seemed suddenly out of place here in this chamber usually full of it.

  Someone called out from the upper gallery.

  “We have Tark, the Prince of Trios, and the daughter of the flashbow warrior! We cannot lose!”

  And the noise as the crowd rose to their feet, shouting, cheering, was deafening. Kateri had been right, it seemed, when she had said they had their best weapon now. The three of them, Tark, Lyon, and Shaina, had turned the tide. She had no doubts now.

  Arellia would fight.

  Chapter 43

  “GO,” TARK ORDERED.

  Shaina watched as the young man, barely more than a boy, nodded and ran out. Seconds later they heard the sound of the air speeder as it shot down the street. He was the last of the messengers sent to get word to the citizens that had already fled the city that the climate had changed, that Galatin at least was going to make it a fight. They could only hope that some would take heart and return to join them.

  Lyon stood on one side of the table. She took advantage of the moment to study him—and remembered the brief conversation they’d had on the way down the mountain.

  Did you really hear my thoughts?

  Yes. And you mine?

  Yes.

  This could get . . . interesting.

  It was all they’d had time for, but she knew they would explore it more later. That it had begun after the meadow did not surprise her. She was beginning to think that nothing that happened in this bewitched place would surprise her. She wondered if it would continue once they got home.

  If they got home.

  She looked around the tactical room once more. It was full, but it was a small room. There weren’t enough here to take on the Coalition. Were they on Trios, there would be no doubt. If the king put out a call such as this, everyone, able-bodied or no, would respond. And she realized that even she, who had been raised to love her home above all others, did not fully appreciate the wonder that was her world.