Badgerblood: Awakening

by S. C. Monson

  Serah looked surprised at the announcement. Gently, she moved the woman’s head from her lap, then walked to the gate. Despite her ragged clothes and thin appearance, she held herself confidently and moved with grace and dignity. Ebony curls framed her high cheekbones and fell just past her shoulders. She stepped up beside her father, her caramel eyes studying Merrick closely.

  Merrick avoided her gaze. In the past, whenever she and her father had delivered flour to the castle kitchens and seen him dressed as the prince, he had limited his conversations and direct associations with her. That way she would be less likely to recognize him from his disguised outings beyond the castle. He had met up with her on those outings on occasion, formed a sort of loose friendship, and enjoyed the freedom the brief identity change provided. When he disguised himself as one of them, Serah and other villagers treated him as an equal. They laughed and joked with him, teased and bantered. But when he went out as The Prince, they were cold, aloof, and distrustful, even antagonistic at times.

  Merrick glanced at the scarfaced mercenary still standing beside him. The man was close enough for the prince to smell his rotten breath. At the stench, his heart beat harder. He shivered and edged away. “Rimak, escort the McPhersons to my ship. See they are fed well and given clean clothing.”

  The mercenary smiled unpleasantly and bowed. Then he turned his nasty grin on the girl. Eliker pulled Serah close and glared at Rimak. Merrick wondered suddenly if he dared leave them alone with the man, but they were away before he could change his mind. And with the mercenary gone, he felt more at ease.

  He and the overseer headed to Kor’s cell, winding their way through twisting hallways and staircases. As they rounded a bend in a hall they saw two men. Merrick’s blood ran cold at the sight.

  Before the prince could stop him, the overseer called out. “King Leon, Commander Veen, what a pleasant surprise!” There was just a hint of confusion in his voice.

  As the two drew closer, Merrick tried to turn away, but he was rooted to the spot. His heart pounded in his chest. He had expected his father to be occupied all day at the castle reviewing the results of the last tax collection.

  “Thaver,” Leon said, greeting the overseer in a stiff tone. “I’ve been looking for you. Attending to pressing matters, I’m sure?” he said, eyeing Merrick.

  “Of course, sire,” Thaver said, smiling. “Beastly pressing, as the king’s matters are wont to be.”

  Leon’s gaze flicked from Merrick to Thaver. “And what matters are those? Refresh my memory.”

  “Ah,” Thaver said as though suddenly understanding. “You are here to ensure your orders are carried out properly. Of course.” He held out the forged document.

  Leon took the paper and skimmed it. The only sign of surprise was the tightening in his jaw.

  Thaver raised a finger informatively as he continued. “Your son delivered the pardon to me this morning and we’ve just released the McPhersons.”

  The king’s head came up. “Indeed?” He turned his frosty gaze back on Merrick. “And what does my son have to report on the matter?” he asked, sounding deceptively calm.

  Sweat trickled down Merrick’s back and his mouth went dry. He swallowed and licked his lips, then forced himself to meet his father’s gaze. “The miller and his daughter have been escorted to my ship, where they will be fed and properly cared for, as per your orders,” he said as confidently as he could manage. “Once Kor is free, he will join them, and I will escort them back to the mainland.”

  A stiff smile lit Leon’s face. “I trust the McPhersons are under guard?”

  Merrick shifted from one foot to the other. “I—sent Rimak Visparalk with them.”

  “Only one? I recall ordering that six of the strongest, most trusted mercenaries be assigned for the job. They were to accompany the McPhersons to their home and remain there, as permanent guards, or did you forget that little detail?”

  The prince opened his mouth, then closed it again. The charmed document seemed to be influencing his father to let them go. It would be foolish to risk changing that.

  “Yes, I see you did,” Leon continued. “Not too surprising. You are young and inexperienced, after all.” His voice was dripping with compassion. “As for the prisoner Kor…” He turned his smile on the overseer. “That is another reason I came. I’m afraid his release will have to wait, indefinitely.” Leon folded the pardon and tucked it in his vest.

  As he did so, Merrick sensed the true meaning behind the statement. Perhaps Kor was the only reason his father had shown up on the Isle. Still alive, the true heir was a threat to Leon’s crown.

  “Why?” Merrick licked his lips, trembling at his own boldness.

  “Suffice it to say, Prince, the reason lies dangerously close to treason,” Leon said, turning spiteful.

  Merrick’s heart sank, but he didn’t press further. The charm had worked for the McPhersons, at least. That would have to do for now.

  Over the next few minutes, Leon made arrangements with Thaver for six mercenaries to escort the McPhersons home. They met Rimak at the docks and the king spoke with the man in private, then ordered him back to his post on the Isle. Merrick tried not to think about the meaning behind the mercenary’s heartless grin and followed his father up a gangplank.

  The prince and the McPhersons returned to Perabon on Leon’s ship. Every time Merrick left his cabin for fresh air, a pair of guards stationed by his door accompanied him. He wasn’t allowed to speak to the McPhersons. Leon had ordered all this under the guise of safety, but Merrick knew better. He knew his father was furious and limiting his son’s independence. The guards remained with Merrick when he returned to his room at the castle, and they followed when he was called to his father’s chambers. Only then did Leon dismiss them to wait in the hall.

  This time, he didn’t invite his son to sit. Merrick stood by the desk, waiting for him to speak. It seemed an eternity before the king finally looked up from his work. He picked up the forged document.

  “I have been pouring over this since we left the Isle,” he said, rising from his chair. “Clever forgery. Nearly had me convinced. Why did you do it?”

  Merrick tilted his head casually in a half shrug. “I saw a duty to fulfill, and fulfilled it.”

  “Ahh, duty.” Leon nodded. “Well, you succeeded in freeing the McPhersons.” He walked to the hearth and tossed the forgery on the flames.

  The prince saw it spark amber, the color of Allinor’s eyes, but more orangey than golden. It was a brighter, more coppery glow than the fire, with a glittering hint of purple. Her charm, he thought, awed. The amber-purple spark fizzed around the document like a soft, glowing halo, then winked out.

  With his back to the fire, Leon didn’t seem to notice. “I suppose that’s no loss,” he continued, returning to his desk. “The miller does make a fine flour. Their pardon may even serve to highlight my benevolence. But can you imagine the havoc if you had succeeded in freeing that forester?” He sat down, laughing.

  Merrick tore his gaze from the fireplace. “What will you do with him?”

  “Kor?” Leon asked, cheerfully. “He’ll rot out what’s left of his miserable life on the Isle.” Tidying the papers on his desk, he continued more seriously. “Now, over the past hour I have been drawing up papers. I called you in to—” He paused, cocking his head with a self-satisfied smirk. “—fulfill your duty in signing them.” He cleared a spot at the edge of his desk and spread out two documents, then held out a quill.

  Merrick hesitated, then took it. He glanced at the parchments. Both were written in first person. Each began with I, and each I was followed by a blank space. “What is this for?”

  “This one”—Leon pointed to the paper on Merrick’s left—“declares your deep desire to wed Imardia as quickly as possible, instead of waiting. Next year, as a matter of fact.”

  Merrick scoffed. “I don’t desire anything of the sort.”

  “I sent a messenger to the reigning empress of Salkar with th
e request just before you arrived,” Leon said, eyeing him. “Her response will likely take several weeks to get here, but I am confident she will consent.” He tapped the document on Merrick’s right. “And this notes your intention to work your way up the ranks on your own merits.” Leon indicated a sentence with his finger. “As you say here: A prince must walk in the boots of his subjects before he can responsibly don the mantle of a king.”

  As he read, Merrick followed along, silently scanning the sentence after as well: And so I hereby relinquish my title as prince and take my place in the ranks as a private… He looked up, incredulous. “You’re stripping me of my title?”

  Leon smiled. “And all the perks that come with it. You will sleep as a soldier, work as a soldier, be punished as a soldier.” He said this last more darkly. “What authority you had will be taken away and all this,” he said, waving over the documents, “done at your own hand.”

  “You can’t make me sign this,” Merrick said.

  “No?” Leon rose from his chair, sneering. “Shall I forge your signature, then?”

  The prince glared at his father. And the look changed to one of derision as he finally understood. “You’re saving face. You’re afraid to publicly punish me because then people will know the letter was forged.” At this bold defiance, his heart beat harder. Stop, before it’s too late. The thought pressed him, but he plowed ahead. “Then they’ll know your own son went over your head and succeeded, if only in part, and you’re afraid.”

  The king’s trim, pointed beard quivered. “Sign the documents.”

  “People will start testing your authority.”

  “Sign.”

  “And you’ll lose power and control,” Merrick said louder, cutting him off. He clenched his fists. The nervous tremor was back.

  A long, tense silence followed as they held each other’s gaze. Then Leon’s shoulders relaxed. “Perceptive,” he said, smiling. “You’re learning the ways of a king better than I realized.”

  Merrick stared, taken aback by the calm response.

  “Now sign,” Leon said. “Or I will sign for you.”

  34

  Kor wiped sweat from his eyes and swung his pick at the wall on the first terrace. Between swings, he scanned the dimly lit cavern. All around him, prisoners in tattered, gray pants and vests chipped rock chunks from the walls. As far as he knew, most were guilty of petty crimes—thefts committed to ensure their families would not starve under King Leon’s heavy taxes. None deserved this.

  There was no sign of Eliker and Serah. It had been two weeks since he’d last seen them. Now there was only a fortnight left ’til escape. Peter had heard nothing of them from the other guards. The miller and his daughter had been working Kor’s shift most of the time since their arrival on the Isle. Most of the other prisoners worked this cavern, too. Peter had informed Kor it was the Isle’s main salt mine. There were other, smaller caves, but they were usually empty, or had less than a handful of prisoners working them. Eliker and Serah might have been transferred to one of them, but it didn’t seem likely. Rimak enjoyed teasing Serah and he seemed to enjoy it most when Kor and Eliker could see. The mercenary would have ensured the three stayed together.

  Kor looked up. Three terraces above, Peter paused to speak to another mercenary. Though several meters away, Kor could still see the ripple of laughter in their forms. The mercenaries were in a better mood of late due to the upcoming Brayberry. There had been less brawling and fewer prisoner beatings. Most soldiers were making an effort to try and get along. Even Rimak seemed less inclined to badger the guards from other kingdoms lately. The stocky, muscular man leaned against the wall a few prisoners down from Kor, out of earshot, gnawing at a strip of jerky. As a woman prisoner knelt to collect the rock chunks near his feet for the separator tables, Rimak reached out and stroked her hair. She pulled back and he laughed. The exchange reminded Kor of Serah. Grinding his teeth at the memory, he drove his axe harder into the wall.

  Soon after, a water carrier hobbled down the line of prisoners toward Kor. The old man hunched with every step. He stopped at each prisoner and let them drink from the large, heavy water pouch on his shoulder. The man had replaced Serah the first day she went missing. For the past few days, Kor had been meaning to speak to him about her. But in that time, the water carrier hadn’t come close enough to risk a whispered conversation.

  As the old man finally approached, Kor lowered his pickaxe. He took the proffered waterskin and raised it to his lips. “Where’s the girl?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  The old man stared blankly at the question. His hollow cheeks looked like worn leather stretched over bone.

  Kor tried again. “The miller’s daughter, a water carrier before you. Curly hair, brown eyes. Where is she?” Understanding flickered in the old man’s face. Kor’s heart beat faster and he leaned forward eagerly. “You know. Tell me.”

  The man’s chapped lips parted in response, then a whip cracked overhead. Without a word, he snatched the waterskin from Kor, and shuffled away.

  “Poor kapka,” Rimak’s gravelly voice intoned mockingly. “You miss your girl?”

  At the Vahindan insult, Kor clenched his jaw. Over the years, he had picked up a little understanding of the vernacular and culture from Peter and his Vahindan friends. Trying to ignore Rimak, Kor reached for his pick to keep working, but the mercenary stepped on the metal head. He rested his whip on Kor’s hand and leaned closer. “Ah, vi,” he said, pulling a long face. “I see you do.”

  Fear gripped Kor’s heart at the stench of the man’s breath. His hold on the axe handle tightened.

  “She is gone, you know,” Rimak said. “Papa, too.” Kor’s gaze riveted on the mercenary. The man sighed and shook his head. “Pity. But do not worry, kapka.” He patted Kor’s cheek roughly and whispered in his ear. “She did not suffer. Much.”

  Kor snapped. All the nightmares, all the dreams, the weeks of pain, guilt, and fear spent on the Isle exploded in a scream of rage and despair. It didn’t matter that there were only two weeks left. Without his friends, freedom would be a bitter victory. Ripping his pick free, he swung the side at Rimak. The mercenary leapt back, laughing. Cheers rose from the surrounding prisoners. Guards straightened and turned to watch the proceedings with interest. A starving prisoner offered little threat to a healthy guard, especially when that guard was a Vahindan warrior.

  Again, Kor swung. Rimak narrowly avoided the strike, grinning and flicking his whip. The thong coiled around Kor’s pick head, and Rimak yanked the weapon away, then kicked it aside. He cracked the whip once more. This time the end bit into Kor’s arm. Kor gritted his teeth, grabbing it as Rimak jerked him forward. The forester thrust out his sandaled feet, skidding over gravel as the mercenary reeled him in. A small rock jutted from the ground and Kor braced himself against it. Barely pausing, he ripped the whip from Rimak’s grasp and charged the man.

  The two rolled on the ground in a cloud of rock and salt dust to the edge of the terrace. When they stopped, Kor was on top, one knee on Rimak’s chest. The other knee and his left hand pinned the man’s right hand to the ground, preventing him from drawing his hakuma. Until now, Rimak had not gone for the blade.

  Clutching the whip handle in his free hand, Kor beat at the mercenary. Rimak caught his fist and bent the wrist back. Under the pressure, Kor’s bones creaked. Gradually, his fingers lost their grip and he dropped the weapon. He grimaced, knowing it wouldn’t be long before something broke.

  One last time, he pushed hard against Rimak, giving an exaggerated sense of resistance. Rimak responded with a harder shove back. Using this to his advantage, Kor held out a little longer, then jerked back with the mercenary’s push. Rimak faltered and Kor broke free. He swung at the man’s face, but the mercenary twisted aside. Kor’s fist grazed his cheek and drove into gravel. For a moment his whole arm was stunned with pain, and useless.

  With his free hand, Rimak grabbed Kor’s vest front. His right wrestled free and c
lutched at Kor’s pant leg. Kor saw what was coming. Ignoring the ache in his bleeding knuckles, he seized Rimak’s jacket lapel in both hands just as the mercenary hoisted him back and dropped him over the ledge.

  Kor slammed into the terrace wall below, still clinging to the guard. His bleeding right hand slipped free on impact and Rimak was nearly dragged over the terrace after him. The man’s top half slid dangerously far over the edge before the mercenary rolled onto his stomach and caught himself.

  Eyes blazing with determination, Kor snatched at Rimak’s jacket with his injured hand, trying to get a stronger hold. Overhead, he glimpsed Peter shimmying down rickety ladders, trying to reach them.

  The mercenary, now hanging halfway over the edge, caught Kor’s snatching hand. He smiled, a perfect, white-toothed smile, and panted down at Kor with decaying breath. “She—is—dead.” At every word, he squeezed Kor’s bleeding knuckles harder.

  With an angry, defiant shout, Kor gripped Rimak’s jacket lapel more tightly in his left hand, and rammed his feet into the terrace wall. The mercenary’s grin faltered as the action dragged him over the terrace.

  Kor’s legs buckled when he hit the ground. Rocks bit into his back as Rimak fell on top. He gasped, trying, in vain, to draw breath under the weight. He clawed at pebbles, gathering handfuls of gravel as the mercenary rose. Before he could launch the gravel at Rimak’s face, however, heavy boots stepped on his arms. Kor gave another angry shout and struggled under them. The cheering prisoners grew quiet.

  “Put him on the rocks.” Rimak’s order echoed around the now deathly silent cavern.

  A jolt of anxiety went through Kor at the words and the thought of the deep, deep water surrounding the rocks.

  Cadogan stood a little ways behind the mercenary. He was the only other prisoner besides Eliker and Serah that Kor had dared inform of the escape. Kor trusted the man, knew he could keep the secret, and Cadogan had survived here longer than most. He was tough, and would be useful in a fight if the escape didn’t go as smoothly as they had planned. Besides that, many prisoners looked up to him. He would be helpful in organizing any who might join the escape when it took place. He took a step toward Rimak, raising his pick. For an instant, Kor was tempted to let things unfold. Then he caught Cadogan’s eye and shook his head slightly. No sense in getting him sent to the rocks, too. If Kor didn’t make it, at least one of his friends might go free. Cadogan hesitated, then turned back to his wall as a guard shouted at him.