When he woke up again, it was for only a moment. The pain throughout his body fought against the consciousness. Thankfully, he slipped back into the darkness, and the sleep kept his mind hidden from the pain. And then, though he had no desire to open his eyes, no thought for what was happening to his body, he felt himself lifted roughly from the saddle and carried awkwardly some distance before being dumped on a heap of straw. Strangely enough, the stiff, scratchy hay was a welcome comfort. He fell immediately back into unconsciousness.
“You’re a fool, Strom.”
The angry voice drifted into Kain’s mind like a ship through the morning fog.
“You’ve damaged him.” The voice was high and shrill. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to get him in shape so we can question him.”
“I lost nine men. Fairan’s a killer with that big sword of his. He cut through the men you sent me like they were children. This one’s a fighter, too; we’re lucky we were able to get him at all. I wasn’t worried about his condition, I was thinking about my own neck.”
Though his body was aching with pain, his heart was soaring. Had he heard correctly? Had the man, his captor, called him a fighter? At that moment nothing else mattered. He could die a happy man.
“We’ll take him to Westfold,” said the high voice.
“I thought we were to question him here?”
“We can’t very well do that, now can we? And who knows if he’ll wake up or not.”
“You haven’t even tried. Toss some water on him. I’ll wager he’ll come around.”
“Strom, look at him. The whole side of his head is bashed. He might not ever wake up.”
“Well you can pay me my wages, and I’ll be pushing on,” said the Captor.
“You haven’t delivered what you promised.”
“What?” growled the man, his voice menacing.
The high, shrill voice was unfazed, “You were sent to kill the General and bring back this one for questioning. But the General lives and is probably tracking you, not that it would be hard, with you bringing back all the horses.”
“Would you’ve left them?”
“That’s right, or sent them in a different direction. Those tracks will be as clear as the Royal highway to a man like Fairan. And this man’s useless for our purposes.”
“Then kill him, and at least you can report that we foiled the General’s plans.”
“I should kill you.”
Kain’s captor laughed. “You? Kill me? I should like to see you try.”
There was a sudden swish, like something flying through the air, followed by a thud and the sound of a man’s breath being violently expelled. There was a brief silence, then a crash as a body fell roughly on the wooden floor. The jolt sent the pain searing into Kain’s body again.
The shrill voice spoke, and the sound of it sent a shudder through Kain. He had never heard such hatred in all his life.
“Fool, your life is nothing. I shall kill a thousand like you to put my Lord on the throne. And then I shall kill him and take his throne and use his disgusting head as my footstool.” The shrill voice rose even higher as it continued on, “The world shall fear me. And as for you,” the voice sounded different, closer, “if you live, you shall become Omra‘s servant.” He bent low over Kain, mumbling something the young Prince could not make out. He rubbed his finger across Kain’s forehead and dribbled something warm onto his face.
The warm wetness made Kain want to squirm, but he did not want to attract any more attention than he was already receiving. Still, he could not help but try to open his swollen and crusted eyes. The person above him was dark, with long dark hair. But Kain’s vision was blurred, and no features were visible. Then, suddenly, he felt a presence and a weight on his chest, as if someone was kneeling on him, but the dark man had moved away. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the feeling left, leaving Kain gasping for air as a sound like rushing water filled his ears. Above it all was cackling laughter, but it was cut short by a shout from somewhere outside the room.
Kain had rolled to his side, trying to breath. His hands were still tied, from wrist to elbow, with a rough cord. He lay in the straw and struggled to stay awake, fearing that his death would come the moment he closed his eyes. Then he heard the sound of horses, their hooves thumping in perfect rhythm. He could not tell if the horses were leaving, or if the noise was fading because he was drifting away again. And then the darkness fell over him like a warm blanket on a snowy night.
***
There was something cool and sweet dripping into his mouth. Kain felt his swollen tongue protrude from busted lips. In the midst of all the pain, he felt the sharp prick of dry, cracked lips as he moved them. The water touched his parched tongue and, for the first time since he had left the monastery, Kain felt pleasure. It was a small thing, but the water, now running steadily into his mouth, washed through him as if his body were a dry husk. He opened his good eye, the other having been swollen shut. Fairan knelt over him, dribbling water into his mouth.
“Ah, so you live,” said the big man. “I was half afraid you were permanently damaged. A blow to the head like that can leave a man senseless, but either you are as hard headed as your father, or you had no sense to begin with.” He chuckled.
Kain stifled a laugh, the pain in his chest and back throbbing with the movement. His mouth, moistened by the water, felt right again. It was as if his tongue and jaws had been disconnected from his throat and were now coming back together again.
“What happened?” he rasped, his voice weak and hoarse.
“I’m not sure. I followed your captors as soon as possible and came upon this homestead shortly after noon. I saw a small group of warriors leaving on horseback, but there were several horses still in the yard. I suspected a fight, but there was no one here but dead men. And you, it was a blessing to find you so quickly.”
“They…they were from Westfold,” Kain managed to say.
“Yes, I have no doubt of that. We shall have to be more careful. For now you shall rest, but first I need to remove your clothing and clean your wounds.”
Dread swept over Kain. He was sure the pain from being moved would kill him. Yet the undressing was not as bad as Kain had thought. Fairan was as gentle as any mother, and so strong that Kain felt like a rag doll in his hands. They removed his tunic and chainmail, even his undergarments. The normal modesty he would have felt was swept away by the pain, and soon Kain was lying on a soft blanket over a thick bed of straw. He was cold as Fairan washed his wounds with water and gently scrubbed away the blood. Kain slipped into and out of consciousness. At one point he remembered shivering, and then his stomach retched, but through it all Fairan’s calm voice reassured him.
Kain thought the big warrior, who cut through his captors as if they were children, must have changed his mind about Kain’s heritage. Surely he was no king; he couldn’t even care for himself. He wondered what would happen if he was ever well enough to look after himself again. Then he fell asleep and immediately began dreaming. The world was dark now, and cold. He shivered as he lay helpless on the ground. Fairan had left him; he wept for the loss, for the loneliness, but it was as he had expected. Then he heard someone coming, perhaps Fairan had returned. Hope swelled within in him, and he strained to see in the darkness. But what he saw was not Fairan, it was the dark person, his dark hair hanging in oily sections down each side of his face. The face was too dark to make out, but in the gloom it was different. Kain couldn’t see why the face was different, but then that high pitched voice was calling his name. The sound of it rang out like a crow’s cawing in the distance. And then the dark person lifted a sword, it shone in the dark, reflecting some unseen light. The sword was curved, back and forth, like the body of a snake. The person raised it as if to drive it down into Kain’s chest, but, instead, it became the snake it resembled and struck out at him, forked tongue lashing, fangs bared. At the moment it should have bitten him, he woke.
His first thought was t
hat it was easier to open his eyes than before, and then he noticed it was night. A fire was burning in a hearth somewhere, but other than that the room was shrouded in darkness. Fairan’s concerned face was above him.
“It was only a dream,” Kain said.
“Yes, well, after what you have been through, I’m not surprised,” replied the warrior. “Here, have some wine.”
“No, I’m not permitted,” said Kain automatically.
Fairan laughed, “You are the King of Belhain, nothing is forbidden from you.”
“I’ve never tasted wine.”
“Well, hopefully, you will not develop too great a love for it. But it will help you feel better. So just this once, huh?”
Fairan’s strong arm lifted Kain to a sitting position. There was pain at the movement, but not the sharp overwhelming pain like before. Now the pain was dull and Kain, could feel his muscles, stiffened and sore. The wine, which Fairan held in a small metal cup, was room temperature. It had a pungent odor that Kain was not sure he cared for. He could taste the fruit from which the wine had been made, a sweet grape, but it was hidden in the stringent taste from the fermentation. It was warm on his tongue, and the warmth, as he swallowed it, spread throughout his body. He felt it, like a blanket warmed near the fire, drift down his chest and spread through his arms and upper legs. And with the warmth came a sharper focus of Kain’s mind. It was as if the fog of pain and trauma he had been foundering in had cleared. He noticed the details of the room, the rough hewn rafters above and the stone floor below. There was a window, and a cool night breeze was drifting in. And Kain noticed Fairan, too; he looked exhausted, there were dark circles around his eyes, which were puffy and swollen. His skin was pale, and his hair looked as if he had been sleeping.
“What time is it?” Kain asked.
“I’m not sure, I've been dozing near the door,” replied Fairan, his voice husky with sleep.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I’m not. You look better. Sound better, too.”
“Thanks to you.”
“No, I haven’t really done anything. You are strong.”
Kain shook his head.
“Yes, you are,” Fairan said, looking Kain in the eyes. “You are stronger than you think. I have seen men with lesser wounds linger in unconsciousness for days, some even die. You are coming out of the stupor that comes from a hurt that shocks the body. It is a good sign.”
“I think I’d like to sit up for a while. Do you mind?”
“No, let me just get something for you to lean against.”
As Fairan laid Kain back onto the straw, the young prince flexed the muscles in his legs, which were stiff, but unhurt. He drew his knees up over his stomach; there was pain in his back, but it was a soreness, probably from his extended ride on the horse and not from any wound.
Fairan returned with two large sacks of grain. He lifted Kain up and then leaned him back against the sacks which he had stacked. Kain felt his muscles relax, and Fairan offered another drink of wine. This time Kain raised his hand to the cup and sipped the warm liquid for himself. With his free hand, he probed his own face.
“Is it as bad as it feels?” Kain asked.
Fairan smiled, “No, I don’t think so. I checked it while you were unconscious; there are no broken bones, just swelling and bruising. But like I said earlier, a blow to the head, especially the back of the head, can kill a man, even if the bone is intact. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“It doesn’t feel okay. It feels like my head is swollen to twice its normal size.”
Fairan laughed.
“Where are we?” Kain asked.
“If you mean whose home, I do not know. The men who attacked us and brought you here murdered them. I found them in the barn this evening, when I was caring for the horses. I will have to bury them tomorrow.”
A sadness washed over Kain. “I would like to help.”
“You won’t be able to. But perhaps you’ll feel up to walking out when I have finished. You can say a prayer over them.”
Kain nodded.
“Can you remember anything that was said before I came?”
An image flashed in Kain’s mind at the thought of his captors, but the image was of the dark man, his oily hair, and a snake.
“Only a little,” Kaid said. “They were arguing. The man who had brought me here was complaining that you had killed his men so easily. The other man, he was different. His voice was different.”
“Different how?”
“It was higher, and colder. He said he would take me back to Westfold. He was complaining that I might never wake up.”
Fairan nodded.
“He said the first man had failed to kill you, which was what he was supposed to do. Then he said…” and Kain paused as the memory replayed in his mind. “No, I think he might have killed the first man. And then he said he would kill a thousand men to get his master on the throne, and that he would also kill his master and be king himself.”
Fairan looked grim. “It is the way of things. There is a reason that Kingship passes from father to son, but most people don’t understand it. They see it as favoritism, but it ensures the stability of a kingdom. When there is no sure heir, cruel and unscrupulous men see their opportunity to take control by force. Without royalty, a ruler is easily assassinated for the next marauder to come to power. Those kinds of men weaken a country, and it is the common people, like the family we will bury tomorrow, that pay the cost. That is why it is so important for you to claim the throne—not for your future, but for the people of Belanda. They need you, and what you represent.”
Kain said nothing. The wine, which he was slowly sipping, was working to numb the pain in his back and legs. His heart was stirred by Fairan, but cold fear of the unknown still lurked in the back of his mind.
“What if I can’t do it? What if no one believes me?” he asked.
“They will; in fact, that mark on your chest ensures it.”
Kain shook his head and finished the wine. “I think you are putting too much stock in me. I am nothing more than a scribe, and a very average one at that.”
“We’ll see. For now, you need more rest. Let me move those sacks of grain, and you can sleep.”
“No, I will stay up for a while, and you can sleep,” Kain offered.
Fairan smiled. “We shall both sleep. And tomorrow we must continue our journey, so rest while you can.”
“I don’t think I can ride a horse.”
“Don’t worry; I have other plans for you, Third Prince.”
Chapter 6
When Kain awoke, he was alone. He began his day with just his eyes, slowly looking around the room. Next he tried each limb, and each responded. Although the stiffness was evident, he could move his legs and arms with minimal pain. Next, he tried sitting up on his own. This was much more painful, and until the majority of pain ebbed away his head swam. Once he had managed to stop the dizziness and most of the pain, he was able to get onto his hands and knees. Again the pain was intense, but not as bad as before, and it passed more quickly. He thought of the times he had been sick in the monastery, the monks had cared for him and he was allowed to stay in bed, exempt from his duties in the scriptorium. He had often enjoyed being sick, had even exaggerated his symptoms in order to prolong his special treatment. Now, he despised his weak body. If he had taken the care to keep in shape, perhaps he would not be so infirm now. He gritted his teeth through the pain and, holding onto the edge of a table, pulled himself into a standing position. His back popped, the muscles cramped and hurt. He was stiff, as if wearing a metal brace; he could only move in short, jerky motions. Still, he felt a stirring pride that he was standing and fighting the pain. He knew he would not be able to do much for a while, but he was determined to walk. He had to go out and find Fairan. He was hungry and thirsty. Above all, he intended to help bury the family that had died here for nothing more than the convenience of evil men.
He took a step, the movement
was ginger, and he could tell that any jolt would be extremely painful, but he had managed it. He walked slowly to the end of the table with very little dizziness or unsteadiness. He feared that falling might set him back in his recovery, but his determination overcame his caution. He let go of the table and walked slowly to the door. It was a heavy door, made of oak, with a large brace to keep out unwanted intruders. Kain pulled it open and squinted in the sunlight. It was midmorning and warm out. He stepped across the threshold and looked around the yard. It was bare of grass and littered with the droppings of horses. Directly across from the house was a barn. The barn was low, with mud covered walls and a thatched roof. Just beyond the barn was a clear stream and, past that, a lush pasture encircled by the trees of the forest, presumably the one he had been captured in. He walked around the house, following the curve of the stream as it meandered along in a lazy arch. And near the edge of the forest, not far on the house-ward side of the stream, grew a large tree, its branches spread wide in every direction. In its shade toiled Fairan. He was shoveling the soft earth and behind him were four oblong bundles. Kain walked slowly out to the gravesite.
Even though he was grunting and working the shovel as quickly as anyone Kain had ever seen, the aging warrior heard him approach.
“Walking on your own already?” he said. “I wouldn’t have believed it. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, too soon.”
“I’m okay,” Kain murmered. “I needed to see this family. They wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for me.”
“You may think so, but I don’t. And what’s more important is that there’ll be more families killed, lots more. Belanda needs a strong leader, it needs a king. You may count these people to your conscious, but what of the rest of your people. That’s what you need to be thinking of. You’ll need to keep them in the front of your mind in the days ahead.”
Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Page 5