Kain’s legs began to shake. He knelt down near the bodies and prayed silently. Fairan glanced back and, seeing that Kain was okay, continued to dig. It wasn’t long before he finished and stood up to survey his work.
“That’ll about do it,” Fairan said.
He walked over to the stream and pulled off the mail shirt and under shirt he had been wearing. He looked in every direction before wading down into the stream to wash himself. Kain watched him, his chest was thick and his arms were muscled and round. There were pink scars crisscrossing the massive frame. When Fairan returned, Kain stood slowly.
“I appreciate your taking the time to do this.”
Fairan only nodded. He bent down and gently lifted each of the bodies into the grave. When they were all together, the smaller bundles of the two children between their parents, Fairan stood and looked at Kain.
The younger man looked down into the open grave. He prayed quietly and personally, asking the One God for mercy on the lives of the people buried there. He looked up and Fairan nodded at him. Then he silently began to cover their bodies with dirt.
Kain walked slowly down to the stream. There was thick grass growing on either bank. He sat down in some shade, slowly lowering himself until he could reach the water, which he lifted in a cupped hand to his lips. He drank his fill, the cold water refreshing him somewhat. Then he stretched out on the soft grass and closed his eyes.
The dream came again, only this time he was surrounded by soft, dark soil. He could see the sky through the many limbs and green leaves of the tree above him. He looked to each side and saw an oblong bundle wrapped in coarse, gray cloth. As the realization set in, the shadowy figure from his captivity appeared. The man’s face was shrouded in shadow from the light above and from the long, greasy hair that hung like thick vines on either side of his face. Once again the man raised the curvy sword, and once again it became a snake. This time Kain could see the blood glistening on the serpent’s scaly skin. Once again he heard his name, but this time it was the snake who spoke to him. It hissed his name in an airy, but dreadful voice, and Kain felt all the warmth leave his body. He closed his eyes as the snake’s head leapt forward to strike him.
“No!” Kain’s eyes popped open. He still lay on the bank of the stream. He looked up and saw Fairan hurrying toward him. He raised himself up to his elbows and said, “Just a bad dream.”
Fairan nodded, not saying anything, which Kain took as odd. If Fairan wasn’t championing the wonders of a secure monarchy, he didn’t talk much. When the older man arrived, Kain rolled slowly over and rose to his feet. He was still shaky and allowed Fairan to take hold of his arm and steady him.
“We better get some food in you,” said the warrior. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” said Kain smiling.
“I have your royal carriage waiting; we’ll eat on the road.”
“My royal what?” Kain asked.
“You’ll see.”
As they rounded the house, Kain did see. It was a large covered wagon, with their horses bridled and saddled, but tied to the back on either side. He could not see inside the wagon, but as they approached he noticed two very large farm horses hitched to the front.
“Where did you get all of this?” Kain asked.
“From the barn. The wagon was there, along with the horses and our lunch.”
“What lunch?”
Then Kain smelled it. A chicken, roasted over a fire, was sitting on a large platter on the bench of the driver’s seat. It was glistening in the sunlight, its skin dark from the fire.
“I found some bread and cheese in the house, too. And there is more wine. I’ve refilled our water bags and loaded the wagon with some things we might need on this trip. Can you climb up?”
“I think so,” Kain said.
He groaned with the effort but made it up to the bench beside their meal. He looked back into the cool confines of the wagon. It was covered with the same coarse, burlap like material that Fairan had used as grave clothes for the family they had buried. It was stretched over six stout poles, with thin tree branches supporting the top. The material was tied down around the sides of the wagon, and a flap hung down in the back. Inside there were more bags of the grain that Kain had leaned on last night. They were lined around the sides and back of the wagon. On one side there was a heap of straw, with blankets, much like the bed from inside the house. On the other side was an arrangement of supplies: food, bottles of wine and water, clothing, and weapons, namely three crossbows loaded and ready to fire. There was a bin of arrows and the rest of Kain’s armor and weapons, including the Sword of Onasis.
“Very nice,” Kain commented, “a real home on wheels.”
“It’s a bit small.”
“I think it’s bigger than my cell in the monastery,” joked Kain.
“Well, if you can manage to get back to your bunk, we’ll get under way.”
Kain sat on the bed of straw and leaned against a sack of grain while he ate. He drank water, finding himself very thirsty for it, and only after his meal did he drink another cup of wine. Fairan was silent from the bench of the wagon, slowly chewing his food and keeping a wary eye out for more trouble. Kain felt fatigue creep over him, with his belly full of the warm food, the swaying of the wagon along the forest road, and wine numbing the pain in his muscles, joints, and head. He soon stretched out on the straw and fell asleep.
When next Kain awoke, it was growing dark outside. He felt the wagon come to a halt and decided to rouse himself from his dozing to see where they were. They had come out of the forest and were now in a great, open expanse. The terrain was softly rolling hills from horizon to horizon.
“Where are we?” Kain asked.
Fairan answered from beside the wagon, where he was checking the horses. “This is what most of your realm is like. Rolling hills, dark rich soil, hardy people who love this land that so richly provides them a life and living. Many people farm the land or raise animals on it.”
“How far are we from Royal City?”
“Eight days by this road. But we aren’t going to Royal City.”
“I thought you said I was to claim my right to the throne?”
“I did. But you need more than my sword behind you. Derrick has many supporters, and you have none. We must acquaint you with the land and its people. We must find you the kind of advisors a good king needs. Our first stop is a small village called Dameris; it is where your father’s closest councilor lives.”
“Who is this man?” Kain asked, intrigued.
“His name is Vespin Tooles. He is wise in the ways of men and of the world beyond this life. At least that is what he says.”
“He is a follower of the One God?”
“No, he holds to the old ways.”
“And he was my father’s closest councilor. The monks always said the King was wholeheartedly devoted to our God.”
“He was. And that is what finally caused your father to send him away.”
“If my father sent him away, then why are we going to him now?”
“You need to begin to open your mind. You do not have to believe what others believe to learn from them. Besides, it grieved your father to send Tooles away. It was a mistake at a time when Belhain needed him most. You shall see that he is wise and his council is sound.”
“When will we arrive at Dameris?”
“If we proceed through the night tonight, we should be there by tomorrow evening, hopefully before nightfall. Tooles is expecting us.”
“So we are driving through the night. May I ride with you for a while?”
“You are the King,” growled Fairan with impatience. “You do not have to ask my leave to do anything.”
“You are a strange man, with stranger allegiances. I may be the rightful King, but I am still just a man. What gives me any more right to order you around or insist on my own way, than the next person down this road?”
Fairan finished with th
e horses, tying feed bags filled with oats to their harnesses so they could eat as they followed the wagon. Then he climbed back onto the wagon, beside where Kain had positioned himself with a foot propped upon the hitch beam, his back against the pole of the wagon’s canopy, and with a blanket folded along the wooden wagon seat. Fairan looked down at the blanket, which extended down the bench where he could also sit on it.
“Thank you for your kindness,” he said. Then, sighing, he called to the horse and they rumbled along.
“Tell me about my family. What was my father like?” Kain asked.
“He was strong, and smart. He could fight in his youth like no man I have ever seen. We grew up together; at least, we learned to bear arms together. His training included many things that mine did not. I learned to fight and lead men in war, but he learned to lead men in all things.”
“He was a good king? I mean, not only just, but good at governing?”
“Yes, although he would have rather been a soldier or a monk at your monastery. He loved books and read more than I could even imagine. He spent time studying the ways of other kings, past kings of Belanda and kings elsewhere. He said that the truth of the One God was found in His willingness to die for the people he created and loved.”
Kain smiled. He had heard the monks debating the theology of the One God and the doctrine of redemption. The One God had become a man and lived a perfect life, only to lay it down as the payment for all men’s shortcomings. He wondered if his religion was so different than the old ways he had heard Fairan speak of so often.
“And why did you not follow your King in his faith in the One God?”
“My reasons are my own,” murmered Fairan.
“So you have spent your life fighting. Have you fought many battles?”
“Yes,” Fairan seemed pleased with the change of subject. “I fought with your father when we were young and for your father in the latter years. He had laid down his own sword, saying he didn’t need to fight as long as I was around.”
“Tell me some stories. Surely you have some good ones.”
“Well, I’m not much at telling stories. Battle is not always as ordered and as nice as it appears in your stories. But you should have a taste of that from the attack in the forest.”
“Yes, it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.” Kain thought of sharing how his captor had called him a fighter, but decided against it.
“Well that is the way of war. Your father understood the tactics and strategy better than any man I’ve ever met. Better than our teachers at the palace. Your grandfather was great at getting us into war, but poor at waging it. We patrolled the border together when his older brother was preparing for kingship. Then your uncle was killed, along with your grandfather in the Fourth Oddolan War. That is a day I will never forget. We were fighting near the border where the Oddolans had invaded. They were massed at the battleground of Pell. We approached, and your grandfather assigned us to the right wing cavalry. Your father scouted ahead and claimed that he could lead his unit around their flank, but your grandfather said no. He claimed that Belhain was a glory hound, which was laughable to anyone who knew your father. I was so angry when I heard that he had rejected your father’s strategy, especially for that reason, but your father kept his head. We waited in the reserve while your uncle led the main advance. He marched right at the center of the Oddolan line. Oddolans don’t fight with horses, just foot soldiers, with heavy shields, long pikes, and those nasty swords. Your grandfather, and uncle, too, for that matter, thought the Oddolans would break and run. They aren’t disciplined in war; they’re raiders by nature, a head-on, toe-to-toe fight isn’t characteristic of them.
“Anyway, your uncle led the charge on horseback, a full contingent of knights, foot soldiers following behind them. Just before our knights reached their front lines, the Oddolans threw their pikes, which they had shortened, like spears. Your uncle and most of the others were killed in that one volley. The foot soldiers were outnumbered and were forced to fall back, seeing as how the knights had failed to smash through the Oddolan line. I wanted to ride down and attack, but your father held us in check, even though the savages were chopping his brother to bits in their blood fury. Your grandfather was devastated, he ordered the whole army forward in a full on frontal assault. Belhain stepped in and ordered the generals not to attack. He told them to wait, and they respected him enough to obey. Your grandfather went berserk and called us all cowards. Before anyone could stop him, he jumped on his horse and charged the Oddolans, all alone. We watched from the hilltop where we were camped. If they had known who he was, they would have captured him and held him for ransom, so your father ordered everyone to stay put. We did, and the devils cut your grandfather down. That night I took our cavalry and flanked them around the right side, then waited for daybreak. The next morning your father rode down with the other reserve cavalry at their center. He waited just out of range of their pikes. The foot soldiers he ordered to march on either flank—which was really just a diversion. We rode in from their rear and, as soon as they heard us and turned to see what certain doom was riding down on them, your father rode forward with his cavalry. The Oddolans never launched a spear; in fact, they dropped their pikes and shields and ran for the hills, cutting down their own people who got in their way. We mopped them up like squashing a bunch of ants; they still out numbered us, but your father knew how to defeat them. He knew how superstitious the Oddolans are. We lost three knights that day, and not even one foot soldier. The Oddolans fled back across the border. It wasn’t until that evening, when we returned to camp, that the generals began honoring your father as King. He wept all night. He said he couldn’t do it, that he should be dead and his brother should be king. But I knew, I knew when he stood up to his father, just as the other soldiers knew, Belhain was king already.”
“I’ve never heard that story,” said Kain.
“Well, that isn’t the way it was written up in the Chronicles. Only the Royal Chronicles tell the real story. That was a lesson your father had already learned. We read the history of Belanda, as does every royal knight, but your father would reread the Royal Chronicles, and when he started noticing the differences he began to point them out to me. He changed the official record only three times: once at that battle, once during the Iglish invasion, and when you were born.”
“I still don’t know how I feel about that,” interjected Kain. “I mean, he lied about me, he disowned me. Part of me wants to hate him for that. And now you are telling me that I am to be king and part of me doesn’t believe that.”
“I don’t know why your father did what he did, but I do know that he was incredibly shrewd. He had a purpose, and that was all I ever needed to know. Just don’t believe that he didn’t care about you. He received regular reports about you, went to visit you, and gave you the life he would have loved. You may disagree, but I think he did all he could.”
“Why? Just because of this birthmark, it’s nothing.”
“Don’t say that,” Fairan said abruptly, and a dark look crossed his face.
“Why not? It is skin, nothing more.”
“Even if you do not believe that your mark means anything, you will soon find that your people will believe. Never discredit or underestimate its value to anyone. It will be the one thing that rallies the people to your cause.”
Kain shook his head, weariness overcoming him again. Each bump on the road sent a shock of pain through his body. Every lurch caused him to grimace. Fairan had noticed, too. He reached back for the remains of lunch.
“Have a little to eat and get some rest. Chances are this trip will not help you feel any better,” Fairan said.
Kain hated to lie down and rest while Fairan did all the work. “It is against my nature to sleep while you are so tired and cannot rest. I will stay here with you-”
“It is against my oath to let you bring uncalled for harm to yourself,” Fairan interrupted him.
“Alright, I’ll go
to bed, but first tell me about the Iglish invasion. I have copied the Chronicles; all they say is that the Iglish invaded from the south, and that they were repelled by the king and his council of nobles.”
“I will not talk of the Iglish.”
“Why not, you brought it up?” said Kain, a little annoyed. “Don’t you think the new King should know?”
Fairan shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” Kain asked, but the big warrior’s face had hardened into stone. He would not answer, no matter what Kain said.
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to read about it in the Royal Chronicles,” Kain said matter-of-factly. He had just slumped down onto his straw mattress and was frowning at Fairan in the darkness.
“You may, if you live that long. Yah!” he shouted and snapped the reins like a whip. The horses charged ahead, causing Kain to fall over and cry out in pain.
“What are you doing?” Kain yelled.
“Raiders,” Fairan announced over his shoulder.
And just then an arrow shot through the wagon’s burlap cover, over Kain’s head.
Chapter 7
The horses thundered down upon the wagon from either side. Kain could hear men yelling and ordering the wagon to stop. Fairan drove the horses as hard as he could, but the big animals were built for strength, not speed. They could not outrun their attackers.
Fairan half jumped, half fell back into the wagon. He landed on Kain’s legs, causing him to cry out in pain. The young prince was moaning in agony on the straw mattress. Fairan got to his feet and grabbed one crossbow. He pulled back the burlap flap and fired his arrow immediately. Kain looked just in time to see the dark outline of a man falling backward off his horse. Fairan grabbed the next crossbow and swung himself around the back of the wagon and fired again. Then, with the final crossbow, he turned to Kain.
“If for some reason I get myself killed, you’ll have one shot in case you need it. Whatever you do, get to Dameris. Find Tooles. He’ll know what to do.”
Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Page 6