Third Prince (Third Prince Series)

by Toby Neighbors

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah, well, that is a story for another time. First we must eat, and then we have guests to receive. And you, my boy, need to begin your training.”

  “Training? Training for what?”

  “To be king, of course.”

  ***

  The next few hours passed quickly. Tooles prepared a breakfast of bacon and porridge. Fairan continued to sleep, huddled in the corner of the shelter, wrapped in his traveling cloak. Then as Tooles busied himself in the grove, Kain alternated walking and resting. He circled the grove and even went out to check the horses, or at least to see them. On one such visit, he saw riders in the distance. They were no more than dark forms on the horizon, but Kain hurried back into the grove to tell the others.

  “Riders are approaching,” Kain announced.

  “Yes, good. We should be ready when they arrive. Wake Fairan, will you?”

  Kain walked back into the shelter and stooped down over the big warrior. His muscles were loose and there was very little pain, but they were quivering with fatigue. He lightly shook Fairan’s shoulder.

  “Fairan?” he said lightly.

  There was a groan, and Fairan opened his eyes.

  “There are riders coming. Vespin told me to wake you.”

  There was a grunt to the affirmative, and Fairan began to rise.

  Kain made his way to the chair and sat down. He was surprised to see that Tooles had managed to produce a large pot, which he had hung over the fire. It was now bubbling and steaming. A wonderful aroma was filling the little grove.

  The elderly Tooles was filling cups with wine at a little table, and Fairan was bringing out camp chairs from some place within the shelter. Kain took in the activity with a little guilt that he should be helping rather than sitting and resting, but a numbing fatigue overcame his guilt. And neither Tooles nor Fairan seemed to expect him to do anything. So he sat and waited.

  It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of horses approaching, and Fairan slipped from the grove to meet them. Kain sat in the cool afternoon shade of the shelter, once again sipping a medicinal drink that Tooles had mixed for him. Outside, he could hear the voices of the men talking.

  “Fairan,” roared one voice, “have you found your king?” The voice was jovial.

  “Yes, he is inside.”

  “And does he truly bear the mark of Belanda?” said a quiet voice that Kain strained to hear.

  “Yes, as well as the bruises from Westfold’s mercenaries.”

  “You were attacked?” came the loud voice again.

  “Yes, and with only one lesson with the sword, he slayed three men. But while we were engaged in battle, someone dropped something in the fire that caused smoke like a dense fog to fill the camp. He was bashed in the head from behind and carried away. I found him at a farm the next day, the cowards having run when they spotted me approaching.”

  Kain’s eavesdropping was interrupted by Tooles, who had appeared beside him with the Sword of Onnasus.

  “Keep this with you whenever you receive guests or hear the reports of your men. It is your sign of office, more than any crown to men who have known war.”

  He propped the sword against the wooden arm of the chair, and Kain placed his hand on it. He looked over at the green scabbard and once again marveled at the weapon. He had not given it a thought since he had been captured, but now that he saw it, he realized that he had been missing it, feeling incomplete without it.

  And then Fairan stepped into the grove followed by two men. The first was even bigger than Fairan, a full head taller and every inch of him solid muscle. His head was clean shaven and his beard was trimmed short. He wore leather pants that seemed barely able to contain the rolling muscles of his legs as he walked. He wore a vest of black cloth that was pulled tight over his chest. His arms were thick with muscle, and he carried an axe that was almost as tall as he was, using it like a walking stick. The other man was not as tall and was much slimmer, although it was apparent that he, too, was strong. He wore all black, and his hair was long, pulled into a braid in the back and tied with silver thread. His skin was darker than his companion, and his eyes, sparkling and intense, seemed to take in everything in the grove with one glance. He carried a polished wooden bow that was slung over one shoulder, and there was a quiver of arrows hanging on his back. Both men stopped and surveyed him for what seemed like a long time. Kain was just about to stand and greet them when Tooles placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder and held him in his seat with surprising strength.

  “So, this is the Third Prince of Belhain, heir to the throne of Belanda,” said the giant of a man, with a voice that was gruff and loud.

  “It is,” came Tooles’ raspy voice from beside Kain. “He asks for your support, Gorton, Master of the Baldor Horsemen.”

  “We have come a long way at your word, councilor, and we have never doubted you, but we would like the boy to speak for himself,” said the dark man in a low voice.

  Kain felt Tooles squeeze his shoulder ever so slightly.

  “Thank you both for coming. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with how a Prince should act. I was not aware that I was a Prince until a few days ago, when Fairan came for me at the Monastery. But I am very glad that you have both come, and if you will be patient with us, I am sure Vespin will make everything clear.”

  Kain hoped his words were good enough. He was, at the same time, drawn to these men and intimidated by them. They were warriors, it was obvious. They were men who demanded respect, and, for some reason that Kain could not articulate, he felt a kindred spirit with them, even though he was anything but a warrior.

  “Let us get all unpleasantries out of the way. Prince Elkain, would you lift your shirt and allow these men to see the mark?” the aging Tooles said.

  Kain glanced up at Tooles just to be sure he should lift his shirt. Tooles gave him the slightest of nods. Kain started to let go of the sword but then decided to move it to his knees. He placed the gleaming weapon on his lap, then used both hands to raise the hem of his shirt up to his neck.

  The bigger man grunted in amazement. And both leaned forward to see more clearly.

  “I would be glad to allow the two of you to examine it as closely as you would like. Touch it even, so that you can be sure of what it is.”

  Both men looked at Tooles, who nodded his head. They approached slowly and stooped low over Kain. He held his breath and waited. The big man reached out a calloused hand and touched Kain’s skin. Kain was very aware of his lack of muscle in the presence of these men. The dark man waited a moment more, then ran his fingers gently over Kain’s skin. Then, without a word, both men stepped back together, still bent low, and knelt before him.

  In unison, both men said, “I will follow him.”

  Chapter 9

  It was an awkward moment for Kain. He felt his face turn red. He looked into the eyes of the two men who were kneeling before him and, for a terrified moment, felt sure of failure. How could people place their lives in his hands? He was scribe, not a king. He wanted to stand up and laugh and tell everyone they were crazy, but at that same moment Tooles gave his shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

  “Thank you,” Kain said humbly.

  “Ah, now, let us eat,” said Tooles in his loudest rasp yet.

  The camp chairs were gathered around Kain’s chair and, although he started to get up and help, he received a discouraging nod from Fairan, and remained seated. Tooles produced five large, wooden bowls and several mismatched goblets. Wine was served, first to Kain, who merely held his cup. The big man, Gorton, drained his quickly.

  “Ah, that is good wine. The road has been dusty and dry,” he said.

  The others drank as well, while Tooles dished a thick stew into the bowls.

  Kain merely sat smiling, even after he was once again given the first bowl of stew. Both of the new comers were watching him shrewdly, but Kain was at a loss to know why. Finally, Tooles broke the silence.

 
; “Our new Lord has manners, my friends. I do not believe he will eat until you have first tasted your stews, so let us eat, and then we may proceed to business.”

  The others smirked and smiled at each other and began eating.

  “What is so funny?” Kain asked the group.

  Gorton spoke up, “We are honored to be here, my Lord, and surprised to be treated with such…” he struggled to find the right words.

  “Equality,” said his dark companion.

  “Why?” Kain asked.

  “You are the Prince of Belanda,” Tooles explained. “Princes and Kings do not wait for nobles before they eat; they certainly do not wait for common people like us.”

  “You aren’t nobles?” Kain asked.

  “Only Fairan,” Gorton replied merrily. “And he has no lands, and no place on the council.”

  The others laughed. Kain, infected by their mirth laughed, too, although he didn’t understand. The warriors were now heartily digging into their meal and falling quiet. Tooles took the opportunity to introduce the new arrivals to Kain, who was merely picking at his food and hoping not to offend his host by not eating more.

  “This is Gorton Graean. He is the leader of the Baldor Horsemen. The men under his command are all common people, no knights, no nobles, but they are trained in a fashion similar to knights. They ride horses and are extremely deadly from the saddle. They patrol the borderlands and are usually the first defense against the Oddolans, but they also protect travelers from raiders and other brigands. All the Baldor Horsemen keep their heads shaved, it is their only requirement. Gorton is also a master with his battle axe.”

  “I saw it, but I have never heard of such a weapon,” Kain said.

  “It is deadly, to be sure, but takes years of dedicated training and great strength to master,” Tooles said.

  Gorton nodded at Tooles and gave Kain a quick wink, then continued eating.

  “His companion is none other than Devlyn of Penamere.”

  “The archer? Yes, I have heard of you. Even in the Monastery word reached us of the amazing skill you displayed at the King’s tournament.”

  Devlyn glanced at Kain, then focused again on his bowl of food.

  Tooles continued, “Those who have seen Devlyn in battle know there is much more to his skill than tournament tricks. He often rides with the Baldor Horsemen, but has agreed to help us.”

  “What of Lophan?” asked Fairan around a mouthful of food.

  “We went as far as the border with him, but he had not returned when we left. We have heard no word from him,” answered Gorton.

  “He will come, I am sure of it,” Tooles said. And this seemed to satisfy the others, who were scraping the bottom of their bowls. “Now that you seem to have knocked the edge off your hunger, shall we get down to business?”

  Kain was eager to hear what the business was. He returned his sword to the side of his chair and leaned forward.

  “You both now know that Derrick has noticed the activity of Fairan,” Tooles explained. “It is obvious that he does not know our plans or he would have killed Elkain outright when he had the chance.”

  “Do you think he will try again?” Gorton asked.

  “Most assuredly,” Tooles said.

  “I believe his man is only waiting on a sufficient number of men to face us,” Fairan admitted. “He will have more trouble now that the two of you have joined us, perhaps we will be able to move forward before he can rally the strength to oppose us.”

  “Even if they are watching us, they may not know who Devlyn is,” Gorton replied. “If we go through Penamere, perhaps we can avoid them.

  “Yes,” Tooles said, “we shall rely on Devlyn’s knowledge of the country before us. But I believe that Derrick’s men shall find us; we are still several days’ ride from Royal City. And unfortunately, we shall have to go slow for Elkain’s sake.”

  “I’m feeling much better thanks to you,” Kain said.

  “Yes, but you have not yet sat a horse; I’m afraid you will find there is pain still hidden in your backside that has not yet been felt. And, we do not want to over burden you too soon. Plus, we shall have to take time to prepare the Prince for his homecoming.”

  The group fell silent for a time. Then Devlyn spoke up. “What is our timeline? And what do you hope to accomplish along the way.”

  Tooles answered him, “That is partially up to you three. The Council of Nobles is in ten days. I believe that Derrick will accelerate his plans by forcing the council to agree to his kingship at this meeting. And, therefore, will do anything in his power to keep us away from Royal City until after that meeting. I will instruct Elkain as we travel; the three of you must decide what else can be accomplished in that time.”

  “He has taken to the sword very well,” Fairan said. “Although I still think he needs time before he can be subject to much physical stress.”

  “I’m not as weak as all that,” Kain said, his voice a little higher than normal. He was worried that these warriors would lose respect for him. The thought of his exposed stomach flashed once again through his mind. “I’m soft, I know. I’ve spent most of the last few years sitting on a stool copying manuscripts, but I am up to the task. Don’t baby me.”

  The warriors chuckled, and Gorton smiled broadly at Fairan. “He has heart, I’ll certainly give you that. Okay,” he said turning to Kain. “I am going to make a horseman out of you. Am I right in thinking that you have not been around many horses?”

  “No, I haven‘t,” Kain admitted.

  “Well then, we shall learn the right way to saddle, care for, and look after your mount. We’ll start this evening.”

  “And as soon as you are ready, we shall begin your lessons with a long bow,” said Devlyn.

  “Good,” said Tooles, “when the two of you have finished, Devlyn, Fairan and I shall go over our route with you. In the meantime, finish the stew; I have a boy from the village bringing us pheasant for our supper.”

  “That sounds excellent,” Gorton said as he rose to get himself another helping of stew.

  Kain turned to Tooles and said softly, “You didn’t mention what your plan was—I mean, I realize we are going to Royal City. But what are we going to do when we arrive?”

  “We shall unveil you to the nobles. The most important thing is to establish your right to the throne and your guardianship of Sarahain. She has risked much on our behalf and, unless I am greatly mistaken, she is soon to be lost to us. When you revoke the arrangement to Derrick of Westfold, the real war shall begin.”

  “War?” Kain asked, surprised.

  “Yes, I am afraid there is no other course of action.”

  “I do not wish to split Belanda in a civil war,” Kain stated more confidently than he felt.

  “I understand your concern, but it is inevitable. We will start a war only because Derrick of Westfold has plotted and planned for too long to give up without a fight, especially now that his goal is so close at hand. And you must understand, Elkain, Derrick must not be allowed to rule. He cares only for what benefits himself. And, if what you overheard from your captor was true, then our worst fears will become reality. Derrick would not rule long before someone else, someone more conniving, someone more willing to destroy our land to achieve his evil aims, will replace him, and so on. Belanda will be split up, the people abused and their livelihoods destroyed. Our enemies will invade us, and the Realm of the West will be no more.”

  “And I’m supposed to stop that? I think you over estimate my abilities.”

  “Perhaps, but you will not have to do this alone. You already have three good men and one old fool who will follow you and support you.”

  “It seems to me that I’m the one following all of you.”

  “That is a discernment beyond your years,” Tooles said. “You should question us; you should always test those who profess to support you. Derrick once was a supporter of your father. Constant vigilance is necessary to ensure that you are not led down a similar pat
h.”

  “So I shouldn’t trust you?” Kain asked.

  “Only if you have good reason to believe we are leading you astray. Admittedly, you do not have much to base an opinion on. We could be making this all up and using you. Do you have any evidence that might indicate we are who we say we are?”

  Kain thought a few moments, then said, “There are two experiences that seem to validate your claims. First, the High Prefect said he saw Fairan ride into the Monastery with me as a child. And second, the attackers were not the sort of men with the best interests of Belanda in mind. Their own words were as you said they would be.”

  “Which might indicate that we have set an elaborate ruse, to insure your trust. I assure you that we are sincere. But you must learn to see beyond the face value, if you are to succeed in ruling. Most people would fear to harm you but would see any weakness, any naivety, as an opportunity to control you and thus gain the power they seek.”

  “I’m not sure how good at that I’ll be. I have no experience with people who lie.”

  “You have much to learn,” Tooles said, “but you shall do well, I am sure of it. You are your father’s son, and he was a good King.”

  “Are you ready to begin your lesson, my lord?” Devlyn asked.

  Kain was taken aback by being called lord. “I would prefer for you to call me Kain,” he said.

  “No,” said Tooles sharply. “Your name is Elkain, it is your rightful name. The abbreviated Kain was to keep that truth from you. If you wish to bestow so great an honor as allowing us to call you by name, you must do so only in unofficial situations. When we are before the people you are to rule, you must embrace the royalty of that position.”

  Kain nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He rose and followed Devlyn from the grove. They walked across the rolling terrain toward a group of trees that were different from those of the grove where Tooles made his home.

  “I will teach you first how to choose the kind of wood that makes a good bow and that which makes good arrows. A good bow will last you a lifetime. My bow was fashioned by my great-grandfather.”