Third Prince (Third Prince Series)

by Toby Neighbors

  The man kicked Kain’s sword out of his hand and stood looking down at Kain. Then he raised his sword to kill the Prince, only his hand froze before making the downward thrust that would break through the chainmail, tearing flesh, splintering bone, and pinning Kain to the ground. And then the man was backing up, moving away from Kain. There was a terrifying instant while the ground shook, then Fairan’s black horse was leaping over Kain. The General’s sword flashed in the sunlight as it struck Kain’s attacker’s own weapon. The force of the blow sent the man spinning. Fairan’s horse skidded to a halt, its hooves tearing through the turf like sharpened plow blades. Fairan leapt down and rushed the man, who had regained his balance and was waiting for him. The two were a blur of movement, swords flashing. Fairan moved so fast that Kain couldn’t keep up with him. The attacker did though, and the two seemed to flow together like some epic, violent dance. There was blood and cursing, but Kain could not tell who was hurt. There was no slowing the action of the battle. Kain found his own sword and wanted to help but he could not see how. Then, suddenly, there was a cry of pain that rang through the air, as Kain’s attacker staggered back, blood spilling out of a gash in his chest that had broken through the chainmail. The man dropped his sword, a look of astonishment on his face. He looked down at the blood he could not stop from coming. There was gurgle in his throat as he dropped to his knees. He looked at Fairan, his eyes wide, his skin turning white and papery. Then he fell face down in the bloody grass, twitching.

  Fairan turned to Kain; the General had a cut on his left cheek and a gash on his thigh that was bleeding freely.

  “Are you alright?” Fairan asked gruffly.

  The words shook Kain back to reality. He tore off his shirt and used his sword to cut off the sleeve. He knelt in front of Fairan and tied the cloth over the wound.

  “Yes, I’m alright,” Kain said at last. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

  “Your shoulder is bleeding.”

  At these words, a dull ache in Kain’s shoulder broke through into his consciousness, followed by a burning across his stomach and a sharp pain in his left leg.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been better. We need to get this bleeding stopped. Where is Vespin? He needs to look at this.”

  Devlyn and Gorton were riding up. Fairan shouted to them.

  “Are you okay?”

  “We’ll live,” shouted Gorton.

  “Have you seen Vespin? Elkain is bleeding.”

  “Not as bad as you,” Kain said incredulously.

  Devlyn and Gorton talked, then the archer rode off to find the councilor. Gorton rode up to Kain and Fairan.

  “I see you’re busy,” growled Gorton, “I’ll go round up Elkain’s horse.”

  Kain looked up at him, “But your arm…” he began.

  But the horseman just waved him off.

  “Let’s take a look at your shoulder,” Fairan said, but he swayed dizzily.

  “Here, lean on your sword,” Kain said. Then he went to Fairan’s horse, who had not moved, but rather stood looking at its master as if in concern. Kain retrieve the camp chair, which was basically a stool, with a seat of canvas that could be folded down and packed easily on a horse. Kain set up the chair behind Fairan and helped the bigger man down into it.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You saved my life,” Kain replied. “I knew I didn’t stand a chance with that guy. He was about to kill me when you came riding up.”

  “It was a team effort. Devlyn took care of one of the mercenaries pursuing me.”

  Gorton had returned with Kain’s horse.

  “Let me take a look at that arm,” Kain said.

  “It’s nothing,” Gorton said.

  “Don’t disobey your Prince,” Kain said, mocking outrage. “Now get over here.”

  There was blood running down Gorton’s arm, the muscle seemed to be bulging out of the wound. It looked like raw beef.

  Kain cut the other sleeve off of his shirt and used the body of the shirt to wipe away the blood on Gorton’s arm. He retrieved both his and Gorton’s camp chairs and set them near Fairan’s. They sat down, and Kain continued to study Gorton’s arm.

  “It looks like the muscle is cut and swelling,” Kain said. “We need some of Vespin’s medicines.”

  “He’s coming,” said Fairan. “I noticed you’re limping, too.”

  “Yes, my leg is hurting, probably from falling off a galloping horse.”

  Gorton snickered at this.

  “Funny is it?” He thumped Gorton’s shoulder. The big man yelped in pain and raised his hand as if to strike, then remembered who he was planning to hit and settled down.

  “Well,” continued Kain, “If you guys hadn’t rode off and left me, I wouldn’t have been hit with that crossbow bolt. I’m sure you wouldn’t have fallen off your horse over a little thing like that.”

  “Is that why your shoulder is bleeding?” Gorton asked. “You better let me take a look at that.”

  Kain pulled off the chainmail shirt and looked at his shoulder, but he couldn’t really see much, the wound was on the back of it.

  “Here,” Gorton said, turning Kain toward him so he could see the Prince’s shoulder. Kain expected him to be rough, perhaps even aggravate the wound to pay him back for his thumping Gorton’s shoulder. But the big man was as gentle as any mother, wiping the blood away with his calloused fingers.

  “It’s punctured the skin, but it’s hard to tell how deep. The mail tore the skin around it pretty bad. What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “I don’t know,” Kain admitted, “I guess I must have landed on it. I think the muscle is just bruised and cramping a little.”

  “You better walk on it a while and stretch that muscle so it doesn’t get too sore,” Fairan advised.

  Kain walked around the clearing, staying away from the man Fairan had slain. He was tired, and the pain in his leg throbbed, although the muscle seemed less tense. His shoulder and stomach were hurting, too. He wished he could lay down somewhere soft and sleep for a week.

  Tooles had arrived at the camp now. He sent Devlyn for wood and went immediately to Kain and began looking at his wounds.

  “Vespin,” Kain said, “see to the others.”

  “You are more important,” rasped the aging councilor.

  “No I’m not!” Kain bellowed. “And you are never to say such things again, do you understand me? We are all brothers, united by blood and a common cause. You can doctor me when you have helped them. Gorton is losing blood, it looks like the muscle is swelling and I was afraid to bind it up. And Fairan’s leg needs to be cleaned and dealt with to stop the bleeding and to avoid sickness setting in the wound.”

  “I disagree,” said the old man, his face contorted in anger. But he turned and looked at Gorton’s shoulder. He reached in his bag and sprinkled some powder in the cut and then applied the same paste he had used on Kain a few days before.

  Devlyn returned with some wood and stacked if for a fire. He began trying to kindle a fire with flint and steel, when Tooles interrupted him.

  “I’ll do that,” Tooles said. And taking his staff he tapped the wood twice and flames leapt up, the wood kindling immediately.

  “You’re a wizard?” Kain asked. The surprise in his face and voice was obvious.

  “You have your religion. I have mine,” Tooles said. Then he bent over Fairan’s leg, untied the bandage Kain had made, and then said, “I need water.”

  Kain fetched him a water bag. Tooles poured the water into the gash. Then he pulled his knife and cut off the leg of Fairan’s breeches above the wound. He washed the leg with water again and then applied a generous amount of the paste before rebinding the wound with clean strips of cloth from his pack.

  “We’ll need to sew that up when we reach Royal City,” Tooles said.

  Fairan nodded, then hobbled over to his horse and began rigging a place for his leg to rest for the journey into Royal City.

  The sun was beginning to dip low,
and before Tooles inspected Kain, he mixed some herbs in the water that was heating over the fire.

  “Do you suppose we might actually make it to Royal City this time?” Kain asked.

  “We are close,” said Devlyn. “Less than an hour away. We should have no more problems.”

  “What are we going to do once we get there?” Kain asked.

  “We are going to visit your sister,” Tooles announced, as he walked back over and began prodding Kain’s wound. He was not as gentle as Gorton had been.

  Tooles wiped the ragged skin on Kain’s shoulder with a damp cloth and then handed him a thick leather strap.

  “What is this for?” Kain asked.

  “For you to bite,” Tooles explained. “You have some metal and fabric in this wound; I’ll have to dig it out.”

  “Dig?” Kain said. “Did you say dig it out? That doesn’t sound too helpful.”

  “If we leave it there, you’ll get the blood sickness and die. Don’t worry, I think I can get it rather quickly.”

  The others busied themselves with horses and weapons. Gorton began drinking the last of the wine, straight from the jug he had brought with them. Kain tried not to cry out as the searing pain of Tooles’ ministrations shot through his shoulder, neck, and down his arm. It felt as if the old man was pouring liquid fire into the wound. Sweat beaded on Kain’s face, and he felt light headed.

  “Done,” said Tooles, holding up a little piece of metal and some bloody fabric. Then he sprinkled some powder into the wound, which spread a soothing heat through Kain’s shoulder. The pain subsided quite a bit then.

  Tooles spread some of his special paste on the wound and covered it with a cloth. Then he helped Kain get his mail shirt back on. Kain gathered up his camp chair and went to his horse. Tooles handed them each a cup of steaming liquid, the same that he had served Kain at the grove in Dameris. They drank their medicine and rode on.

  The way was rough, and each jolt hurt Kain’s shoulder and leg. His stomach was sore whenever he used his muscles there, which was surprisingly a lot. But it wasn’t long until they could see a dark form in the distance. The sun had almost set, and Royal City was casting a shadow like a mountain on them. They saw lights twinkling in the distance, and as they rode, a feeling of exuberance washed over them, as tangible and consuming as the rain shower a few nights ago. They passed houses where smoke was rising from chimneys with a fragrance of food cooking. Kain felt his stomach growling with hunger. There were dogs barking in the distance, and children were being called in to supper. It was all such an amazing sight to Kain that he forgot about his aches and pains.

  When they approached the walls of the city, Kain found himself gaping up at the sheer size of them. They towered over his head so high, he felt like he would fall over if he looked to the top of them. The proper gate was closed for the night, but there was a small door within the larger wood and iron gate, big enough for them to pass, leading their horses, one at a time. They dismounted, and Fairan knocked on the door and gave a password. There was slot in the door, and a man’s face appeared.

  “General,” cried the man. “I had no idea it was you, sir. Come in, come in.”

  The door swung open, and Fairan led the way inside. The man who was guarding the gate stood rigidly at attention. Fairan spoke to him.

  “Do not list us on the entry log,” he ordered. “And speak to no one of our return until tomorrow, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said crisply.

  Fairan handed the man the reins of his horse, and those of Kain’s and Tooles’. Gorton took Devlyn’s reins and said, “I’ll stay with the horses tonight.”

  The others walked or limped along the street toward the castle, which was the first and most massive building of the town. Between the wall and the castle were barracks. The street was paved with smooth stones, almost like bricks. Kain marveled at it all, wondering how he could have lived so long and not seen such a marvelous sight. Fairan led them through the section of the city where the royal soldiers lived, trained, and worked. There was a small entrance that led into the castle. They opened the door and walked down a flight of stone steps and into a room that was full of benches. The smell of food was strong, and they all felt the hunger pangs. There was a soldier leaning against the wall beside a door. The soldier, stiffened as Fairan walked up.

  “Have the cooks bring us food and drink, then fetch the surgeon,” Fairan ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” said the man. Then he hurried away.

  They went inside the room and found a long table with chairs on either side. They collectively sat down, Kain and Fairan shuffling in their seats, trying to find a comfortable way of sitting that would aggravate their wounds the least. Kain looked at Tooles, who looked older, more ragged and used up than the Prince had ever seen him. Soon there was a sharp knock at the door, and Devlyn jumped up and pulled the door open. A short woman, with thick hair pulled up into a scarf and a rotund figure, walked in carrying a tray with a pitcher and four cups. She looked at Fairan, and he nodded his thanks.

  “Can you send for Evain?” Tooles asked the woman.

  “Yes,” The woman said simply and quietly exited the room.

  ***

  “What is wrong, my Lady?” asked Evain.

  “Tomorrow is the Council,” Sarahain said in exhasperation. “We have not heard from Vespin Tooles; we have no idea what is going to happen, except the rumors that Derrick of Westfold is planning to move our marriage,” she said this last word in extremely exaggerated tones, “to tomorrow. And I want to know what is happening.”

  “Please, my Lady, eat something,” pleaded the servant.

  “I cannot eat,” Sarahain said. She was pacing now. For days she had been lingering on a knife’s edge, wavering back and forth between the hope that her father’s councilor would bring her lost brother and save her from what she considered a fate worse than death, and the certainty that Derrick was too strong and no one could stop him. She was thin, having been unable to eat, for the worry gripping her mind all day long and keeping her awake at night.

  Evain, her servant and confidant, opened the windows to let the cool evening air into the stuffy quarters of the princess. She lit the many candles and led Sarahain to the bed. Sarahain sat stiffly, while Evain lit candles and prayed.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. Evain hurried through to the outer room and opened the door. The servants talked for a moment, then Evain closed the door and hurried back to her mistress.

  “I’ve been summoned to the kitchens,” said Evain.

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know. But I shall be back as soon as I can. Are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish?”

  “I’m not going to throw myself from my bedroom window, if that’s what you mean.”

  Evain looked in the Princess’s eyes, she was afraid of the despair she saw there, but she could not do anything else. She turned back to the door and hurried downstairs. The way to the kitchen was familiar and, as soon as she arrived, the plump cook who had delivered the message took her into the room where Kain and his companions were now eating.

  “Ah,” said Tooles, “the Lady Evain, I suspect?”

  “I am no lady, only a servant of Princess Sarahain. I am common born.”

  “But uncommonly beautiful,” said Devlyn, which Kain found to be totally outside the character of the man he knew.

  Evain blushed. “Thank you. How may I serve you, my Lords?”

  “There is only one Lord here,” whispered Tooles, indicating Kain. “Do you think you could discreetly persuade your mistress to meet her brother in the council chamber?”

  Evain’s eyes grew wide, and she smiled. “Of course I can.”

  “Good, make it so,” said Tooles, “we shall meet you there shortly.”

  Evain bowed and then turned and fled from the room. She hurried back to Sarahain’s quarters
and burst through the door.

  “My Lady,” she cried out, “he’s here, he’s here.”

  “What?” said Sarahain is surprise, her heart leaping in expectation.

  “Vespin Tooles is here with-”

  Sarahain cut her off, “Shhh, you must keep your voice down. We do not know who may be listening.”

  “Your brother,” Evain continued breathlessly. “He is here. And with General Fairan, an old man, and the archer, Devlyn of Penamere.”

  “Where are they?” Sarahain asked.

  “They are eating in the officers’ mess. The old man told me to help you go to the council chambers, and they would meet us there.”

  Sarahain stood and walked quickly to the dressing mirror. She had not been out of her quarters since she had received the message about her brother and had gone to retrieve the Royal Chronicles. She was a mess, her hair was in tangles, she was wearing a very worn dressing gown, and her face, she noticed for the first time, was pale, the skin white and brittle.

  “I look horrible,” she cried.

  “Here, we will fix that,” Evain said, holding out a beautiful dress. They worked together and soon had the Princess dressed, her face cleaned, and her hair brushed and shining.

  “How do I look?” Sarahain asked.

  “Beautiful. Are you ready?”

  “Yes and no. But we must go, I do not want to keep them waiting.”

  Evain and Sarahain walked to the door. They peered out into the antechamber, there was no one there.

  “Okay, you go first,” said Sarahain. “If you see anyone on the way, act as if you forgot something and come back.”

  So they started out, walking slowly down the stairs, to the second floor landing. Sarahain waited patiently as Evain walked slowly and quietly past the corridors where the visiting nobles were retired for the evening. Sarahain came slowly and quietly behind her. They saw no one as they entered the Council chamber. It was dark, with no candles lit; Sarahain sent Evain to fetch some. And then she settled herself in the chair she had seen her mother sitting in beside her father, as they presided over the Council of the Nobles. She could feel her heart pumping; it felt as though it wanted to jump out of her chest. When the door opened again, and Evain entered, Sarahain could hear men talking behind her.