A Daughter of Kings, Part I

by Louis Piechota

  Chapter XI

  “The Princess’ Champion”

  “Slow down!” Alirah screamed.

  Tryll ignored her. Alirah could hardly hear her own voice over the tumult of the storm. As if the lightning strike had been a long awaited signal, rain had suddenly begun to pour out of the sky in great, buffeting sheets. Alirah felt as if she were riding beneath a tipped watering can. Within seconds she was soaked to the skin, and her hold upon Tryll’s neck became even more tenuous.

  Meanwhile lightning stabbed down through the trees nearby. No more bolts struck as close as the first one had, but their immediate crashes of thunder left Alirah’s ears ringing. At each strike Tryll would convulse in terror. She’d veer away from the flash, running now right and now left, but in general keeping a north-westerly course across and up the rising slopes of the Egarines.

  The woods thinned a little as the ground rose, but trees still hurtled by faster than Alirah could track. Fearful of catching a branch in the face, she only dared to look up now and then. A few times she heard men’s voices yelling angrily nearby. Once she looked up to see, through a thick screen of leaves and wet hair, a cluster of armored men fighting one another. But she swept by them in a flash. The cries and the sounds of battle grew faint and then disappeared behind her as Tryll raced on.

  At last Tryll made a sudden, sharp swerve to the left. Alirah risked looking up to see what was happening. Just in time, she saw the smooth bough of a young oak tree hurtling toward her. She screamed and hurled herself sideways, out of the saddle. She hit the ground hard. A thick carpet of sodden leaves offered her some cushioning, but the impact still blurred her vision and drove the air from her lungs. She rolled over twice and finally came to rest amidst a stand of ferns.

  Tryll ducked under the bough and ran on. For a little while Alirah could hear the thunder of her hooves above the tumult of the storm, but then the sound diminished and was gone. Still Alirah lay upon the ground, gasping. For many long minutes she could not have moved to save her life.

  Eventually the main fury of the storm passed on to the east. The rain slackened and the thunder grew quieter. At last, with an involuntary whimper, Alirah crawled to her feet. Her head and her side throbbed with pain, but nothing seemed to be broken. Shaking a little, she brushed stray locks of hair away from her face and looked around.

  In that higher spot the forest was considerably less dense than it had been beside the road. Tall pines now grew amongst the oaks and ashes, and all of the trees grew with more space in between them. The undergrowth had diminished. In most places only low ferns and sodden leaves lay upon the ground, but here and there great stands of thorny bushes stood like forests unto themselves. While the ground rose and fell in rumpled slopes all around her, it slanted generally down from west to east. She knew she could follow the downward slopes back to the road, but she had no idea whether to bear right or left in order to get back to Kelorn.

  Assuming he stayed where I left him, she thought with dismay. Who knows how far he had to chase after Melyr, or if he got caught up in the fighting...

  That thought filled her with fresh alarm. She saw again the wild-eyed Verusan leaping out of the bushes and hurling Kelorn to the ground. Then she imagined running into one or more of those men all by herself, and she shuddered. But at last she clenched her hands into fists and steeled herself.

  I can’t just stay here, she thought. He might need my help. I have to find him first. Then we can look for Tryll together.

  She gathered her hair back into its ponytail and brushed some of the leaves and mud off of her drenched clothes. Taking a deep breath, she started back down the long, wooded slopes. However, she’d scarcely gone ten feet before a cry suddenly rang out behind her. This time it was no man’s shout but a high, feminine scream.

  Alirah jumped and whipped back around. Her eyes sought the source of the cry, but whoever was screaming was too far away to see through the woods. She hesitated for a moment, torn. Then fresh screams rang out. This time she thought she heard the words help! help me! among them.

  Alirah jogged back up the slope. Almost at once she saw movement ahead. She groped for her sword before she realized it was only a horse moving through the trees. The animal galloped frantically down towards her, saddled and harnessed but without a rider. Blood streamed from a wound on its hind flank, and either pain or fear had driven it into a frenzy. As Alirah stared, it raced past her and disappeared again behind a screen of foliage.

  Alirah hastened onward. After a short distance the land pitched upward more sharply, rising to a low crest that stretched across the falling slopes. Tall bushes grew atop the crest and hid everything beyond it from her sight. For a few moments as she climbed towards the crest, she heard the screams ring out ever more shrill and desperately. Then abruptly they cut off. Men’s voices sounded instead, not screaming but talking and laughing in almost friendly tones.

  With her heart hammering, Alirah dropped to her hands and knees. Quiet as a mouse, she crawled as far as she could into the bushes atop the crest and peered through them. Then she froze, staring.

  Just ahead the climbing foothills came to an end. The land dipped into a shallow dell, then shot upwards in the steep, rocky flank of one of the Egarine peaks. Four men stood within the dell. Two of them looked like Verusans: squat but powerful and each wearing thick beards. The other two were taller and had skin of a rich, reddish hue that reminded Alirah of her own people, and of some of the folk she had seen west of the mountains. All of them were drenched and dirty. Two had blood stains on their clothing, but none of them looked injured. They all bore a motley collection of weapons and armor, but for the moment all of their weapons were sheathed.

  A young woman half sat, half lay upon the ground at their feet. She must have been just about Alirah’s own age. Her hair was long and dark, but her skin was quite fair. A rag had been tied into her mouth to stifle her cries, and at that moment one of the Verusans was binding her hands with cords. She was no longer struggling or trying to scream. Her face was set in a shocked, humiliated expression, and tears leaked silently from her eyes.

  Alirah knew nothing at all of war, but she knew at once that those four men were not soldiers. Even without their weapons she would have pegged them for thugs and ruffians. Nor was the girl at their feet some opponent captured in battle. She did not seem to have borne any weapon, and no clothing could have been less suited to fighting in a pathless forest. She wore an elegant, full skirted dress of some emerald cloth that shimmered even in the dreary shadows beneath the trees. Her shoes matched her gown, and were so dainty that Alirah assumed at first they must only be slippers. To see her dressed like that in the woods was bizarre all by itself, but to see her thus in the clutches of those men was appalling.

  The Verusan finished tying the girl up, then stood up himself. He was both taller and broader than his countryman, and an old, ugly scar marred his face. He let out a deep, tense breath.

  “Right… Now what?” he asked.

  “Now we get back to Shepnah, to Burnsreach, as the plan says,” answered one the westerners. Alirah supposed the men must come from different lands; they all spoke the common tongue with pronounced but differing accents.

  Scarface grunted derisively. The westerner frowned, but before he could reply the other Verusan chimed in. He was a much older man with iron gray hair and skin much battered by rough years.

  “What’s wrong with that? That’s the plan. We get ourselves up there along with everyone else who made it out.”

  “And how many do you think made it out, Biol?” asked Scarface. “There had to be twice as many bluecoats there as he said there’d be. The plan’s wrecked. We only caught her by sheer luck. We ought to take what we can and make a run for it.”

  Saying this he rested his hand lightly, almost affectionately, upon the young woman’s shoulder. Alirah could picture her father laying his hand on her mot
her’s shoulder just the same way without even realizing he had done so. But the young woman stiffened where she sat. Alirah felt her own insides twist with fear.

  “Come on now, none of that,” said the graybeard, whom Alirah assumed was named Biol. “She’s not to be harmed. And anyway there’s no time for it. They’re sure to be looking for her. The sooner we get away from here, the better.”

  “Get away where?” asked the second, darker-skinned man. He had a broken nose, but it became him somehow. In another place, with another light in his eyes, he would have been handsome. “We aren’t getting to Burnsreach before nightfall, and there won’t be any light under these clouds. An owl won’t be able to find its way there once the sun’s gone down.”

  “We’ve got another hidey-hole nearby,” said Biol. “We’ll go there tonight and make our way up to Burnsreach tomorrow or tomorrow night. Now let’s get going. And careful where you step! Don’t leave any tracks for some bluecoat scout to follow us by, or we’ll all wake up tonight with swords in our guts.”

  With that they set off. They headed south along the skirts of the mountain. Biol half helped, half dragged the young prisoner along by the arm. But with her hands tied the poor girl could not take two steps without tripping over her long dress. At last Scarface reached for her again with a harsh chuckle.

  “Here… Don’t say I never did anything nice for you!”

  Without warning he bent down beside her, scooped her up, and then flung her over his shoulder. She kicked and struggled for a minute, then subsided.

  Meanwhile Alirah looked on from her hiding place, feeling sick. She imagined some minstrel’s heroine leaping down upon the ruffians with her sword drawn, slaying them or at least driving them away. Had there been only one or even two, she might have done just that. But her heart quailed before the thought of attacking four grown men, the smallest of whom was more than her match in size and strength. She could almost feel herself lying bound and gagged beside the other girl, while the ruffians towered over both of them and laughed. Yet she could not leave, either.

  You can’t rescue her by yourself, cried a frightened voice in her mind. You have to go get help!

  But there was no help to get. She had no idea how long it would take to find Kelorn, or if she could lead him back to that spot once she did. Even if she could, they’d then have to find the ruffians again. She had no great skill as a tracker, and she had no idea if Kelorn did either. Running for help meant abandoning the young woman to her captivity. So as the ruffians disappeared southwards through a screen of undergrowth, and without consciously deciding to, Alirah crept after them.

  She found that the dell in which the ruffians had stood was really part of a long, undulating crease in the land. The climbing foothills seemed to plunge down for a last quick breath before rushing upwards in vast peaks. The bottom of the crease was filled with mossy boulders, thick stands of bushes, and the occasional pine tree. Alirah had no difficulty darting from hiding place to hiding place and staying out of sight, but she was terrified of being heard. For all her skill at moving quietly, she feared every moment that the snap of a twig or the clatter of a tumbling rock would give her away. Her breath came in short, nervous gasps and her heart pounded in her chest.

  Burdened with their captive, the ruffians could only go slowly. They passed the girl from shoulder to shoulder like an ungainly satin duffel; none of them could carry her for long over the climbing, uneven ground. They also took obvious care to minimize the traces of their passage.

  There’s someone out there that they’re afraid of, Alirah thought hopefully. They don’t want to be followed. So I’ll bet she does want them to be followed. And I bet I do too.

  Already she had made no effort to hide her own small prints, but now she went out of her way to leave a trail. She stepped everywhere that the ground was muddy and soft. While she made sure to be quiet, she did her best to trample all of the grass and pliable bracken she came across. No one with the slightest hint of woodcraft would have had any trouble following her. They probably would also have thought she was much bigger than she really was, and drunk.

  The ruffians hiked southwards for three or four slow miles. For most of that distance the mountainside rose steeply on their right, like a sloping wall up which a person could not climb without using their hands. At length, however, a narrow cleft appeared. A dim ravine cut between the slopes of that peak and those of the next in the range. A stream, muddy and swollen from the storm, poured noisily out of the ravine. The ruffians turned to follow the stream up into the mountains, creeping along its northern bank.

  By then afternoon had passed into evening. Thick clouds still roiled overhead and sent down occasional showers, though the main fury of the storm had long passed away eastwards. Under the clouds dusk came swift and deep. Mist rose from the sodden ground as the air cooled. Alirah was grateful for the darkness and the fog, for as the land rose she found herself more and more below the ruffians and exposed to their view. She grew ever more terrified they’d look back and see her from above.

  At last her courage failed. Though she felt riven with guilt, like a soldier leaving her comrade behind, she gave up her pursuit and crept behind a lichen covered boulder. There she waited for true night to fall.

  They can’t go much further, she told herself, over and over. They can’t! They won’t be able to see!

  For what felt like an hour or more Alirah sat there, nervous and impatient. She drank from a little pool of rainwater that had gathered at her feet. Her stomach rumbled angrily, but she had nothing to give it. Slowly the fog continued to gather until it filled the ravine and hugged the lower slopes of the mountains like a dripping shroud. True darkness descended. For a while she was afraid it would be a complete, inky darkness like Broken-nose had predicted, and that she would have to sit there blind and helpless until morning. But when it rose the waxing moon could be seen as a faint glimmer through the veils of mist. Alirah could not see much, but she could see enough to move. At last she took a few deep breaths and crawled out from her hiding place.

  Almost at once she could hear voices echoing indistinctly off the walls of the ravine above her. The ruffians had not gone far at all. Above her she saw the ruddy glow of a small fire glimmering in the mist. The flames themselves were hidden by a low shoulder of rock which thrust out from the northern wall of the ravine, on her right. The stream churned and frothed through a narrow crevice at the end of the shoulder. A bare ledge of rock just above the water offered passage around the shoulder for a daring person on foot.

  Alirah crept forward. She was afraid the obvious path at the water’s edge would be watched, so instead she dropped to her hands and knees and clambered up the rock shoulder itself. Handholds were plentiful upon the rock, and the side of the outcropping was not quite vertical. Nonetheless, she immediately began to regret her decision. The stone was wet and darkly colored, all but invisible in the gloom. Halfway up her feet slipped out from under her and she only just caught herself before falling. Luckily, the noisy stream masked the sound of her boots scraping frantically upon the rock. In a quieter spot, anyone within fifty yards would have known she was there.

  At last, gasping and wincing from a few little scrapes, she heaved herself up on top of the shoulder. She pressed herself as low against the rock as she could, wiped stray locks of hair from her eyes, and then inched forward to get a better view.

  The ravine curved around the rock shoulder, then ended suddenly in a deep, circular bowl bordered on all sides by steep cliffs. It looked as if a giant had dug into the mountainside with an immense corer. The stream dropped into this bowl in a fifty foot cascade. The falling water reflected the firelight and looked like a shower of orange and yellow sparks in the darkness. Below the falls, the stream gathered into a deep, dark pool. The pool filled the southern half of the bowl, but the northern half was dry and bare. A shallow cave reached back into the n
orthern wall of the bowl, and in that cave the ruffians had stopped for the night.

  The place had obviously been used as a ‘hidey-hole’ before. Ash and soot from old fires dotted the rock near the cave mouth like black pock marks. Broken bottles, old casks and crates partially hacked into firewood, blackened cooking pots, and other odd bits of refuse were strewn about everywhere. A handful of musty blankets and bedrolls lay heaped near the back of the cavern. The young woman lay atop this pile as if forgotten. The ruffians had now bound her ankles as well, and she was still gagged.

  Three of the ruffians sat upon old boxes besides their little fire. The fourth, the westerner with the broken nose, stood out in the open. He gazed back and forth into the darkness as if searching for something. Because of the curve of the ravine, Alirah found herself only a few yards away from him. She barely had time to flatten herself down against the rock again before his eyes swept over her.

  For a split second she thought he’d seen her. Terror drove bile into her throat. Childishly she squeezed her eyes shut, as if he couldn’t see her if she couldn’t see him. Every second she expected to hear him give a shout, and then the four of them would be upon her. But seconds passed and no shouts came. At last she peered out again. The other westerner had come to join his companion. Both of them stood as if looking for something, but evidently the darkness and the mist defeated their eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe nothing,” said Broken-nose. “Just thought I heard something.”

  The second man grunted. “It’s this blasted waterfall. I’ve been thinking I heard things ever since we got here. This place may be hidden, but it’s as defensible as a grave. That fire isn’t helping our eyes any, either.”

  “Hey!” he cried suddenly. Alirah flinched, but he was calling back up to his comrades. “Hey! Put out that light, you’re showing us up! You lads afraid of the dark or something? Or does dear Princess Caeryl need a nightlight?”

  For answer Scarface only spat noisily into the fire.

  Her name is Caeryl. Princess Caeryl, thought Alirah. No wonder she’s dressed like that! But where did she come from?

  “Nobody could see us here unless they’d already followed us up,” said Biol, answering the westerner. “And if the bluecoats have followed us, then we’re all dead men. I’m not spending my last night cowering in the dark. And I’m not spending it thirsty either!”

  With his last words he took a pull from a battered metal flask, then offered it to Scarface. The younger man stared at him for a moment, then grinned and took a long drink of his own. The two westerners strode back to join them.

  For a while the four ruffians sat around their fire, eating and drinking together. Broken-nose produced a flask of his own after Biol’s ran out, and then from amongst the clutter of the cavern Scarface produced a dubious looking jug of something. They shared stories of battle and robbery, and laughed together at lewd jokes.

  The longer she lay there, the more Alirah hated them. Try as she might, however, she could not think of anything to do. At first she hoped they might all drink themselves into a stupor, but when they finally made ready to sleep none of the ruffians was quite that far gone into his liquor. Even worse, they set a watch. While the others started to snore, Biol sat diligently on guard.

  Time wore on and the little fire burned down to embers. Alirah could do nothing but lie there, waiting. She felt trapped, for she knew Biol would see more clearly as the firelight dimmed. She would not have dared to retreat from that spot even if she’d wanted to.

  Uncomfortable as Alirah was upon her hard perch, she was also exhausted. After an hour or so the ceaseless noise of the falls began to lull her mind. Soon she caught herself beginning to nod off. She snapped back awake with a cold thrill of fright, and she resolved not to let it happen again.

  The next thing she knew she was waking up from a dark dream. This time, even before she opened her eyes, she knew she hadn’t just nodded off for a moment. A cool breeze stirred the air. The mists now swirled and drifted around her; they were slowly being driven away. A few stars peeped out through rents in the clouds above. All seemed quiet within the cave. For a moment she dared to hope that all of the ruffians had fallen asleep at last, but when she inched forward again she saw that it was not so.

  Biol and the two westerners were fast asleep. Whether from drink or simple exhaustion they lay sprawling and snoring in attitudes of complete oblivion. Scarface was still awake, however. The big jug that he and his companions had passed about earlier now hung loosely from his hand. He’d built the fire back up a little and sat beside it as if keeping watch, but he was facing back into the cavern. The only thing he was watching now was his bound captive. Caeryl lay very still under his gaze. Her eyes were shut tight, but Alirah did not think she was asleep.

  From her vantage point Alirah could not quite see the look in Scarface’s eyes, but she did not need to. With a flash of new fear she knew that she could watch and wait no longer; she must either act at once or else creep away in shame. So, trembling, and with no clear idea of what she was going to do, she rose from her hiding place.

  The far side of the rock shoulder was not as steep as the wall she’d climbed up before. A person could scramble down on all fours. Alirah did so now, inch by inch, until she stood upon the floor of the ravine. Then with great care she drew her sword.

  Step by step she crept up behind Scarface. Her supple boots made no noise upon the bare rock that could be heard over the splash of the falls. Still, at every moment she expected him to whirl around, or any one of his companions to leap up with a shout. They did not. Soon she stood only a few paces from where Scarface sat. She heard him muttering to himself in the Verusan tongue.

  Suddenly he moved. Alirah started in terror. Her nerves were so taut that she just barely stifled a scream. He did not leap up to attack her, however, or to sound the alarm. Instead he shuffled forward in a low crouch and squatted down beside Caeryl. The young woman was not asleep. Immediately she began to struggle against her bonds. With a tiny, breathless voice she mewed into her gag.

  Alirah sprang forward. With three quick strides she closed the distance to Scarface. She raised her sword as if she meant to plunge it down between his shoulder blades. Then she froze.

  She was no assassin. She was not even a warrior who’d killed before and could do so again at need. The wound she’d dealt to Riuk had come in the heat of battle, and her intention had only been to end the fight by drawing blood. The thought of stabbing from behind now filled her with horror.

  Scarface was so intent upon his captive that he did not notice even Alirah’s last, quick approach. For a few seconds he had no idea that she stood, stricken, above him. But from where she lay, Caeryl could see Alirah at once. Her eyes flew wide with astonishment and for a moment her struggles ceased. Only then, with drunken slowness, did Scarface realize something was happening. He tensed and finally started to turn around.

  At the last instant Alirah broke free of her horror. She seized her sword with both hands and raised it high above her head. Just as Scarface saw her she slammed the weapon down, pommel first, upon his head. The metal struck true with a muffled thunk. Scarface’s eyes rolled back and he crumpled onto the floor of the cave with a soft creak of leather.

  For several seconds Alirah could only stand there, petrified. She gazed down at Scarface in stunned wonder, then looked wildly around the cavern. In terror she waited for one of the other ruffians to wake up and give a shout. Biol rolled over and muttered something in his sleep, but otherwise he and his comrades did not stir at all. At last she realized Caeryl was still looking up at her with huge, desperate eyes.

  Quickly Alirah shook herself and knelt down beside the young woman. She put a finger to her own lips for silence, and then with shaking hands managed to pull away Caeryl’s gag.

  “Come with me,” she whispered. “Don’t make a so
und!”

  Caeryl shut her mouth immediately and nodded.

  Swiftly Alirah cut the girl’s bonds and helped her to her feet. Together they began to creep from the cave. Caeryl could only go slowly. She stumbled upon stiff legs, and she could not walk without her big dress rustling. Every second Alirah expected all of the ruffians to spring up in a rage, but they slept on. The noise of the waterfall masked all other sounds. Alirah and Caeryl reached the mouth of the cave and then crept slowly across the floor of the bowl.

  Soon they reached the far end of the bowl, where the stream poured around the base of the rock outcropping. Alirah’s spirits soared. A wide grin stole onto her face as she imagined the ruffians waking up hours later, when they were already miles away.

  But the narrow ledge which offered passage around the rock shoulder was more treacherous than she had thought. The rock was cracked and broken in many places, and littered with loose stones. Alirah managed to pick her way around the edge, but her new companion had more trouble. With her long skirts, Caeryl could not see the ground right underneath her. Just as she’d rounded the base of the shoulder her foot caught on a loose stone the size of a cabbage. It rolled off the ledge, fell ten feet through the air, and then impacted against a boulder that stuck up out of the stream’s frothing waters. The rock shattered as it hit, with a noise like a thunderclap.

  Alirah did not have to look back to know that their luck had run out.

  “Run!” she cried.

  Together they scrambled down the ravine. They went as quickly as they could, but they could not truly run. The first gray whispers of dawn shone in the eastern sky, but for the moment it was still a dark, misty night. They had to step very carefully to avoid turning an ankle on the half-seen, uneven ground.

  Luckily they had a few minutes’ head start. The ruffians woke up at once, but it took them a while to realize that their prisoner was gone and Scarface had been knocked unconscious. Nonetheless, Alirah and Caeryl soon heard the three men crashing down after them. The ruffians shouted and cursed in their own languages as they came on, and they closed in swiftly.

  At last Alirah and Caeryl reached the end of the ravine. The stream turned away southwards, while the crease which Alirah had climbed up earlier fell away to the north. Alirah ignored both paths and charged straight out onto the falling slopes of the foothills. She hoped to find more cover in the open forest, and also ground that was less rocky.

  If we can just get a little ways ahead, they might lose us in the dark, she thought frantically. It’ll be an hour yet before it’s really light. If we can just hide somewhere…

  But they could not get ahead. On her own Alirah might have, but she constantly had to slow down and wait for Caeryl. The Princess gasped and panted as if she’d already run for miles, and she still tripped constantly over her dress. At last she stumbled and did not immediately get up again. Alirah ran back to help her, but Caeryl shook her away.

  “Just run,” she gasped, sobbing. “Don’t let them catch you. They won’t kill me, whatever else they do. Other help will come!”

  “Other help?”cried Alirah, bewildered. “No! Get up! Come on!”

  Angrily she seized Caeryl’s wrist and hauled the young woman to her feet. Again they took off running; but again they went too slowly. Alirah could hear the ruffians gaining on them from behind. For nearly half a mile they plowed on, dodging low branches and fighting their way through rain-soaked shrubs. At last they came to a little hollow that had been carved out among the foothills. No trees grew within the hollow, but in its center a few weathered boulders stood together like a giant’s cairn. As they ran by the stones, Caeryl stumbled once more and fell with a cry.

  Desperately Alirah pulled at her hand, but it was too late. Before the Princess could get to her feet, Biol and the two westerners burst out of the undergrowth behind them. They’d heard Caeryl’s cry, and they came on with triumphant shouts and cruel guffaws.

  “Ah ha!”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Found a friend, did you?”

  Alirah bustled Caeryl into a crook amongst the boulders, then turned to stand between her and the ruffians. With a cry she drew her sword. The blade flashed red and golden in its own light.

  The ruffians drew up short. Whatever they had thought to find, a fierce girl with a blazing sword was not it. But they were only checked for a moment; they were not weaponless themselves. Biol snatched a war axe from his belt, while the two westerners drew broad-bladed swords. After pausing for a few seconds to catch their breath, the ruffians advanced slowly into the hollow. They fanned out so as to come at Alirah from three sides at once.

  Alirah held her head high, but as they drew closer she backed up against the rocks alongside Caeryl. Nothing in her sparring with Kelorn had prepared her to face three opponents at once. As they closed in she whirled about, facing first one and then another, trying and failing to stare them all down at once. Biol sensed her distress.

  “Easy girl,” he said in a would-be soothing voice. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

  “Leave us alone and nobody will!” cried Alirah.

  “Oh ho!” Laughed the Westerner whose nose was still intact. “She’s got a mouth on her, hasn’t she?”

  “Shut up, Tareb!” snapped Biol. To Alirah he spoke more gently. “Now now. You can’t fight all three of us. And you should know we aren’t going to be put off by words. You put down that sword, and be good, and we won’t hurt you. Either of you. Otherwise… I’m not making any promises. The plan was not to harm Princess Caeryl, but any kind of alive will do in a pinch, I’m sure. And as far as I know, nobody cares what we do to you.”

  Alirah hesitated for a moment, in spite of herself. The three men seemed to loom up huge and terrible as they drew closer, and all she could think about was how much it would hurt to be cut by their blades. Yet the smell of alcohol and of their unwashed bodies disgusted her, and the hatred she’d felt listening to them laugh and joke around their fire now returned, even stronger than before. At last she stood to her full height and glared at them in defiance.

  “You won’t do anything to me,” she declared.

  Suddenly Tareb lunged forward. Caeryl screamed. With his broadsword the ruffian lashed at Alirah’s blade, as if to knock it from her grasp or just get it out of the way. At the same time he reached out to seize hold of her with his other hand.

  Alirah reacted quicker than thought. It took all of her strength to parry the mighty blow, but she managed to do so. Then before Tareb could recover she was on the attack. Reeling in surprise, he blocked two quick strokes from her, but not the third. With a cry she caught him on the side of his chest. Her blade cut through his studded leather armor and bit into the flesh beneath.

  If not for the armor, she might have killed him. As it was, her blade shore through the leather with ease, but turned aside on one of its reinforcing studs. Tareb staggered backwards with a cry of agony, clutching a wound that was deep but not mortal.

  “You stay away from me!” Alirah screamed in a rage. “Get lost before you get hurt!”

  “Too late,” said a new voice, low and fell.

  Alirah and all three of the ruffians jumped in surprise. As one they turned to look towards the edge of the hollow from which the voice had come. Striding out of the shadows there was a man Alirah had never seen before. He was quite young, about Kelorn’s age, but taller than the young Druid and darker of hair and eye. He wore a hauberk of bright mail, and held a long, black sword ready in his hand. To Alirah’s eyes the weapon shone with a deep, red flame.

  From behind her Alirah heard Caeryl give a cry of joy.

  “Darion!”

  At the same moment Biol started to shout something.

  “What are you doing…”

  The old man did not have time to finish. Darion did not slow his stride as the ruffians turned towards him. His face
was set in grim, determined lines, but he did not look angry or at all afraid. He looked like a logger come to fell three inconvenient trees. He held his sword vertically before him for a moment, just as Kelorn and the phantom captain had done several days before. Then he sprang silently to the attack.

  With cries of fury the ruffians ran to meet him. Even Tareb lurched painfully into the battle. Caeryl screamed, and Alirah felt her insides clench in fresh horror. It was both terrifying and appalling to see one young man charge so recklessly against three grizzled thugs. For a few seconds Alirah was certain the newcomer would be slain before her eyes.

  But Darion fell upon the ruffians like a hurricane. He blocked their attacks with apparent ease. When he lashed out in return his strength and speed were terrifying to behold. Despite their size and obvious experience, the ruffians suddenly looked like half-trained boys trying to fight a grown warrior in his prime. Even when they blocked Darion’s attacks they were staggered by the impact, and they did not block his attacks for long.

  Biol fell first. With a red flash Darion’s blade hewed the haft of his war axe and cut him down. The two westerners followed quickly, felled with mortal wounds. Workmanlike, with hardly a change of his expression, Darion finished each man off with a killing stroke. Much less than a minute after he’d first called out, all three of the ruffians lay dead upon the sodden ground.

  Alirah stared. Her mouth hung open and her face was white. Behind her, Caeryl had buried her face in her hands, but by the time Alirah had thought to look away she’d found she could not do so. She’d watched every blow land and seen every man fall. Their last cries echoed in her ears.

  At that moment dawn broke in the east. A few pale rays of sunlight managed to pierce the receding clouds. They fell upon Darion, gleaming brightly upon his mailshirt and upon the crimson blood which now spattered it. Seeing him for the first time in full light Alirah saw that he had an olive complexion not unlike her own father’s. He was also startlingly handsome. Standing there amidst the carnage he had wrought, he looked like an angel of death.

  After a moment Darion relaxed a little, but he still held his sword at the ready. Blood dripped slowly from the blade. He turned to face Alirah and said something, but she did not hear him. A strange ringing lingered in her ears. The only thing she could hear clearly was the thunder of her own heartbeat. He repeated himself to no avail, then took a step towards her and raised his sword threateningly.

  “…Do you not hear me, child?”

  Alirah blinked and gasped as if startled out of sleep. “Wha… What?”

  “Drop your sword. Throw it away.”

  His voice was strong and resonant. Alirah almost flung the sword aside out of the shear impulse to obey, but at the last instant she hesitated. Darion may have slain her attackers, but she had no idea who he was. She might have been delivered from three would-be captors only to fall into the hands of one who was even more dreadful and deadly.

  “Darion, she’s a friend!” cried Caeryl, stepping forward to stand at Alirah’s side. “She was trying to rescue me!”

  Darion shook his head. “Then her weapon will be returned to her, along with praise and high honor. But I will not permit a stranger to stand armed and ready to strike beside the heir to the throne of Arandia!”

  His darkling eyes bore down upon Alirah as he spoke. She hesitated for another moment, both frightened and indignant. Then she let out a ragged sigh of defeat. She felt sick and light-headed. She had no strength left to fight, and no illusions that she could defeat so terrible an opponent. With a reluctant, jerky motion she flung her sword away and hung her head. Darion let out a relieved sigh of his own and lowered his weapon, though he did not sheath it.

  Then Alirah looked up suddenly. Her gaze shot back and forth between Darion and Caeryl.

  “Wait… What did you say? The heir to the throne of what?”

  Caeryl gazed at her for a moment, first apparently in confusion and then in wonder. A smile spread slowly onto her pale, smudged face.

  “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “I… I heard them say your name was Caeryl,” stammered Alirah. “That you were a princess…”

  “So you did all that… You stood against them and you didn’t even know…” Abruptly Caeryl shook her head in amazement. Then she picked up her ruined skirts and dropped a deep, graceful curtsey.

  “My name is Caeryl, daughter of Caerwyn. But my father is Archandir son of Artan, High King of the Five Kingdoms of Arandia. I am the princess of that realm, and the heir to its throne.”