The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

“You serve yourself,” cut in Corin.

  “And you do not?”

  “That’s beside the point—my goals seem transparent to all save myself.” Corin didn’t like where this conversation was going. “Don’t get me wrong, wizard. I’m grateful for your aid. I don’t trust you is all—no offence.”

  “Trust,” laughed Zallerak. “What care I for that? Just accept that we are allies in this business.”

  Corin was about to press the matter when Fassof’s shout cut through his thought like a meat cleaver hewing chuck steak.

  “You in control of that wheel or playing with your dick? We’re way off course, Corin!”

  “Sorry…”

  Corin cursed, he’d drifted again—badly. The swell was hitting the beam. The thudding movement had brought the angry mate out on deck. Corin swung the wheel until the brig was back on course. Satisfied, he turned to confront Zallerak again but the bard was nowhere to be seen.

  When Barin came on deck he found a moody companion at the wheel. Corin ignored his friend.

  “Don’t let Fassof get to you,” Barin said. “He even shouts at me sometimes.”

  “I am not concerned with Fassof!” snapped Corin. Without further word he spun the wheel into Barin’s huge paw and descended below deck like a storm cloud. Barin shook his head as he corrected their course again.

  “I guess he needs ale,” he said to himself.”

  Barin had changed his mind after consulting his charts. He now decided to keep to their western course for most the night. At sunrise he’d hearken south again. He hummed to himself cheerfully. It was peaceful here on deck and he was full of ale. Barin saw no sign of Corin, or anyone else until well after sunrise.

  Chapter 4

  Gribble

  “Mr Caswallon’s not happy.” This from the goblin creature who’d just landed on his deck, and narrowly avoided being skewered by Scarn, the newly promoted first mate. “He ain’t happy at all.”

  “What do you want?” Rael Hakkenon had only just regained composure after finally cutting through the fog that had swallowed Barin’s ship, allowing the renegades slip his net.

  “I was mid-flight,” explained Goblin Gribble. “Just passing. Thought I’d drop by and share my wisdom. You should be grateful, Mr Assassin, you need all the friends you can get. The boss is vexed about all the nonsense on your island. Get off!” This last to Scarn who was attempting to spike the creature with his cutlass.

  “Leave it,” Rael waved Scarn back. Behind the mate the men had gathered wide-eyed to watch the winged ghastliness hop about on deck. “And, you lot, find something useful to do.”

  Scarn hesitated, his one good eye blinking at the hideous, squat, hunched horrible whatever it was, addressing his captain. “But that thing, lord, it’s-?”

  Rael shot Scarn a glint of jade and the mate slunk back and signalled the men to follow him amid mutters.

  Rael wrenched his disgusted gaze from the Soilfin, and instead he held up the golden spyglass to his left eye and watched from the gleaming prow of The Black Serpent as the distant sails of The Starlight Wanderer sank below the western horizon. All damned day to find them and then lose them to dark.

  Scrape, scrape. Gurgle and belch. Soilfins are not easy creatures to ignore.

  “You still there?” Rael turned, awarded Gribble a withering gaze.

  Gribble showed his fangs in what might be described as a conspiratorial grin.” I am waiting to hear your excuses so I can report back to Mr Caswallon. After supper of course.” The Soilfin licked its lips and made a vulgar sucking sound.

  Rael set the glass down carefully. He fingered his rapier’s hilt and narrowed his gaze. “You won’t get far with my blade shoved up your arse, goblin.” Gribble hopped along the deck and spat at him.

  “No need for that, Mr Assassin. All friends here. No need to get your weapon out.”

  Rael summoned his last inch of patience. His hand dropped idly from the rapier. “Those bastards were aided by sorcery—tell Caswallon that. That’s his department not mine. And tell him I’m going to catch them and boil the lot in a bloody great kettle, after I’ve removed various body parts with blunt instruments. I’ll spare the little queen, though I’d be doing him a favour if I cooked her too.”

  “Will you save me some scraps?” Gribble shuffled closer and dribbled.

  “Only if you make yourself useful.”

  “Doin’ what? I’m pressed for time.” The Soilfin looked pained.

  “Track yonder vessel before the night swallows it, see what Barin’s up to. Listen in and then fly back and inform me.”

  “I don’t work for you, I work for Mr Caswallon,” Gribble sulked. “I don’t do private contracts.”

  “We won’t tell him then, will we?”

  “I’m not sure, sounds risky. They’re a rough bunch.”

  “I’ll let you chew on a big one, maybe even Barin Haystacks.”

  “Aw.” That did it. Without further ado the Soilfin thrust out his grubby wings, flapped twice producing a sound like wet leather on wood, and levitated from the ship in one manic lurch.

  “I won’t be long,” Gribble squeaked before circling twice and then bolting at speed toward the distant ship. The Assassin watched him go.

  Gribble was back inside an hour demanding something to eat. Rael tossed him a ham sandwich fresh from the galley.

  “That won’t keep me going for long,” the Soilfin complained, but gulped the meal just the same.

  “What did you find out?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “What precisely?”

  “I lurked close, hid in a sail. The haystack was on the wheel nattering to the moody scarred one with the long blade.”

  “What were they discussing?”

  “Beer mostly and women. Oh, and how shit their luck was. But mainly beer.”

  Rael slid his jewelled dagger into his left hand and rolled it across his fingers.

  “What… else?”

  “That’s about it really, there was no one else around. Haystack said something about Port Sarfe, wherever that is.”

  Rael smiled ever so slightly. “What about Port Sarfe?”

  “I didn’t hear that bit.”

  “Listen to me, goblin. You’re going to fly back there, lurk till morning, or else creep inside the cabin and wait until you can ascertain exactly they’re planning.”

  “I don’t do that sort of work,” complained Gribble. “It’s hazardous.”

  “It will prove a sight more hazardous if you stay here another second.” Gribble complained again and this time added that he’d forward his grievances to Mr Caswallon. Despite that he complied, and within moments had voided his awful presence from the ship.

  Rael sighed. He felt strangely weary, so ordered one of his men to uncork the brandy flask. There Rael sat for a time watching wave and sky as the wind cleansed the stink of the goblin, and falling darkness aided the strong drink lull his senses.

  Morning came bright and clear. No Starlight Wanderer and no bloody goblin. Rael wasn’t fazed. He’d already made up his mind. He was glad he’d split the fleet sending those other ships to cover Kelwyn’s ports. Cruel Cavan was in charge of that lot so he needn’t worry about Kelwyn. Rael decided he’d bid three sharks to sail further south hugging along the coast into northern Raleen, from where they’d join him later. Meanwhile the remaining two would follow The Black Serpent and cut straight for southern Raleen.

  Rael smiled. “Scarn!” The one-eyed mate appeared. “I’ve changed my mind. Set course for Port Sarfe!”

  “Aye, my Lord!” Scarn hollered the orders and The Black Serpent swung about. They’d head south west and cut Barin off. And if the goblin was wrong, so what? Rael would enjoy the trip anyway.

  ***

  Gribble wasn’t enjoying his trip. This little visit was far too risky in his opinion. The promise of a whole Barin to gestate seemed a long way off as he spent that chilly night hunched and muttering beneath a coil of rope on the aft deck of Th
e Starlight Wanderer. Gribble didn’t care for Mr Assassin. But there was something about old green eyes that got inside the goblin and made him shiver. It was usually the other way round with mortals.

  Gribble’s stomach gurgled. It would be light soon. Time to investigate then fly back for another sandwich.

  ***

  Corin woke to a strange scratching sound close to the hatch above. He opened an eye, saw the boy Cale staring at him. “What is it?” Corin rolled free of his blanket and blinked at Cale.

  “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Crenna and Roman.” Cale had been very quiet since their escape from Crenna. He appeared older than his fourteen years, although his red shock of mane was unkempt as ever.

  “Are you going to kill that Assassin?”

  “I have vowed to do so.” Corin noticed that the boy’s blue eyes were rimmed with red. Cale had loved Roman too. Corin smiled at the lad, feeling sudden warmth toward him. He remembered Roman’s last words to the boy.

  “You did well at Kranek,” Corin told him. “You have a good heart, Cale, and a brave one at that.”

  “It’s good that you’re going to kill him,” responded Cale. Most his spots had dried up. He looked healthier and fitter than he had when he’d joined them back at Kashorn. There were fresh tears in his eyes now. “Because if you don’t then I will.” They both turned to see the queen emerge bright and clean from her cabin.

  “I would have tea.” Ariane motioned Cale to look into that. She turned to Corin. “You two are awake early.” Her tone was brisk and no softness spilled from her gaze.

  “As are you, my Queen.” Ariane ignored the formality. It didn’t suit Corin and they both knew it. She glanced up, hearing a strange gurgling sound.

  “What’s that?”

  Corin shrugged. “Seabird.” Cale returned with a flask of hot tea. Ariane thanked him and made her way through to the master’s cabin. Barin was sitting at table studying a chart. He nodded when the queen walked in. Behind her, Corin and Cale took seats. No one noticed the squat bulbous shadow squeezing through the hatch and creeping behind the door.

  “We need to talk about the next stage,” Ariane announced into her tea.

  “Next stage?” Barin blinked up from his chart. “It’s a bit early. Silon’s house, you mean?”

  “No. Of course Silon will be anxious to speak with us. Tamersane must have informed him of our quest by now. We will regroup at Vioyamis. After that respite we need prepare ourselves for another difficult journey.”

  “Where?” asked Corin, his eyes on the table.

  “South, into the desert. Obvious, is it not?” Zallerak joined then at table. “We’ve a job to finish.” An odd scraping sound announced movement outside the door, Zallerak glanced that way and his blue gaze narrowed.

  “Can you elucidate, Sir Zallerak?” Ariane’s clipped tone drew his attention back from the door. The queen glanced at Corin, who sat with arms folded and expression resigned. Beside him Cale looked excited.

  “I will tell you what I can,” Zallerak said. “After freeing Prince Tarin and showing him an escape tunnel from Kranek Castle, I bid him seek a nearby village and purloin a boat. Which I trust he managed successfully—I gave him a good compass so he’d find the mainland without much trouble.”

  Galed joined them, helping himself to a cup of the queen’s tea and yawning. “Why’s everyone up so early?” Galed asked.

  “The boy’s task was to relocate the shards of the crown,” explained Zallerak, ignoring Galed as did everyone else. “Those little bits of crystal he had very sensibly buried at my bidding in a graveyard near Fardoris—just before his capture.

  “After that, Tarin’s plan was a stowaway passage to Permio. Purchase a horse in one of the desert towns with stolen coin, (or else steal a horse and not bother with the coin).

  “Go seek out Croagon the ancient Smith-God who (rumour says), still resides below the Crystal Mountains.” Zallerak scratched his long nose and drained his glass again. His mostly baffled and half asleep audience waited for him to continue.

  “So with that in mind, I placed a ward of protection over his person when I sent him packing. Plan being, the fool prince could prepare the way for us to follow. He should have reached the desert by now.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Corin muttered. “I’m not buying this crap and nor should anyone else. And I am not going anywhere near the fly-cursed deserts of Permio! Crenna was bad enough.”

  “Enough, Corin!” Ariane shot a withering glance his way and Corin slunk back into his seat.

  “I’m just saying.” Corin held Ariane’s gaze for a second then shrugged.

  “What care you about our lost prince?” Ariane asked Zallerak, her tone sharp. She was irritated by the way Corin was acting and chose to ignore him entirely.

  “I must say I am most enamoured by your gratitude,” responded Zallerak tartly. His large eyes had darkened to an angry violet and sparkled furiously under his heavy silver brows. “I save you all from the talons of that Assassin and his cronies and all you can do is criticise!” Zallerak drained his wineglass with sudden violence.

  “Well do I remember why I shunned the world of men for so many years. You are all so churlish and self-centred!” Zallerak wiped his mouth on his silk sleeve fastidiously before releasing a large venomous belch. “That said, I am infinitely patient, so will resume under duress.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself on my part,” muttered Corin.

  “I have been watching events unfolding in this corner of the world for some time,” Zallerak glanced at the door again. “I knew Caswallon was up to something. So when he pulled his masterstroke in Kella City, I alone was ready.

  “I sailed for Crenna a short while after the prince’s abduction. I had other things to attend to first. Weaving a web of concealment I slipped into the Assassin’s lair, taking note of young Tarin’s dingy whereabouts. I let the prince suffer at Rael Hakkenon’s hands for a while.”

  “That was good of you.” Ariane winced, her tea had found that exposed nerve in her tooth again.

  “The boy needed toughening up. A sharp lesson that should stand him in good stead. Then, when the time was right I freed Tarin and bade him be on his way with new instructions.”

  Scrape. Gurgle. Thud. As one they turned to face the door. It had creaked ajar just enough to reveal a clawed talon and scabby foot.

  “What the…?” Barin gulped.

  “It seems we are not alone.” Zallerak stood up. “How long have you been spying, Soilfin?” The foot vanished and the door slammed shut. There followed a frantic scrape, knock and thud as Gribble vacated the hatch and capered awkwardly about on deck. Hoarse shouts announced the crew were onto him. As one the others followed Barin through the hatch, their faces (except Zallerak) a blend of confusion revulsion and horror. They emerged to see Bleyne pounce on the goblin and grip it with both arms. Gribble writhed and squealed in the archer’s sinewy grip. Barin’s crew gaped at the winged thing in horror before Fassof swore them back to work.

  “What the fuck is that?” Barin managed his face a mask of disgust. Corin and Ariane just gaped, whilst Galed looked ill again. Cale stared at the goblin in macabre fascination. “It stinks,” the boy said.

  For its part, the creature was dribbling and spitting at them, its small red eyes defiant and malicious. It struggled and spat at Bleyne but the archer held it fast.

  “Well, master Gribble, it’s been a while.” Zallerak loomed tall over archer and goblin. “How long have you been eavesdropping?” The creature hissed at him and struggled again. It seemed much more frightened of Zallerak than the rest of them.

  “I was weary,” the creature called Gribble said. Its voice put Corin’s teeth on edge like a rusty saw scraping metal. And the thing’s breath when it spoke was beyond vile. God’s only knew what its diet must be like. “I’ve been flying all night—I’m shagged out. Needed rest, and somewhere to sleep.”

  “Shall I sli
t its throat?” asked Bleyne. The archer’s tattooed left hand strained for his long knife, while his right arm locked on the goblin’s scrawny neck. Gribble squealed like a cornered sow in a pit. Behind it Galed looked about ready to throw up whilst Cale’s eyes were saucer-huge.

  “Not yet,” replied Zallerak, motioning Bleyne to ease back the blade. This the archer did reluctantly.

  “Who sent you, my flying friend? Was it Caswallon or one of your original masters? Maybe the Dog-Lord himself?” Zallerak loomed close. “Answer me, goblin!”

  But before Zallerak or anyone else could move, the creature Gribble twisted and jerked in sudden violence, wriggling free of Bleyne’s grasp. The goblin bit the archer on his arm and clawed its way along the deck. Bleyne gave chase with knife in hand and the others were close behind him.

  “Don’t let it escape!” shouted Barin, diving after the Soilfin and narrowly missing as it scurried under a pile of nets, emerging seconds later out of reach with yet more spitting and clawing.

  In less than a minute Gribble had scaled the aft deck, bit another sailor, whilst releasing a squeaky howl. The goblin turned and showed them its fangs and then after stretching its bat-like wings, leaped skywards up into the lightening sky.

  But Gribble didn’t get far. There came a sharp twang followed by a whish and a yelp of pain from the goblin. Bleyne had wasted no time recovering his bow.

  Gribble’s wings beat upwards in desperation. They steered steady for a moment, then faltered and folded inwards. With a weird shriek the goblin plummeted like a lead pebble into the ocean, colliding into the water with a sullen plop. In seconds Gribble had vanished from sight.

  “Good shot!” applauded Fassof from somewhere high above. Galed, looking relieved, knelt to bind the archer’s bloody arm with clean cloth. Satisfied there was no infection, he moved on to tend the other victim.

  “Aye, but what was it I hit?” Bleyne enquired.

  “It was a Soilfin,” answered Zallerak. “An ancient creature, like the Groil spawned by the Urgolais. There were many of them once. Most were slain in the final battle, long ago.”