The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  It was Zallerak. He stood resplendent in his cloak with spear in right hand and harp in left. Briefly he glanced up in their direction. He waved his harp at them, beckoning them follow and then turned to run. Corin, squinting down, saw Zallerak was running straight toward the crystal’s base and the yawning, white hot entrance of the forge.

  “I see him,” growled Ulani as Corin tugged his sleeve. “About time he showed up.”

  They hurried down the last few stairs, together leaping to the rocky chaotic base of Croagon’s pit. Carefully they edged their way round its chipped and broken perimeter, avoiding the writhing and kicking, shackled, bleeding massive feet of the tortured god. All around was rubble and ruin caused by His lashing out.

  Croagon wrenched and smashed His chains against the walls of His prison, breaking off more rocks which hurtled down around their heads.

  They broke into a run, bolted towards the great gaping forge at the centre of the crystal’s base. Running head on for that burning furnace.

  A crossbow bolt bounced off a rock to Corin’s right. He paid it no heed. Obviously Hagan was close behind. They fled past the low plinth of rock supporting the three Urgolais. Corin managed a grin of relief when they passed out of view of the sorcerers. Ahead the forge loomed close. The fire blazed huge, but there were passages through on either side. Just a bit further.

  Then familiar canine laughter rose up like invisible smoke from the rock beneath them. Too late. Corin’s stomach heaved. He gulped and once again the terror crept upon him. Ulani gaped like a trapped hare, the king wasn’t used to this particular brand of terror and looked visibly ill.

  “Fools!” The familiar dog snarl was colder than the wastes of Leeth. “Did you think to pass unnoticed?” The words were everywhere—icy spears jabbing into his nerves. “My brethren are occupied as am I, but there are others here that will take your souls!”

  “Morak!” Corin shouted as the dog-voice faded like mist over water. “Show yourself, Dog-face. I’m ready for you now!”

  Nothing.

  Ulani gave a shout of warning. “Ware the walls!” The king had stowed his spears and now clutched his horn bow with arrow on the nock. Corin wiped sweat from his brow.

  “What now?” Cloaked figures had emerged suddenly from the shadows, filing the sides of the pit. There were many. The faces hidden beneath dark hoods, though the occasional snout showed through. Some of the clawed hands wielded wickedly curved swords. “Groil!” spat Corin. And then the dog-things fell upon them.

  Clouter clanged into a serrated blade in a blaze of sparks. The Groil barked, backed off, and then swung wide for Corin’s neck.

  Corin was quicker. He ducked beneath the black blade and, gripping Clouter in both fists, sliced the Groil in two. He leapt back just in time to sever the sword arm from the next.

  Ulani’s bow claimed two more but he was running out of room to shoot. He shouldered the weapon, seized his golden cudgel with his left hand whilst unsheathing his sword with his right.

  The king waded in, stabbing and braining every dog-thing in reach. They were falling like leaves but there were so many. Corin panted as he leaped back and forth. As he slew he imagined each Groil was Morak. It gave him focus, he already had the attitude.

  To his right Ulani fought with cool precision. A score of Groil lay dead at their feet. But more were coming and both fighters would tire soon. Somewhere close behind Corin could hear Hagan yelling as the odd crossbow bolt clattered around his feet.

  Your time will come, Hagan.

  Ulani sang as he slew, towering above the Groil in his death-dealing dance. But he was worn out and still the dog-things kept coming. It was Ulani’s first encounter with the Groil. He wasn’t impressed.

  “They stink!” Ulani complained to Corin.

  “One of their finer qualities.”

  A crossbow bolt grazed Corin’s leg. He cursed, and turning saw Hagan grinning at him. Corin gutted a Groil with Biter (he had no idea when he’d unsheathed the sax but now fought with sword in either hand, which was beyond awkward, but then when you’re pissed off enough you find a way). Corin leapt toward Hagan, but a curved blade tore through his tunic from behind and he narrowly avoided being skewered by a Groil.

  Corin back swung Biter but his foot caught on a rock and he was pitched backwards, striking his head on the stony ground. Stunned and dizzy, Corin waited for the deathblow.

  The Groil hesitated, dribbling mucus and growling. It stooped gaunt above him, its serrated-edged sword waiting for a clear thrust. Seconds passed in frozen silence. Corin wondered how many times he’d waited to get skewered during the last few months. Too many.

  Do it!

  The creature lunged down.

  Corin rolled to his left. He sliced with Biter, cutting both paws from under the gaping Groil. Corin used Clouter’s length to hoist his body up and, after regaining his feet, despatched the dog-thing.

  But it was no good. Corin was still shaky and other Groil were rushing at him on all fours, amid howls from every direction, serrated swords raised high for the kill.

  Corin was spent; his muscles refused to respond. All he could do was brace his body for the inevitable rush of pain. It was a shame—they’d done well. But then he always knew he’d meet with a bad end. His type usually did.

  Time slowed. Corin heard Hagan shout something to his right. The Morwellan sounded alarmed. Perhaps the Groil had turned on him too in their hunger for flesh, and serve the bastard right.

  It didn’t matter much anymore. Corin was exhausted, could hardly lift Biter whilst Clouter hung limp and heavy at his side. A few seconds and they would have him.

  Close by, Ulani grunted in pain as a sword scraped his thigh. Cursing, the king skewered his antagonist then his legs buckled and he fell, still gripping cudgel and sword.

  “Farewell, Corin an Fol. I fear we are ended!”

  And ended they were. Surrounded by Groil creatures, hemmed tight on all sides. There was no sign or sound of Hagan. Corin closed his eyes. A blow hit his back, sending him sprawling. He still clutched Biter but Clouter was missing. Again Corin waited for the deathblow but this time lacking the energy to strike back.

  All things pass.

  Corin should have expected this from the beginning. He pictured Shallan’s face. Theirs had been a foolish brief dream. Corin cherished it now. He had never felt as happy as he had on that evening in Vioyamis. He thought of Ariane and how he loved her too. So strong so proud. And of brave young Cale and Barin, his friend.

  Corin waited. He heard snarls and scrapings. Why were they hesitating? Then Corin heard a whooshing sound swiftly followed by a dull thud. Something barked and hit the ground in front of him.

  Corin opened his eyes. He couldn’t understand why he still lived. Then he saw the grey-fletched arrow protruding from the nearest Groil’s throat. He laughed out loud.

  Bleyne.

  Other arrows whistled through the air from somewhere high above. With deadliest precision they rained down among the Groil now milling about in confused panic. Corin felt a joyous rush of deja-vu. Bleyne the Groil killer was alive!

  Corin heard one of Hagan’s men cry out in pain as a shaft pierced his throat. The man dropped his crossbow and pitched to the floor with a dull thump, his leg quivering once before growing still.

  Ulani too had survived. He’d struggled his feet and was again fighting furiously, despite a savage rent seeping blood from his right thigh. Corin felt deliriously happy; once again he had cheated death. Or rather Bleyne had cheated it for him. He bayed louder than the Groil, wielding Biter like a madman—killing and killing. Then Corin found Clouter and really got stuck in.

  Corin was charged with energy, both blades deadly blurs of steel, driving the foe back towards the far wall, crashing into Hagan’s panicking men. The Groil had turned on the mercenaries in their confusion. Hagan was forced to defend himself with bold strokes. Beside him another of his men fell screaming beneath the jagged blade of a dog-thing.

&
nbsp; Corin glanced up, noticing a slender leather-clad figure had joined them. Grinning, he rushed to embrace Bleyne.

  “We thought you were dead!” Corin felt ashamed that they had left the archer to his fate.

  “I very nearly was. But the goddess hasn’t finished with me yet. For almost a day I lay prone in that ravine, nibbled by ants and flies. But I endured, and at last found the strength to continue after you others. Some hornets’ nest you’ve stirred up!”

  “Indeed. And welcome back, you’re always handy when there are Groil about!” He lashed out at another dog-thing who’d steered into range. The Groil’s head sailed, trailing gore. Corin yelled at Ulani.

  “Can you run with that leg?”

  “I’ll cope.”

  “To the forge then. Before they regroup and we are surrounded again!”

  They fled. Corin and Bleyne supported Ulani best they could, though the king was nearly twice Bleyne’s height and a full head taller than Corin. While he ran Corin laughed, hearing Hagan’s desperate curses. It was the Morwellan’s turn to be surrounded by Morak’s creatures.

  See you in the next life, Hagan!

  Nearing the forge Corin spied huge shapes carved out of the rock base. These, it soon became apparent, were the tools of the Smith. Corin saw a huge crystal hammer and close to that a set of sparkling tongs. Both easily the length of three men. Ahead bulked what could only be a giant anvil—the size of a small cottage. Above that blazed the forge itself. The ground still trembled as the blind god continued His agonised dance at the mercy of His three tormentors. Both Croagon and the Urgolais had ignored the fighting in the pit.

  The crystal reared close like a great wall of glass, its sheen reduced to pale silver and its pulsations a faint flicker. Despite its roaring flames the hearth gave out no heat. To its left was a path fading back into shadow.

  Corin spied a postern gate leading to goodness knows where. Its narrow entrance had until now been hidden by the glare of the furnace. The three exchanged glances. Corin nodded. They hurried beneath the dome’s entrance passing the hearth to their right, making for the tiny opening beyond.

  The door was ajar. Corin saw someone beckoning them hurry with urgent gesticulations. “Quickly, fools! The Groil will regroup once they have dealt with those Morwellan idiots!”

  Nice to see you too, Zallerak.

  Corin stooped beneath the stone lintel of the postern and entered within. Behind him stepped Bleyne followed by Ulani limping at the rear. Zallerak stood flapping his arms at them impatiently. The bard seemed to have fully recovered from his battle with the Ty-Tander. He was back to his full on, cantankerous self.

  “This way—quickly now!”

  Zallerak fussed them into a long room. It was dimly lit by the glowing veins of rock, but seemed gloomy after the blazing brightness of crystal colossus and hearth.

  The room narrowed into a tunnel leading deep within the dome’s belly. Corin was about to demand where Zallerak was leading them when the bard stopped abruptly in front of a square rock. On closer inspection it was vaguely man-shaped and looked oddly out of place. Ulani gave Corin a quizzical glance.

  Now what?

  “Here we are and not before time.” Zallerak looked pleased with himself. The three fighters stared at the statue nonplussed. Bleyne looked disinterested, Ulani tired and grumpy, and Corin resigned to being habitually pissed off.

  What now?

  Zallerak stood clucking like an old hen. He was clearly delighted with his discovery. He stroked his long fingers along the smooth contours of the stone figure. Corin still wasn’t able to see the statue properly. It was too gloomy in there and his eyes hadn’t adjusted properly.

  “It’s all down to me, you know—I planned this to perfection.” Somewhere outside an enraged howling announced the Groil were once again after them.

  “What is this crap?” Corin demanded “You’ve some explaining to do, wizard.” Corin’s eyes gleamed as they angrily pinned the bard’s. Zallerak ignored him; instead he calmly turned to Bleyne.

  “Master archer, would you care to mind that postern back there? Our doggy friends will be arriving soon. This final task is going to take a while.” Bleyne nodded curtly. He unshouldered his bow and disappeared back the way they had come.

  “Zallerak!” Corin’s fist struck the stone statue in frustration. “What in Elanion’s name are you up to? Tell me!”

  Zallerak repaid Corin with a withering stare. “Wait and see, and in the meantime stop yelling in my bloody ear.” He returned his attention to the statue with Corin’s furious eyes welded into his back.

  “Corin, look.” Ulani grabbed his arm in alarm. The stone manikin was glowing with a dull greenish light.

  “Ah,” said Zallerak. “At last we’re getting somewhere!” Outside the snarls of Groil grew closer.

  Corin and Ulani watched in wonder as a column of light spread outwards from deep within the stone, revealing a figure captured within. Frozen. The green hue deepened until it revealed clearly the figure of a young nobleman sleeping soundly on a dais. Ulani rubbed his tired eyes in wonder.

  “Extraordinary work. I doubt any mortal carved this. See how lifelike it appears.”

  The statue did appear strangely lifelike and, as the light grew around it, Corin was alarmed to see that the young man’s eyes were fully open, and his face frozen in a mask of horror.

  “What is this?” Corin asked in a hushed voice. He was hesitant to enquire further. Something very strange was happening here. Before Zallerak could answer, Bleyne’s shout announced the arrival of the Groil.

  “You must hold them off—you three,” muttered Zallerak. “This will take some time to accomplish.”

  “Who is that?” demanded Corin, finding his voice again.

  “Who do you think, idiot?” Zallerak snapped. “Why else would I be here at this perilous time risking everything?”

  Corin ignored him. Instead he glanced closer at the man-shaped stone. He could see the prone figure clearly now. The green hue was filtrating within its prism.

  The young man (if that’s what he was) seemed frozen in some timeless state of pain. In his right hand he clutched a small bag. It was from within the bag that a pure prism of light pulsated. This dazzling essence grew stronger until it consumed the greenish glow encasing it, illuminating the long room and chasing shadows deep beneath the mountain. Ulani laughed. It was the same pure light as the crystal dome above them. And suddenly even Corin understood.

  “Tarin,” he said flatly. “That wretch is Prince Tarin.”

  “Yes,” answered Zallerak. “And now shut the fuck up! I need time to free him from this witchy web of Morak’s design. There are tricky spell-traps here—I can’t hurry.”

  Corin stared at Zallerak until the bard rolled his eyes and blew steam.

  “The Urgolais arrived here before I did, you see. Isn’t it obvious—even to you? Now you can understand my urgency in the desert. Everything is down to timing, Corin. Our enemy pounced on Tarin, delaying their vital word spells on the Smith. My decoy sent to trick them, hah! I suspected they’d be waiting, the little shits.

  “They like dark places, always have. When these Urgo found Tarin I knew they’d be diverted, they love little distractions. They’d soon suss his connection to me and assume I would be lurking somewhere—which of course I was.

  “But the time they spent making that little trap allowed you idiots to arrive and me to assess our situation, which I have to allow could be better.” Zallerak looked so pleased with himself Corin wanted to punch him.

  “I knew they wouldn’t kill him at first. They are like cats, they love to play. Their game this time was freezing Tarin and shards in limbo until they had consumed the mind of the crazed god Croagon, and coerce the Smith into obeying them. Among other things, they suspect Croagon knows the whereabouts of the spear, Golganak. Morak’s principal objective is finding that spear. If he does we are finished, Tekara or no Tekara. Get it?”

  Corin was still consi
dering swatting the bard when Ulani’s hoarse shout told him he was urgently needed at the door. Corin shook his head in disbelief, and after glancing suspiciously at the frozen form of the Prince of Kelthaine, Corin rushed back to aid his friends who were already exchanging fresh blows with vengeful Groil. Corin joined them at the postern. Ulani awarded him a questioning glance.

  “Don’t ask.”

  Beyond Corin’s wildest expectations they had found both the lost prince and the shards of the Tekara. But this was no time for reflection. Again they were trapped. Again at some crazy ploy by Zallerak. This time in Croagon’s antechamber, outnumbered and weary, and Ulani wounded to boot. Meanwhile on came the Groil, on four legs this time—sniffing and snuffling. Corin readied Clouter. He was getting so bloody tired of this.

  Chapter 33

  The Awakening

  Zallerak crouched eagle-eyed in front of the solidified form of Prince Tarin. Outside the barks of the Groil grew in octave as the three men struggled to hold them at bay.

  “This had better work,” Zallerak grumbled. “Idiot Prince. You weren’t supposed to get caught with the shards on your person. Lucky for us both they had other matters to attend to.”

  Leaning closer, Zallerak traced an invisible line down the edge of the glowing prism with his index finger. It had been long years since last he’d tried unlocking Urgolais ward spells. Tricky business—one false trace and he’d be blasted.

  The dog people often left booby traps for those foolish enough to try countering their spellcraft. But if Tarin’s mind was intact the boy still had a chance. That said, Prince Tarin’s survival was a side issue. Zallerak’s prime concern being regaining those shards. He worked on, breaking codes and unravelling mind-nets, fusing his thought deep inside the prism. So far he’d found seven traps but there would be more. Lots more.

  A shout from the postern shattered his concentration.