Valam’s only pleasures were the lightly salted and heavily smoked venison in his saddlebag and the mead he shared with the men after evenfall. Without the venison to chew on during the day and the drink to ease him to sleep after a long day in the saddle, the journey would have seemed unbearably long.
At times, Valam thought of the elf Galan and how she had sacrificed herself to save Seth. He wondered if he would have done the same for his sister Adrina or another. Somehow he didn’t think he would have—not that he was afraid to die, death he wasn’t afraid of—more that he wasn’t sure the trade off Galan had made was a wise one. Why her and not him? That was the question that gnawed at him during the day and troubled his dreams as he slept. It was an issue that had come between him and Seth to the detriment of their friendship, but it did not dissuade his resolve. He knew what was ahead; with his own eyes he had seen war sweep the land, and just as important, he believed what he had seen. Now was a time for action and on that his resolve did not waver, despite the thinking of some on his father’s council—and perhaps his father himself. As he guided his black charger along the road, he struggled with the thought of what his betrayal would mean to Seth. Would Seth understand? Would he even be able to do what his father asked of him?
At King’s Crossing where the East-West and North-South roads met, the group decided to bypass the lowland marshes of Fraddylwicke, electing to take the longer, more reliable route along the East-West road to the coast. Such a turning brought the group to the Barony of Klaive, where the baron and his sons gave the prince and men a great feast such as many of the men had never known. After Klaive, the group passed through the free cities at the mouth of River Trollbridge. The Trollbridge, unlike its sister in the North, the Krasnyj, which flowed only sporadically throughout the year and stretched nearly from sea to sea, flowed all year with but a single purpose: to inundate the Bottoms. The history of the Trollbridge and the Bottoms was older than that of Great Kingdom, stretching far into the past now unknown, but that history paled when compared to that of Mir and Veter, the free cities themselves. It was true that the Kingdom Alliance kept the cities free, but it was also true that the alliance had been bought with blood. There was a saying of old in the free cities: “of candor and liberty I know much, of justice and sincerity I know little.” For many it was true and the last words they spoke before their lives were bought with blood.
A day after passing through the free cities, the group camped on the northern edge of the Belyj, a forest Valam knew better than the city of Imtal where he had grown up, a forest that was his own. And here he breathed easier than he had in days—in truth, since the journey had begun. Somehow the air in South Province felt better as he breathed it in. He couldn’t explain why, but perhaps it was the heavy scent of ash, elm and birch mixed in with the remnants of the salt spray from the distant West Deep. Earth and summer trees, salt and water, this was the smell of his home, the home he had made for himself over the past five years—years that had been lean and tough but years during which he had grown into the man he was today.
From the Belyj, it was a few days’ journey to Quashan’ the capital of South Province and their destination, but before then, he aimed to test Seth and the bonds of their friendship. It was a thing he had promised himself that he would do, but now that the hour of the deed was nearing, he had doubts. Could he lessen the sting of what he must do? Seth had proven himself true in Quashan’ and in Imtal; his brethren had sacrificed everything to gain an audience with Valam’s father, King Andrew Alder; and the Queen Mother had opened everyone’s eyes to truth. And he himself had knelt before his father, promising his sword to the elves’ cause. He had promised Adrina that he would hold true to his word, and he had ridden from Imtal with a force ten thousand strong—soldiers, hired blades, and tradesmen all. So why did he have lingering doubts? Why had he made himself promise such a thing? And why did such a thing have to be?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind, put his heels into his surefooted charger, and flew. One of the hunting dogs raced along beside him, with its tail held high, its gray fur ruffed up thick against the passing rain. The other dogs followed; and somewhere behind them in the long line of horses and men were Captain Vadan Evgej, the hunt master with his ready bow and horn, and Seth ahorse a dapple gray courser.
Valam entered the sanctuary of the forest without hesitation, the canopy of the trees breaking the rainfall. Soon he could hear only the sound of hooves and paws and faintly, the rain. He remembered how he’d felt the first time he hunted: nervous as a raw recruit to the king’s guard, but eager for the hunt. Well, here’s to the hunt, he told himself as he turned the charger down an overgrown game trail. In the back of his mind, he could hear Father Jacob cursing because he, Prince of Great Kingdom and Lord of the South, was at the front of the hunting party and not safely in its midst; and he laughed aloud to himself, his voice echoing off the trees and mixing with the crunching of leaves.
The air was cool and Valam cursed himself for not wearing a thicker cloak or discarding the wet one now clinging to his back. But he didn’t want to waste a moment; and as he broke into a clearing, he was glad he hadn’t waited for the others. He took up the bow from his shoulder, notched an arrow, and was ready to draw. A twelve-point stag was straight across from him in the clearing, looking on, seemingly unafraid.
He touched the nock of the arrow, drew to his cheek in one swift movement but didn’t release. Instead he held the bowstring as he stared into the black eyes of the stag. It wasn’t often one met a Prince of Stags; and the stag, for his part, lifted his head high and stared back at Valam unafraid.
For a time Valam waited, a prince of the city studying a worthy prince of the forest. He shifted his bow irritably to rub at his arms and told himself to release the bowstring but found that he could not. He glanced over his shoulder, looking back down the overgrown trail but found that the others hadn’t made the turn, or at least it didn’t seem so, for he was alone with the stag. Well, nearly so. The gray bitch was beside his charger; she didn’t make a move either.
It was more habit than anything else that kept the bow in his hands and the string drawn. The thick muscles of his arms tensed and rippled, but such effort was not unknown to him. As a boy his father’s master trainer had made him hold poses for hours with a great sword, a pike, a battle ax, or whatever else was the weapon of choice that day. He had learned to endure the strain and the inevitable cramps. The master’s training had also helped him to learn to see what could otherwise go unseen.
Taking in more of the clearing, he saw that not more than ten paces behind the stag was a large doe and a pair of summer fawns. The doe was afraid, for she seemed to be shivering as Valam set his eyes on her. He shivered too, but only from the cold. His rider’s cloak covered him to his boot tips; the cowl was pulled back, however, and the rain soaked him as it streamed through the opening in the forest canopy.
He managed a weak smile. Of all the things he could have thought about right then, it was Adrina, his sister, who was probably warm and dry in her night chambers, who came to mind. He wondered what she would think of the irony of such a scene: himself with an arrow nocked and drawn, the stag, the doe and the fawns waiting.
His eyes on the stag now seemed to be playing a trick on him, for instead of an animal, he saw a man clad in dapple gray almost the color of Seth’s courser. He blinked. In the stag’s place was Seth and beside him, the hunt master.
“My lord prince,” Evgej called out to him, seeming ill at ease with Valam’s bow drawn and aimed at him. “We had thought you lost.”
Valam lowered the bow and returned the arrow to the quiver. He decided to say nothing of the stag, and instead called back, “It is an honor to hunt with your hunters this evening, captain.”
“The honor is all mine,” Captain Vadan Evgej called back, signaling to the others to cross the clearing to the prince.
Seth touched Valam’s mind with a thought—the method he was using to teach Valam and o
thers who were willing to listen—that their thoughts were open and thus readable. Valam responded instinctively by clouding his thoughts as he had been taught, effectively blocking his thoughts so they couldn’t be read. It was an automatic response as taught by Seth, but he also did not need any more confusion. For the past few days Seth’s presence had put him increasingly on edge whenever they were together. Worse, Seth seemed to be aware of it but hadn’t said anything about it.
He was hoping Seth had not noticed his unease when Seth said, “This is my first hunt. I am not sure what to do.”
Valam smiled but didn’t say anything immediately. He was focused on the men crossing the clearing. “The hunt is easy. You must only ride along. I do not expect you to make a kill. I know it is not your way.”
“As do I,” Evgej said, his shiny wet leather jerkin dripping as he turned in beside Valam.
Valam studied the tall, lanky hunt master. Evgej didn’t wear a hat and the rain matted his fair hair. A bushy yellow beard hid most of his face, and a silver hunting horn was slung over his right shoulder. On his back was a longbow, a quiver with arrows fletched in white goose feathers, and a wine bag. By all appearances Evgej was early into his middle years, but Valam knew that the semblance of age was only an illusion. Evgej was no older than he, just over twenty.
“We hunt for food as much as for sport,” Valam said turning to Seth.
The elf pushed back the hood of his cloak; his blue eyes seemingly drank in Valam’s soul. If Valam hadn’t known Seth was elf kin, he might have thought him kin of Evgej. The hair and the lithe limbs said both were fair folk of the summer forest. Seth, however, seemed untouched by the rain. It was as if the rain danced around him. His deep burgundy cloak appeared to be dry and his medium-length hair was untouched, even that which hadn’t been protected by the cowl. “You need not worry about me. I understand the need for a hunt as much as any other.”
“Shall we continue then, my lord?” Evgej asked. Valam nodded agreement. Evgej turned to his huntsmen, shouting, “Let the hunt continue!” as he directed their attentions back to the hunt. He sent his men out ahead to circle in front and flush the game toward the clearing. As they did so, he strung his finely crafted oaken longbow and waited. He indicated that Seth and Valam should ready themselves, yet only Valam notched an arrow and waited.
As the sound of the chasers drew nearer, the woods around them came to life. Birds burst into the air flapping on frantic wings and rabbits darted to and fro, but it was the stag that caught Evgej’s eye first. As the large animal made its way readily into the clearing, Evgej offered the first flight to Valam. Valam didn’t hesitate; his arrow took the stag between the neck and shoulder, a near perfect shot but not fatal.
The stag stumbled, snorted in pain and twisted its head as if to use its small rack to ward off the distant attackers. Evgej aimed, released. His shot, perfect and deadly, dropped the stag where it stood. It was an impressive shot to be sure, especially considering the angle Evgej had released from.
The sun was beginning to set and the day was getting dark, but the rain had passed for the most part. The hunt master’s steward, a broad-shouldered boy with wavy chestnut hair and a constellation of freckles, dismounted and made ready to retrieve the stag. Evgej waved the boy back. The gray bitch between Valam and Evgej had raised her tail and was pointing with her nose.
A doe raced into the clearing. Valam notched an arrow and waited. The doe was some distance to the left, and he had to turn sharply in the saddle to aim. He pulled the bowstring to his cheek, but a heartbeat before he released, two fawns followed the doe into the clearing.
Valam lowered his bow, as did the hunt master. Evgej’s men were soon to follow. Between them they had several game hens and three rabbits—and something unexpected: a half-man, old and scrawny, dressed in rags. He was bound hand and foot and being dragged bodily by a burly hunter named Taggard. Taggard thrust the man at the feet of Valam’s charger, and the horse whinnied but held steady.
The old man whirled around, turned his head to stare up at Valam. He was missing a hand and an ear. His eyes were wild but there was no fear.
Valam sat solemnly on his horse, his long black hair stirring in the wind. He had a detached cast to his green eyes, and he seemed suddenly more a prince and less a man. Seth, watching, thought Valam had taken off his face and donned the mask of Prince Valam Alder, Lord of South Province, heir to Great Kingdom’s throne.
As Valam dismounted, saying “What have we here?” the old man kicked himself backward and away with his feet. Valam had never taken a squire, so Evgej’s steward brought him his sword—an instrument of the king’s justice. “Truth Bringer” the sword was called. It was wider across than a man’s hand and taller than most men as well. The blade was the finest Reassae steel and sharp enough to part a man’s head from his shoulders with but a single blow.
“Bandit or poacher?” Valam asked curtly.
The old man spat, continuing to kick his way backward. Valam stepped forward but made no move to strike a blow.
“Where did you find him?” Valam asked the hunters.
“Near the mammoth oak, no more than five hundred paces from here,” one of the huntsmen replied.
“The Sentinel,” Taggard added quickly, seeming to know the tree of which the others spoke.
Valam nodded knowingly.
The air was growing chill in the fading twilight and the breath of men and horses was heavy in the air. The hunters, their eyes on the growing shadows in the forest, seemed agitated. Evgej voiced quietly, but firmly, “My prince, I pray your justice will be swift. We should return to camp before night falls.”
“Have the men return with the game; we are going to stay a little more.”
“My prince, these woods are—”
Valam cut Evgej off, “You forget your place. This is South Province. Woods I know better than most men, even perhaps you, hunt master.”
Evgej waved for the hunters to return to camp with their catch. Soon it was only the five of them: the hunt master, the elf, the steward, the prince, and the half-man.
Evgej dismounted, his expression dark. “There’s a stump at the far end of the clearing that would serve, my lord prince.”
Valam rested his boot on the half man’s leg to stop his kicking. He leaned over, almost daring the other to spit again. “Shall it be to the stump then?” he asked.
The half-man stopped struggling, but did not speak.
“Your prince asked you a question,” Evgej said, pulling the man to his feet. “Have you no tongue?”
“Oh, I’ve a tongue,” the half man replied, “and I’m of the mind that what I say won’t matter either way. So put me to the stump then and have done with it.”
“I warned you the last time,” Valam said.
“And so you did. Well then, so be it. I’m not afraid of death, only that the blow may stray or your steel may dull.”
“Watch your words more carefully, I warn you.”
The half-man grunted and huffed indignantly. “Like such alone would work.”
Evgej looked quizzically at Valam. “You know this one, do you not?”
Valam cast a glance behind them, said quietly, “I do. Isn’t that so Eldrick?” At the sound of his name the half-man squealed, though whether it was from displeasure or delight wasn’t clear. “Tell him. Tell them both.” He raised his sword. “Be quick about it. No mischief work; it is your last warning.”
“And it is a fair one.”
Valam slashed down with his sword. The other cringed, closed his eyes, waited, but the blow didn’t strike him, instead it cut the bonds from his hands and feet. The half man opened one eye first and then the other, looking down, as if to make sure he still had all his parts. He raised his arms and danced in a circle, then dashed off into the forest before anyone could stop him.
“You let him go?”
“I did.” Valam smiled, returning his great sword to his saddlebags then mounting. “Don’t worry, he will not
go far.”
Evgej mounted and looked at the sky. The twilight was nearly gone. Soon the woods would be shrouded in darkness. His expression said he wanted to return to the camp, but he said nothing of it.
Seth, who had been silent throughout the encounter, mounted the gray courser. Valam led them deep into the forest of ash, elm and birch. Here and there they passed an oak, but they were few and far between. The shadows grew steadily as the canopy thickened and darkness settled in until only a pale light filtered down from the moon and distant stars above. Soon they were unable to go any farther on horseback and were forced to dismount, which was just as well, as limbs and thick boughs of trees were becoming treacherous to pass ahorse. Evgej’s steward reluctantly stayed with the horses.
When they came to a small stream, Valam turned and began to follow it. Although the forest had become increasingly dense, on either side of the small stream a narrow path was clear and traversable.
The stream widened ahead, and beyond the widening lay a clearing. Valam pointed to something within the clearing.
The ground became wet as they progressed and their movements were slowed. The stream circled around a small island with a single ancient oak, which towered over it. Valam led them around to the far side, where there was a sort of bridge, and they crossed onto the tiny scrap of land.
“Can you feel it?” asked Valam.
They didn’t have to ask what—they could feel it. The gentle swirling of the water, the soothing breeze, the serenity, it all fit.
“I discovered this place long ago; such summers I had then. I had been lost and alone and just when I thought I would never find my way out of the forest, I came upon this place and I didn’t feel alone any—”
“—I wonder why,” said a voice from up in the tree. The half-man hung upside down from a branch by his legs. “Could it be because you weren’t alone any more? And you treating your benefactor so! You should be ashamed—”
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