Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

“Anything. I would do anything for you.”

  “Then be quiet.”

  “Of course. Because I love you.”

  They had reached as private a spot as they were likely to get. The alleyway was shaded from the sun by the adjacent buildings. At the other end of the alley, a horse-drawn wagon clopped by. She detected a hint of spices in the air, wafting from the tavern down the street.

  Willow closed her eyes, her teeth clenched. How to do this?

  “Can I kiss you?” Tamlevar said.

  Her eyes snapped open and her face turned red.

  “No, you bloody well may not!” she said. Tamlevar’s smile fell.

  “Listen,” she continued, “how you feel about me is irrelevant. That pathetic display in there with Marcus was just another example of a serious lack of discipline. You have made a mockery of the Guard, and have set a bad example for the other men at a time when we need a company of well-trained and disciplined soldiers.

  “Now, you will act like a soldier and a representative of Bryanae and of Her Majesty the Queen, or I will personally set you on the road to Panineth and you can explain to your mother what happened.”

  Tamlevar’s ebony face paled to a dark gray. “But—”

  “No buts! Yesterday afternoon, foreign invaders attacked Bryanae on her own soil. That’s the first time in over a century that has happened. The attack was likely a probe, a test of our strength. It may be followed by a serious invasion.

  “What the officers must do now is prepare a defense. We need to compose a set of strategies. We need to train. We need to drill. We need to be ready.

  “What we do not need is to have to worry about a spoiled Illuminatus who can’t keep his mind on the defense of Bryanae and his pecker in his pants.”

  “But—”

  Willow prodded Tamlevar’s chest with a dagger-like finger.

  “Such a spoiled individual is what we call a liability. Liabilities are things that one abandons or sacrifices, because they add no value and expend valuable resources. Am I making myself clear?”

  “But—”

  “Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes moist.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, Captain. You have made yourself clear.”

  “Very well,” she said. “While you are in the King’s Guard, I expect you to obey orders without question, and to act in a matter befitting the uniform you wear. If you are unable to do so, I’m sure there are plenty of others who would do anything for the honor of wearing it.”

  She turned away, and was about to walk off when he interrupted her.

  “It wouldn’t fit,” he said.

  Willow fought to keep the smile from her face and won. Her aspect remained as impassive as ever.

  “I’m sure we could find a tailor,” she said and walked from the alley.

  “Captain Willow?” Tamlevar’s tentative voice followed her.

  She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. Her voice was a study in control.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Why did you freeze up yesterday? That wasn’t like you. What happened?”

  Her face contorted as the memories flashed through her mind, of yesterday, and of events that occurred centuries ago. Horror, rage, and anguish fought to make it to the surface. She suppressed the memories and emotions without mercy.

  Discipline. Control. Willpower.

  She waited until she was certain her voice was under her command once again.

  “Not your concern,” she said, and walked away.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus. Now she had to see Lieutenant Marcus. Assuming he hadn’t gotten lost on the way to her office, he’d be waiting there for her now. She’d taken care of Tamlevar, so Marcus was next on her list.

  The sound of jeers and laughter caught her attention as she emerged from the alleyway. Captain Snyde again.

  Her mistake. One task remained before she could get to Marcus.

  Willow crossed the street and headed for Snyde. His acolytes fell silent, but Snyde’s smile was untouched. He smoothed his moustache with his index finger. He wore over one of his eyes that ridiculous glass monocle that he liked to wear. As far as Willow could tell, it served no other purpose than to make him look like an idiot.

  “May I help you, Lady Captain?” Snyde said with a mock bow. “More Barbarians, perhaps?”

  Her face flushed and she clenched her jaw.

  “May I have a word with you, Captain Snyde?” she said between her teeth.

  Snyde gestured with a flourish. “By all means. I am ever at your service, Lady.”

  Willow ground her teeth.

  “I meant in private.”

  “No can do, Willow. The Royal Family’s out and about, and I’ve been assigned to stand watch.”

  Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps you’d better go find them.”

  He grinned, showing his perfect teeth.

  “No need. They’re right there, across the street from the barracks.”

  Snyde was right. She spotted the entourage of members of the King’s Elite outside a jeweler’s shop. Presumably, the Queen and the Prince were within.

  “What’s she doing in there?”

  “Her Majesty didn’t see fit to tell me,” Snyde said, and his cronies snickered. “Perhaps you should go and ask.”

  “I might just do that,” Willow said, “but there’s something I need to do first.”

  “Oh?”

  Willow reached into her belt, and pulled out the pair of gloves tucked within. She slapped Snyde across the face with one of them.

  Snyde’s face went crimson, and his audience gasped.

  “Rapiers,” Willow said. “Sunrise tomorrow, by the water tower.”

  “You’re joking!” Snyde said, his monocle popping out. “Duels are forbidden. We’d be court marshaled.” A sly grin crept onto his face. “I’d never be able to explain your death.”

  “You should re-read your regulations. Duels are forbidden among the enlisted. You and I are officers.”

  Snyde’s grin fell.

  “But … but …”

  “Did you have something else to add, Captain Snyde?”

  “But—”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  “But I can’t fight you.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because you’re …”

  “I’m what?” she said, her eyes like twin drills.

  “You’re a woman,” Snyde finished lamely.

  Willow turned and walked away.

  “Then you should be able to defeat me with ease,” she called over her shoulder.

  * * *

  Terrific. Yet another task beckoned before she could deal with Marcus. Just as well. The wait would probably do him good. Give him time to form a coherent thought.

  The Queen and Heir were abroad at a spectacularly bad time. The barbarians had attacked once. Who was to say they wouldn’t attack again? It wasn’t safe for the Royal Family to be traveling, especially with so light an escort. The King’s Elite were all deadly fighters (after all, she had trained them), but there were only four in sight. A well-planned ambush could mow them down before their swords cleared their scabbards. The Chancellor was an idiot to let Her Majesty and His Highness travel with so flimsy an escort.

  The four Elite saluted Willow as she approached.

  “Are they inside, Lieutenant Smize?” she asked, addressing the senior Elite.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Any Elite inside with them?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Willow’s eyes scanned the street. It was too open. Too many places from which an attack could originate. Sure, the barracks were almost directly across the street, but by the time they’d heard the commotion, grabbed their weapons, and made it outside, the assassination or abduction could be over.

  Of course, there was Snyde and his sniggering associates, but there was no telling how much use they’d be. Snyde had modera
te skill with the blade, true, but he was also unpredictable, hence unreliable.

  “You go inside with them, Smize.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain. Her Majesty told me to wait outside.”

  Willow arched an eyebrow. “Did she?”

  Smize nodded, revealing for a moment the bald patch on the top of his head. All creatures aged except Willow.

  “Very well,” Willow said. “I’ll have to speak to her about that.”

  Smize’s eyes widened, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “Tamlevar!” Willow shouted. Across the street, the chastised Tamlevar had been walking in a desultory march towards the barracks. He halted and looked her way, his expression suddenly hopeful.

  “Remain there until I come out,” she said. “Keep alert for signs of an ambush.”

  The tall black youth looked puzzled, but he nodded. Good lad. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

  That caught Snyde’s attention. He and his cronies stopped loitering and looked about. If something were to happen, it was clear they didn’t want to be caught napping when it did.

  Willow entered the shop.

  * * *

  Standing in the doorway, Willow spied the Royal mother and son. Prince Vazerian was in his early twenties. He was like an ornate but flimsy chair upon which you dared not put any weight. He would already have been king if he weren’t so weak and undisciplined. Instead, power remained where it had been since King Eric had died: in the hands of Queen Tiranda the Fair.

  Darting from display case to display case was Hamen, the shop’s owner and the only jeweler in the region to have obtained Master Jeweler rank. Hamen was short and roughly egg-shaped. He wore a seemingly unnecessary white smock that accentuated the ring of white hair that circled his otherwise bald skull. A wide, obsequious smile was plastered upon his face, and whenever either of the royal family spoke, he would bow with his hands pressed together, bobbing almost in time with their words.

  “I tell you, mother, it’s too garish,” the Prince was saying. He pointed at a display case fashioned entirely of transparent glass.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Queen said. “The design you have in mind is totally inappropriate. It would be an insult to the Princess and an embarrassment to me.”

  Even in her fifties, the Queen had lost none of her strength. Her fiery red hair was fading with streaks of gray, but they were bold streaks, and the Queen left them un-dyed. Go ahead and challenge my appearance, her hair said. I dare you.

  “But mother …” The Prince’s voice was a petulant whine.

  “Look, Vazerian, do you want to marry this woman or not?”

  “Well, now that you mention it …”

  “Do you?” The menace in the Queen’s voice was palpable. Even Willow half-flinched at the sound of it.

  “Well, I—”

  Willow cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

  “Ah, Willow!” Vazerian cried out, his dimples deepening as he put on his pleased-to-see-you smile. “Good. Good! Excellent timing. Come over here a moment.”

  The Queen glared at Willow and their eyes met. So much history was shared between them; none of it was pleasant. The Queen lowered her eyes first.

  Willow approached the Prince and saluted.

  “Your Highness,” she said.

  “Thank you, Willow.” He pointed a bejeweled finger at the display case. “Tell me, which engagement ring do you like better: this garish mishmash of metals and jewels that my dear mother has selected, or this simpler, more elegant one?”

  It seemed there had been an ambush after all, just not the type she had been expecting.

  Chapter 5

  Queen Tiranda the Fair fixed Willow with an evil smile.

  “Yes, Captain,” she said with dry malice. “Do tell us which engagement ring you prefer.”

  “I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”

  The Queen wagged a narrow finger. In recent years, she had become increasingly gaunt and her finger seemed almost skeletal. “Oh no, you don’t get off that easily. Answer the question.”

  All right. The Queen had forced Willow into this. “Then I agree with His Highness in that the design you have selected is ghastly, ma’am. However, —”

  “How dare you!”

  “However, I agree with you that His Highness’s choice is a pusillanimous one. It is the type of ring one might win at a carnival, and not one befitting a royal betrothal.”

  “Now, wait a—”

  “And since clearly neither of you has any sense of aesthetics where jewelry is concerned, might I suggest that you ask the jeweler? I’m sure his recommendations will surpass yours and mine as well.”

  Master Jeweler Hamen froze in mid-bow, and his smile became strained. His shoulders hunched and his hands fluttered, as though to say, Heh heh, don’t elves just say the darnedest things? He flashed a grin that was at once both solicitous and sheepish.

  The Queen’s eyes bore into Willow’s, but it was an old game. If the Queen were to have dominated Willow, she would have done it decades ago. It was too late to hope for a sudden reversal of fortune in her declining years. Willow was the most accomplished officer in the Guard, and despite her humiliating failure yesterday, her place was inviolable.

  “Anything else?” the Queen asked, her voice dripping with acid.

  “Very well,” Willow said. “You might want to ask His Highness how he feels about being betrothed to the Princess Sherrilou. Judging by his hesitancy, he is not eager to be wed to her.”

  The Queen turned her piercing gaze onto the Prince, who blanched.

  “Well?”

  “Mother, I—”

  “Well?”

  The Prince quailed beneath his mother’s withering eyes. But he wasn’t as strong as Willow, and probably never would be. Not unless he somehow managed to break free from his mother’s shadow.

  “Mother, I—”

  Willow cleared her throat.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, I have duties to which I must attend. With your permission, I’d like to post one of the Elite in here. Bryanae was attacked yesterday—by a small force, true, but attacked nonetheless. I think it best if you have a guard beside you at all times.”

  “Yes, we’ve all heard about your performance during that raid, Captain.”

  Willow couldn’t prevent the blush from reaching her face, and it infuriated her.

  “Nevertheless, Your Majesty, I think your current security arrangement is inadequate and should be bolstered in light of the increased threat.”

  “Nonsense, I’m perfectly safe as long as you’re not—”

  “Captain Willow!” came Tamlevar’s cry from outside. “We’re under attack! It’s—” His shout was cut off by a gurgling noise.

  Willow reached the door in two strides. She opened it a crack and peered through. The street was crawling with marauders: enormous hairy men wielding axes. They wore furs and skins, and their hair was long and knotted. Feral grins were pasted on their faces. Now that the element of surprise had been lost, they began to howl like wolves.

  The Guard scrambled from the barracks like an army of bees. Their rapiers flashed and their blue cloaks swirled about them as they rose to the Queen’s defense. Their spirit was strong, their skill with the blade formidable, but the enemy was more than their match. For every barbarian that fell, two or more guardsmen were also slain.

  Tamlevar lay face down in the middle of the street, a pool of blood beside him.

  “What is it, Willow?” the Queen said, only the slightest trace of apprehension tinting her voice.

  Willow just gaped at the barbarians. So soon, she thought, without understanding why. They’ve found me so soon.

  “Willow, what is it?”

  When Willow didn’t answer, the Queen shoved her aside and peered out the door. Willow stumbled into the corner of the room and stood there shivering like a helpless babe. So soon, she thought. Just like before.r />
  Ancient images, long suppressed in her mind, flashed before her. Axes, ships, screaming babies, and geysers of blood.

  After a moment, the Queen slammed the door, her jaw set.

  “Vazerian,” she said, pointing past the display case. “Hide behind the counter. Don’t get up until I say so, do you understand?”

  The Prince nodded. “Yes, mother,” he said. He ducked behind the counter with the jeweler.

  “Willow,” the Queen said, “Can you find out if—?”

  Willow could only stare. She couldn’t turn her head or even blink. Just like before, she thought. Just like before. She mentally pounded at the walls that encased her, but to no avail.

  “Willow!” the Queen shouted, but to no avail. Willow heard her, but the sound didn’t register as meaningful words.

  The Queen yanked Willow’s rapier from its sheath and her eyes darted about the room until she spotted a floor-standing display case. She dragged the case; it moved in fits and starts.

  “Willow, help me—oh never mind!” She pointed at the jeweler cowering beside the counter. “You! Help me get this case down.”

  The jeweler’s pallor was ghostlike, but he ran to the Queen’s aid. Together, they heaved the case across the room. It toppled, and a fortune in jewelry spilled to the floor, and the glass top of the case shattered into a thousand sparkling fragments.

  “Wedge it against the door,” the Queen said. The jeweler whimpered at the wreckage, but nevertheless did as instructed. Together they pushed the case against the door.

  Just in time, too. They heard the last Elite’s dying scream, followed by a thunderous crash against the shop door. It buckled, and the display case slid back into the room. A muscular arm reached through the crack and groped for whatever was bolstering the door.

  Willow watched in stymied agony. Why couldn’t she act? Where was her precious discipline?

  “Dammit, Willow!” the Queen shouted. “Do something!”

  But Willow was trapped in the prison of her suppressed past. She fought to keep from remembering. Tears streamed down her face. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  There was a crash in the backroom. The sound of a door slamming and footsteps running.

  “Oh no,” cried the jeweler, who then slid into a supply closet and closed the door behind him.