by Pam Uphoff
She spotted her father, watching the lightning, and looking thoughtful. He started telling her about some scientific theories about storms and lightning that she'd never heard before. Her mother often got him talking about various natural phenomenon. He was better than a book.
The twenty-fourth day they wound down a steep grade to the Karista River. The rocky ground sprouted stunted willows on both shores and multiple gravel banks and small islands. The river was at its lowest point now, in the late summer, and they forded it easily, if tediously, as the river spread out into a multitude of channels. Even so late, there was enough water that the horses waded hock deep in a dozen spots.
"For two-thirds of the year, travelers have to go upstream and use the ferry," her father told her.
Once across they turned upstream and made it to Havwee by mid-afternoon. The third largest city in the kingdom, it had massive rock walls, and almost no sprawl outside them. Question wondered if there were actually bandit gangs large enough to threaten a city, or if the last war, more than fifty years ago, had been so bad that no one had yet dared live outside the protective walls.
There was a backup of people entering the gates, and the men walked forward to see what the hold-up was. Her father came back with an amused snort. "They're still looking for their lost prince."
"What lost prince?" Question asked.
"Ah, it's a silly superstition of the royals." The Sheep Man leaned comfortably on the stationary wagon. "They think the first-born ought to serve in the army—well, lead it actually—and the second son is the true heir. They've got this big ceremony, see? The first son is supposed to toddle up and grab this big shiny pretty spear, and ignore the crown, which is up over his head and out of reach anyway.
"This shows that the tradition is right, and the boy is stuck in the army, and his little brother gets the throne," her father scratched his chest thoughtfully. "Actually I suppose the older boy is the lucky one. Being a king involves lots of paperwork and putting up with whining nobles and mewling peasants. It gets to where you don't know who to have beheaded first."
"So how did they lose a prince? Was he kidnapped?" Question clicked at the horses, and they leaned into their harnesses to move the wagon forward. Her father strolled alongside.
"No. See, a king wants to marry his son off to a powerful noble's daughter, so the father-in-law will support his grandson when he becomes king," he snorted. “Of course by then he's usually dead and the title is held by some jealous cousin or other, but they pretend it's going to work."
"But, the nobles all think the first-born should become king. Don't know why, only one kid is going to get the crown, they ought to pick the best . . . Well, anyway what they do is first marry the crown prince."
"The king's second son."
"Right. Marry him to a commoner. A big strong healthy lass, who gets to be a princess for a couple of years, until she's had a son, hopefully also big and strong and healthy. Then they divorce, the former princess gets a ton of money and a lesser title and lots and lots of penniless nobles courting her."
"I see. And then the crown prince marries that noble daughter, and she has the second son."
"Exactly."
"Pretty neat. Which prince did they lose?"
"The first one. Seems the crown prince was a bit of a rake when he was younger. Says he must have a bastard out there somewhere, because the boy that was supposed to be his first-born climbed right over the spear and grabbed the crown."
Question giggled. "I'll bet all the nobles are pissed."
"Yep."
"So, what are they doing up there?"
"The King's Magician foresaw that the lost prince would travel to Havwee this month. So the imperial troops are looking at every boy between five and twenty years of age, to see if he's the prince. They've a thing the mage made to sort out the kids that might be the prince. They've got six boys so far."
"Umm, Dad." The wagons had been moving up as they spoke, and their lead wagon moved up opposite the imperial troops' little camp. "Doesn't Harry attract the lost and wandering?"
"Oh. Crap." The Sheep Man hustled up toward the lead wagon as a brilliant flash shot up into the sky.
Justice kicked off her shoes and jumped down to get her feet in contact with the ground. Kindly, Never and Idea were doing the same. Question's hands itched for her bow, but as driver of the last wagon she needed to be ready to drive, one way or another. She backed the team until the wagon crowded the strangers behind her. There was, barely, enough room to turn.
There was a bit of yelling up forward, and she could hear her father.
"They're not going to hurt him, Harry!"
After a moment she saw the Auld Wulf walking back and climbing up on his wagon. She hadn't even seen him leave it, and he had his sheathed sword in hand. With some grumbling and inconvenience and sharp comments from some imperial officer, they shifted their wagons behind the imperial encampment and camped.
Fossi and Harry were missing from the lead wagon.
"Fossi was the seventh kid to set off the geniton." The Sheep Man paced as he spoke. "I didn't realize the King's Mage was trained and powerful enough to make something like that. The wizards of Scoone had detection magic like that. This apparatus detects royal blood."
"Well, probably some peculiarity on the Y chromosome." The Auld Wulf grinned at the Sheep Man's glare.
"Seeing how the royal family gets around and has been for generations, it's hardly a surprise it's finding so many possible princes."
The Auld Wulf chuckled. "Knowing Harry, Fossi's just about to find his real father. Should be fun. We are going with them, aren't we?"
"Of course we are," Harry stomped into camp. "Well, some of us are. You witches don't need to . . ."
The witches all indignantly protested the very possibility of not sticking with Fossi all the way to Karista.
"And back, if this King's Mage picks one of the other boys."
The imperial troops didn't much like the size of the following they were accumulating. The Ash group sold all their goods, half the wagons and teams, and agreed to transport three other families whose children had been chosen, and loaded up on food and other supplies.
They stayed another week before the imperials packed up and headed home with their prizes. Eight young men, ranging from Particular's horseman, who was nineteen, to an eight-year-old delinquent who was already putting on airs and demanding that everyone call him Prince Piph.
The boy's aunt waved a tearful goodbye from the gate.
"Tears of relief, most likely," one of the imperial officers muttered.
The twenty troopers from the King's Own were all mounted, and had sent ahead to arrange changes of mounts for a quick trip. Kindly shook her head. "Not with eight children, you aren't." Then she smiled at the oldest of the candidates. "Well, seven children."
"I won't leave Geegee." The young man stroked his mare's neck. "She's my only friend."
The officer growled a bit, but by midday it was clear he was ready to give up.
The bratty "Prince" Piph had never ridden, had fallen off once and been bucked off twice when his screaming temper tantrums spooked his mount. Fossi was doing fine, although he looked a bit tired. A pair of eleven-year-olds were whining, and the fourteen-year-old had tried to escape. They were stopping every other mile for one child or another to pee.
Harry finally stomped up to the colonel, folded his arms, glared, and in a mild voice volunteered his wagons. "The youngsters need a break. They need their families. Let them ride in the wagons.
The colonel gritted his teeth and accepted.
They accepted the women cooking as well, that first night, even though they mostly kept to themselves with their own campfire.
As the children quieted down, some even drifting off to sleep, the colonel made his way across to their group and apologized for his earlier rudeness.
Harry laughed suddenly. "Aww, can't blame a man when he's been sent on a mad fool errand by a magician. W
e'll all get to see the city, and then I'll take everyone except one boy back to Havwee."
They both looked in the direction of the still shrilly whining Prince Piph. "Loser gets that one." The colonel kept his voice low. Just in case.
Question was driving the next day, when Prince Piph climbed up beside her.
"I wanna drive." He snatched at the reins, and the horses veered off the road and stopped.
"Stop that, you, you. . .Pee Pee." Question snapped.
"Don't you call me that," the little boy yelled. "You, you . . . girl! You should wear a dress."
"You should wear a diaper," she snapped.
The colonel galloped back, relaxing and shaking his head when he saw the cause of the fuss.
Harry had been snoozing in the back, but he rolled over and to Question's relief, took over.
"Looks like you need some lessons in driving, boy."
Question slipped off the seat as every lost boy's father took over.
The colonel nodded his thanks and they got back on the road, with the boy ignoring half of what Harry tried to teach him.
Question winced every time he jerked "her" horse's mouths, and finally grabbed her bow and quiver and trotted off to scout and possibly hunt.
They were roughly paralleling the Karista river. She prowled and explored a bit, then trotted to catch up with the group. She bagged four nice fat geese, though.
"So," the colonel put his fists on his hips and shook his head at the roasting fowl. "You lot are pretty handy," he cocked his head at Harry, then looked at the Auld Wulf. "You two were pretty quick to hand with those swords. Want to practice with us?"
The Auld Wulf chuckled. “Still a bit snotty about us pulling steel on them, are they?"
The colonel nodded. "I thought I could diffuse a few bad feelings with a bit of bashing with blunt weapons."
Harry and the Auld Wulf shared a grin.
"Certainly willing to give it a try." Harry said.
The Sheep Man snickered. "I'd best come to pick up the pieces."
Everyone watched.
They cleared a space between the campfires, and the colonel's head sergeant sent out a young trooper to "show the yokels how to hold a sword."
Question sat back smugly as the Auld Wulf took him down so fast it was almost impossible to follow.
"Gotta mind your guard, lad, and don't be so confident against someone you don't know."
A lesson ensued, until the red-faced sergeant took up another practice sword and joined the fray. The Auld Wulf hit him high and low at will, moving with blinding speed, finally gesturing several more of the watching troops to join in.
Then Harry joined the melee and finally, the Sheep Man.
Even the colonel jumping in to aid his troops didn't make much difference.
As they all stepped back for a break, the colonel cleared his throat. "It seems we didn't realize the peril we stood in, back there in Havwee."
Harry snorted. "If you'd meant harm to the boy, you would have all died."
The colonel glared. "Damn it, I was trying to make peace. And if we had more practice swords, we'd show you how we'd have crushed you."
"Oh, bah. They completely outclassed us." The sergeant pushed forward. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
The Auld Wulf looked down at him. "Everywhere. I've always fought, and always won." The troops stared at the powerful old man. Short silver hair and trim beard didn't make him any less tall or broad-shouldered. And perhaps something of the old god shone through, for there were more than one respectful nod as they put away the practice swords and turned to dinner.
It was twenty-five days to Karista, and they filled the days with songs, and the evenings in lessons with swords. The youngsters joined in. The horseman, Brock Jenner, was adequate, his speed compensating for lack of training.
"My parents died last year. I had to sell nearly everything to pay off Dad's debts. I managed to keep Geegee and the clothes on my back. I was headed for Havwee to see if I could find any of my mother's relatives, and because I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."
His parents had run a dry goods store in a town northwest of Wallenton, with his father drinking the profits and gambling away his capital.
"I really wasn't planning on turning into a prince, and since I look just like my dad, and the crown prince was only fifteen when I was born." He shrugged. "The colonel wasn't much interested in hearing all about it."
Particular was still sighing over his dark red curls, and sneaking apples for his "only friend."
Later, out of his hearing, Idea opined that a store would be a rather nice thing to have in Ash. "Maybe we should keep him."
Kindly frowned over her shoulder at her daughter. "I don't know that having a nice young man around is a good idea, Idea."
The third week they were winding through steep rocky hills when the forward scouts reported a mounted troop coming toward them.
"More escorts, probably," the colonel said, but sent a patrol, six men, forward to find out and tightened up his formation. He raised his eyebrows as the witches all strung their bows, and Harry's boys all dived for the crate that held their real swords. "I think I like you people."
He shook his head in disbelief as the witches all took to the ground. The four eldest were all so obviously pregnant they didn't look like they could possibly be dangerous. But the two triads leap-frogged along the canyon on either side of the road, and when the strange troops rode into view, Imperial Parade uniforms shining, they faded back into the brush and rock.
Question found a good vantage point.
Not good. Why weren't any of the patrol the colonel had sent forward leading the new comers back?
She was well ahead of where the colonel waited. His horse was fidgeting, a sign of the rider's nerves. He sees it too.
When he hailed the newcomers, they dropped their pennons to use them as lances and charged. The first arrow hit the lead horse just behind the girth. It crumpled, as did two others, the charge breaking up as riders veered and horses stumbled.
The colonel's troops leaped into motion, and Question shifted her aim to the rear units, taking out four riders, and then she climbed and trotted and slunk and almost hid until she found the colonel's patrol. As she'd expected from the lack of sounds of fighting, they'd been taken in by the uniforms and captured. One arrow took care of their guard, and she slipped out to untie them.
"Old Gods, girl!" the sergeant was shocked by her efficient killing. "What kind of child are you?"
She snorted. "Better get going, the colonel is out-numbered."
They grabbed their horses and thundered down the road where the sounds of battle were getting louder and closer.
By the time she got back, it was all over.
Her father and Harry, and two troopers were laboring over the bleeding colonel. "Ah, I've had a good run of it," he gasped, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "Hope that boy of yours is the one. Or maybe Jenner." He gave a horribly wet cough, blood pouring out of his mouth.
"Here now, none of that." The Auld Wulf elbowed through with a bottle and dribbled wine in the man's mouth. "Swallow." It was a firm command, and the colonel swallowed. He breathed shallowly for a moment longer. "Good, now a bit more." Another swallow; the colonel took a deeper breath.
"What is that?" he turned his head. "My men?"
"Three beyond all help. Here, Question, take this around, but don't let any of them have more than about a teaspoon's worth."
She took it and stepped over to the other men. “Just a small sip, it's got some herbs and things you shouldn't have too much of."
She still had some left when she ran out of men, so she gave a tiny bit to two of the troops' wounded horses, and then saw Chocolate. He and Kite had been hitched to the lead wagon, and one of the attackers had gotten close enough to the wagons to try and immobilize them. He had a gash running down his neck, bleeding freely. He wasn't weak enough to not snort a bit but the old gelding lowered his head
and sucked the rest of the wine out of her hand as she slowly poured it. The bleeding had stopped when she looked again.
She kissed his nose, and started looking for a good place to camp.
"Damn, what's in that wine?" The colonel finished burying most of the attacking men. Only six of them had surrendered. His own three losses he was taking with them, to bury in the King's Own's graveyard.
"Duke Rivolte's men." The colonel kicked one of the prisoners. "I recognize this one. The duke had high hopes of marrying his daughter to the crown prince. Now he'd better run. Fast."
They pushed the pace, and reached the city two days later.
The exhausted horses were turned over to an army of grooms and the people were all herded into guest quarters to freshen up.
The king was not inclined to make a long drawn-out ceremony. Nor wait any longer than strictly necessary. They met the royal family in a small—for an imperial palace—room. Seeing the near-panic in the colonel’s face as he thought about a swordsman like the Auld Wulf getting anywhere near his king, the Sheep Man laughed, and grabbed the Auld Wulf's arm. "Let's go find something to eat and let these poor sods relax."
After some indecision, Harry went in with Fossi, and the other boys either with their parents or alone. The King's Magician arrived, dressed in something close to the Guards' uniforms but with a compass rose embroidered on the tabard.
The witches rounded up all their stray children, and the siblings of two of the boys, and the guards stuffed them into an adjoining very large room, where they milled about briefly before a relieved cadre of parents with their children and an angry Piph joined them. Brock Jenner ducked in, followed by two other boys.
Only Harry and Fossi were still missing. Brock walked over to them. "You aren't really surprised, are you?"
Idea shook her head. "Not at all. Harry collects the strangest children, sometimes."