The Tuskan Prince (The Caine Mercer Series Book 2)

by Cale Madison

  Gavin smirked and returned to his chair, feeling weightless after releasing a small burst of contained aggravation. The palace cook brought out a metal horn of red wine, which he then emptied into the Commands’ goblets before scurrying back to the kitchen. As custom, the first course must be consumed before the wine may be drank. Gavin waited impatiently as they ingested their meals, tapping his finger against his glass in a rhythmic tone.

  The queen, sitting beside her husband, whispered something into his ear as he bit down into a cob of fresh corn. Dane continued flicking green peas at Alice who kicked at him from beneath the table. The Lord felt nauseous in his patience with each passing minute, biding his time as he waited for the opportune moment. Then, amidst the shouting and the bickering between the families and the High Command, Darius began to raise his wine glass to his lips. Gavin’s eyes flickered as he watched the king prepare to take his first sip but was quickly interrupted by the sudden creaking of the chamber doors.

  The ceremony halted as they lay eyes upon my mud-splattered armor and Malachi’s weary, malnourished body as we stood in the frame of the door. I had eaten nothing but elven toast for the past two nights, so the smell of potatoes, boiled vegetables and roasted pork sent my nose into a state of sudden euphoria. Malachi turned green and nearly vomited at the sight.

  “By the Gods, Malachi!” Isabelle cried as she ran to her son’s aid. He collapsed into her arms from exhaustion, holding her with as much strength as his frail body could conjure. Darius placed the goblet onto the table and ran to Malachi’s side, completely stunned by the sudden intrusion. Alice and Dane also joined him, leaving Gavin, the High Command and Athalos at the table. Each of them were at a loss for words at the sight of the lost prince’s return to his family.

  “What...what happened to you? Where did you go, son?” the king asked as he ran his fingers through his son’s matted hair and examined his filthy body. Malachi said nothing, finally able to sleep comfortably in the arms of his parents and siblings as they rejoiced together in a tight embrace. I placed the mysterious black box on a table in the room’s furthest corner, far from any watchful eyes.

  In my peripheral, I noticed a cloaked figure emerging from the kitchen’s corridor: Aketa in tarnished garb, looking as if she had spent the night in a roofless horse stable. Before I could speak to her, she walked directly to the table and spoke to the High Command, demanding, “Arrest this traitor, immediately!”

  Her words, aimed at Lord Gavin, fell on the Command’s ears like pesky snowflakes or mosquitos as they waved them away. She asked the king, “Your Majesty, you haven’t drank the wine, have you?”

  “What are you saying?” he replied.

  “Lord Gavin means to poison you. He arrested me once he discovered that I learned the truth and imprisoned me at Castle Rock!” she answered, receiving faint murmurs from the High Command at the table.

  Darius then turned to his Hand, who stood without a single emotion on his face. He replied, “I have no knowledge to what the girl is talking about, sire. Clearly, she is delusional or mad.”

  “How would she know about Castle Rock, Gavin?” one elder of the High Command asked.

  “Castle Rock’s been emptied for years! Ever since the Battle of Mormon’s Beach and Seven Snake’s hanses were removed!” another declared, prompting the elders to whisper and argue, “She is a foreigner and would not know of such a place!”

  “The woman is deranged! Look at her ragged clothes!” a third shouted, “How can we trust the word of a foreigner?”

  With a taut scowl, the king rose to his feet and left his huddled family to rejoin the Command at the table, noting that Athalos had not risen from his chair. He held up the goblet, examined its contents and proceeded to place it against his lips. Everybody in attendance watched in astonishment as he then changed his mind and asked, “Gavin, would you mind trading your cup with mine?”

  “Sire? I’m not sure what that would entail. Shame to waste such wine.”

  “None shall be wasted on this day, friend. Come now.” Darius commanded, opening his hand to receive Gavin’s. The Lord cautiously lifted his goblet and walked around the table, carrying it in his hand. I watched as he stepped to the side of his king and swapped each other’s wine glasses in silence. Darius stared into the Hand’s eyes as he raised the glass, hesitating for a second.

  “Drink.”

  “Your Majesty, I...”

  “Drink, damnit. Show these people that you wouldn’t do such a terrible thing. I’ve known you for years, Gavin. Prove to them that this is some kind of misunderstanding. Please.”

  Gavin brought the king’s goblet to his mouth, held it for a few moments before he suddenly unsheathed his sword and flung the cup aside. Fortunately, Darius leapt away just as the Hand attempted to strike him down. This provided enough reaction time for the palace guards to assist. The three swordsmiths dueled in a semi-circle, trading blows and clashing blades as they circumferenced the dining hall. In a flurry of silver and blood, the traitorous Hand cut through them and then extended a palm to Athalos, “Come, now!”

  The prince climbed over the table, astonishing the Command who sat in stunned observance of the ordeal unfolding before them. Darius withdrew a blade from its holding place on the wall and took pursuit. Gavin led Athalos into the kitchen corridor, followed by Darius who then vanished from our sight. I sprinted through the doors to find that seven of Gavin’s hired knights were clashing swords against the King’s Guard. The blood of fallen men spewed over the decorative tapestries and paintings.

  Gavin snatched a torch from its wall mount and set fire to the banners that were strung along the corridor. The flames crept into the wooden ceilings, slowly engulfing everything in their path. I sprinted behind Darius, struggling to keep up as Gavin and Athalos disappeared into the palace cathedral. Four of the Hand’s men stepped between their employer and the king, withdrawing their swords from their sheaths.

  “Step aside!” the king commanded. None of the guards budged.

  “They’re not with you, sire.” I said before they lunged for us.

  I parried one guard’s blade away before burying my shoulder into his chest, knocking him backwards against the wall. I caught the helve of one knight’s battleaxe as he brought it down to my left, then connected my boot with his shin. He crumpled backwards, wailing in agony and clutching his leg. Darius skillfully disarmed the other and allowed his guards to detain them. We threw open the cathedral doors to discover that Gavin had set fire to the pews and altar. He was ascending the stairs with Athalos trailing behind him. The King’s Guard met another battalion of Gavin’s hired soldiers in the room’s center. I broke away from the violent clash to continue my pursuit.

  Banners bearing the Tuskan crest went up in flames in a handful of seconds, dropping shreds of flaming fabric that rained down around us. Darius and I cut through several of Gavin’s men as they attempted to step between us and our target. Their bodies plunged over the wooden railing before plummeting into the fray below. The thick smoke began to choke my lungs, making it difficult to speak. I strained to shout, “Darius! We’ll burn alive in here if we don’t turn back!”

  “I’m not leaving without him!” he replied, continuing his chase.

  As we ascended the cathedral’s spiraling stairway, clumps of inflamed debris rained down from the burning rafters. The wood had quickly caught fire over the course of several minutes. The screams of slaughtered men rang out from the lower levels before being drowned out by the clattering of blades against shields. I watched from the corner of my eye as the knights fought to the death or became pummeled by falling chunks of timber.

  One of Gavin’s men hurled a spear from the upper levels of the staircase. I ducked just as the tip grazed past my scalp before sticking into the wall behind us. Darius knocked him aside as he attempted to draw a claymore. He struck him hard with the butt of his sword, rendering him unconscious. I raised one hand to shield my eyes from the searing heat around us. A wall
of raging red flames rose into the upper rafters of the belltower.

  “The cathedral’s going to collapse!” I shouted at the King, who chose to continue his pursuit up the stairs without me. He stumbled up the stairs, stepping over inflamed planks that had begun gathering in heaps.

  We cornered Gavin and Athalos in the burning belfry, where we found them leaning out of an open window, fastening a rope to a statue of Opheria on the other side. He tightened a knot around her waist and pulled the rope tight. Athalos nervously glanced back at us and whispered something into Gavin’s ear. Darius fearfully shouted, “Stop! Don’t do this, Gavin!”

  The Hand turned to see us standing there and called out, “It didn’t have to be this way, Darius! You’ve forced my hand, here.”

  “Why, Gavin? After decades of loyalty, you’d betray our family?”

  “Don’t talk to me about family!” Gavin shouted, angrily, “You know nothing about loyalty or power! You’re nothing like your father!”

  “Your quarrel is with me, Gavin! Leave my son out of this!” Darius protested, watching in confusion as the prince backed away towards the window.

  We ducked just in time to avoid a falling chunk of wood. It crashed through the flooring, separating Gavin and I from Darius. The King crumbled backwards, nearly tumbling down the stairs from the impact. I turned to find that the Hand was whispering to the prince as he prepared to climb from the window, “Follow the road to Brunson. There’s a man there named Eron Oppil. He’s going to take you by boat to Ataman City. Wait for me in the Black Raven’s Tavern. Are you listening? Say it.”

  “Eron Oppil. Black Raven’s Tavern. You’re not coming with me?” Athalos asked, nervously peering over the window’s ledge.

  “I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise. There’s something I have to do first. If I don’t make it to the tavern, Eron will tell you what to do.” Gavin instructed before assisting the prince through the window. I watched as the boy eased his way into the smoke-filled sky before disappearing from view.

  The Hand then turned to me, his eyes glaring, “You’re trembling, Mercian. Have you ever handled a blade before? Put it down. We both know you can’t take me in combat.”

  I held Gwydion’s sword with both hands, never averting my gaze.

  “A good man is dead because of you.”

  “I was to rule this great country, but now you’ve taken that from me.” he hissed before drawing his blade from its sheath, “I won’t let Tuskan continue its fall into obscurity. I will raze Arrigon to the ground and no man will stop me! Step aside, Caine. He’s right. My fight is with him, not you.”

  I turned my head to see Darius stirring on the stairwell behind us. I could see through the mountain of flaming debris that his injuries were severe but that he would live. I thought about Aketa and what she had to endure over the past few days. Skalige’s roaring laughter resurfaced from the furthest recesses of my mind, reminding me of his great sacrifice. Gavin swayed to one side, anticipating my next move. His black and gold armor shone in the light of the fire around us, casting a brilliant glow.

  “My place is right here, Gavin.”

  The Hand clenched his sword and howled, “THEN YOU’LL DIE WITH HIM!”

  He then leapt towards me, carefully maneuvering over the ash-covered floor to not fall through. My blade clashed against his, sending yellow sparks fluttering into the air. His speed and ferocity worked to his advantage against my great lack of swordplay knowledge. As our duel ensued, the burning cathedral continued to collapse around us. Heavy planks of wood rained down, knocking us aside as our swords met.

  My foot pivoted, nearly sinking into the crumbling floorboards as the building’s structure began to weaken. I drove at the man, flailing my blade at each opportunity that presented itself. Gavin’s slashes were fierce and cunning. A sweeping cut grazed past my nose as I stumbled backwards. Each time the swords would clatter together, a piercing “clang” would rattle my eardrums. Breathless, I hopped backwards to avoid another cloud of hot debris as it fluttered to the ground.

  The Hand fluidly twisted the hilt of his sword, interlocking it with mine and pulled me close. His brow was drenched in sweat and his eyes were glaring viciously. He swung his gloved fist and sent me spiraling into a heap of charred wood, shouting, “Stay down, Mercian!”

  With a resilient groan, I climbed to my feet to catch him as he began approaching the fallen king. My attack, aiming for the back of his neck, was thwarted by a clever parry, throwing me off balance before he delivered a swift kick to my stomach. The elven steel fortunately did not cave. A rapid slash sailed through the smoky air, missing my neck by half of an inch. I ignored the searing pain below my ear, where his gloved fist had met its mark. He expertly deflected another strike and shoved me backwards.

  Gavin’s attacks, now beginning to dwindle in speed, became easier to parry. I showered him with blows, each countered with a flash of sparks and silver. I danced around him, remembering the way that Skalige fought off the manokai. The Hand’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, glaring with rage and ferocity. The window to the belltower belched smoke and flames, which billowed into the clouded skies. I could hear the faint ringing of alarm bells coming from the palace outside.

  Gavin was forcing me into the corner, where he would have the upper hand. After our blades struck together once again, I shoved him away with a shout and retreated between him and the window. His contorted, anger-filled face was singed by a falling piece of wood from the rafters above. I panted heavily, trying to reserve my energy for the rest of the fight.

  His next attack cut through my black sleeve, tearing open my armor and exposing the skin beneath. As I stepped away to survey the wound, he rasped, “Elf armor’s strong, unless you know exactly where the weaknesses are...learned that from Gwydion himself.”

  Each time I would stand to fight, Gavin would locate another weak spot in Gwydion’s armor and force me back onto the floor. I struggled to not glance down at the amount of blood seeping from beneath the silver plating. My weary eyes began to close and my head began spinning. I could no longer ignore the pain. The thick smoke clouded my vision and choked my lungs. I wiped my burning eyes as I heard him say, “All this talk of you being a fearless warrior and you can’t even stop one man. I knew those stories were bullshit. Only one life was meant to be lost today...now you’ll die knowing I slaughtered every last one of them.”

  “You sent Malachi to his death!” I cried out, “You killed Skalige!”

  “Casualties of war, Caine. You’re defending those who would cast you and your wife to the wolves if it meant they could keep warm inside. You base son-of-a-bitch, you won’t listen, will you? I’m going to butcher them...every last one of them…” Gavin snarled, grinding his teeth as he rotated the blade in his hand, “I will have my vengeance today. Starting with the Mercian who should’ve stayed in his swamps.”

  I thoughtlessly grabbed a loose plank from beneath me and swung it with all of my strength. Upon impact, the Hand tumbled backwards, clutching his seared face with his free hand as he wailed in agony. This provided me with enough time to climb on top and begin maliciously beating him with my fists. Once his handsome face was shrouded in blood and bruises, he managed to bury his knee in the pit of my stomach and roll me aside.

  As he crawled away, I withdrew the mirror shard from my pocket. I moved quickly and stabbed it into his calf before he could escape. Blood poured from his leg, covering the floorboards in seconds. He howled in pain before wrenching it free. Straining to breathe, I attempted to climb to my feet as he began limping towards the open window. He turned with a raspy groan, “Won’t you just give in? You don’t know the world I come from. This is bigger than you or I! What do you stand to gain from any of this? Stop crawling, Mercian! Stay there!”

  When I did not respond, he reared his leg back and connected his boot with my jaw. The impact sent my mind reeling and knocked me onto my back. My ears were ringing, followed soon by a throbbing headache. The m
etallic taste of blood was beginning to fill the inside of my mouth. In a blurred daze, I could hear Gavin shout one final command before climbing through the cathedral’s window, “Stay down for your own sake, Caine.”

  I summoned every ounce of strength I had left to crawl towards the window, where I could see his rope fastened around the statue of Ophera. Her outstretched arm held tight as the Hand soared over the palace, nearly out of sight. As he passed between towers, heading for a patch of woods to the south-east, I heard a queer, crackling sound coming from the statue. Suddenly, without any explanation, the rope broke and unravelled. The slack came undone from Opheria’s outreached arm, as if she were tossing it away from the cathedral. Gavin cried out in alarm as he plunged through the sky. His body collided against one of the palace towers before he tumbled across the shingles and plummeted into the dark moat.

  Gavin opened his eyes to find his right leg broken and twisted beneath his thigh, the bone protruding from his skin. He had landed on a small patch of land surrounded by the moat’s water. Breathing erratically, he clamored backwards, attempting to crawl towards an elevated embankment to his left. Pale bodies began rising from the depths. A sudden churning in the murky water prompted him to hasten his pace, but he could not escape in time. Within seconds, twenty alkimars had sprung from the water, snarling and hissing with their claws bared. The wriggling creatures dragged his flailing body beneath the surface and out of sight.

  I rolled onto my back, smiling amidst the searing pain that was rapidly spreading throughout my body. The ceiling above had grown fiery red and golden, and begun shedding more frequent pieces of timber. My tired eyes finally closed as I felt several sets of hands pulling me away from the smoke and fire.

  ***

  “Stupid...stupid…”

  I stirred.

  “What were you thinking? I can’t…”

  The familiar voice became more clear.