Prince Thief

by David Tallerman

  Ondeges was staring across the dark subterranean waters, watching the Shoanish ship draw nearer. He gave it a few moments, let everyone catch at least a little of their breath, and then said, “We’ll hold them here.”

  If the words were intended for his men, who were already drawing their weapons, it was Estrada that Ondeges was looking at. Even as she began to protest, he stepped closer and said, “The boy’s the important thing now. Once we’ve bought you some time, we’ll try and rejoin you.” Then, moving even closer, lowering his voice even further – “but if we don’t... remember our arrangement.”

  So Ondeges knew about Malekrin. The boy in question was trailing behind us, and nothing in his face told me he’d heard those last, whispered words. If he had, though, he must surely be wondering – just as I was – what deal had been struck on his behalf. Were Ondeges and Estrada planning to trade his life to Panchessa for the safety of Altapasaeda? If so, I could hardly blame them, yet suddenly I felt a faint stab of guilt at the thought. I’d no reason to like Malekrin, no reason to help him, no reason even to care if he lived or died. But the pang was there, and rationalising didn’t make it go away.

  It was something I’d have to watch. Hadn’t my irregular, irrational conscience got me into enough trouble already? Just then, however, it was hardly my most immediate concern – for Estrada and Navare were already herding their people into the black mouth of the passage. I was surprised to see that this time Estrada had made Saltlick go first; didn’t she realise he was bound to slow us down, now more than ever thanks to his injured leg? Then again, perhaps that was exactly why she’d done it, for so long as he was leading there was no chance of him being left behind.

  As for me, I found myself towards the very rear, with Malekrin taking final place. With most of our own equipment lost in the wreck, it was fortunate Ondeges had thought to stow a couple of lanterns in the tunnel mouth for his own return journey. That meant one for each group and little enough light, but near darkness was a great deal better than total darkness. I could just make out the lambent glimmer ahead, masked by a snaking trail of bodies.

  As I began to follow, I spared one last glance behind me, for Ondeges and his men. They were forming up around the mouth of the passage, ready to fall back into its confines the moment the need arose. Beyond them, out in the harbour, the Shoanish ship – still nothing but a sinister silhouette cast by the dying glow of the fire – was close now, manoeuvring through the debris-thick waters.

  I looked away. Ondeges could take care of himself, which was more than I could claim if the Shoanish should come out on top of the impending fight. As I turned back, however, I caught Malekrin’s eye, and I couldn’t help wondering if he was having similar thoughts. It was hard to say who he had more to worry about just then, Ondeges or his own mad grandmother. Yet, hurrying with measured strides, he was all surface fearlessness; in fact, something in his posture reminded me distantly of his father, of Moaradrid’s ferocious confidence. In Malekrin, though, it was undermined by a constant hint of awkwardness, as though it were a pretence he could never quite perfect.

  Well, the boy could look after himself too; he was enough his father’s son for that. I wasn’t about to waste my time worrying about him, not when he might be the only one to survive should his barbarian friends make their way past Ondeges.

  Our light was no more than a trembling glow in the deep dark of the passage; it gave the man ahead the barest definition. Without my noticing, I’d already fallen some distance behind. I realised I’d have to concentrate on keeping pace – for our column was moving swiftly enough that I could easily find myself abandoned in the blackness.

  I wondered about Saltlick. How was he managing to move so fast, bent double and dragging an injured leg? I could hardly imagine how he was bearing up, but at least the trying diverted me somewhat from my own exertions.

  For all that, however, it wasn’t long before real tiredness began to set in. I wasn’t about to slow, of course; at first the sounds of battle echoing down the passage saw to that, and after they’d finally faded to nothing, the fear of who might be coming after us in their absence.

  No, I’d hurry until I dropped if need be – because if Kalyxis had been aboard that approaching ship, she was going to have questions that I knew I’d struggle to answer. They would involve crowns and princes, and I didn’t think they’d be asked gently.

  I couldn’t tell how many hours had passed or what distance we’d travelled, had long since ceased to notice anything but the ache that ran bone-deep through every limb, when I recognised the pound of feet approaching. Only then did I realise I’d been hearing it for a long while, but failing to tell it apart from our own hurried steps. Unbeknownst to me, whoever was approaching had already drawn close.

  I nearly called out a warning. But if I’d heard those hurrying feet, so had everyone else, and I wasn’t certain I had the breath to spare. Anyway, what difference would it make? We were going as fast as we could go, and it was clear from the pace of those nearing footfalls that we had no hope of outrunning them. All I could do was continue as quickly as I could bear, knowing it wasn’t enough, glancing again and again past Malekrin, who stared imperturbably ahead – until the first of them broke from the shadows.

  Then, I was so relieved to recognise Ondeges that I could have hugged him – at least until I saw his expression, and the gore spattered across his jacket.

  “Where’s Estrada?” he snapped.

  My brief affection turned to annoyance. If my lungs hadn’t been two sacks of fire, I might have pointed out that it was hardly my responsibility to keep track of her.

  Fortunately, Estrada picked that moment to brush past me. “You made it,” she said.

  “We couldn’t hold them,” Ondeges replied grimly. “They’re licking their wounds, but they’ll be after us soon enough.”

  It was exactly what no one wanted to hear. Our pace had already been starting to lag, as the last strength drained from bodies that had been overexerted even before this subterranean marathon began.

  With Ondeges and his men amongst us, however, we did somehow manage to pick up speed once more. Their tirelessness, even after the bloody battle they’d just endured, was something between inspiring and shaming. That they could carry on almost at a run while we, who hadn’t just fought for our lives, were struggling to even walk, implied that somewhere we must have reserves yet untapped.

  If that were the case, though, I hardly felt it, for while I’d somehow managed not to fall behind, all it had earned me was new heights of fatigue. I did begin to rouse a little when we reached the junction between palace and barracks, however; even if the nearer exit was closed by the detritus of an entire collapsed building, the fact that we’d reached so far meant an end was in sight. I gritted my teeth, marched on.

  By the time we reached the portal that led into the palace basements, I had no more enthusiasm left to muster. I was too dead on my feet even to wonder how close Kalyxis’ barbarians were behind us. I noted with the barest interest that the door had been hacked from its hinges; so Mounteban had laid his greasy paws upon the only copy of the key after all. With no furniture in the corridor beyond, that meant no way to bar the passage behind us – but even that only bothered me a little.

  It was only as we hurried through the dank cellars beyond that something finally managed to penetrate the murk of my languor. By the time we were halfway to the ground floor, it was obvious that things was very wrong ahead. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising; what could be expected of a palace without its prince, entrenched in a city about to be assaulted by its own king? Whatever I might have expected, however, I wouldn’t have guessed it would be quite so noisy.

  To my ears, which were admittedly working no better than the rest of me, it was only a great commotion, mingled and incomprehensible. The best I could manage was to follow the man ahead and do my best to keep up; the prospect of considering what we might be rushing into was beyond me. Even as we entered the palace itself
and the noise became overwhelming, I couldn’t bring myself to try and analyse it. I glanced at the faces of those around me, palace soldiers and city guardsmen and Mounteban’s swarthy buccaneers, and I wondered if they understood something I was missing.

  We were heading for the main gates. Whose idea was that? It struck me that there was more than one agenda at work now – that Estrada and Ondeges might have different ideas about what came next and that, once again, we were two separate groups with two very separate intentions.

  Yet, as if we’d been forged together by our long spell underground, we seemed incapable of separating. Palace and city guardsmen rushed side by side through the pristine corridors, along halls and through archways and past bubbling fountains – and against all reason, we were all hurrying together towards the din that reverberated through every wall.

  Then, finally, we were plunging through the palace’s main doors, and before us was the courtyard, beyond that the main gatehouse. The sight that met my eyes was the last I’d have hoped to see, the worst I might reasonably have imagined – but at least it explained what all the noise was about.

  There in the courtyard, men were fighting, men of a similar mix to our own little party: palace soldiers lined against city guardsmen and Mounteban’s ruffians, barbarians and swords-for-hire.

  We’d arrived in the middle of a war.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Making our appearance amidst a raging battle had one benefit: no one was paying us much attention. So preoccupied were they with hacking, slashing and bludgeoning each other that even the arrival of thirty and more men, a woman, one giant and a long-suffering thief had hardly turned a head.

  Less advantageous was the fact that whatever fragile accord had developed amongst our party was fast dissolving. Ondeges had already split off his men, and all had their weapons drawn, even if they hadn’t put them to use as yet; the same went for Navare and his guardsmen, who were manoeuvring, swords out, for a place to make their stand amidst the chaos. Lastly, the buccaneers were retreating in a ragtag pack around the inner wall, having evidently decided that this was a test too far of their tenuous loyalties.

  That left only Estrada, Saltlick and I upon the steps leading from the palace entrance. Saltlick was deathly pale and still hunched over, as though his time underground had warped his spine forever. Staring at the fighting, his eyes held the panicked glint of someone who’d woken from nightmares into the most furious of storms.

  Estrada, too, was gazing around wild-eyed – though her focus was solely upon Ondeges, Navare and their respective factions. “No... damn it! The truce–”

  “What truce?” I yelled at her. “You can’t believe Ondeges meant that!”

  “Of course he meant it. Do you really think that...” The sentence broke off, as Estrada glanced about her. “Where is he?”

  I was rapidly losing my grip on the conversation, not to mention any ability to care when nearby people were enthusiastically trying to kill each other. “Where’s who, damn it?”

  “Malekrin,” she said. “Where’s Malekrin?”

  At that name, something cold sunk inside me, like a plumb line dropped into my inmost depths. Because Estrada was right, Malekrin was nowhere to be seen – and as my own eyes sought frantically over the space between palace steps and gatehouse, over the knots of fighting men, I realised I couldn’t even say when I’d last seen him.

  The Bastard Prince: the single concrete advantage we’d gained from our disastrous expedition, our bargaining chip with the King and for that matter with the Shoanish, if and when they arrived; in short, our one and only scant hope. I’d let him slip through my fingers and, as if that weren’t bad enough, he’d taken the crown of Altapasaeda with him.

  All told, this was one calamity I didn’t want laid at my feet. “What do you mean?” I shouted, with all the innocence I could muster, “weren’t you watching him?”

  I’d expected a scathing reply. When it didn’t come, I looked where Estrada was looking – and was startled to see Alvantes, sword in hand, staring back from the gatehouse. So he’d managed to escape the palace all those days ago, and now here he was again, once more deep in the thick of battle. Even as I saw him, he pointed in our direction and bellowed, “Protect Marina Estrada! Protect our men!”

  Then he was moving – and when the mood took him, no one moved like Alvantes did. Though his clothes were torn and bloody, the chainmail beneath rent by two long gashes, he pushed forward with all the ferocity of a wild boar suddenly cut loose. When a half dozen paces placed a palace soldier in his path, Alvantes swatted the man’s blade aside with his own and barged forward, sending his opponent tumbling. A second soldier he side-stepped past, before slamming an elbow like a hammer blow into his neck. Already Alvantes was halfway to us, and a channel was opening ahead of him that his men strove to fill, before their enemies could appreciate what was happening.

  Meanwhile, Navare and his guardsmen had folded into a tight semicircle in front of us. “Ready?” he asked Estrada. She drew her own sword, gave a terse nod – and we were off.

  There had to be some order to the fighting, some strategy or logic, but for the life of me I couldn’t see it. To watch, it was hard to believe there were even sides, that it wasn’t every man for himself. Yet with Alvantes making his push to rescue us and Navare forcing his own way through the turmoil, it was clear even to me that, whatever the nature of the battle had been, it was now changing abruptly.

  Over on the left flank, I glimpsed another familiar face, though one I could happily have never seen again: Ludovoco was fencing simultaneously with two men in unfamiliar uniforms, who I took to be part of Mounteban’s faction. It was clear he was barely testing himself – and even as he registered Alvantes’s gambit, he dispatched one with such casual ease that the other almost tripped over his own feet in surprise. The man was so busy trying to retreat that he hardly even saw Ludovoco’s sword go into his belly; he only flinched and crumpled round it, until Ludovoco tipped his arm up and let him slide to the cobbles.

  Then Ludovoco raised the bloodied blade to point and said – not loudly, but distinct enough that I heard it even at such a distance – “Kill them!”

  It was more than a command; it was an imperative. If I hadn’t been so busy hurrying, hustled along by the guardsmen around me, I’d have struggled not to try and follow it myself. Our only slender advantage was that so few of his men were in any position to listen, and fewer in a position to respond.

  But that was enough – thanks to Alvantes. Before we were even a third of the way across the courtyard he’d bridged the gap between our two groups, and the passage he’d left in his wake, cobbled with a dozen broken, bleeding men, was rapidly shored up by his troop. Navare’s guardsmen fell in to join them – and suddenly there was an avenue through the turmoil opened before us.

  Even as I broke into a run, Ludovoco’s forces were starting to coordinate, trying to carve their way to us. Again, they’d have stood a better chance if it weren’t for Alvantes, now fighting a frantic rearguard alongside Navare. In the instant I spared to glance his way, he was somehow fending off two palace soldiers at once, each a head taller than him and clearly baffled at how their blows failed to land upon a one-handed man.

  Then we were into the gatehouse and through, and the guardsmen were collapsing back around us, those that could still move at all, as they threw whatever stamina they had left into covering our escape. Reaching the grand plaza that ringed the palace, I blinked against the bright morning sun and at the statued fronts of the temples. Still reeling from the shock of finding myself in the midst of battle for no clear reason, my head was awhirl.

  I turned to see Alvantes and Navare now in the midst of organising a defence of the gatehouse, their two squads already merged back into a single force, as though none of the last week’s events had ever occurred. Those at the forefront sallied to recover the wounded, to help or haul them back to relative safety. They were met with scant resistance, for beyond our lines
Ondeges and Ludovoco’s forces were doing the same, their two factions flowing together to secure the courtyard.

  Seeing them apart, lined opposite each other for the first time, I could tell that the two sides were more or less evenly matched. Whatever we’d stumbled into, then, it was a very different conflict to the one I’d left all those days ago – and I could only assume that this time it was Alvantes who’d struck the first blow. But having once escaped the palace, why would he have returned? If he’d been set on rousting Ludovoco, why wait until now? There was more to this than I could see, more than this small, desperate tussle.

  With the injured out from underfoot, it was apparent that the brief armistice was drawing to a close. Given how temperamentally unsuited I was to violence, I felt it was time I started seeking an alternative. Though it was all I could do to stand upright, I knew I’d find strength to run if I had to. But where to? Without knowing the context of this brawl, it was possible I’d be charging into even greater danger.

  I’d have to decide soon, or else the decision would be out of my hands. Ludovoco had finished marshalling his troops; Alvantes and his men stood ready to meet them. Now that the combat had taken on more formal outlines, Ludovoco looked coldly self-assured, as though the rest were a mere formality. Given the efficiency with which his soldiers had taken their formation, compared with the ragtag performance of Alvantes’s guardsmen, I couldn’t help thinking that he had every right to his confidence.

  But I was wrong, and so was Ludovoco, and he began to realise it at exactly as I did.

  Then again, how was he supposed to have known that – even as he’d fenced with such cruel efficiency, as he’d calmly organised his forces for the next round of violence – a mob of furious barbarians had been working their way through the palace? Ludovoco registered the approach of running feet with only the slightest hint of puzzlement; but as they drew nearer, his icy calm began to slip.