The Crown Of Yensupov (Book 3)

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Remember we first met Hendrel here,” Saxthor said.

  “Yeah…Let’s go see if the sergeant that nearly tossed us in jail is still at the desk,” Bodrin said. He put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder and led the way.

  *

  At the same table, the sergeant was scratching his head staring at a befuddling stack of paperwork. “I don’t know how they expects me to understand all these here new forms.”

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” two simultaneous voices said.

  Shaking his balding head at the paperwork, he put on his hat when he heard the cheery greetings. The wilted old sergeant looked up, and then jumped up at attention to salute his prince. He puffed with pride that Saxthor would greet him, personally, in such a familiar tone.

  “Good morning, Your Highness and Lord Vicksnak,” the sergeant said, still standing at attention, saluting. His uncontrollable grin beamed. “What cans I do for such important visitors, Your Highness?”

  “Just wanted to thank you for not throwing my friend Bodrin here in the dungeon before,” Saxthor said.

  The stunned and bewildered sergeant stared; his smile vanished.

  Saxthor returned the salute. “At ease, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant deflated like an unstoppered water skin. “Whatever could you mean, Your Highness?” The sergeant’s lips quivered. “I’ve never seen Your Highness and Lord Bodrin before you come yesterday. I’d never try to put our heroes in the dungeon.” I was so close to retirement. Now it’s chains in the dungeon, the sergeant thought.

  “But you’re mistaken, Sergeant. You all but threw Bodrin in the dungeon and only ordered us out of Favriana to avoid having to do all the paperwork to jail the man Hendrel and him,” Saxthor said.

  “Impossible, Your Highness, someone’s playing a mean joke on me. I’d never threaten to jail your lordships. I never heard of a man called Hendrel. You can put me on the rack, but I didn’t do any such thing.”

  “Would you bet your hat, Sergeant?” Bodrin asked.

  “I’d eat my hat if I did such a thing,” the distraught man said.

  Saxthor laughed. He told the story about their experience, when passing through Favriana on the way north. As he was finishing, the sergeant slumped down in his chair, then jumped up again at attention. Behind them, a detachment of soldiers came through the gatehouse.

  “You there!” Bodrin yelled to the troops.

  The corporal turned, saw Saxthor, and immediately the whole group snapped to attention.

  “Corporal, that last man there, arrest him,” Bodrin said.

  The dark, heavily muscled man bolted for the door. The soldiers followed and caught him before he got beyond the door.

  The sergeant watched all this, amazed. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “That soldier is spying for Dreaddrac. I think you’ll find he has my knife on his person or in his possession,” Bodrin said. He described the knife in detail.

  The corporal searched the man and found the knife hidden in the soldier’s boot. The detachment hauled the traitor off to the dungeon after returning Bodrin’s knife. The sergeant stared through the whole incident.

  “Check back through your paperwork, sergeant, you’ll find Bodrin and Hendrel last fall,” Bodrin said.

  “I have to believe what Your Highness tells me. I’m ruined. Throw me in the dungeon and toss away the key. No man will befriend me if anyone finds out I almost arrested our prince. I begs Your Highness’ forgiveness.”

  Resigned to his fate, his energy drained away. He took off his hat and looked at it, then swallowed hard. I hopes my old teeths can chew this, the sergeant thought.

  He was about to take a bite of the brim, when Saxthor pulled it away from his mouth.

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for, my good man,” Saxthor said, through his disarming smile. “You did your job, and you did it well. We’re here to tell you we’re proud to have such a loyal and dedicated man guarding this crucial city.”

  He turned to Bodrin; “I think this man needs a few more stripes on his sleeves, don’t you?” Saxthor took the sergeant’s hat and put it back on his befuddled head, adjusting it with care.

  His jaw hanging, the sergeant just stared at Saxthor. He’d just seen his life end on the rack, and in a few sentences, Prince Saxthor, hero of Neuyokkasin, was congratulating him for an excellent job of nearly arresting the prince. Rattled after five minutes of emotional extremes; he could barely decide if he should pass out or rejoice. Only a lifetime of military discipline kept him conscious.

  “Thank you very much, Your Highness,” the perplexed sergeant said. “It was an honor to almost arrest Lord Vicksnak. I mean…well…you know what I mean, Your Highness. I hope you know what I mean, I’m…I’m not at all sure what I mean.” I just want to crawl under the desk, he thought.

  Saxthor and Bodrin shook the sergeant’s hand in turn and left the gatehouse.

  “He’ll have to sort out his life from here,” Bodrin said as they passed through the doorway and looked back. Though he heard it, it didn’t register with the sergeant who’d just slumped in his chair.

  Years later, as an old man, he would tell his grandchildren how he almost arrested the hero-prince. When he died, his last words were to honor the prince’s visit.

  On their way back to the docks, Saxthor and Bodrin reminisced about Hendrel.

  “One day when the mission’s complete and things calm down, I’ll erect statues of Hendrel in Favriana and Hador, his home,” Saxthor said. “I’ll see to it we make Hendrel’s wife and children wards of the state in his memory, so they’ll never want for anything.”

  The two men arrived back at the boat, where Tournak was stowing the replenished supplies and new gear for the trip home to Konnotan.

  “Beat up anyone this time?” Tournak asked. He didn’t look up, just kept shuffling supplies. “I know there’ll be some tall tale as to why I’m the only one working on this boat.”

  Saxthor and Bodrin looked at each other, grinned, and stepped in the vessel. They said nothing, but set to work helping Tournak, who patted each on the back and returned to repacking the boat.

  Tonelia was sitting on a piling, retelling their exploits once more. Two dozen adults and children, who had heard it several times before, surrounded her.

  “It would seem they have to hear it again,” Bodrin said, as he handed Saxthor a box of produce.

  Twit had had enough of all the commotion. He took refuge on the steering oar, his washed wings extended in the sun.

  Tonelia eventually joined the others in the boat with poor Delia hiding from all the attention. She stayed right beside Saxthor with every move.

  The garrison commander from Favriana Fortress and the city’s burgomaster came to say farewell and send the travelers off on their voyage home.

  “The dragon Magnosious is trailing us. You should be prepared in case the monster attacks the harbor and fortress,” Saxthor said. Still exhausted, but with renewed spirits, the voyagers rowed out into the river, raised the new sail on their new mast, and sailed off downriver with the current. “Now that we’re within Neuyokkasin, I feel easier, knowing the orcs aren’t lurking nearby,” Saxthor said. The others agreed.

  They kept an eye out for hostile creatures. No trolls lurked near the banks and no wraiths would appear, at least not during the day, even if they had penetrated this far south. Their voyage down the River Nhy was pleasant even though it was winter. The current was with them and the winter wind helped, pushing them along even faster.

  This far south, the river didn’t freeze over, but ice formed along its edges in the night and gave it a frosted look in the mornings, when the ice stood out from the bank above the river water. The tree trunks rose to the sky like pillars holding up the ceiling in a great hall. Previously invisible, owls and hawks were notable on leafless tree branches like awesome ornaments. Ducks still flew from slew to slew and along the river’s course, seeking the remaining food on their migrations. What was bleak to som
e was a welcomed sight to these weary travelers, who saw the familiar sights they left a lifetime before. Saxthor, Bodrin, and Tournak knew it wouldn’t be long before they reached Heedra and turned south on the Southern Nhy to Konnotan.

  When they arrived at Heedra, the river town was abuzz with the news of the returning prince and his band of heroes. As in Favriana, the whole town turned out after hearing of the prince and his companions’ daring exploits in saving the ambassador and the Sengenwhan royal family.

  The weary travelers wanted to replenish their supplies and sail on to Konnotan, but the local officials wouldn’t hear of it. A great celebration lasted the whole day. The adventurers, who had lived on dried fruits and meats for so many months found themselves inundated with the finest of foods the citizen’s competitive cooking could devise. Just trying to taste all the delicacies presented to them at the feast that night was enough to make Bodrin sick from over indulgence.

  “I can’t eat another bite,” Saxthor said. He looked at his companions.

  “Me either,” Tonelia said. She pushed her still-full plate away from her.

  “When we sailed up river incognito, we barely got enough dried food, and now we aren’t able to escape this flood of cooking,” Tournak said.

  “Hush,” Bodrin said through a full mouth. He held a piece of pie in one hand and a slab of roast hung from his knife in the other. Both were missing large bites.

  Late that evening, the exhausted travelers begged to take their leave and get some much-needed rest. In the morning, the heroes came down from their rooms at the town’s best inn to a dining hall filled with an endless assortment of more food. As the municipality’s most honored guests, the citizens hovered everywhere to fulfill their slightest wish on the spot.

  “We must get moving,” Saxthor told the city’s burgomaster and the new military governor of Heedra.

  “We understand,” the rotund little burgomaster said. “We’ve a surprise for you, Your Highness.” The mayor and governor accompanied the travelers to the docks with a retinue of followers carrying their bags. With the splendid fanfare of a parade, all the town’s citizens declared a holiday and lined the street from the inn to the dock. Centered along the dock, they found their little riverboat replaced by the town’s finest and swiftest vessel. Garlands and long streaming flags embellished the craft, ready for their departure. The mayor beamed at the military governor and then at Saxthor.

  “A dozen oarsmen volunteered to row Your Highness and his entourage up the Southern Nhy to the capital with all speed,” the burgomaster announced. The elegantly attired little man looked around at the crowd, his short arms raised for their approval. The military governor winked at Saxthor, then saluted.

  “We’ve been totally self-sufficient for months, and now they won't allow us to lift a finger on the final leg of our journey,” Saxthor said, smiling and waving to the crowd.

  Never being one for ceremony, Twit flew ahead and staked his claim to the steering oar’s handle after a full inspection. The man holding it wasn’t aware of Twit’s rights and tried to shoo him away. Twit fluttered and flew up in the man’s hair to deliver a special little black and white note of disapproval.

  Saxthor saw the small commotion. He excused himself as he slipped around through the crowd to the boat. “That’s his official post,” he said, to the man flailing at the feisty bird. “It’s best not to defy him.”

  The man gave Saxthor a quizzical look, but stopped swatting at Twit. The little wren bobbed along the steering oar settling near the tip out of the man’s way. Though nothing occurred to cause it, that Saxthor could see, Twit suddenly flew up on the man’s shoulder and dropped a little poop pellet, then flew back to his post and settled down. The man looked at Saxthor with a frown, thumped the poop off his shoulder, and looked ahead, as if nothing had happened.

  “Twit has to have the last word,” Saxthor said to the man, who nodded but still frowned.

  The royal party thanked the town’s gracious citizens for such a memorable celebration.

  “We’ve one more surprise for Your Highness,” the burgomaster said. “We, that is, the town officials, have named yesterday, the day of your arrival, Prince Saxthor Day. It will be honored and celebrated each year in the future.”

  With that announcement, Saxthor and his companions stepped aboard the vessel and waved good-bye to the crowd that covered the docks and gawked from the lampposts. To the crowd’s excitement, the handsomely arrayed oarsmen pushed the sleek vessel off from the docks and rowed off up the Southern Nhy toward Konnotan with Twit in control at the helm.

  *

  Though they had a full complement of oarsmen, the three returning men were so excited they insisted on taking their turns at the oars to burn off the excess energy they felt from being so close to home.

  “You mean you need to row due to gluttony,” Tonelia said, looking at the three of them. She reached over and patted Bodrin’s new tummy. Bodrin glared up at her, and then insisted on replacing an oarsman. Tonelia displayed a victorious smirk then stared out over the river.

  She could see the excitement in their faces, but it made her homesick for Hoya. The pastures, fields, and even the forests that lined the river looked beautiful to them. Saxthor and Bodrin kept pointing out this landmark or that from their childhood, when they sailed down this stretch of the river with Tournak. She looked back at them. Though Bodrin pulled hard on his oar, he and Saxthor chatted like boys. The Vos Plain had a bad year, but the whole of this land was their home, and home had never looked so splendid to them, after so many years.

  It was late winter with frost and ice like lace along the river on the winter mornings. The first spring bulbs flowered sporadically along the river’s edge. The buds poked through the leaf litter and patches of snow heralding the coming spring. The bright flowers nodded in the breeze as if welcoming the prince and his party.

  “The spring will bring with it marching armies from the Ice Mountains,” Saxthor said. “Soon war will embroil the peninsula’s kingdoms and principalities.”

  “You’ve done your best,” Tonelia said.

  “You mean, we’ve all done our best,” Saxthor said, hugging Tonelia.

  “That’s enough of that,” Bodrin said, chuckling.

  The small vessel rounded a bend in the river, and the forest drew aside like a curtain revealing Konnotan. The three men returning after nearly eight years in exile stood at the bow and stared at the city’s splendid white limestone vision. The walls glistened in the cool winter light of midday. The snow had melted from the roofs revealing their warm ochre tiles. The cleaned and polished city sported garlands and the Calimon flag everywhere. The dominant royal palace stood as a welcoming ornament over the city’s center.

  Indeed, when the vessel docked at the royal dock, the whole town had turned out to welcome the long-lost prince and his companions. It was a miracle to the citizens, who’d despaired at having neither of their princes in residence.

  After the queen’s recent death, the prince regent was a lonely old man, holding the reins of government in reluctant hands. The princess royal lived quietly out of sight in the palace so that the monarchy, that should have been the kingdom’s social center, was seldom visible. The royal melancholy had plunged the kingdom into a sad state. Now the kingdom’s lost youth was returning home in triumph, renewing hope for the nation.

  The city officials stood at the docks to welcome them. At their center were the Prince Regent Augusteros and Princess Royal Nonee. Saxthor, Augusteros, and Nonee all had tears in their eyes at the sight of each other. None of them had thought such a homecoming possible just months before.

  Saxthor leaped off the boat and approached his stranger-father after so many years. The two read a lifetime of pain and joy in each other’s eyes. They hugged, and the whole city was silent for the moment. Tonelia’s eyes teared.

  The citizens went wild. In the excitement, people danced in the streets and celebrated such that a dozen jubilant citizens danced off th
e docks into the river. Saxthor hugged his sister, kissing her on the cheek. He could barely remember her from his childhood.

  Bodrin jumped off the boat onto the dock and ran to his parents. They’d rushed to town to meet their son, when the Prince Regent had sent his carriage with the news of the imminent return. Counter to her usual calm nature, Countess Betsoya had pushed aside the palace driver and galloped the horses to town to meet Bodrin.

  Memlatec, who wasn’t much on fuss and sentimentality, was there to greet his most devoted and loved assistant, Tournak, who had spent so much of his life raising and guarding the exiles. Few noticed the old wizard hug the assistant, who was as much a son to him as the younger men were to their parents.

  Even Twit got emotional, when greeting his old wizard after so long. The sentimentality ended abruptly, when the dignified old wren got tangled in the wizard’s beard. He endured unending humiliation hanging upside down while Memlatec picked him out.

  His mate was there, too, with a large flock of jubilant birds. When Twit was free and flew up to them, he marveled at the number of wrens who had turned out to greet him. Who are all these wrens, Twit wondered to his mate.

  They’re your children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, she assured him.

  The old bird flew up on a post and inspected the lot. He looked with suspicion at his mate. They cannot all be my progeny. You sure they’re not YOUR relatives? No one could say if Mrs. Twit blushed or not.

  The town’s officials had agreed to allow the returning heroes the afternoon to spend with their families, as long as the heroes agreed to return to their fellow citizens for the evening’s celebration. The city fathers assured the Prince Regent that nothing could surpass the night’s festivities.

  The mob clamored they must have their prince and heroes. They wouldn’t allow the royal family to depart for the palace until the Prince Regent promised to deliver the heroes himself for dinner, with the whole city, at the stadium. With their most grateful approvals, Augusteros and Prince Saxthor promised to return. Most of their subjects walked beside the royal coach all the way to the palace.