The Prince

by K. C. Herbel

  Sylvys helped Shaldra to his feet, and then they turned to face Drif, who now stood between them and Billy.

  “I knew you dark elves couldn’t be trusted!” Shaldra wiped the blood from his lip and looked for his sword, but he had dropped it at Billy’s feet. “You’ll pay for this, Deordrif! I swear it!”

  Drif forced them back at sword point, as the skeletal warriors arrived. Sylvys and Shaldra tried to circle around, but there was no way to get by the dark elf and avoid the bony specters.

  Shaldra pushed Sylvys away. “Split up!”

  They circled in opposite directions to force Drif to defend a larger area, but it was too late. The first of the armored fiends approached their defenseless leader.

  “No!”

  Billy pointed at the whistling cyclone. The skeleton turned and walked towards it. As it reached the mouth of the phenomenon, the structure of its bones and armor changed. They appeared to fracture into granules the size of table salt, and yet its menacing visage remained. Then, as the wind steals sand from the dunes, it disappeared, grain by grain, into the vortex. The entire creature took only seconds to evaporate.

  The second skeletal warrior fell in behind the first, as did the third and fourth. In a couple of minutes, all forty-nine had vanished, and the horde of forlorn spirits formed into lines behind them. Shambling corpses stretched across the plain in every direction—all lamenting their past transgressions and awaiting their turn to enter the vortex.

  Countless dead vanished in this way, and still the lines appeared endless. Billy seemed safe for the moment, so Shaldra and Sylvys relaxed and stepped back from Drif. The dark elf tossed Shaldra his dropped weapon.

  Shaldra sheathed his sword. “How did you know?”

  Drif, true to form, turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  “Sorry, Deordrif. I’m sorry!”

  Sylvys came to stand beside Shaldra. “How could Drif know?”

  “I don’t know. How many spell weavers do you know that can make a wind to send a graveyard’s worth of corpses into the sky?”

  Sylvys shrugged. “I don’t even know why you would want to.”

  At that moment, there was a crash like thunder and a bright light exploded from the mouth of the vortex. It flashed against Billy’s face, and the cyclone collapsed, becoming a thin ribbon of smoke, which hung in the air and then dispersed.

  Shaldra, Sylvys, and Billy stood flat-footed, staring at each other, surrounded by an army of the dead. Billy opened his mouth to speak, and all the phantoms turned and marched back in the direction from whence they came.

  ***

  When the dead seemed a safe distance away, Billy turned to Shaldra. “What just happened?”

  Shaldra relayed to Billy the events that had landed them on the plain, all to Billy’s astonishment. The only thing he could remember was talking to the black tome, but he kept mum about it. The elf had just explained about the strange cyclone, when they heard a thunderous crash, much like the one that had shut it down. A blinding stroke of lightning crackled across the ceiling of the cave and bolted to the ground ahead of them. It disappeared, leaving Finvarra brooding on the smoking spot where it had touched down.

  Shaldra and Billy waited for Finvarra to speak. But he seemed to be waiting as well. In the end, Finvarra broke the silence, “What do you want?”

  “I want you to let us go.”

  “Let you go? Let you go? Do you realize what you have done?”

  Billy held his tongue.

  Finvarra shouted and wagged his finger at the cavern ceiling. “You have brought havoc to my Knockma and terror to the whole of Erin with your child’s prank! Don’t you realize that people could die! By unleashing that mob of shabby, rude, moaning, groaning, unhappy, not to mention putrid smelling refuse on the world, you have ruined everything!”

  “Then let us go.”

  “Let you go? I’ll do no such thing! This is my kingdom. I say when you leave and when you must stay, and you are staying.”

  Billy pushed up his sleeves and cracked his knuckles. “Perhaps you would like another demonstration?”

  “Wait.” Finvarra held out his hands.

  Before either of them could say or do anything more, a soft, pale beam of light drew their attention. It shone with the color of pink roses and flowed from the ceiling of the great cave to the stone plain between them, like honey from a spoon.

  Finvarra’s shoulders sank. “Now you’ve done it.”

  Tiny scintillating flecks of light fell lazily within the beam like autumn leaves and came to rest at their feet. The beam became hazy and brightened. Then the light coalesced into a beautiful woman. The beam faded away, but the luminous lady remained.

  An unearthly beauty shone about the lady with such mesmerizing radiance that Billy could do nothing but stare slack-jawed at her. She was more beautiful than Lady Myrredith, more beautiful than Princess Kathryn, and even more beautiful than his mother, the Queen of all Faerie.

  The lady smiled, and Billy’s knees turned to pie dough. He caught himself and bowed, but never did his eyes leave her. In return, she lowered her sea-blue eyes and bowed to Billy.

  “Welcome, cousin. I am Oonagh, cousin to Queen Eleanor, and wife to Finvarra.”

  “King Finvarra,” her husband grumbled.

  “Yes, of course, husband.” Oonagh batted her eyes. “King Finvarra.”

  Billy remained entranced.

  “And you are William, our cousin; here on a ... visit? Although, why in the name of Tirn Aill did you come to this place?”

  Billy still could not answer.

  “That was a naughty, naughty trick you played us for.” Oonagh grinned. “‘Twill take some time for my husband to collect all his charges and bring them back here where they belong. I’m not even thinking of the sheer chaos into which you threw Knockma. Ha! Things will never be the same again. And the people of Erin shan’t either. Well, at least the dead livened things up a bit. It has been tiresome lately.”

  “Oonagh!” Finvarra did not look happy.

  “Yes, dear husband.”

  “I have business with him, if you’ll excuse us.”

  During this interaction between husband and wife, Billy managed to shake himself free of the hold Oonagh’s beauty had over him.

  “Business? What business?” she asked.

  “I have asked your husband to let us go.”

  “Let you go?” She glanced at Billy’s companions, taking in Shaldra, Sylvys, and finally holding on Drif. “Oh, I see.”

  Though her voice was warm as mother’s milk, Billy felt a cold bite to her words.

  “You see nothing!” Finvarra shouted.

  “I see well enough, husband! And I know your appetites even better.”

  “Aagh, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, woman.”

  “Then let them go.”

  “No.”

  “And why not?”

  “I am the king. Me. And I do not choose to give them their freedom. They must earn it.”

  “You’re just envious … and rutting.”

  “Earn it?” Billy asked.

  Finvarra turned to him. “Aye, earn it. You have not proven to me that you are worthy of my favor. Why, then, should I give you your freedom?”

  “Because we are kinsmen.”

  “Not good enough.” Finvarra scowled.

  Billy thought a moment. “So, it’s a challenge you’re after?”

  “Aye.” Finvarra slapped the hilt of his great sword and smiled. “If you think you’re up to it.”

  “Aye.” Billy straightened his spine. “I’m up to it.”

  “Great.” Finvarra ripped his long, broad blade from its sheath.

  “Stop!” Oonagh and Shaldra both screamed.

  Billy stood his ground. “But not with swords.” Lura Zahn vibrated against his chest and hurried his already rapid heartbeat. Be still. Be patient.

  Finvarra squinted one eye and glared at Billy, the business end of his weapon pointe
d—unwavering—at Billy’s head. “There’s only one challenge, after battle, that’s worthy of a king, and that’s chess.”

  “Then chess it is.”

  “Ha!” Finvarra sheathed his sword. “Pity. I haven’t had a decent battle in years. But wait. What will you wager?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Your wager, boy. No challenge is truly worthy of a king without something at stake on both sides. In battle, the stakes are quite clear, but in a game of chess—well, winning isn’t enough.” Finvarra stroked his beard. “If you win, I promise to release you and your men. Now, what have you to wager against that?”

  “But—” Oonagh attempted to speak.

  “Hush, woman!” Her husband leaned towards her with dark intent in his eyes. “Billy is about to make his wager.”

  Billy thought for a moment and came to the unhappy realization that he had nothing to offer, except perhaps a bluff of sorts.

  “I wager …” Billy straightened with confidence. “That I will not release the dead on your kingdom on Knockma again.”

  Finvarra sneered.

  “And further, that I will be your willing hostage.”

  “Very well. It’s a wager, and I will hold you to it when you have lost!”

  Billy grinned. “Justly so, for I will hold you to your wager when you lose.”

  Finvarra’s hardened exterior cracked, and he grudgingly returned Billy’s grin. Then the king of the dead threw back his head and let out a right jolly laugh. Billy liked the sound of Finvarra’s laugh, but its echoes returned from the farthest corners of the great cavern distorted, perverted, and menacing.

  Finvarra led the way back to his great palace, pausing to frown at the doors Billy’s fiery servant had demolished. Oonagh followed right behind, chatting brightly with her newly arrived cousin and paying no attention to her husband.

  When they reached Finvarra’s great hall, Shaldra pulled Billy aside and whispered in his ear, “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Chess, Your Highness? Why, the Daoine Sidhe practically invented the blasted game! And no one, faerie or mortal, has ever beaten Finvarra. You would have a better chance against him with Thortan’s blade.”

  “I have no training in arms. You would only end up guarding the two separate halves of me after he cut me in two. I do have some knowledge of chess, ya know?”

  “Some?”

  “Prince Gaelyn taught me.”

  “Swell, a mortal.”

  “A prince!”

  Shaldra crossed his arms. “Are ya any good?”

  “The prince thought so.”

  “Your Highness, maybe it’s not too late to take back the challenge. Unlike his wife, Finvarra has no affection for you. Perhaps Queen Oonagh can still persuade him to let us go.”

  “No. There’s more at stake here than our freedom.”

  “Is there a problem?” Finvarra seated himself on his throne.

  Billy and Shaldra walked towards the table where a chess board was already waiting. Billy turned to Shaldra and whispered, “Don’t worry, my friend. Prince Gaelyn taught me a trick or two.”

  Billy came to the table and sat across from Finvarra. The king had set up the pieces, giving Billy the white side. He surveyed the board and pieces and found that they were very similar to the ones he and Prince Gaelyn had used.

  Finvarra motioned to the board. “You are the white.”

  Billy stared at him.

  “That means you go first.”

  Billy feigned surprise. “Oh. Then I’ll move this one.”

  “No, no, no. You can’t move that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, that is a deruwid! You can’t move him until his path is clear. You must first move your feuar.”

  “My what?”

  “The little ones in the front row.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do you know how to play or not?”

  “Well, I’ve seen it played.”

  “Seen it played?”

  “Yes, I remember now.”

  “Perhaps you should not ...” Oonagh said.

  “No, cousin.” Billy smiled. “I have made an agreement with your husband, and I shall stick to it.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, wife. Now, be quiet and let the lad have a go.”

  The room was still for a moment as everyone concentrated on Billy. He reached out and moved a feuar, or pawn, as Gaelyn had called them. Finvarra countered with a move of his own. Billy moved another piece, and then Finvarra. The faster Billy moved, the more Shaldra chewed on his thumbnail.

  Finvarra relaxed into his throne as he took the first of Billy’s pieces. Billy retaliated in kind, and then lost another. They exchanged two more pieces in rapid succession before Finvarra resumed his reclining position, and Shaldra moved from his nail to his knuckle.

  Billy looked up as Finvarra settled back again. The king twirled a tiny game piece in his hand and smiled, but he did not seem focused on the game. He was, however, very interested in something over Billy’s shoulder. Billy looked behind him and saw the metal-encased dark elf standing alone like an obsidian statue.

  Billy moved another pawn, and Finvarra glanced back at the board. The smug king leaned forward and moved his queen to capture the pawn.

  “Cyning weard.”

  Billy surveyed the situation on the board and saw that, while his king was in danger, his strategy had worked. His shamming had lulled Finvarra into a trap, and now he would take advantage of it. Billy watched Finvarra’s eyes as he made his next move, but the king of the Daoine Sidhe was still staring away from the table.

  Billy once again turned his head and glanced at Drif. As he turned back, he noticed Oonagh standing behind her husband; her arms crossed, her lips pursed, her beautiful eyes seething. She too was taking an interest in the dark elf, but her burning stare held no admiration the way her husband’s did.

  Billy shifted in his seat. “Perhaps you would like to battle Drif?”

  “A fight is not what he’s after,” Oonagh muttered.

  Finvarra turned to face her. “Oh, be quiet, wife!”

  Billy made his move. “Knight takes queen.”

  “What?” Finvarra spun back to the board.

  “And, um, cyning weard, I believe.”

  Finvarra leaned forward and glared across the board at Billy. With nostrils flaring and jaw muscles twitching, he ran his narrowed eyes over Billy’s face, dissecting him down to the pore. He then let out a growl, leaned back in his throne, and studied the game board. At last, he reached out and moved his king from harm’s way. A move he did with a great deal of reluctance, as if never having done it before.

  Billy moved his knight back. It was the last move that either contestant would make in haste.

  The battle of wits dragged on. Each man maneuvered his pieces around, trying to catch the other off guard, sometimes giving, sometimes taking, but always on the hunt for the opening that could bring victory. Time crept on. On occasion, Oonagh grunted her displeasure when her husband’s eyes wandered to the dark figure behind Billy. Finvarra seemed oblivious to his wife’s labors, but it proved quite distracting for Billy.

  Suddenly, Finvarra leaned forward again. A thin smile crept onto his lips as he made eye contact with Billy. His hand moved over the pieces and hovered. His grin widened as he picked up his knight and took Billy’s deruwid.

  “Cyning weard,” Finvarra said, showing his teeth.

  Billy frowned and tugged at his hair.

  Finvarra chuckled. “You see, Billy ... anything you can do, I can do better.” His head rolled to the side, and he let out a laugh. Still laughing, he leaned his throne back, in order to get a better view of Drif. “And anything I want, I get. You might as well give up now.”

  Finvarra’s words circled in Billy’s head until they were nearly thoughts of his own. “Give up ... give up ... give up,” they echoed. It seemed senseless to continue. What chance did
he have against someone like Finvarra in the first place?

  Billy reached out to move, but Oonagh intercepted his hand.

  “I think it is time to give our guests a break to refresh, husband.”

  Finvarra stared at his wife’s hand, which stayed Billy’s move. He then looked to her face.

  “They need something to drink and eat, husband. Or must I listen to the satyr’s gurgling stomach for another hour?”

  All eyes turned to Sylvys, who grinned and shrugged.

  “Very well, very well. Let them drink and eat all they like. We will continue our game in two hours.”

  Finvarra marched from his hall as a bevy of grey spirits brought in food and drinks. Oonagh remained and played host to Billy and his followers.

  Billy drank some ale and worked on a piece of spiced beef, all the time staring at the game board. His cousin did what she could to take his mind off the game, but with all that was riding on it, she had no luck. Finally, she took him by the hand and brought him to the side of the hall.

  “You must be careful of my husband.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” His mind was still focused on his next move.

  “Do not worry about your next move,” Oonagh said, reading his face. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Relax, and I will tell you how to beat him.”

  “What?” He looked into his cousin’s jewel-like eyes for her motives.

  “I want him to lose.”

  “Why?”

  “When he loses, you will leave.”

  “Won’t he be angry?”

  “Yes, of course, but he needs to be taught a lesson. Besides, I’m your cousin, and your mother was very dear to me. Just promise me one thing.”

  “Name it.”

  “When you leave, you will take the dark elf with you.”

  Billy glanced over his shoulder to where Oonagh stared. The ever-silent warrior might just as well have been a suit of armor. What’s this all about? Why all the interest in Drif?

  “I don’t fully understand your motives, but I know my cousin would not fail me, and I shall not fail you either.”

  ***

  When Finvarra returned to his great hall, Billy awaited him at the chess board. “Have you made your decision?” the king asked.