The Prince

by K. C. Herbel

  He rose to his feet and stared, stunned by his handiwork. He dropped the foul blade, which chimed once against the altar, and was swallowed by the loch in a single gulp.

  “What have I done?”

  A clap of thunder answered him.

  Ergyfel trained his eyes on the far end of the loch and saw a strange black cloud hastening across the heavens. It spat out a lightning bolt, striking the surface of the loch, which was again black as soot. The thunder clapped and a cold, hard wind leapt off the water to slap his face. Before he knew it, the cloud was overhead, pelting his naked body with icy grey rain. He looked down as the rain washed the blood from atop the stone and into the loch.

  The storm redoubled its ferocity and the hair on his body rose up. He fled from the rock and headed for the shore. Still standing in the inky water, he turned back as white-hot lightning struck the top of the altar-stone. The concussion threw him back into the water. A moment later, he sat up: numb, half-blind, and a ringing in his ears. When his sight returned, he saw the rock had been swept clean—no sign of the body.

  The rain beat down even harder as Ergyfel dragged himself onto the shore. Hengest stood waiting for him, holding the reins of their horses. Ergyfel dressed hastily and turned to take the reins. For the first time in many years, he saw fear in Hengest’s eyes.

  Now you fear me. Now you understand what I am capable of.

  The words rippled through his mind. What I am capable of. They toppled edifices, overran barriers, crumbled plateaus, and finally, lapped against a strange and foreboding shore. Capable. Ergyfel realized he had ventured beyond the bounds of ordinary men and dared to step upon that forbidden shore for a dizzying moment. Fear me. In that instant, he wished he could take it back, but regret was futile. Once that sand had recorded his tread, no ocean could erase the deed. Even if no one else ever knew what he had done, he would know. I am capable. He could never forget Caenne’s screams or the accusing stare from her dead eyes. He would forever know that he was not a man, but a hideous, brutal monster. Now you understand.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hanging On

  Myrredith fell. The shadows beneath the towering walls of Cyndyn Hall seemed to suck her down. Her mind flew into top speed, only to jar to a stop when her head smacked the stone battlements. The world became a disjointed blur before turning to blackness.

  “My lady! My lady! Help!”

  The words floated in her mind like unidentified vegetables in a heavy stew. She couldn’t tell who was saying them. The pain in her head clouded the issue further.

  “Please, my lady! Please!”

  A vague pain in her shoulder caused her to open her eyes and examine it. She followed her upward stretched arm and saw a round blur of a face staring down at her.

  Her wits became sharper along with the pain in her head. The dark stones of the wall before her gradually came into focus. She tipped her head forward to look between her dangling feet. Myrredith opened her mouth to scream but her lungs greedily held the air within them.

  “My lady, take hold of my wrists.”

  She looked up and grabbed the woman’s pudgy wrists. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t think I meant to …”

  “Hold tight, milady. I’ll pull you up.”

  She tried to find footholds, but her feet only slipped on the smooth stone wall and treaded the air. Megan pressed against the wall with her thick legs and heaved with all her might. She tugged and tugged, but to no avail.

  “One more time, milady.”

  “Yes, one more time.”

  Megan took a deep breath while Myrredith put her toes into a joint between stones to lend support. They pulled and pushed and for a moment, she moved upward. They smiled at their progress, sure that the end was in sight.

  At that moment, Megan’s footing slipped, Myrredith screamed, and over the battlement they went. Their fall stopped abruptly when Megan’s matronly figure became wedged in the crenel. Myrredith reached the end of their arm’s reach and slapped against the cold, hard wall.

  “Help!” Megan gasped for breath. “Help!”

  The only reply was the far-off wail of a dog.

  Myrredith fought to bring the wind back to her lungs. A tear bled from her eye as she looked into Megan’s reddening face.

  “I’m sorry. You will live if I let go.”

  Megan felt Her Ladyship’s grip slacken. “Oh no you don’t! You’ve got Cyndyn blood in ya. ‘A drop of which can scare away dragons or stubbornly erode a mountain.’ Now, you can do this!”

  “No one is coming. Let me go.”

  “You are a Cyndyn!” Megan struggled to hold her grip. “And Cyndyns do not give up!”

  A queer expression crossed over Myrredith’s features. “Both of us will die.”

  “Not true.” The maid gasped, still struggling to hold on.

  “Let me go.”

  “I know what you’re doin’, milady, and it’s very noble, but I think ya have many more noble deeds ahead of ya, if you’ll just …” Megan mustered her strength for another yell. The stone crenel squeezed her ribs. “Help!”

  “Let me go.” Myrredith’s voice was so soft, so serene.

  Megan closed her eyes, squeezing out tears that fell on her mistress. “No, milady. I cannot.”

  At that moment, one of Hereweald’s soldiers appeared next to Megan. “Hold on!”

  “Thank God,” Megan muttered.

  The guard grabbed Megan’s legs and pulled. He put his feet against the wall and heaved until her broad hips cleared the crenel. He then lunged over her and slapped a grip on Lady Myrredith’s forearm. His strong fingers squeezed her flesh as he dragged her up the wall.

  “Let her fall.”

  The voice surprised the guard, and Myrredith slipped through his grip. Instantly, he snatched her wrist with both hands. The young soldier craned his neck up against his armor to see who was speaking.

  Lord Snegaddrick stood watching them from atop a nearby crenel. He posed with his arms crossed; wrapped in a long fur cloak, a goblet in one hand, his serpent-like eyes smiling at them.

  “Lord Snegaddrick, lend me a hand!”

  The prince’s advisor sipped from his cup, and then tipped it forward, allowing the remaining wine to pour out. He watched idly as the wine fell to the distant earth. “Let her fall.”

  The soldier returned his eyes to the lady, whose life dangled in his hands. She was the enemy—a prisoner with a death sentence on her head. Her life continued for the mere pleasure of his prince.

  Snegaddrick flicked some crumbs from his cloak. “I will testify that there was nothing you could have done,”

  “Don’t let go.” Myrredith looked into his dark brown eyes.

  “She’s dangerous. She has bewitched our prince.”

  “It was my prince who personally ordered me to watch over her.”

  “I tell you, these Lyonesse wenches are treacherous. She will do everything in her power to bring about his destruction, just as she did Prince Gaelyn! Let her go. There isn’t much time.”

  The guard hesitated. “I cannot lie to my prince!”

  “I will say all that must be said. It is for his good that you let her fall. Trust me.”

  The soldier was one of Hereweald’s personal guard and had sworn to protect the prince with his life. He froze, and Myrredith watched his eyes shifting back and forth. She opened her mouth, but before she could say another word, his face resolved and he began to haul her up again.

  “A pox upon you,” Snegaddrick muttered.

  “You talk too much, milord.” The soldier grunted. “My trust is solely in my prince.”

  The guard struggled to get his charge back onto the wall while the ex-ambassador looked on. A few moments later, the guard, Lady Myrredith, and Megan were sitting behind the battlements, laboring to catch their breath.

  Snegaddrick stepped down from his perch and strode to the soldier’s feet. “The castle still sleeps. If this Lyonesse witch and her maid jump to their death now, who will be
the wiser? Who will care?”

  “You poor excuse for a piss-pot!” Megan put a protective arm around her mistress.

  The guard got to his feet and straightened his armor. Without warning, he stepped forward so that his breath struck Snegaddrick’s face. “I told you before, I trust my prince, and like any fool in Cyndyn Hall, I can see that she has become the prince’s heart.”

  “Your prince’s heart, perhaps, but my prince’s heart is war, honor, blood! Your prince lacks resolve. Your prince is weak.”

  “Perhaps I should tell him you said so. Perhaps I should tell him of all your behavior here.”

  Snegaddrick’s face, like leather under the flame, curled and buckled into a crooked smile. His lips split open, and he spat out a laugh.

  “Yes. Why not? I’m sure our prince will be most interested. Of course, he will be angry with me, maybe even chastise me for my indiscretion, but he understands my motives. As for you ... your lack of vigilance will more than likely be rewarded by having the royal sword placed, ever so gently, between your neck bones.”

  The guard stood his ground.

  “So, by all means, let us hasten to inform our prince.” Snegaddrick laughed again.

  “Wait!” Myrredith struggled to her feet.

  They turned to face her.

  “I think it would be better for all of us if the prince did not know of this incident.”

  The guard stared at her, and then at Snegaddrick.

  “Please,” Myrredith said.

  “As you wish.” The guard bowed to her.

  Snegaddrick spun on his heels and strode away.

  Myrredith put her hand to her head then collapsed into the guard’s arms. He sat her down on the battlements and knelt before her.

  Megan jumped up and went to her lady’s side.

  “Are you well, milady?”

  Myrredith placed a shaky hand on the guard’s. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you, sir.”

  He bowed his head. “Not at all, milady. I think you should return to your quarters now.”

  “No, please, just a while longer.”

  He looked to Megan, then back to Lady Myrredith. “As you wish, milady.” He stood and walked to a discreet distance.

  Myrredith grabbed Megan’s hand. Her entire frame quaked. “Help me.”

  “What is it, milady?”

  “I’m so frightened.”

  “You’re safe now, milady. Everything will turn out. You’ll see.”

  Myrredith began to cry. “I don’t know who I am.”

  “You are still Lady Myrredith of Cyndyn, milady. No prince or slimy lord come out of Gwythia can change that!”

  “Lady Myrredith of Cyndyn?”

  Megan smiled. “Yes, milady.”

  Myrredith stared at her maid. “Nothing you’ve just said means anything to me.”

  “What, milady?”

  “I don’t know how I came to be on this wall or in what land this fortress lies. I don’t know who you are. Until you told me, I didn’t even know my name.”

  Megan stared back in stupefied awe.

  “All I know is that if I’m here because I was going to jump ... I must be in some kind of terrible trouble, and I’ve no way of helping myself.”

  Megan eyed the newly vigilant guard, and then turned back to her lady. “We mustn’t tell anyone about this, milady.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they would take advantage of you.”

  “Who?”

  “The prince and Snegaddrick.”

  “Who is this prince? Why would he try to take advantage?”

  “Trust me, milady. It’d be better if you kept this to yourself.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “You must.”

  “It’s too much. I—”

  “Milady, you must trust me.”

  “You saved my life. I will do as you say.”

  “Good, milady.”

  Myrredith patted Megan’s hand. “Please, I need a moment alone.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Megan approached the guard and hooked her hand around his elbow. The soldier looked down at her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Megan looked back at her mistress. “She means everything to us.”

  The warrior smiled at her. “Of course—as my prince does to me.”

  The guard then trained his eyes on Lady Myrredith, who stared out over the battlements towards the rising sun. “You don’t think she would try it again?”

  Megan shook her head.

  “Good. If I allowed harm to come to her, the prince would feed my innards to the crows. Now, please, I think it best that you take her ladyship back to her quarters. I will send for Prince Hereweald’s physician.”

  “But—”

  “Have no fear. Her ladyship fell in her bedchamber, nothing more.”

  Megan mulled it over before nodding to the guard. She then left him and did as he suggested.

  ***

  The prince’s physician was still examining Lady Myrredith when the prince burst through the door. Hereweald charged across the floor and up the short steps to her bed.

  “How is she? Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”

  The physician looked up from his patient. “The lady has a severe injury to her head, Your Highness. As for the other, I only—”

  Hereweald stormed towards Megan and grabbed her arms. “How did this happen?”

  “I—I—Her Ladyship ...”

  Prince Hereweald’s face reddened, and he shoved Megan. “Out! Out, you incompetent! No, not you, Doctor—her! Out!”

  “Please.” Lady Myrredith’s voice sounded timid.

  The prince stopped roaring to look at her. Her pale, fragile face caught him off guard. “What is it, my lady?”

  “Please, do not shout, Your Highness.”

  Hereweald chewed his lip. “Yes, of course.”

  “And … I would like her to stay.”

  The prince looked over his shoulder as Megan meandered to the door. He observed her; taking in her deliberate tardiness in leaving. “Oh, very well. Megan, you may stay.”

  Megan spun around with abrupt speed, her face beaming. She took one look at the prince’s stern features and stoppered the smug smile that was dying for release.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ominous Sky

  The demon storm chased Ergyfel and Hengest from the shore of Loch Nyraval. A frigid wind drove them through Nyraval Grith, whipping them with hail and rain and brambled bough. They dared not stop, even after they had entered the secret passages of Castle Orgulous.

  While they made their harried flight through the woods, Ergyfel watched his brother. Hengest never returned his glances—never looked up from the trail. He was weighing him, wondering if the scale might tip towards him as it had for the innocent girl left dead in the loch. He was most likely calculating where he should be on that day. He might even be plotting to betray Ergyfel. In the eyes of the king, he was a fearful witness, and this made him a liability. By the end of that inauspicious ride, Hengest’s usefulness to the king had diminished, as had the number of his days.

  Still breathless, Ergyfel entered his chambers, stripped off his wet, muddied clothes, and slipped into bed. He lay shivering on his back, waiting for his heart to stop pounding like an alarm drum and hoping that its throbbing would not awaken Lady Maeven. As the minutes passed, his pulse slowed, and then a sudden angry clap of thunder scourged it into frantic labor anew.

  The king peeked at the lady beside him, expecting the thunder to rouse her, but she did not stir. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing peaceful and unwavering.

  “Ah! The charm.” He shook his head.

  Ergyfel laid back into his pillow with a sigh, reassured in the knowledge that she would never know what he had done that night. His heart slowed and became constant despite the battering of the thunderstorm outside.

  He turned and allowed himself to g
aze upon her tranquil face. How beautiful she was, even when veiled in shadow. How perfect, how loving, how like her sister …

  Ergyfel clenched his eyes and teeth in violent objection to the thought. He turned away and ejected himself from the bed. The cold stone floor under his feet felt distant as he stared into space, holding himself and biting the end of his thumb—an adolescent habit resolutely broken years before.

  The king paced the floor, not daring to glance at the bed, until shrewdness forced him to return to it. He might need the protection of Maeven’s confidence, should Caenne’s disappearance arouse suspicion. And so, he slunk into his bed, curled up near the edge with his back to his lover, and pulled the covers around him. He raised a hand, waved it in Maeven’s direction, and then pretended to be asleep.

  Before long, Lady Maeven’s hand found his back.

  “My lord, you are so cold!”

  She slid over to her lover and placed her ear to his back to listen for his heartbeat. A moment later, she sighed in relief and wrapped her body around his to bring him warmth.

  “My lord, you are so cold. ... My lord?”

  Ergyfel continued to feign sleep. It took every ounce of discipline not to move as he drew his mind into a tight ball.

  Again, she addressed him. “My lord? Are you awake, my love?”

  He felt his resolve crumbling away beneath the echo of her last word. Each reverberation hammered at his will until …

  “What is it?”

  “My love, why are you so cold?”

  “I could not sleep.”

  “You were pacing again?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same cruel dream, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should wear furs, my lord, and the slippers I had made for you.”

  Ergyfel chuckled. “Yes. Next time. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  The intrusiveness of Maeven’s touch had disappeared and, instead, the king found it most comforting. He pulled her arms in around him and took pleasure in her warm embrace—the feel of her body pressed against his. Without warning, the toils of his long day and night caught up with him, and he dozed off.

  “Where’s Caenne?”

  “What?”