The Prince

by K. C. Herbel

  Shaldra returned his attention to Billy. “Does she trouble you, my prince?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she threaten you, just now?” Shaldra’s hand tightened on his sword as he stared at Drif.

  Billy placed a hand on Shaldra’s arm. “No. In fact, I think she’s reevaluated my worth.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I believe she was being honest with me.”

  “Honest?”

  “Sounded like it.”

  “She spoke to ya?” Shaldra and Sylvys said in unison.

  Billy looked at them and shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

  “So?” Shaldra made wild gesticulations. “So, she doesn’t talk ... to anyone!”

  “Least of all us.”

  “Some kind of oath?”

  “Malkry’s warriors rarely consider anyone but their kind worthy of speaking to.”

  Sylvys scowled. “It’s a ploy.”

  “No. No, it’s not. I’m sure of it.”

  Shaldra and Sylvys eyed the dark elf.

  Sylvys nudged Shaldra. “It must be the magic.”

  Shaldra looked at him and nodded.

  “What, more glamour? Was she bewitching me?”

  Sylvys grinned. “No, Highness. Not her magic, your magic.”

  “My magic?”

  “She wouldn’t talk to ya unless ya did somethin’ to impress her.”

  Sylvys nodded. “The dark elves have always been impressed by magic—especially the darker kind. The kind you’ve been tossin’ about. Probably the reason she hasn’t tried to kill you yet.”

  Billy swallowed hard. “Yet?”

  Shaldra gave him a solemn stare. “Ever since you made that cyclone in Finvarra’s cave, I’ve wanted to ask you: Where did you learn to cast such shadowed spells?”

  Billy saw a flash of the black tome and heard himself uttering unfamiliar sounds, and he knew. He knew that the book was affecting him. He could feel its influence seeping into his structure. He didn’t want to think about it. “The Witan, I guess.”

  Shaldra narrowed his eyes. “That was no spell from the Witan. And this cursed ship—”

  “It’s not cursed.”

  Shaldra motioned to a passing member of the ghastly crew. “No? What exactly do you call it?”

  “Transportation. … And Toady Brimstone gave me no choice.”

  “Billy.” Shaldra sighed. “You are my king. Tell me, why did you call up this abomination?”

  “I can’t explain it, but until something else comes along—”

  “Something else?” Sylvys said. “How about anything else!”

  Billy smiled at the satyr. “Look, my friends, I don’t like this any better than you. As soon as we find another way, we’ll take it.”

  Shaldra and Sylvys nodded their agreement.

  At that moment, the ship broke through the fog bank into afternoon sunlight, and water sprayed up from the bow. The questers scanned the open sea around them for a clue to their location.

  “Look.” Shaldra pointed aft.

  The fog bank lay in their wake, and beyond that, a land of proud green hills.

  Billy shaded his eyes against the glare. “Erin?”

  Shaldra confirmed, “Erin.”

  Billy grunted and smiled.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never seen Erin before. The Gyldan Mene was headed there when she went down. It feels strange to come this close just to show it the rudder.”

  “We must not tarry, Your Highness.”

  “I know. I was just wishing.”

  “Wishing what?”

  “That I wasn’t in a hurry, that Tirn Aill wasn’t in danger, that my friends weren’t in danger, and that I was just the son of an innkeeper on a holiday to Erin.”

  Billy’s words floated alone on the wind as the Emerald Isle shrank into the distance. He watched until it merged with the innumerable dark waves. We will see each other again, Erin. I promise.

  They traveled for an hour with the wind buffeting the tattered sails of the Gyldan Mene. Billy marveled at the grey shreds, which pulled at the ship’s rigging as if they were whole. He was grateful for the steady breeze and calm water, but his already touchy stomach goaded him when he saw a storm brewing ahead. Billy looked back at the captain, who silently steered his vessel on a straight, steady course.

  Billy, remembering the storm that had sunk the Gyldan Mene, called to the captain. Once his bony eye socket focused on him, Billy pointed ahead.

  “Steer clear of that storm.”

  The captain looked up and appeared to measure the storm. After a pause, he turned the wheel and coerced the ship to the east.

  Within a few minutes, the storm had returned to their bow. Billy cleared his throat, and the captain wheeled the ship to the west. Once again, the storm shifted its course. Despite all the captain’s efforts, the storm remained in their path.

  Billy joined the captain at the stern. Then scanned the sea behind them. “Can we outrun it?”

  The captain reached down and tied a rope to the rudder, then stared straight ahead.

  “I see.” Billy returned to the lower deck.

  A cold wind assaulted their faces, and the waves swelled. Within minutes, the storm had mustered legions of frothy green insurgents to assault the Gyldan Mene. The watery horde marched forward relentlessly, row upon row upon row. The ship heaved up over their shields and helms of water and dropped off their backs with a slap. After only a few minutes of this, Billy ran to the rail and hurled the meager contents of his stomach into the sea. In answer, the storm pelted him with icy arrows of rain and hail.

  Sylvys came to his side, staring at the dark, billowing front that towered over them. “I sense some power at work here. Is it … is it you?”

  Billy glanced up from the side. “It’s just a storm, Sylvys. Nothing more.”

  “No,” the satyr said with certainty. “It’s more than that.”

  Billy wiped his mouth and looked to Shaldra for confirmation. The elf scowled at the black clouds, his jaw muscles tensing. “It’s not natural.” He stared at Billy. “Don’t you feel it?”

  Up until then, Billy’s stomach hadn’t allowed him to feel anything but ill. He took a deep breath and searched his feelings. There was something—at the back of his neck—a tingle. Once aware of it, the tingle became an itch and the itch transformed into an impulse—the impulse to guard himself. But against what? He located Drif, who monitored the storm from the far side.

  Shaldra stared at Drif from beside him. “What do you sense, Your Majesty?”

  “I sense intention—a threat.”

  “From Drif?”

  “No.” Billy closed his eyes. “From something ... someone ... bigger.”

  “Someone bigger?”

  Billy opened his eyes. “Someone with power, and reason to stop me.”

  “Ergyfel.”

  The name of his nemesis pierced Billy’s ears. He turned to face his companion. Billy remembered telling Onian of his struggle with the evil sorcerer, but thought the elf hadn’t paid much attention.

  Shaldra noticed Billy’s surprise. “Onian said I was to protect you from him, but if he can call up a storm like this one ...”

  Billy nodded. “He is formidable, but not invulnerable.”

  “And if he’s conjured up this storm?”

  “If he’s conjured up this storm, we’ll just have to outlast it.”

  Both Shaldra and Sylvys scrutinized their rickety vessel. They nodded in agreement with Billy while frowning their dissent.

  Billy took some rope and tied himself to the railing. Then he turned aft. “Captain, take us to Lyonesse!”

  Lightning struck the water before them with a scolding boom. Then the thunder rumbled into the distance like retreating chariots.

  Billy looked to the clouds. “A warning shot?”

  Sylvys glanced with wide eyes at Billy, then back to Shaldra, who clenched his teeth and grunted as he tightened the rope around his wai
st.

  “Hang on!” Billy shouted.

  All at once, the water swelled and heaved them high above the churning sea. Then it dropped them back into a deep black trough. The next wave rolled over them, crushing them down like tent pegs beneath a giant’s mallet. The ship, however, remained unchanged.

  The furious sea battered them without pause. Up, down, under, then over again. The ship would slip forward, as if free of the storm’s grip, then lurch to a stop as it was dashed against the watery canyon walls. Herculean waves enthralled the vessel, twisting it against the hurricane winds that clawed the rigging. The Gyldan Mene groaned with the torturous might afflicted against her structure, but bravely she defied the tyrant.

  Below the roar of the storm and crashing waves, Billy heard a strange sound. Like the song of a minstrel who appears hungry at your door, it entered his numb mind on a lark, casting his gloom aside.

  He spun around and found Shaldra sitting behind him. He was tired, soaked, and bruised from the relentless and unforgiving storm—as were they all, but he was laughing.

  Sylvys appeared behind Billy. He placed his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Oh dear. I’m afraid the cap has slid off his toadstool.”

  Sylvys then scooted next to the elf, who was beside himself with laughter. Shaldra looked up at the satyr with a comic, toothy grin and slapped him on his shoulder. Immediately, Sylvys grinned back and laughed with him. They turned to Billy and laughed with their arms around each other. They heed and hawed and carried on like two insufferable pranksters enjoying the fruit of their mischievous labors.

  Billy grinned. “What? What’s so funny?”

  Shaldra looked up at him, sober for one breath, then trumpeted his way back into hysterical laughter with a loud raspberry. Sylvys continued to snort and chuckle beside him.

  Billy sat down, baffled by their conduct.

  Sylvys sat up and turned to Shaldra. “Why are we laughing?”

  “Because—because—” Shaldra whimpered between guffaws. “Because I just realized that this ship cannot be sunk!”

  Billy scooted closer. “Cannot be sunk? How’s that?”

  Shaldra collected himself somewhat and continued with a grin, “You know very well, My King. I overheard the words of your spell, on the beach in Tirn Aill. You said, ‘To raise a ship in thy feared name, it shall not rest ‘til I please again.’ You brought this ship up by your will, and it will not sink beneath the waves again until you will it. A very fine trick you played on us, pretending to be afraid!”

  Billy furrowed his brow, remembering the black tome. He had been so angry on the beach that morning and grabbed the book so greedily. And it was so accommodating. It was easy to let it take control and solve his problems.

  Shaldra let out a howl to the dark pulsing sky, then threw his arm around Billy and Sylvys and laughed. Sylvys joined in, and before he knew what had taken him, Billy too was laughing and howling with his friends at the storm. The storm doubled in measure with their laughter, but still the ship sailed on, and still the three of them laughed.

  In the midst of their mirth, Billy looked up to find Deordrif standing over them. Her eyes scolded him from above her crossed arms. Billy imagined her tapping her foot impatiently on a much calmer deck.

  Shaldra shouted at the grim warrior, “Laugh, Deordrif! Laugh! The conjurer of this storm will anger and grow tired.”

  Her eyes darted down at him, and then she cocked the side of her face to the sky. She glared, steeple-like into the clouds above them.

  Drif threw back her head and laughed. It was more of a cackle than a laugh, though the frightful sound of it resulted from lack of practice rather than wicked intent. Again, she laughed at the sky, and the others—stopped dead by the first dread sound—forced themselves to renew their mirth.

  The storm surged in power. The sky pulsated with flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder. Then lightning struck the deck. The quest party laughed. It struck again and again, and still they laughed. The clouds roared and thunder boomed, as if to drown out the sound of their laughter, but they would not cower; in fact, they were emboldened.

  All at once, a bolt of lightning crashed into their midst. A white-hot tendril grasped Drif by the breastplate and tossed her backward like the blow of a heavy lance.

  “No!” Billy jumped to his feet. He arrived by the dark elf’s side to see the red glow from the lightning’s touch fade to black. He knelt over her. “Drif! Drif!”

  He placed his hand under her head and lifted her mouth to his ear. He heard no breath, and turned to face her.

  “Please, don’t die,” he whispered.

  Much to Billy’s surprise, the proud warrior’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked and stared into his eyes. Raindrops, like tears, fell from his face onto hers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I-I.”

  Her hand came up and pushed him back.

  “Now that you know I’m a woman, you think you can just take me?”

  “No.” In truth, her beauty had played a part in his hesitation, but shock had played the larger part. “You were struck by lightning ... and I was trying to ...”

  Now separated from him, she placed her hand on the still warm metal of her breastplate. “Be that as it may, you will not touch me again!”

  Billy put up his hands. “Fine, fine. I was only trying to help.”

  “Don’t help me!”

  “Fine.”

  At that moment, the braying laughter of Sylvys and Shaldra sideswiped Billy’s confused mind. Billy and Drif’s audience had found their little scene high comedy. Despite his embarrassment, their contagious laughter soon had its way with him.

  When Billy reached the giggling stage, he reached out to help Drif to her feet.

  “Don’t help me!”

  “Of course.” Billy recoiled his hand as if from a snakebite.

  This redoubled the two’s laughter, and she shot them a dark look. They only howled and incited their prince to join them.

  Finally, she got up from the deck on her own. She stood erect—as straight as she could on the rickety, bucking planks, and held her chin up. She muttered and abruptly levitated three or four feet above the deck. She then glared at the clouds. “Ha, ha, ha! Is that the best you can do?”

  Again, the clouds rumbled and spat out a bolt of lightning at their ship. It danced over Drif’s body, through the large hole in the deck below her, and into the sea.

  “Is that all you’ve got? I am laughing at you!”

  Lightning crackled on the air and thundered in the clouds. The roar grew and transformed into a furious shout. Then it faded away.

  Without further ado, the sea became calm. The black clouds shrank and grew ashen. The rain stopped. Soon, orange beams of sunlight pricked holes through the swirling, smoky canopy of the sky.

  The Gyldan Mene sailed on under the clouds, creaking and groaning, as was her way. As for serious complaints, she remained as silent as her lifeless crew. Her passengers, too, had little to say, deciding to rest their tongues and heads until circumstance required more.

  * * *

  This ends Book Three.

  The adventure continues with

  The King,

  Book Four of the

  Jester King Fantasy Series.

  I truly hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a difference.

  Thank you!

  KC

  ABOUT K. C. HERBEL

  I write stories about adventure, magic, intrigue, danger, defeat and triumph. I also write about things that really matter, like: friends, family, love, loyalty, right and wrong, good vs. evil, patriotism, bravery, duty and honor.

  †

  K. C. grew up in the American Southwest and spent two decades in Southern California. He has traveled much of the U.S. and Europe (both East and West) and h
as worked in France, Korea, Japan, and China. Now he lives in the woods near Richmond, Virginia with his family, which includes three dogs.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Over the years, I’ve had a great deal of advice, encouragement, nudging and badgering from my friends, family and fans. I’ve been cornered at gatherings, cornered in conversations and even cornered in a few uncomfortable alleys. I can finally say to you, thank you for your advice, encouragement and patience. The book is in your hands. Will you lay off now?

  Once again, I would like to thank my village; those cunning, wise, foolish and fun around me. You make the work of writing worthwhile.

  Thanks to my talented and ever patient editors Harmony Kent, Kerry Hall, and Jack Mercer. I’ve learned much from you while you patiently smoothed off my rough edges.

  Thanks to my mentors Mark, Raymond and Stiles. You helped me to believe in myself. And to John DeChancie, thanks again for your insightful advice and delightful encouragement – especially on this volume.

  I also want to give a special thanks to some very special friends:

  film maker Hiroshi Katagiri, author Leisl Kaberry, and the fine folks at GameFace Publishing. Thank you for your belief in this project and your support. To Leslie Bobb and Carolene Herbel, I could not have published this book without your most generous support and encouragement. It means a lot to me that you believe in me enough to have my back.

  Lastly; thank you, Mary Anne. You are a wonder.

  K. C. Herbel

  Richmond, Virginia

  April 2016

  God go with you!

  Look for details at: www.kcherbel.com