Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (12 page)

Prince Resarian ran ahead to their mounts. “Onward to Windsweep!” he cried.

Trevin hung back to walk beside Haden. “You’re Resarian’s uncle, so you must be—”

“Brother to King Kedemeth.” Haden looked sideways at Trevin. “You’re wondering why I don’t comport myself like royalty?”

“So to say.” Trevin grinned.

“Taking Dio’s place?” Haden chuckled. “You’re not the first to ask such a question. My brother enjoys people, the bustle of the city, the inner workings of kingdoms. I prefer solitude, the peace of mountain and meadow, the inter-working of land, sea, and sky. Fortunately, Kedemeth is the firstborn. I wouldn’t want the throne.”

“I know how different brothers can be.”

“You understand, then. I believe my nephew should have a
little
more experience with the hardships of life. I’m protective of him first and foremost because I love the lad, but second because he’s Kedemeth’s only living heir. Next in line is—”

“You?” asked Trevin.

“I’m afraid so,” said Haden. “But I’ll be ’swoggled if I spend the rest of my life astride the throne.”

Prince Resarian was already in the saddle when Trevin and Haden mounted their horses. They galloped eastward across the plain.

After a time Haden slowed his horse to a walk. He pointed to the ridge along the horizon. “See the cleft in the range to the north?”

Trevin shaded his eyes and studied the backbone of earth until he saw a notch. “West of the tallest peak?”

“That’s it,” said Haden. “Windsweep.”

Prince Resarian scanned the mountains. “Have you been to Windsweep before, Uncle Haden?”

“Some twenty-five years ago. With Arelin.” Haden turned to Trevin. “I mentioned him before. He was Angelaeon and as close as a brother to Queen Ambria. Her family ruled in the mountains of Montressi until the Dregmoorians invaded and massacred them.”

“All except Mother,” said Resarian. “She had already married my father.”

“Arelin took to spending the winters at the palace with Kedemeth and Ambria and traveling the mountains in the summer,” said Haden. “Until Dreggies nabbed the Windwings. That’s when I accompanied him to Windsweep. He sought advice about whether he should try to rescue the horses.”

“I wasn’t yet born when it happened.” Resarian leaned toward Trevin. “My mother told me about it. She didn’t want Arelin to go to the Dregmoors.”

“Did Arelin hear the Oracle at Windsweep?” asked Trevin.

Haden shrugged. “He said he did. He rode to the Dregmoors, leading a contingent of warriors. They freed the Windwings, but Arelin paid with his life. So did he hear right or not?”

Haden turned north into the foothills, and they headed into steeper mountains, single file.

As dusk descended, wolves began their nightly howl. Haden led the way to the top of a rise where two ancient, crumbling stone walls intersected. Within this half fort Haden tethered their horses and built a fire. Trevin handed a round of bread to the prince.

“I’m following my own path for a change,” said the prince. “That’s what I admire about you, Main Trevin. You’re a young comain, and you follow your own path.”

“I follow my king’s command,” said Trevin.

“But in your own way,” said Resarian. “If Uncle Haden and I were not with you, you’d still be traveling these dangerous mountains. Alone.”

Haden looked at the prince sternly. “He had a companion.”

Trevin felt Pym’s absence keenly, but he gave the prince a half smile. “With your admiration I may gain an inch or two in height.”

He broke another loaf in half. Maybe he should tell the truth: the admired comain felt woefully inadequate for his quest. On the other hand, what harm would it do to allow the prince this misjudgment? Dwin’s tongue would never utter such praise.

The prince was so intent on his side of the conversation that he didn’t flinch when twigs snapped on the dark hillside. But Trevin and Haden sprang to their feet, Trevin drawing his sword. Prince Resarian stiffened and hushed. Haden loosened his dagger, slipped silently in front of the prince, and nocked an arrow in his bow.

Trevin peered into the moonlit night toward whatever crept up the slope. An experienced bandit wouldn’t make so much noise. Was it a wolf, then? A pack of wolves? The approach was slow and deliberate, circling. Or was the sound meant to distract them from silent attackers uphill? A breeze rustled the bushes. Insects whirred. Wolves howled.

A movement drew Trevin’s attention to a thicket. From behind it, barely visible, was … a foxtail?

Haden aimed his arrow.

Trevin squinted and barely made out a sheaf of hair, tousled like an unweeded garden.

“Hold!” said Trevin. “It’s my friend.”

“How do you know?” Haden held his bow steady.

“I can see in the dark.”

“Bull teats.” Haden kept his aim.

“Pym?” called Trevin.

“Main Trevin! It
is
you!” The thicket rustled, and Pym peered out. Then he ducked into the shadows and emerged leading his roan. Haden lowered his bow.

As Pym entered the enclosure, Trevin clapped him on the back. “I thought you’d been trampled. Let me introduce you to the hospitality of Eldarrans.”

“Can you introduce me to some victuals as well?” asked Pym.

“Is this is your long-lost companion?” asked the prince.

Trevin made introductions. Haden laid aside his bow.

“I’d keep that bow close at hand, I would,” said Pym. “When we encountered the stampede and my roan spooked, she ran south but too far east to make Aubendahl. I had to rest her before I could hope to pick up the trail
again. We set out in the evening but didn’t get far before we spied travelers who’d not have given us a warm welcome.”

“Who?” asked the prince.

“Main Trevin will know them as ruffians,” said Pym. “Prince Varic and his two companions.”

Trevin scowled as he handed Pym a strip of dried meat and a hunk of cheese.

“I thought you’d be surprised,” said Pym.

“You didn’t see their dog, did you?” asked Trevin.

Pym bit off a corner of the meat and spoke with his mouth full. “Come to think of it, I didn’t see the dog.”

“We did,” said Trevin. “Haden and I killed it.”

The prince’s mouth dropped open.

“Dog?” asked Haden. “That was a wolf if ever I saw one.”

“Whatever the beast, I’m glad it’s gone.” Pym bit into the cheese.

Haden paced to the open side of the shelter where the horses were staked. “You said
Prince
Varic.”

“Of the Dregmoors,” said Trevin.

“Say no more.” Haden studied the dark hillside, alert.

Prince Resarian pulled back the string of Haden’s bow. “What is the prince doing in the Edgelands of Eldarra?”

“Hunting deer, I guess,” said Pym. “They had two dead and laid out nearby. I wager they’re hunting other prey as well.”

Trevin squatted by the fire. “Meaning me?”

“Meaning you,” said Pym.

“Why did Varic follow me north?” asked Trevin. “He was free of me at Redcliff.”

“It’s a whole season before King Laetham gives a yea or nay to Varic’s peace offer,” said Pym. “If you were found dead before then, it might shorten the wait.”

Prince Resarian let the bowstring go with a
ping
. Haden looked at him. “You’ll be traveling with that bow until we return to camp.”

The prince whooped, then clapped his hand over his mouth.

Haden narrowed his eyes. “This is not play, Resarian. Remember that.”

Trevin turned back to Pym. “Did Prince Varic see you?”

“I think not,” said Pym. “I kept my distance. They were loud and having their fill of ale. Speaking of—”

Haden filled Pym’s cup. “Why does this prince want you dead, Main Trevin?”

“Why?” echoed Prince Resarian.

“Varic probably wants to prevent Main Trevin from gaining allies for Camrithia,” said Pym. “Strong allies will make it easier for King Laetham to refuse the Dregmoorians’ peace offer.”

Trevin stirred the fire with a stick. “Now that you’re found, Pym, perhaps we should visit the Eldarran court at Flauren first. Camrithia needs allies more than a sign from an Oracle.”

“But we’ve almost reached Windsweep.” Prince Resarian’s shoulders slumped. “Flauren is back east, at least a day’s ride past the camp.”

“The prince has a point,” said Pym.

“Besides, my father may not grant your request right away,” said Resarian. “He will say there are strategic matters involved. He always says that, but it’s true.”

Trevin eyed Resarian with new respect. The young prince was naive but not empty headed. “You’re right. Windsweep is closer. Take us there first, then to Flauren. Perhaps you can be a party to our discussions there.” He grinned at Resarian’s broad smile.

Haden leaned against the stone wall. “If the Dregmoorians offer peace, why the need for allies?”

“The price of peace is marriage between the Camrithian princess and Prince Varic,” said Pym.

Trevin stabbed the glowing logs with his stick, sending sparks into the night. “If the princess refuses Varic, we’ll have no peace treaty, and Camrithia will need all the allies she can find.”

“I hear a tale for the telling,” said Haden.

“It would be a tale left unfinished,” said Trevin.

The prince drummed his fingers on his knees. “Have you any tales, Arme Pym?”

“I’m no storyteller.” Pym took a swig of his ale.

“You’re an armsman,” said Resarian. “Haven’t you seen battles?”

“More than I care to remember.” Pym wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can describe the comains of Camrithia for you.”

“Good enough.” The prince settled back, stroking his borrowed bow. “Tell on.”

“I’ll start with my master, Main Undrian,” said Pym. “Tall, he was, and lance thin. Rode under the sign of the bear. I helped him secure the land along the banks of the Davernon River. Main Gremel was a close friend of his, a well-muscled man. He oversaw the Southern Sea coast and the fortress of Tigerre at the mouth of the Davernon.”

Haden strode to the open side of the shelter and stared into the darkness. Trevin tossed the stick into the fire and moved to the opposite wall, sword and dagger close at hand, one ear to Pym’s voice, one ear to the night.

“Sharp-eyed Main Vardamis always dressed like a noble,” said Pym. “He traveled the highways. No one fared better at keeping bandits at bay.” Pym counted on his fingers. “Fourth was Main Brevian, a paunchy fellow, bald as an egg, in charge of all defenses, inspecting fortresses and such like. Fifth, Main Solivius. Jolly, red cheeked, fair haired. He kept the western border secure.”

“Don’t forget Main Catellus,” said Prince Resarian. “I saw him once when I was younger. He has big ears.”

“That’s him,” said Pym. “Husky. Big eared. Expert at the slingshot. He oversaw the northeastern mountain border between Camrithia and the Dregmoors.”

“Catellus protected shepherds and their flocks east of here as well,” said Haden. “He visited King Kedemeth on occasion.”

“My story has a mysterious ending, and true,” said Pym. “A little over a year ago, the comains’ shields began turning up hither and yon throughout the kingdom, but the comains have never been seen again. Until last night.”

Trevin straightened. “What did you say?”

“I saw Main Catellus last night,” said Pym. “With Varic and his companions.”

“Has Catellus joined the Dregmoorians?” asked Haden.

“Joined them in drink and laughter, at least, from what I saw.” Pym ran his hand through his hair. “Now that I think on it, he wasn’t laughing that much.

In fact, he looked downright gloomy, but I didn’t care to stay and question him.”

Trevin paced to the horses and gazed at the dark, hulking mountains. Had Catellus turned traitor? Had the other comains defected as well? Why?

By the time the sun had fully risen the next morning, Trevin and his friends were well on their journey. Windsweep, a wide gap between two peaks, appeared to be near, but the climb proved steep and rugged, and the trail was narrow, forcing them to dismount and lead their horses. To make matters worse, wind funneled through the gap and roared down the mountainside. The closer they came to the notch in the ridge, the stronger the wind blew.

Despite the toad’s pace of their trek, by midafternoon they reached Windsweep. Haden led them to a wide-mouthed cave a stone’s throw to the west of the gap, its ceiling blackened by the fires of previous travelers. They settled their packs inside.

Pym rubbed down the horses. “I’ll stay with the mounts,” he said. “I’m more than glad to be out of the bluster.”

Prince Resarian bounded out of the cave, Haden on his heels. Trevin followed them to the ridge, where trees grew sideways in a permanent bow to the wind surge. As they neared the gap, they had to yell at one another to be heard.

Once they reached the rift, they discovered they could lean into the wind, supported by its force, as they gazed across Tabaitta Canyon north of the mountains. The prince laughed with delight, though Trevin knew it only by watching his face and hearing occasional snatches of his voice.

Trevin had no idea how he should address the Oracle. He supposed Melaia would pray, but to be heard here, the prayer would have to be loud. He yelled, “I’m Main Trevin of Camrithia. I seek news of the king’s comains.”