The Unsound Prince Page 3

  “Yes, when he has recovered,” said Mudge in wonder. Ochren patted him on the shoulder, and made his back out through the front of the smithy. He would go back to making arrangements for the dead at the store.

  What sort of creature was Arnima, thought Mudge, if she could bring back the dead? The idea astounded him.

  Then he remembered Luce casting a spirit veil, and he wondered how she had known that. He stopped for a moment, as his heart contracted painfully at the thought of her. Then he forced himself to carry on with that line of reasoning.

  People with a connection to the spirit world were rare. That there should be two of them, Arnima and Andalucia, in the one valley didn’t make sense.

  His mind flicked to Ochren and Bear, who had managed to hold their own against the first swordsman. They were skilled fighters, far too skilled for the villagers they were supposed to be.

  Then he understood. These people were all were there to protect him. His father had planted these people in Shaker’s Hope years before he arrived in the village. But somehow, word of his presence had got out, and those black-clad swordsmen had been coming for him.

  He remembered the amulet of amber and gold, and how it had flared into life when it was aimed at him. Now it made sense. They were assassins, trying to weaken the Monhoven line. They were trying to destroy the heirs to the throne.

  That meant he had caused the death of every villager that now lay on trestles at the back of Ochren’s store. And it also meant he’d killed his closest friend, and the first girl he had ever had real feelings for.

  Was that what it meant, he thought, to be of the Monhoven line? To bring death and destruction? Would those closest to him always have to live in fear? He felt sick to his stomach.

  On a ridge at the head of the valley, two figures were using their farsight to observe him closely.

  “Is that enough death for you,” snorted Sergeos sharply. He didn’t know why they hadn’t intervened during the attack on the village. He couldn’t believe the Legatus had refused to act to protect his own son, and his frustration had finally overwhelmed his respect for his teacher.

  Sergeos’ farsight was stretched to its limit, following what was happening inside the smithy, but he was able to see most of it. Ultrich, he had no doubt, was seeing it all. In his mind that damned the Combat Prime even more.

  When Ultrich spoke, his voice was steady. “He is still my son, Sergeos, but you forget that sometimes duty comes before kinship.” There was a long pause, while Sergeos struggled to bring his feelings under some sort of control.

  “But why?” he exploded, after a while.

  “Why?” said the Legatus slowly. “Which of a hundred threads of destiny do you want to examine? He is already a man, and he must now make his own choices. We cannot control events from behind the scenes for him. If we did, the rest of the world would know, and more importantly his heart would know he didn’t have it in him. He would never develop the confidence he is going to need, and very soon.

  “We saw him claim his power today, and it had to be called up by a matter of life and death. It would not have happened if we had done anything else.”

  Ultrich’s voice softened. “How do we manipulate the spirit world, Sergeos?”

  Sergeos looked across at him, a breeze rippling along the ridge and flapping his robes momentarily. What was the Combat Prime talking about?

  “We harness the shards of power left over in hidden places from the creation of the world. We have to awaken them, tie them to our will, and then tell them exactly what we want them to do. It’s ritual, pattern and ceremony. All very elaborate, and all very slow.

  “Did you see the boy perform any ritual? Do you detect any spirit totems on him, any power he has bound to something he carries?”

  Sergeos thought about it, and eventually shook his head.

  “He connects straight to the source, Sergeos. He thinks and it is done.”

  “What is this ‘source’, Alfas? There is nothing in the Mysteries of the Priatic Order about this.”

  The Combat Prime leaned heavily on his staff, as if all this wearied him.

  “Nonetheless, it exists, old friend. Outside our world perhaps, but it exists. The original power that created the world.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “And just possibly, it might be our ally in the terrible battles to come.”

  “What battles?” Sergeos forced himself to say, a feeling of dread coming over him.

  Ultrich dropped his head onto his chest, and his voice, whether he intended it or not, sounded hollow, something echoing in a graveyard.

  “A dark power will rise in Xaan, Sergeos. At first the people will embrace it, thinking it will restore the former glories of their empire. By the time they realise they are nothing but slaves, it will be too late.

  “The power that will rise in Xaan is allied to an ancient evil. One from the forsaken realms, a sorceress from the dawn of time. If she is not stopped, her soulless legions will eventually find their way into this world.”

  Ultrich paused for a moment.

  “If my son doesn't grow into the power within him, there will be no other who can match her.”

  Sergeos was speechless. He was barely able to take it all in.

  Eventually he dropped his head in surrender. He had nothing more to say.

  It seemed that Ultrich too felt he had said enough. He gathered his energies, ready to transport the two of them back to the Golden Palace. As he concentrated on the task a rockfall cascaded down a slope on the opposite side of the valley. When it settled into place, the two men were gone.

  ***

  In Shaker’s Hope the following day, Senovila was much improved. Mudge could hardly believe the change in him.

  “Ah, the old girl knows what she’s doing,” said Senovila from his armchair. His voice was rich with affection. Arnima beamed with pride, and looked for a moment like a young girl again. There was no doubting the deep bond between the unlikely couple.

  Senovila rose, a little unsteadily, from his chair. With Arnima fussing about him, he made his way to the front of the building. When she had him settled comfortably in his beloved smithy, Arnima left him with Mudge.

  “Just wanted to see everything was all right,” said Senovila, looking round with a practised eye at his tools. Nothing, apparently, was out of place. “And there are some things Arnima doesn’t need to hear just yet. Women worry unnecessarily sometimes.”

  Mudge nodded, though he wasn’t really sure what that meant. Senovila had taken a chair along the back wall. It allowed him to see the foundry and the main entrance at the same time. Mudge sat on a bench next to him, finding a spot amongst a tangle of metal implements that needed various amounts of repair.

  “Those men, they were assassins, weren’t they?” blurted out Mudge at last. “They were looking for me.” His voice caught. “All those people died because of me.”

  Senovila was silent for a long time.

  “There are no easy decisions in leadership,” he said at last. “Which choice would you have taken. The chance that a few might die now, or the greater certainty that thousands will die later?”

  “What do you mean?” said Mudge. “How could thousands die?”

  There had been peace in the League since his father had united the kingdoms, and that was before Mudge was born. He had no concept of death on such a scale.

  Senovila looked away. Mudge could see he didn't like being the bearer of bad news.

  “War is coming, my young friend,” he said at last. “This little skirmish was the start of it. Others of the Monhoven family, all those in line for the throne, will have been attacked as well. Or soon will be.”

  Mudge started. He hadn’t thought about the rest of his family, his aunts and uncles and cousins. Holy gods, were they all right? How would he find out?”

  “Easy, Mudge,” said Senovila kindly. “The Legatus keeps me up with the news, and I’ll let you know how your family are.”

  Mudg
e knew that his father could do that. A spirit hawk covered vast distances instantaneously, and spoke in his father’s voice. Still, it meant Senovila was a lot closer to the Legatus than he had first thought. He was more than just a soldier sent to guard Mudge’s life in Shaker’s Hope.

  “You’re the Legatus’ man,” said Mudge quietly. Senovila nodded. When he said nothing more, Senovila sighed.

  “You want to hear the whole story. Well, I guess you deserve that.”

  He made himself comfortable in his chair.

  “I was a commander in the royal guard at Xianak,” he began. “The High Council of Xaan sent a company of our best soldiers to kill your father. I was their leader.”

  Senovila sighed again. “It was a long time ago, and I was young. Do you understand?”

  Mudge rather doubtfully nodded.

  “Your father was travelling along the border of our country on his way to the Independent Kingdoms. It was a diplomatic mission.

  “He was at the start of his adult life, well before he became Legatus. But the High Council of Xaan was alarmed at the way he was uniting the southern kingdoms behind him.

  “I didn’t know it at the time, but he was already Combat Prime of the Priatic Order. Though my company outnumbered his bodyguard, he was just too powerful. In the end all of my troops had been killed or captured, but he and I fought on. He wouldn’t let any of his bodyguard intervene. It was just man on man.

  “There was one moment,” . . . here Senovila rolled his eyes in disbelief . . . “when I swear my sword went right through him like he was a wraith. Or maybe he tricked my mind into believing that. But he couldn’t best me. Then he asked me how I’d got the spirit cloak I was wearing.

  “I had no idea what he was talking about. I just thought I was fast, very fast, but eventually I could see that something was slowing his attacks.

  “Slowly, I began to understand what must have happened.

  “I’d met Arnima at the healing tents. She had patched me up after one of the worst battles I had ever been in. I thought I was going to die.

  “She was a skinny wee thing then, but I spent a lot of time in her care. It took a while, but we fell in love. Maybe there was more than a bit of gratitude on my part for her saving my life, but in the end I could also see we were a good match.

  “I knew she had powers of some sort. Gods’ death I should have died after that battle, but she healed my wounds somehow. So I figured this spirit cloak thing must have been her work. It was her way of protecting me.”

  Senovila paused, and looked straight at Mudge.

  “Then your father did an unusual thing. He let me go. He told me there was evil coming to these lands. To the southern kingdoms and Xaan alike.

  “If I wanted to, I could start a new life in the south preparing for what was to come. He told me to go away and think about it.

  “I talked it over with Arnima, and we accepted his offer.

  “The rest of the story you know. Or must have guessed. When you were sent here your father’s people were already waiting for you.”

  Mudge was silent for a while. At least Senovila wasn’t hiding anything from him, and that was a welcome change. Most of his life seemed to be a collection of missing segments and unknown things.

  He was also thinking about Senovila and Arnima. He wanted a relationship like that one day, though he worried that he wouldn’t know what to do when it arrived. His mother had died when he was young, and he had few recollections of her talking and laughing with his father.

  He was touched for a moment by one precious thought. His father had never married again. Perhaps that was an indication of how much his mother had meant to him. At least it was something. He had too little proof of a happy family life in his past. Then he forced his mind back to the conversation with Senovila.

  “Ochren and Bear, both my father’s people?” he said. Senovila nodded.

  “Tell me about Andalucia,” said Mudge guardedly.

  “Ah,” said Senovila. “Her mother is a spirit walker your father sent here, and she brought her daughter with her. Then she met and married a local man. I’m not sure how much the mayor knows about this.”

  Mudge nodded. He barely knew Luce’s parents. They seemed to keep to themselves, apart from their duties on the council, but that would explain the daughter’s powers. They didn’t always transfer to the children of spirit bearers, but it was likely. It would also explain her training, at least to the extent she could cast a spirit veil.

  “But why all this protection for me?” he said at last. “And why the assassins? I’m a minor prince destined for a dutiful life as Regent of the Eastern Marches. It's probably the League’s oldest and most loyal dominion.”

  Senovila just looked at him, until the silence became uncomfortable.

  “I’m not going to rule the Eastern Marches?” said Mudge uncertainly.

  “Very good,” said Senovila.

  “So I have another destiny,” said Mudge.

  “Which will take you where it takes you,” said Senovila, with an air of finality. There was a long silence while Mudge digested this.

  “Do you prefer your new life over your old one?” he asked the old smith suddenly.

  Senovila laughed at the unexpected question. “In Xaan I was an aristocrat, Sien O’Villa. I was involved in politics and character assassination. Here I am Senovila and I work with metals. I think I like it better here. Having Arnima with me helps. Home is wherever she is.

  “And above all else, your father may yet be the salvation of us all. He’s a very capable man, Mudge, and a good one.”

  Mudge wasn’t so sure about that, but he was left with a great many things to think about.

  THREE

  Mudge stayed with Ochren and Bear at the trading store that night. The bunk room at the back of the store had become familiar to him over the last two years, but there were a few things different this time round.

  The bodies of the slain villagers lay on trestles in the front room, though the period of mourning was almost over. The store had been filled that day with people saying goodbye to friends they had known forever. People who had been an inseparable part of the village family.

  The nights, by contrast, were eerily still. Mudge didn’t mind the bodies lying on the other side of the wall from him. They were good people, and he feared no evil from them. Alive or dead.

  The next day he woke early, and he was up as soon as it was light. There was activity in the sprawling kitchen at the back of the store, and he made his way there. Ochren kept a well-stocked kitchen. He was used to traders using his place as a base, or villagers making preparations for a hunting expedition.

  Mudge slotted in beside Bear, mixing grains for the traditional breakfast. Shyleen was running back and forth taking wooden bowls and spoons to another room. Mudge smiled at her dishevelled look.

  There were smears of batter across her working shift. Curls had escaped from hair pulled back tightly behind her head. She was finding it hard to look cool and collected under these conditions.

  Then he remembered, with a start, his discussion with Senovila yesterday. The whole Ochren ‘family’ had been planted in the village. They had been chosen for their skills, and sent here to be his bodyguard. That meant Shyleen probably wasn’t Bear’s sister, and maybe neither of them were related to Ochren. Mudge wondered idly what Shyleen’s skills as a bodyguard were.

  “Everything’s ready for the burials,” said Bear, coming up alongside Mudge in the kitchen. He handed over a bag of salt to use with the grains.

  “We also need to collect ash from the funeral pyres and add them to the fertiliser stocks,” he continued.

  Whatever was left from the bonfires that consumed the three assassins would be scraped up and put in the ash pits. The villagers knew the benefits of sprinkling wood ash across their fields after the spring rains.

  Mudge mused wryly that at least in death the assassins would be put to some good use, their bodies helping to restore th
e fertility of the land. Then he was struck by something, and lowered the bag of salt to the table. He was there for a long time, looking off into space.

  “Sprite got you?” said Bear, conjuring up a tale told to the village children. Sprites were supposed to prey upon children who were lazy. They sent them wandering off into the woods, entranced by visions, or the smell of food.

  “I can’t do it, Bear,” he said, suddenly certain of the fact. “I can’t just carry on doing what we’ve always done, pretending everything’s normal.”

  Bear stopped stirring the grain mixture, and listened attentively.

  Mudge was struggling with his feelings. He knew he had been happy at Shaker’s Hope. He had begun to discover what it was to be himself, and made good friends here. ‘Used to have’ good friends here, in the case of Jago and Luce, he reminded himself bitterly. It hurt so much to think about them.

  “We have to do something. We have to fight back,” he said suddenly.

  He lifted his head to look Bear squarely in the eye. "Spirit knows I'm no damn good at anything, really. But I'd rather die trying to put this mess right than do nothing. Jago and Luce would have done the same for me."

  Bear was smiling now. He slapped Mudge firmly on the shoulder.

  "Glad you agree, then," he said. "We leave tomorrow morning.”

  Bear lifted his hand away, barely able to stop himself from laughing as he went back to the grains he was preparing.

  Mudge's brain whirled as he tried to make sense of what Bear was saying. What were they going to do, run away from Shaker's Hope? Or take the fight to whoever had ordered the assassination attempt? How would they do that?

  He made an attempt to stop his runaway thoughts. There was more than himself to consider here. Senovila had said the whole Monhoven line had been targeted, and he was still waiting to hear from the smith if any of the assassination attempts had been successful.

  Mudge realised the whole League must be mobilising, to counter the threat from Xaan, but that didn’t tell him what Bear and Ochren had in mind. Where were they going in the morning? Was Senovila part of it?