Retribution

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“We’re not going to Wren?” Brice asked, confusion in every word, but he followed Prin on the path beside the river although he could only see her footprints in the soggy path. Still, he had to hurry to keep up.

“What’s the last thing Elenore will expect?”

“That you give up your claim to your throne,” Brice said.

“That’s not going to happen, but there are other options.”

Prin kept her head down and her arms swinging as she marched, not walked. They followed a path that paralleled the river, the same river that eventually found its way to Indore from the upper regions of Wren. Fortunately, they were on the seaward side of the river, and when it began making its bend to flow north, she found another path taking them to the east.

They saw more bounty hunters and assassins hiding in narrow places in hopes of finding Princess Hannah, most of them along the road, but others on the paths beside it. Twice they worked their way around traps where bounty hunters had set up to ambush her.

Prin didn’t speak, but she couldn’t see Brice because of the invisibility-spell, and that somehow made her feel confident. As long as one of them didn’t sneeze or trip and fall near those who were searching for them, they should be fine. With the pace she set, Brice struggled to keep up and didn’t have the wind to waste on words. She continued heading east despite the river bending and her homeland laying off to her left. Near nightfall, she smelled the sea again.

Each of them carried a small backpack but no bedroll or food. The packs were small, and they were supposed to travel quickly, but they needed supplies. At a small clearing, she spotted a cedar, not large, but big enough to shelter them.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. Most insects will leave us alone under that cedar.”

“You talk like I know nothing.”

She grinned and realized he couldn’t see her smile. “No fire, although either of us could take care of that quick enough.”

“What are you planning? If you think you can slip into Wren through the mountains, you cannot. There are only a few ways past them, and those will be double-guarded.”

“I have another idea. Before I make a fool of myself, let me work out the details.”

“Maybe I can help?” Brice offered.

“I’m sure you can, but wait until morning. Let me think about it and decide if this is a good idea or not.” She placed her head on her pack and closed her eyes but didn’t sleep. She listened to Brice’s soft, regular breathing and wished her mind would settle down enough to sleep. Brice could sleep anywhere, anytime. Near midnight, she drifted off, satisfied with her ideas, and feeling positive for the first time in days.

Both woke with the rising sun, chilly but not cold. The no-see-me spell survived the night. She could see a slight shimmer where Brice stood, but she knew what to look for. By mid-day, others could see them, too. By late afternoon, all appearances would be back to normal, which was acceptable because she intended to walk all day, but by noon they should be away from anyone hunting them.

It would be a relief to see Brice when she talked to him. In the back of her mind was a fear they might become separated because they couldn’t see each other.

She was tired, hadn’t slept enough, and hungry. Prin set a torrid pace, now that she had a firm plan. Brice took the lead and only once slowed to allow a small group of people cross their trail ahead of them. Prin could see portions of Brice’s body and understood how disturbing that would be to people. Now and then he glanced over his shoulder at her, making sure he was going in the right direction.

The path took them through a flatland alternating between small trees and tall grasses. The footing was often mushy, but firm enough if they moved fast. They passed a few farms with dogs barking at what they couldn’t see but could smell, and finally reached one farm with a lazy yellow dog sunning itself. It sniffed at them a time or two, decided they were no danger and went back to sleep.

Brice slipped into the garden and pulled four carrots, the only ripe things he saw. They skinned the dirt from the outside of the carrots with their knives as they walked, then ate as if dining on the finest meal in a castle.

Farms became more frequent, and the path turned into a small, two-rut road that allowed them to walk beside each other. Prin noticed Brice now appeared almost human, but on closer inspection, she would see right through parts of him. The no-see-me spell was fading, but enough remained to be a problem if they encountered anyone on the road.

Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Brice asked an hour later.

“There is a town up ahead, almost a small city, called Evansdale. It used to be a fishing village, and I’m betting they still have boats. We need to hire one.”

“Back to Indore? Is that a good idea?”

“Not Indore. Calverton. Ever hear of it?”

“It’s a city in the Peermont Kingdom, right?”

“We’re going there.” Prin waited for the next question as she continued her march. Brice never asked it. He seemed to accept her leadership without question. As her knight, that fit his role, but as her almost-brother, it felt unusual. They often fought more than agreed, but that was siblings vying for family power and position.

He said, “The spell is wearing off. I can almost see you. It’s like looking at your reflection in rippling water.”

“Good. However, we still need to avoid people.”

“What if any of them later are hunting you?”

She snorted a laugh without humor. “They had their chance when I lived outside of Wren. Now, they’re gathered closer to catch me as I sneak back, encouraged by riches and tales spread by my cousin and the mages.”

The vegetation became sparser, the trees shorter and stunted. Peermont, they said, was a kingdom on the edge of the great drylands, with only the Lifeless Desert beyond. Between Peermont and the desert lay a small kingdom called Ansel.

Similar to Wren, one great river flowed down Peermont’s center, with several smaller ones feeding it along the way. Because of the lack of rain in the lowlands, the banks of the rivers flourished while all else were cactus, sagebrush, juniper, and hot rocks.

The melting glaciers in the high mountains provided water to feed the rivers year around, but in late summer the flow slowed, the rivers shrank, and the residents tried to stay out of the direct sun. The two great valleys, the Wren and Peermont, were much alike in many ways, but different in others, yet the rulers came from the same family.

Despite the valleys running parallel to each other, they were all but isolated because of the Razor Mountains between. They said a bird could travel between kingdoms in a half day, while the only way for people was to travel to the foot of either valley where the mountains were foothills, and circle around, making the trip ten times the expected distance.

Prin reviewed all she knew of Peermont, which were snippets she remembered from the teachings of her mother and half-heard comments from cooks. But in Gallium, she had found history books in Maude’s house, and because one referenced Wren, she had picked it up and started reading.

The book spoke of both kingdoms as one, which seemed more than a little odd and held her attention. One valley was temperate, the other near-desert, but close to each other. Some said an archer could climb to the sharp peaks of the Razors and send an arrow to the adjacent kingdom, but there were no mountain passes. The book mentioned a distant king had ordered a survey to use manpower to make such a pass to accommodate his rule of both, but the cost was too great.

That had grabbed Prin’s attention. A single king had ruled both valleys long ago. Her mother was royalty but had been born in the capital city of Calverton. She was of the Peermont royal family, and marriage between the two kingdoms were still reasonably common, and the two families had been the same generations ago.

The book had piqued her interest, and she had found others on the subject. One, recently written, detailed the extensive war Peermont was fighting with the Ansel tribes of the drylands who constantly wanted to invade and live on the river and its fertile banks. That war had continued to one degree or another for over two hundred years.

Prin marched steadily as she allowed the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place. Twice, in the distant past, Wren had sent troops to help Peermont because the King of Wren believed if the nomads from the dry lands were successful in their invasion of Peermont, they would eye Wren next.

Brice called, “Slow down. I need a rest.”

She turned to find him more than a hundred paces behind. A small oak with withered leaves struggled to survive at the edge of the path, and she sat in the meager shade and waited.

“You’re in a hurry,” Brice panted.

“Always. Sorry about leaving you, but I was thinking.”

“About Peermont?”

“My mother came from there, you know.”

“I thought she was a royal from Wren.”

“No, she was a stranger that came to marry my father, and that’s part of why I became a fire starter when she died. Nobody but my father and a few others knew of their marriage or that she was a royal from Peermont.”

“That makes you eligible to be Queen? Peermont is another kingdom.”

“Both were once ruled by one family. We share blood, and both kingdoms recognize the royalty of the other.”

Brice had fallen to his knees and drew deep breaths to recover. “So, you think you may hold status there too? You may be Queen of both kingdoms?”

“Now, that would be interesting, since you mention it,” Prin mused. “I didn’t know I was in the Royal Line of Succession for Wren until my father rescued me, but I don’t know if I’m in the Line for Peermont. I suppose I must be, at some level.”

He snapped his fingers. “I thought I’d figured out your plan.”

“You’re not far off. What do you know, or have you heard of Peermont?”

Brice admitted he didn’t know much, but as he began talking, he recalled more than he initially thought. He was still talking when they stood and continued walking, her asking questions and for clarification, him telling everything he’d heard. All that he told her confirmed what she already knew or suspected, along with several new items, none revealing significant information, but Prin gathered all Brice said and stored it with her own knowledge. There was no telling what she would need to know in the coming days.

The ground grew barren and rocky, turning a harsh shade of light brown in the heat. The air warmed, and while Prin wanted to begin shedding clothing, she refrained in favor of keeping her skin covered to protect from sunburn. In the late afternoon, they approached a small farm sitting on the banks of the first stream they’d seen all afternoon.

The wide path wound past rocky outcrops in front of the cabin. Three crude barns stood behind, and goats clustered together on the low roofs. Sheep grazed close to the stream, and an irrigation ditch carried water to patches of green grass.

Smoke rose from the chimney and Prin had visions of a warm meal and a place to sleep in one of the barns. However, two dogs caught their scent and raced to investigate, barking and charging. Both were large guard dogs, and they intended to protect their farm.

Prin paused, hoping a friendly farmer would call them off. Instead, the dogs continued circling them and barking.

Brice pulled his said, “Stand back.”

Prin glanced at the bared teeth of the aggressive dogs again and she found the short knife from her waist already in her hand. Her eyes flicked to the farm again, searching for the owner. She thought there was a flicker of movement in one cabin window, but the dogs were circling, snarling, and looked ready to attack at any opening.

She said, “People have a right to walk by.”

“Tell that to the dogs.”

The lead dog ran around them, trying to get behind as they turned. Brice took two steps closer and shouted at the dogs to ‘go home’ and similar phrases, but neither obeyed. The leader was large, brown and black, its lips pulled back, and it charged, leaping at Brice’s neck from several steps away.

Brice crouched rock still, knees bent, arms held wide, knife held in one hand. He waited. The dog’s leap carried it high, and Brice dropped lower as he sidestepped, allowing the dog to fly past, but as he turned and dropped, his hand with the knife raised and the belly of the dog slid along the sharp edge of the knife.

Brice spun and faced the second dog, but his foot slipped on the loose soil and bare rock. He fell.

In an instant, Prin saw the second dog would reach Brice before he recovered or she could reach him. A sharp image of flame formed in her mind and she mentally cast it at the thick fur of the smaller dog. It burst into flame and forgot all ideas of attack, as it howled in pain and stumbled, tail tucked between its legs.

The first dog lay in a bloody mass of internal organs while the second managed a few steps and quivered as it lay near the first, its fur burned off. Prin rushed to Brice, who was holding his ankle.

“My dogs! You’ll pay for that.”

She raised her eyes from Brice’s ankle to find a man wielding an axe headed their way. Behind him ran another man, a younger version, probably his son. The son carried a scythe and tried to catch up.

Prin stood. “I’ll handle this.”

She waited until they were closer and held up her palm as if ordering them to stop. The older farmer swung his axe despite being twenty paces away. Prin triggered a flame from her fingers, letting it grow to the size of a torch, then extinguishing it when the man stumbled to a confused stop.

He shouted, “You can’t kill a man’s dog without paying, and those were expensive dogs, not to mention the cost of training them.”

The second man skidded to a stop beside his father, his mouth hanging open while he panted for breath, so he looked similar to the dogs.

Prin said, “We were just passing by.”

“You owe me,” the man shouted, shaking the ax in the air.

Prin felt the anger rising and beat it down. In a calm voice, she said, “You’re right. I owe you.”

“Three coppers for each dog, I’ll not take a shim less.”

Her voice softened, “Oh, I’m going to pay you, but not with coins. We were just passing by, and you had no right to allow your dogs to attack us. As a result, my brother is hurt, not to mention the two dogs I killed. I love dogs, and that makes me sick,” her finger pointed to the dying animals.

Prin reached into one of the purses she carried and fingered an orb. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed one at their feet. It shattered. A faint purple smoke rose. Both men inhaled and their features relaxed. The younger one smiled, then grinned as he sat and examined his bare toes. The older one also sat, his gaze fixed on the ground where he seemed fascinated with a small reddish rock.

She helped Brice stand, and he placed an arm around her shoulder for support. She took him to the farm where thankfully, no more dogs attacked. She started to kick open the cabin door but relented enough to lift the bar and push. Inside she expected to find the wife of the older man, but nobody was there. Only two filthy sleeping pallets. She sat Brice on a three-legged stool and went in search of other people.

There were none, but she paused at the henhouse and gathered eight eggs. She carried them to the fireplace. An empty blackened pot hung from a swingarm. She tossed kindling into the opening and a few chunks of split wood on top, ignoring the tinder, iron, and flint. She cast a small flame and watched it take.

The cabin was square, a few steps in any direction, the single room used for all purposes like most farms. The corner closest to the fireplace held six rows of shelves containing bowls of dried foods and other items for cooking. Surprisingly, to Prin, the cabin was fairly clean and dry. From the outside, it appeared older and not in good repair.

The inside of the cabin was much nicer than the outside. It meant the owner didn’t wish to advertise to people on the road that he possessed enough for them to steal from him.

“How long will they be stupid?” Brice asked, his thumb jerking in the direction of the two farmers.

“All their lives, I suspect. But if you’re talking about how long the spell will last, all night. By sunup, they’ll be wondering what happened, but they will still be stupid.”

“Very funny.”

“I don’t want to stay in here tonight. Now I’m going to fill a bucket with cold water to soak your ankle.”

“You’d rather sleep in a drafty barn than in here?”

She slammed the door on the way out without answering. A wooden bucket stood beside the door, and a well-worn path took her to the creek where rocks lined the edge and gave her a place to scoop the water. She trudged back to the cabin while cursing the owners for not digging a well closer to the house.

“I’ll scramble eggs with I get back. I’m going to explore the farm.”

Brice snarled, “Looking for things to steal from these good people?”

She spun on him. “If you must know, I’m looking for chores that must be done, like milking a cow, or if any animals are penned up and need to feed. But, since you’re being snarky and rude after he set his dogs on us, I consider anything I find, mine. He can come try to take it back if he wants a beating.”

Brice had his foot soaking in the bucket, but his head jerked up at her words. “You think he let the dogs attack us on purpose?”

She paused, then said in all seriousness. “I think that if I look hard enough, I’ll find evidence we were not the first people his dogs attacked.”

“By evidence, you mean bones or graves.”

“Look around, Brice. This farm is too small to support two men this well. The same with the garden and the fact no crops grow here. The ground is too dry and rocky. Only a few animals, but not enough to live off, and they probably bought the goats and sheep with money stolen or taken as bribes for passage on the path. The way those dogs attacked was not an accident.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I saw someone watching from inside the cabin. They never ran out to stop the dogs, but they had to hear them. Yes, I’m sure.” She slammed the door a second time—and it felt good.

She found several depressions in the ground behind the second barn, eight of them, some looking older than others. At one time, the ground had been flat, but as people in graves decayed, the shallow graves sank into depressions and revealed where the unmarked graves were. Unmarked. That was the key. Innocent travelers who passed this lonely way and found themselves attacked by dogs, then they either paid the farmers or were killed, and their belongings were stolen.

She glanced up the slope where the two men sat, the younger still admiring his toes. They created another problem. It was clear they robbed people, killed others, and stole from more. She would be gone by morning. But they would remain to harm more people, but it wasn’t in her to do what she felt was needed—which was to slit their throats and leave them for the wild pigs to eat.

But leaving them alive made her responsible for people they would kill in the future.

What she could do was to take from them as they took from others. Not their lives, but perhaps their livelihood. The first barn held tools, rope, three wagons, harnesses, and spare wheels. She would burn it.

Prin headed for the second barn and found it stocked with hay and feed for winter, all grown elsewhere and brought here. It would also burn.

The third barn, smaller and more of an outbuilding, was filled with hammers, saws, shovels, and tools of every sort. Few farms could afford ironwork like she saw. Honest farmers did more bartering of crops and labor, and they had little hard coin to spend on products from a blacksmith. What hung on the walls of the outbuilding was worth a small fortune. But only the wood frame of the building would burn, leaving the tools only requiring new handles.

She carried armloads of tools from the building to the barn filled with hay until she had moved nearly all the tools, and even the wooden boxes of nails. A hot fire would ruin the temper on the iron and hopefully make it so soft the tools would bend at the touch and be worthless.

A good, hot fire from the buildings would run the sheep and goats off, she hoped, run them so far away the two men would never locate all of them. She would also turn the chickens loose. The henhouse would burn along with the outhouse. When she finished, only ashes would remain on the farm and not many of them.

She stormed back into the cabin.

“What’s wrong?” Brice asked, sitting alert and ready to leap to his feet at the sight of her.

“Calm down, I’m just angry.”

“You found other victims, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Now I have two idiots sitting on the path, and I don’t know what to do with them when the magic spell wears off. I can’t kill them, but I can’t let them go so they can do the same to others as they tried with us, or worse.”

“You’re already acting like a Queen.” Brice’s smile reassured her.

“I’m going to use another of the forget spells on them in the morning, then burn the farm. I will destroy every building, run off their stock, and if any two bricks remain one on top of another I’ll kick them over.”

“Remind me to never make you angry, Prin.” There wasn’t a trace of humor in his tone.

She scowled at him.