Retribution

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Prin didn’t move. The officer hadn’t told her to advance and hadn’t told his men to back off. She waited.

He growled at them, “Leave us.”

“But, sir,” one younger officer began.

The older man slammed his hand down on the table so hard it shook. The officer fled, as did the four who escorted Brice and Prin. Brice stepped to one side and stood at the traditional at-ease military position, legs spread and hands clasped at the small of his back.

Prin saw the look of approval on the older officer before she moved. Two other officers stood nearby. “Sir, what I have to say is for you to hear. If you wish to share it after we speak, I cannot prevent you from talking.”

He waved away his men with a flick of his hand. He called over his shoulder, “Bring another chair. And wine.”

An aide appeared from inside the tent, a chair tucked under one arm, a bottle and two goblets in the other hand. Prin sat, and he poured. She knew better than to speak until he told her to.

“Now, I am a very busy man. I’m impressed with the throwing accuracy of your knife and understand you made the throw because you wanted to impress me. I granted you this time because you have my interest. It will wane as my goblet grows empty, and I’m a fast drinker.”

Prin made one final glance around to be sure nobody was within hearing range but Brice. “You are aware that you are losing your war, of course?”

He nodded and gulped half of his wine, unimpressed with her words.

She sat taller, making no attempt to lower her voice or grovel. “I am Princess Hannah of Wren, the sole heir to the throne of that kingdom. My mother was Peermont royalty, so I am related by blood to your King, and I demand you deliver the two of us to him as fast as we can travel. I may consider reinforcing your army with mine and turning the course of this war.”

He rose to his feet, eyes wide. Officers and men appeared from nowhere, rushing to his aid. He swung a wild arm, “Get back!”

Brice said, “You just saved several of your men from being hurt.”

“From you?” the general snorted.

“No,” Brice said, his eyes shifting to Prin.

The general turned to her—and seeing the expression she wore, didn’t snort again. His eyes remained fixed on Prin. “You can prove all of this?”

“Would I be so stupid that I’d travel through enemy territory with documents with me that would cause my death if captured? I will convince your King, and you will take me to him. I command you.”

The command didn’t seem to faze the officer. He said, “I’ve heard you are missing and there is a massive search.”

“I’m not missing anymore. I am returning to claim my kingdom, and you are beginning to irritate me, sir. Your name and rank?”

“General Case. Now, to the matter at hand. Your impertinence and bluster remind me of Princess Bethany, a cousin of yours, I believe. You also have her temper as well as a nose that sits too big upon your impish face.”

“My nose suits me, and my face is not impish. Call a detail of your men and give them strict orders to prepare for our departure. I’d like to leave as soon as Brice and I eat.”

“Brice? Is he a prince?”

“No, he’s my knight. My only one, if you want the whole story.”

The general glanced at Brice and said, “I’ll have my man get you something eat while I form a detail. I’ll be traveling with you.”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve done enough, sir.”

“Do you really think a lieutenant or captain and a squad from the Borderlands will successfully demand access to the King when you arrive? I have rank and contacts; therefore, I will accompany you.”

“Why are you so generous?” Prin asked.

“I find myself believing who you say you are. If you can end this damned war, I’ll carry you to the King on my back if necessary.”

Food was brought, devoured, and the general snapped orders to his troops between bites. Men leaped to obey. Soon there were six soldiers on mounts and three horses saddled and ready to ride.

Prin kept her eyes on the general. She still was not satisfied with his answers, despite agreeing to her demands. “Why?”

He faced her, giving the impression he was ashamed. His voice lowered, and he said, “You’re right, we are losing the war, it’s no secret. But the lowlands don’t matter to me, or to the King of Ansel. Picture the shape of Peermont in your mind, a long narrow valley like your finger. Calverton is up near your knuckle. Whoever controls the lowlands controls Peermont.”

“The river?” Prin asked.

“Blockade it before it reaches the sea, and nothing goes up or down. It’s only a matter of time before we are part of Ansel—and there won’t even be a battle. If you provide hope, any hope at all, I’ll get you to King Edward.”

“Thank you for giving me my knife back.”

“You said you carry two more but I don’t see them. Your skill in throwing them is impressive.”

Prin said, “The others are not for throwing. There are times for that, but there are times when a blade in hand is required.”

“Your knight said my men would be harmed if they attacked you.”

She dabbed a napkin at the corners of her mouth daintily.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I would have fought them to the best of my abilities. No more.” Prin stood and slipped her backpack straps over her shoulders. When she turned, Brice wore his, and the general was standing, wearing a puzzled expression.

They mounted and as Prin expected, half the men fell in behind, half ahead, while she, Brice, and the general rode in the protected middle. She asked, “Are there Ansel troops this far north?”

“Raiders. More of them lately, but enough danger to be wary.”

“They are stockpiling for an invasion along the river.” Prin wished for a bow, a handful of arrows, and the time to spend with her spells in her backpack. Sara had provided the never-miss ingredients and incantation. She could have made her and Brice all but invisible, too. Never-miss arrows and invisibility were useful co-spells, but she was to be a Queen and needed to begin acting like one.

They didn’t ride fast, but they moved along the road at a steady pace. One rider in front ranged ahead, careful to remain in sight, and when she looked behind, another tracked them. The general hadn’t issued those commands. They were the result of good training, and her opinion of him increased.

They rode steadily and cautiously all morning until the rider at the front pulled up and dismounted. He raised a fist to stop them as the first arrow flew in his direction. It missed, but the next two struck him in his chest as his horse bolted.

More arrows flew, from either side of the road. It was a trap.

“Ride!” Prin called, leaning low over the neck of the horse and kicking her heels.

Brice managed to catch up and ride beside her, protecting her left, but the others lagged far behind. A single look over her shoulder showed several of the detail who had been guarding her were lying on the ground. The general swung a sword at two attackers.

Prin pulled her horse up beside the scout who had warned them. He lay dead, but his horse had returned, and there was a bow strapped to the saddle. She dismounted and moved to the horse while talking softly to it. The bow and quiver were within reach.

The bow was military issue, not the best, but serviceable. There wasn’t time to cast a spell on the arrows. After stringing the bow, she leaped on her horse again and rode at the fray, an arrow ready to fly. In full gallop, she waited until the shot was sure, then she released it as she reached for another.

The first arrow struck the back of a soldier. Her second arrow struck another man on the side of his chest, near his arm. His sword slipped from his fingers. Prin’s horse rode past the others and spun as if ready to repeat the attack, which was her intention. Another arrow flew true as the horse steadied itself, and she pulled another.

The general had slashed one attacker across his middle, and the other broke off the engagement and spurred his horse to run away. Brice had located a sword and stood over a dead enemy while searching for another to fight. But there were none.

Prin walked her horse warily to the general’s side as she noted the dead and injured men of her escort. Of the six men, only one appeared unhurt, and a second had one leg covered in blood. He limped, sword in hand. Prin said, “Have that man ride back for help.”

The general said, “Do it.” He climbed down and checked each of his men. Two dead, two more seriously wounded.

Prin and Brice helped with first aid, and Brice dragged the two dead closer to the wounded and laid them with their hands crossed over their chests. Then he took the bow from Prin without a word and followed the men who had attacked them on foot.

Prin said, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault we’re at war.”

“How badly are you losing?”

“We can survive until next spring, I believe. No longer.” He knelt at the side of one of the wounded and cut a strip of material from his uniform. He tied a crude bandage with it. “And we have a fool for a King who does not listen.”

“A fool?”

“He spends the taxes he collects on bottles of fine wine and expensive clothing for him and his court.”

Prin didn’t like the anger in the voice, but if the words were true, was she doing the right thing in going to his aid? “He’s my cousin. What else do I need to know about him?”

“He has never stepped in horseshit in his life, nor has he done a day’s work. He sits on his throne and makes impossible demands of us—then punishes us if we fail. Does that tell you the kind of man he is?”

Prin helped the general stem the bleeding of another wounded man. He’d taken a stab in one arm and an arrow on the other, but both wounds should heal. As she worked, she asked, “Does this sort of attack happen often?”

“They’re bolder every day.”

Brice returned, lips pursed tightly together.

Prin noticed he only carried a single arrow. Between Sara, her, and Brice, he usually was the best at archery, Prin the best throwing knives, and Sara the most diligent in using magic. However, Prin was the most deceptive and determined.

She said, “We’ll continue on while you care for your men.”

The general stood. “No. Help is on the way, and there is little we can do here. You still need me to get you to the King.”

The three of them departed a short while later, armed with swords, bows, and a desire for speed. Brice rode ahead, the general insisted on the rear, and Prin took the middle. She kept an eye on the general to make sure he kept up, but she needn’t have feared.

Once an arrow whizzed past Brice, but by the time he shouted a warning and turned to fight, nobody was to be seen. If there was more than one attacker, they hid and waited. Brice held his horse back from charging into the brush, knowing that was probably what they wanted and where they had set an ambush.

The terrain changed to rolling hills covered in trees. The shallow valleys held farms of every sort, most struggling to get by. While they grew crops, they lacked the commerce to buy quality equipment, and their produce brought in little coin because nobody in the kingdom had a spare coin to spend.

General Case explained how taxes rose with each day of the war. Paying soldiers, feeding them and providing weapons cost the King enormous amounts of money, yet they were losing the war. Other kingdoms refused to trade with them, fearing they would lose their investments or upset Ansel, the projected winner.

Some people in the capital city were talking openly of surrender to Ansel, where there might be tax relief and rulers who understood the needs of the people. Prin listened and considered her role, which should be nothing, but it wasn’t like her to sit aside and allow things to happen without becoming involved.

They rode all day without a break, only pausing to give the horses short rests and drinks at streams they passed. The countryside turned into more farmland. Most of the farms appeared to have been prosperous at one time, but signs of neglect were everywhere. Buildings stood unpainted. Pastures were overgrown with weeds and grass, but few animals grazed in them. Even the farmers were thin and slow to wave or react.

“They’re tired,” the general said at one point. “Giving up.”

Brice pointed to where three adjoining farms appeared abandoned. Vines covered the houses and grew up the sides of outbuildings and barns. Whole sections of fences lay in the weeds. “What happened?”

“Taxes. The King seizes the lands and buildings when farmers can’t pay.”

Brice flashed a look of confusion at Prin. “How does that help?”

The general produced a wan smile. “Exactly.”

Prin couldn’t help herself. “Wouldn’t it be better for the King if he kept the farmers working their lands? Maybe appointing an overseer?”

The general said, “When you are Queen, what will you do?”

A good question. One that would occupy her mind for days and weeks, she felt sure. “I don’t know.”

He persisted, “Will you even be aware of such situations?”

“Meaning?” she asked.

“Will you remain living in splendor and ignorance of what is happening in your kingdom? If so, how will you know? Will you punish those who try to tell you the truth?”

Prin glanced at Brice. “I have him to tell me the truth. A brother who will always tell me, no matter how little I wish to hear it. And there will be others.”

The general was watering his horse. The snorts of the horse and the whisper of the stream almost covered up the words he muttered as he turned away. “Are you so sure?”