Retribution

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Are you so sure?” The murmured words echoed in her mind as Prin turned to the general. “I already have four people in my life who do not cater to me, or lie to make me feel good, but I think I see what you mean. A King or Queen can throw you into the deepest dungeon in the castle for disagreeing, or for any other reason.”

The general said, “A wise Queen would seek out those few friends, and more. The truth is something even a general in the King’s army seldom hears. My men and officers only wish to tell me what they think I want to hear. A King or Queen must gather about them those who are trusted—and who feel free to express their ideas without punishment.”

Prin said, “You’re a very clever and very smart man. Those two things are not always the same thing, but you have lectured me well, without speaking down to me.”

“Forgive me. I had no right.”

“Yet, those were some of wisest words I’ve heard, and I understand they were spoken with the best of intentions. If you ever cease to serve your King, you only have to look to the Valley of Wren for a place on my staff.”

He paused, then plunged ahead as if the next question might upset her, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I trained every day for five years. Often with the best teachers, especially a man who gave me no quarter and never allowed me to quit or mention I was a woman and a princess, and therefore needed special treatment. He demanded I excel in every aspect, but most of all he taught me that anyone can learn to use weapons—but only a warrior learns to accept cuts and bruises in a battle and continue to fight.”

The general said, “Yes, there are pretty fighters who know all the moves but let some country-bred farmer plant an untrained fist in his face, and the fight is over.”

“We’d better move,” Brice said.

But the general didn’t move. His eyes followed Prin as she mounted, his expression blank, hiding his thoughts. He finally climbed into the saddle and pointed out the way. Brice was already moving ahead.

The next attack on them came as they passed a thick stand of undergrowth a few minutes later. There was a shrill shout and seven men in dull green uniforms trimmed in red appeared. One dived from the bushes on a small hill and tackled Brice from his horse. Both of them fell to the ground from the saddle. The others surrounded Prin and the general, with drawn weapons, swords and arrows pointed at them.

Brice rolled as he struck the ground, taking his attacker with him with his arms wrapped around the man in a bear hug. Brice twisted and squirmed until he was on top, and a single blow of his fist ended the fight. He came to his feet, his throwing knife in hand, eyes searching for a target.

A young lieutenant stepped behind Prin, using her as a shield. He said as if speaking to friends on a picnic, “Everybody calm and we will all live to see the sun come up in the morning.”

The smugness and near humor in the voice stilled Prin. Brice and the general were ready to fight, but common sense told them they couldn’t win.

The Ansel uniforms of the attackers were new, clean, and the men looked the part of victors instead of soldiers at war. They were dressed for the parade ground. Prin realized they expected to defeat Peermont—and soon.

But they were young, common foot soldiers, not highly trained warriors. Brice left the man on the ground and moved to join the others, looking very young and defeated, but the knife was still in his hand. Prin winked at him and waited until he reached the ring of five soldiers surrounding her and the general, and the officer hiding behind her. He slipped the knife into his waistband, so both hands were free. The others interpreted the action as him putting away his weapon, a diversion he surely intended.

The lieutenant stepped from behind to her side, a wide smile indicating he knew his raid had been successful. He said, “So, you are the princess the entire world is searching for?”

Prin returned the smile, as she shifted her weight slightly and raised the foot nearest him. In a single motion, she drove her heel into the side of his knee and felt a sharp crack.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Brice backhand a soldier across his face, while his other hand yanked the sword from the soldier’s grip. Brice continued moving in the direction of the startled soldiers instead of backing off. Balance. Prin already had her throwing knife emerging from between her shoulder blades, and an instant later it struck the chest of the lone archer who was drawing his arrow as he aimed it at Brice.

Prin grabbed the lieutenant by his hair and pulled him close to her chest before he could fall. The edge of the short knife from inside her waist was held against his throat, her other hand full of long hair holding his head back and exposing the neck. Her eyes flashed to Brice, but he had already moved out of her direct sight.

Instead of fighting the soldiers individually, he’d done as taught and used the sword almost as a scythe. He’d sliced across the upper arms and chests of three men as he moved, sweeping the blade across them as he spun. None were in danger of dying, but all were examining their wounds instead of entering the battle—because it no longer existed. Besides the men Brice cut, one man lay on the ground, blood streaming from his nose. The general nursed the knuckles of his fist.

The lieutenant wailed in pain, finally managing to rip free of Prin’s grip and fall. He wrapped both arms around his knee, screaming and cursing. The general picked up a fallen sword and used it to intimidate the soldiers still holding weapons and forced them into dropping theirs without a word.

It had taken the space of perhaps three breaths.

Prin replaced her small knife in her waistband and retrieved her throwing knife from the chest of the dead archer. After wiping both sides of the blade clean on his shirt, she replaced it in her scabbard and walked back to the silent crowd, all but the officer who still moaned in pain. None of the other wounded wept, cried, moaned, or yelled. She placed a foot on his neck and pushed down until he quieted.

“Do you really want to live to see the sun in the morning, like you said?”

He nodded almost violently.

“Then shut up.”

His cries turned into whimpers.

Prin said to Brice from the side of her mouth, “He knew who I was. He didn’t ask me. He knew.”

The general said, “I’ve never seen them this far across the lines. They grow bolder with their raids every day.”

“They were searching for me, not raiding,” Prin said.

“You two go on ahead, and I’ll dispatch them,” the general said.

Prin shook her head. She turned to the lieutenant under her foot. “You had orders to find me?”

He nodded but said nothing.

“The name you were searching for?”

“Princess Hannah of Wren.”

“How did you know it was me? You never asked if I was her, but you knew.”

“There are mages circulating the army camps with drawings of you that are so lifelike they’re magic, I suppose. A man can have all the gold he can carry if he catches or kills you.”

She moved closer. “Everyone in Ansel sees these images?”

“And Peermont, too.”

Prin said, “General, do you have the authority to commandeer troops? I think we may need an escort to pass our own people and gain entrance into the capital. Calverton may be as dangerous to me as the war zone.”

He said, “I can, and will. The next patrol we encounter will travel with us. And maybe the one after that. But, I have one more question. You just walked right through the enemy lines. Why didn’t those men stop you and collect the reward?”

Prin turned back to the three sword-wounded soldiers and mentally evaluated their injuries. Painful, but not serious. Two were still on the ground from punches from Brice and the general. One lay dead from her knife. The lieutenant. And two more stood aside, their weapons on the ground.

She turned back to the lieutenant, “You heard the question.”

“We only saw the pictures yesterday morning and raced here to find you. The mages have not reached the men in the field yet. But they will.”

The general said, “We should hurry before more show up.”

Prin knew he intended to stay behind and kill them all, but she wouldn’t allow that. They were soldiers doing their duty. Battle and fighting were honorable, killing defenseless captive another. She said, “You and Brice go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

The general pulled in his chin and stiffly said, “I’d better do this. It’s not a task for a young girl or princess.”

“I’m not going to kill them, but for reasons I cannot explain, I will deal with them. I know how to keep them here without hurting them.”

The general looked dubious, but Brice said, “She knows what she’s doing. You and I must respect the wishes of the princess.”

They rode off as Prin rummaged in her backpack to remove a pair of the purple ampules. She ordered them all to sit in a small circle surrounding her, and suddenly said, as she looked off to one side, “See that?”

Her voice was animated and excited, her eyes peering to one side of the road. The men all turned to look as she let the first of the ampules fall to the ground. She stepped on it while holding her breath.

A soft breeze defused the purple cloud too fast, the soldiers on her left catching only a whiff. All but the ones who received the least of the purple mist were already droopy-eyed, and looking confused. She moved upwind and stepped on another grape. Again, the cloud enveloped the men, and their faces relaxed, a few smiling.

She watched to make sure they were all in forget trances. When they woke in the morning, none would remember the events of today. She took the time to bandage the bleeding upper arm of one, then mounted and rode to catch up with Brice.

Later, the general asked as they walked their horses to give them a break, “You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Are they alive?”

“They are.”

“Good enough. Just ahead of us is a small river called the Dunn. We have a permanent camp there, nearly two hundred men. How many do you think we should take with us?”

“All of them.”

His head spun so fast it might have been humorous in other circumstances. “All?”

“And are there more we can recruit along the way?” Prin asked.

“You’re serious?”

“I am. My life depends on what we do.”

“The King may not be too happy with me stripping his men from the defense of Peermont, but you are royalty, and I serve the crown, which is you. If he is upset, so be it.”

Prin said, “Remember, you have choices. I will be in need of good generals in Wren.”

They reached the camp, which was not a camp, but a wooden fort constructed high on the side of a tall hill where it had a view of the valley and river. Nothing would travel up the river without being seen, and Prin suspected that a stable of fast horses and a faster route to Calverton could be had if one looked around. The general sat taller on his horse and saluted the men on watch as they rode past.

He pulled to a stop and ordered a corporal, “Get the major here on the double.”

They were still dismounting when a man rushed to the general while still tucking in his shirt. His shoulders wore the gold insignia of a tiny leaf, his hat was worn crooked, and his face flushed red. He snapped a salute.

The general said, “Order assembly and be ready to depart for Calverton by the time our horses are watered. Supplies for five days.”

“H-How many men?” the stuttering major asked.

“Everyone. This camp will be empty until we complete our mission. Why are you still standing there with your mouth hanging open? Is there part of my orders you didn’t understand?”

“Uh,” the major began, then suddenly snapped his mouth shut and shouted, “Orderly.”

Prin was impressed with the general again, as she listened to a series of shouted orders being passed from officers to sergeants, and finally, to privates. Men ran in every direction. More shouts. Orders were issued, but the camp was like someone had kicked an anthill. Even the camp cooks raced from the mess hall, one of them holding a wooden spoon.

The horses drank from the stream and rested while the army organized. The major stalked from one end of the camp to the other, issuing more orders and directions, his arms waving and fingers pointing. His senior enlisted men rounded up their charges and men began to fall into formation near the gate. Sergeants shifted those out of position, and in less time than Prin believed, over two hundred men lined up, four across, wearing backpacks, and with weapons in hand.

The major returned and saluted. “Ready to depart, sir.”

“Well done, Major. Will you send scouts to the front and rear, half the men ahead of us and half behind? We are ready when you are.”

Prin admired the response from the general. He complimented the major as he issued new orders. She also noticed that after the initial confusion, the major took charge, did as the general ordered, and never questioned or asked why. She was not certain she could have done the same.

The column moved out, heading north on the road. Soon after they passed a wagon loaded high with dry hay. The scouts had moved it to a small clearing at the side of the road so it wouldn’t slow the march. The farmer watched with interested eyes as they marched past and she imagined the wild stories he would invent to account for the movement of the troops.

Probably, most of the tales would be that the Peermont Army was in retreat—and people would wonder how that would affect them. But there was no time to explain. The troops would return within ten days, five to reach Calverton and five more back to their fort.

A scout raced back from the front with a message for the major, who relayed it to the general. “Sir, we saw a scouting party of five Ansel soldiers. They headed for the river. Do you want my men to pursue?”

“No, let them go. For now.” His eyes flicked to Prin for approval.

Brice said, “We’re moving slower.”

“But safer,” Prin said. She noticed the general speaking to the officer again and heard part of his words. They were to gather any of their troops they encountered along the way. The general moved his horse until it rode directly beside Prin. “You might want your knight to take up a position on your other side where an arrow can’t reach you.”