Retribution

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Prin was used to walking, not riding, and by nightfall, her bottom and thighs protested with every step the horse took. She thought about dismounting and walking the rest of the way.

The general called a halt, and the men set up a makeshift camp. Everyone was tired. The march had not been forced but had remained steady and fast the entire afternoon. Prin strolled around the campfires and listened. Not too much complaining and the soldiers welcomed the break in routine. She heard speculation about who Brice may be, but none of the speculation centered on her, which seemed typical.

She watched a dice game from afar, measuring the faces and responses to each throw as if they waged war. For the men, that was their world. They centered themselves on today, a little on tomorrow, but all else failed to exist. They walked their watch posts, obeyed orders, understood they would never own land or animals, and didn’t care to.

A new hat or shirt was cause for joy, and not dying in battle this day was cause for a celebration. The fires began dying down, some of the men already asleep. Despite her soreness and tiredness, her mind was alert, and sleep was far off.

Brice joined her. After walking for a while, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”

“I’m not surprised the mages are circulating pictures of me in Ansel if that’s what you’re asking. I guess it’s a series of small things I’m putting together in my head.”

“Such as?”

“King Edward. From what I gather, he’s young and ignoring the war while he and his close friends drink expensive wines and sport with the prettiest girls.”

Brice said, “Isn’t that the way of most kings?”

She spun to face him. “It is not. If you read history, especially that written by kings, you’d find that ruling is more of a chore than farming or carpentry. Most kings and queens, those who are worthy to rule, hate what they do, but enjoy the advances their people make.”

“Where did all that anger come from?” Brice asked.

“It’s not directed at you. I’m scared.”

“At what?”

“My whole life has been spent running away from things. Now I’m running into it. Whatever the rest of my life becomes, the next few days will decide. Dying, or becoming queen or anything between will happen because of what I do, and what others do. Sometimes I wish I was still working in the morning kitchen.”

Brice sat beside the fire where the general spread his bedroll. He was asleep, and they kept their voices low as they talked about nothing and much. He reminded her of their pleasant life in Gallium with Sara, and Maude, and repeated some a few humorous family stories which she appreciated. Her mind slipped away from the darkness and focused on the positive future.

He often had that effect on her. He knew what to say and when. Prin unrolled her bedroll and used her pack for a crude pillow. She slept in her clothing, the same she’d worn for days without a bath or washing, other than a splash of the cold stream upon her cheeks and a rinse for her hands. Some princess.

She awoke tired and sore. Her legs barely straightened and standing was slow and difficult. Brice and the general were nowhere in sight, but the rest of the camp was in motion. She smelled smoke and food, saw men carrying thin cakes rolled around thin slices of meat, and her mouth watered.

But first, she gathered her bedroll and readied it for travel. Brice brought her two of the cakes and chewed on another. They were tasteless. The dough was half-cooked and raw, the meat old and dried, probably soaked in water this morning to soften it enough to chew.

She chewed, thankful for what she had. The forest was damp this morning, a thin layer of fog hiding the blue sky. She heard geese honking high in the air, and a ground squirrel slipped to the top of a rock and watched her. She tossed a bite to it, but the animal darted away and ignored her offering.

Like me. Always running away. Prin turned and found Brice approaching again, leading the three horses. The sight did little to improve her mood. Walking would be preferable—at least for a while, but she doubted she could maintain the steady pace the army set.

The day passed as slowly as the sameness of the road they traveled. Undergrowth grew right up to the sides of the road, and tree branches hung overhead. The road was not paved, more of a wide path than a road, and the river never far off, but seldom within sight.

Ahead she watched the winding snake of men now marching two abreast. Behind, she heard the pounding of their boots, always in synch with the others. Now and then they softly sang tunes to march to. She wondered at first but realized without asking, that they were well away from the disputed lowlands. There should not be Ansel troops nearby, but they sang softly, just in case.

Brice rode beside her, the general rode ahead. Brice asked, “Your plans?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you hinted and said for me to figure it out. Well, I tried and do you want to know what I came up with?”

She turned her head and looked at him, waiting for more.

“I’ll tell you. Right now, we should be riding up the Valley of Wren, using all the tricks we planned. We’d almost be to the royal palace, by now. But you’re taking us up a different valley to locate people you don’t know, and who are at war. My question is, how will that put you on the throne?”

“I plan to enlist the help of Peermont.”

Brice’s mouth fell open. “What? You heard the general. King Edward only cares for himself. Why would he help you? Besides, they are losing this war.”

“Because he only cares for himself is the main reason he will help me.” Prin set her jaw and refused to speak again. Despite her thighs burning and chafing from the saddle, and a place on one buttock that had opened a blister, she sat upright and looked straight ahead.

Brice rode alongside her, snatching glances her way now and then. By mid-day, they left the heavy forest, and the road improved. A few wooden bridges crossed larger streams, and farms lined the road. The houses and fields were also run down, the crops sparse, and the grazing animals few. Once prosperous farms were in ruin.

Alongside the road, a young farmer squatted beside a deer, the result of a successful hunt. His clothing hung on him, but worse, his eyes held little life. Instead of growing his food, he hunted to eat. At least, that was the way Prin understood.

Without forethought, she slid from the saddle and sat on the grass at his side. He watched her but said nothing. Someone called for a halt, and then the men fell out of formation and rested, but one unit surrounded Prin, their backs to her while they watched for danger approaching.

“How’s life?” she asked.

The farmer shrugged.

She jutted her chin at the nearest house. “That your farm?”

“My dad’s.”

“Mom?”

“Gone. Left for the city one morning and we never seen her again.”

Prin thought she knew the answer, but asked anyhow, “Why did she leave?”

“I think she got tired of farming. Tired of working hard all day and things getting worse with no end in sight.”

“People call me Prin.” She hesitated and realized that with the magic images of her, and with her cousin’s rewards coupled with her King’s death, there was no longer any reason to hide her identity. “But my real name is Hannah. Princess Hannah, soon to be Queen of Wren.”

Fear filled his face, and he started to leap to his feet. She reached out with a hand on his shoulder and restrained him. “You’re the first person I’ve said that to in a long time.”

“Queen?”

She smiled. “Perhaps. But right now, I wanted to talk to you. Tell me about this farm when you were ten.”

His eyes rolled, and he said nothing.

“Tell me. Not as a princess of another land, but as one person to another.”

“It was a good farm. We were happy.”

“The war came?”

“We don’t know much about that.” His voice turned hard. “What we do know is that men sent by King Edward started taking our animals without paying. If we objected, they beat us. Same with our crops. Finally, we had no more, and they stopped coming.”

She digested his heated response, more words than he’d spoken since she sat down. Anger simmered beneath his placid exterior. Intense anger. She held out her hand to shake. “Call me Hannah.”

Brice had come up beside her and broke out into a smile as he heard her say that.

“What?” she barked at Brice. The farmer drew back, but she said softly from the side of her mouth, “My brother. I can speak to him like that.”

The farmer semi-relaxed.

“What?” she repeated to Brice in the same snappish tone.

“From now on I’m to call you Hannah?” Brice asked.

“It does no good to hide who I am anymore. Everyone seems to know, so yes. My name is Hannah, so I’ll use it.”

Brice chuckled. “Before the voyage, Maude, Sage and I made a bet as to when you would revert to using your real name. I argued that it would be before we reached Wren, so I think I just won.”

“Why would you three make a bet on that?” Hannah asked, puzzled and ignoring the farmer.

Brice sat close to her. “Because, as Maude said, that is the day you begin calling your enemies to face you. Today, you are announcing you are Princess Hannah, and you’re telling the whole world, your supporters, and enemies, that Hannah is coming. Like a dark storm on a moonless light.”

“I’ve just had enough of the sneaking around and pretending. I’m almost home, and Hannah is my name. Do you disagree?”

“No, I want you to use it. I’ve been waiting for your patience to wear thin and for you to begin fighting back. Princess Elenore and Lord Jeffery have had things their way for six years, and they have pushed you across a sea and forced you to give up your life, your inheritance, and even your pride.”

“My pride? Yes, I think you’re right. I set all that aside while I waited to grow up so I could fight back.”

Brice turned to the farmer. “Would you like some help getting your deer down to your house?”

“You’re not going to take it from me?”

Prin, who would now revert to being Princess Hannah, said, “We don’t do things like that. Not where I come from.”

The farmer glanced at the soldiers resting along the road. “What about them?”

Hannah laughed and poked a finger at Brice’s ribs. “If they try, they’ll have to go through my brother and me.”

“You don’t know them,” the farmer said, his eyes falling to the deer.

“And you don’t know Hannah,” Brice said, using that name for the first time as he stood. “Help me get it over my shoulders, and I’ll carry it.”

Brice managed to get the deer centered without help, then held one forefoot and one rear foot to keep it balanced. He walked beside the farmer, and before long both of them were talking, but Hannah couldn’t hear what they said because of the distance. She saw Brice throw his head back and laugh, and almost stumble, but the farmer helped him regain his balance.

Hannah realized that in a short conversation with the young man she had decided to use her real name and challenge anyone who was coming after her instead of hiding. The name was like a banner in front of a bull. Come and get me, if you can.

But thinking about names also brought up another idea. With the importance of using her name, she had forgotten to ask the farmer his.