Retribution

CHAPTER TWO

Prin’s statement implying she would immediately return to Wren to claim the throne from her uncle Willard, the new King of Wren, stilled the room. The three others exchanged dismayed expressions with her, the burst of information not only came as a surprise but as a shock—an unwelcome one.

Sara said, “I’ve loved living here with all of you. This feels like home, and you’re my family.”

“Me too,” Prin said, lifting her chin and fighting back the tears. “But it’s time for me to go home. My education has only begun, but thanks to all of you, I’ll return to Wren better prepared.”

Brice said nothing, but his eyes took in every exchange as they shifted from one woman to the next.

Maude poured another cup of her endless tea and spooned in two sugars instead of one, a rare occurrence that drew the attention of all three younger people. As she slowly stirred, she raised her eyes to briefly meet those of each of them. “We all knew this day would come, but rarely spoke of it, or what we would do when it arrived. I propose we halt our conversation while we take this information into account, and then, perhaps this afternoon, we convene for a family discussion.”

Prin started to object and explain again that it was her duty and obligation to return home but saw the wisdom of the suggestion. She was not the only one affected or disturbed. Prin whirled and strode out the door to the garden, and reached for her throwing knife as she crossed the threshold. It flew in mid-stride, twenty steps from Treeman. The knife struck the target dead center, the point buried in the soft wood of the third Treeman they had constructed in the back yard. The previous two targets had been hauled away in years past, too damaged for anything but kindling.

The knife she wore on her thigh had also found its way into her hand, unbidden. Not magic, but training. After replacing it, she grabbed a battered practice staff as she passed the bucket holding ten of them upright, and worked on her power-strikes for Hitman, the padded stump used for single-person practice. Knees flexed, hands positioned correctly, she used her back and shoulders to propel the ends of the staff against the leather-bound practice target. The pattern sounded almost like a woodpecker attacking a tree, each strike more robust than the previous.

Her heart and mind were not in it. She fumbled a simple progressive pattern and tossed the staff aside in irritation. The stone bench under the green apple tree drew her. She sat and looked at the garden with unseeing, frightened eyes. When her thoughts returned to her mediocre performance on Hitman, Prin remembered she had called the target Jam for a time.

Jam was the captain’s son on her first sea voyage. He had become her nemesis from the almost the first. When he threatened to expose Prin’s identity, Maude had used her magic to send him off on a ship to some faraway land, but months later he’d returned, again searching for Princess Hannah, her actual name. Maude sent him away again and again until at last, they didn’t see him for two full years. However, his persistence and tales of fantastic rewards had drawn bounty hunters and assassins Prin’s way as he tried to punish her for winning each encounter.

She reached for the nearest apple hanging on a low branch and bit into the ripe fruit. Brice came outside to sit in the grass near her. She snarled, “More sad news?”

“No, I thought you might want some company or have more questions.”

She spat out the skin of the apple. She never liked the skins and should have peeled it with her knife before eating. “I’m sorry. You’re just the messenger.”

“More than that, I hope.”

“I was trying to apologize for my abruptness.”

Brice allowed the conversation to fall flat while Prin worked things out for herself. He always understood there are times when silence is the best response. He’d explained that in the past, and this was one of those times.

She threw the apple core into the garden with more aggression than she intended, turned to him and said, “There’s more. My uncle is only accepting the throne to give me time to return home and claim it from him—but he’s over eighty. And barely alive.”

Brice said, “So?”

“Alive. Meaning they haven’t killed Willard yet, but it’s not like killing a young, healthy person where you must send a royal carriage over a cliff. At his age, they could simply smother him with a pillow and people would believe he died in his sleep. A drop of poison in his food, or a fall down a flight of stone stairs—after a gentle shove, would do the same. But instead, they let him live. Why?”

“It’s obvious. To draw you back to Wren,” Brice said. “The other royals, and even the peasants will revolt at the continued murders of their rulers, but that aside, there are also those who supported King Harold and your father. They are old-line leaders and will stand against Princess Eleonore and for you. They will only accept her if you are proven dead. And, of course, King Willard, now that he’s crowned, must either die or give up his throne.”

Prin asked Brice, “How long were you at sea?”

“Seventeen days, plus five days to travel from Wren to Indore. Two more sitting in port waiting for the ship to sail. This is day twenty-five since the King’s carriage went over the cliff. There was to be a state funeral for the King and his son after the tragic accident, and the coronation of Willard ten days later, but my ship had already sailed.”

Prin was counting on her fingers. “Willard has only been King for perhaps a dozen days. If I were anywhere in Wren, I would have come forward by now to support my claim for the next in line. That absence tells my enemies I’m not anywhere in the kingdom and that I will have to travel there to claim my rightful place.”

“And they will wait for you at every turn, path, road, and back-trail. Every bounty hunter, assassin, low-life, and rebel in the kingdom willing to take your head to earn a fortune will be searching for you.” Brice threw a punch at an imaginary foe.

From his sitting position, it looked as if Brice’s awkward punch missed, but Prin didn’t remark or laugh at his antics, as she normally did. She settled back onto the bench with her knees pulled up under her chin. Brice was right—and wrong. They would wait for her, but none knew that for five years she’d studied sorcery with Maude, a slave-driver, and a master teacher. She had also taught Prin and Brice what little they could find in books about the powers of a mage. However, Maude never managed to locate a mage to instruct them. There were strict rules within their ranks about who could be educated. Males with potential joined the mage ranks, usually as children, and learned. All others were shunned.

That meant Prin was not as advanced in her male-dominated mage studies as she would like to be. All mages were men, or they had been in the past. Prin was both a sorceress and mage but lacked a proper teacher for the mage studies. However, she had studied sorcery nearly every day, and Maude had kept her focused. Her skills had increased as quickly as any apprentice learning a new trade. She did not yet possess the skill level of Maude, or even that of Sara, but the last five years had brought about many changes in the weak and innocent girl of twelve or thirteen who had arrived at the port of Gallium.

And all that didn’t count her daily bouts with the combat master, the array of weapons she’d mastered, and her ability to fight.

Re-crossing the mountain pass to reach the kingdom of Wren was her first obstacle. It was a natural choke point, therefore a perfect place for her enemies to set up camps and wait. They would halt all travelers and make certain she was not with them. She might try to disguise herself, but there would be outlaw mages waiting there too, and even rogue sorceresses at every turn. She couldn’t possibly return home that way.

“I need to see maps of Wren,” she cried, leaping to her feet and rushing inside, leaving Brice in the garden.

Maude heard her calls for maps and lazily pointed to a cabinet. Prin threw the door open so hard it banged against the wall and slammed closed again. She pulled it open again, slightly softer, and found a ceramic bowl the size of a keg filled with rolled scrolls she’d never noticed.

She ignored the maps of Cindra, Phloem, and Sandra, all cities, and nations far from Wren, some of them across unknown seas. She located one labeled Indore, but it only showed the streets of the city. Prin called louder, “I need a map of Wren.”

Maude stood and placed her knitting needles aside. “I know a man in the market who sells maps.”

“You don’t have to go,” Prin said. “I will.”

“A nice stroll in the market will help my old blood flow unless you need a map this second.”

The front door opened and a man entered with a flourish—the combat instructor who refused to allow them to become friends enough to even learn his name. He wanted them to hate him as they learned to fight. During his instruction, he often injured them, but he insisted no quarter given because of friendship. Over the years they had grown used to his gruff manners and the beatings he dealt as he taught them. Prin and Sara even became fond of him when they realized how he’d only increased the danger level of the lessons when they were ready.

Not knowing what was transpiring, he snarled as he rubbed his hands together in mock anticipation, “Who’s ready to learn a few hard lessons and wear new bruises?”

“Not today,” Prin said.

“No fighting for two days in a row? You’ll grow soft and weak.”

“I need to go home. My enemies will be waiting to ambush me, so we’re planning the best way to get there.”

He calmed and walked to the tea service, where he helped himself to a cup. “Maude explained all that to me a long time ago. I’m sorry this day has arrived. Would you like my input?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Ah, an uncommon display of good sense from you, Prin. Do not travel the paths they expect. Having said that, they will also think the same way, and they’ll watch the least-traveled ways even more intently.”

Prin threw her arms into the air in frustration. “I cannot travel the ways they expect or the backroads. So, what do I do? Fly?”

He spooned in three measures of sugar and so much cream the tea turned tan. “If you can fly there, especially while invisible, that would be my suggestion. Aside from that, please allow me the courtesy to share my years of experience without that sharp tongue of yours interrupting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Prin,” his voice was softer, “this is what I do know. Hundreds, if not thousands, have hunted for you over the last five years. We’ve encountered a number of them. They will guard the heavily used pathways, and those less used. But you have solved the same problem here in Gallium and will do so there.”

Maude’s lips twitched, and then she smiled at the combat instructor and said, “Go on.”

He paced the room, tea cup in hand, a large, battered, ugly old man with a wooden foot, but each of his movements told of experience and training. He carried the delicate cup with two gnarled fingers as gently as if he were twenty and holding a gold coin. “Here in Gallium, you hide by blending in with the city, not by trying to hide from it. That action would instantly attract attention, much like traveling on the backwoods paths to your home.”

Prin scowled. “You’re suggesting I walk on the King’s Road and right through the gates of the King’s Palace?”

“I am.”

Maude cackled, and said, “I agree.”

“Huh?” Prin managed to grunt.

Sara nodded her agreement. “You are Princess Hannah of the Kingdom of Wren, the rightful heir to the throne. Eighteen years old, blonde, and everyone in the kingdom knows you’re returning and they will be watching for you. But what do they not know about you?”

“When I’m returning?”

Four people laughed while Prin tried to find the humor in the situation. Maude turned to the combat instructor. “Tell her before she gets angry.”

He said, “A warrior uses the weapons at hand, as I’ve tried to teach you. Your best weapon is that you are a sorceress, and you have lived with a master sorceress who was your teacher. Between the two of you, I’d think you can devise several spells that will allow you to walk unseen on any road in any kingdom. But, I am no sorceress and know little of magic.”

Prin started to smile and stopped before it fully formed. She said, “You’re right, all of you, but this is a good example of me not thinking of myself as a sorceress. I still think like one without magic. I use it to serve me in my studies, and when I want to avoid housekeeping or cooking, but not for what it is intended.”

Maude said, “Right on all counts. You must begin thinking for yourself and not rely on Sara or me. I am not going to Wren with you, but I hope to visit in the future. I am certain you will become an outstanding ruler for your people.”

Prin said, “Sara and I will figure out what to do.”

Sara shook her head. “No, Prin. I’m staying here to study with Maude. She has so much to teach me, and I have so much to learn. I thought you knew.”

The revelation took Prin totally by surprise. The two of them were like sisters. No, they were more than sisters. She felt betrayed. Angry. After a few deep breaths, understanding began to come. There had been many hints in the last year, but Prin had ignored them.

Going home without Sara presented a thousand additional problems, and loneliness started to sink its claws into her throat before she took the first step. Prin couldn’t speak or find the words she needed. Sara had every right to remain and study with Maude. Sara had given up a large part of her life helping Prin and placed herself in danger more times than Prin could count. It was not fair to ask more of her.

But she had to try changing Sara’s mind. “I thought you were going to be my royal sorceress.”

Sara said, “Would you want a second-rate, half-trained sorceress to serve a Queen? But, this choice is not about that. It’s about you. There are rumors of us traveling together. Two women will be more suspect than one, an increased danger you don’t need.”

The combat master said, “And you must understand that any who obstruct your passage will pay dearly. Five years of my training has turned you into a warrior of the highest order, and even more important, you appear to be a helpless young woman. By the time an enemy realizes your skill, he will be dead—and so will the two men at his side. You really are that good.”

Maude said, “We have confidence in you, Prin. You will be an excellent queen because you try to help people. With your skills, Wren will be better with you there. But it is time for you to make your own choices and not rely on us.”

“Thank you all for your help,” Prin managed.

“Oh, we’re not done, yet. Not even close,” Sara said. “We still have much to prepare.”

“But I have to leave quickly.”

Sara took her by her shoulders and said, “You are special. You have both the skills of a mage and a sorceress. What that will mean in the future, none of us knows, but to have those skills and also to be a queen? I cannot imagine the future you hold.”

Maude raised her tea cup, a signal she wished to speak again. “We’ve all discussed this day’s arrival. And all but one of us has spoken.”

Everyone turned to Brice.

He blushed, then drew his shoulders back and stood straighter while looking at Prin, “I’m going with you.”

Prin said, “You don’t have to do that. It’s going to be dangerous, and I’m not asking you.”

“Do you believe I wish to be a sailor for my life’s work? Or, a better question would be to ask, what would have happened if you had not found me at the waterfront that day? Sara would have rightly passed by, but not you. Nothing against Sara, she was doing what was in your best interest, but you took a risk and rescued me.”

“You’re welcome. Go have a good life, Brice,” Prin said. “You don’t have to be a sailor. You were just doing that to be a messenger and carry the news to me. Now you can be whatever you wish.”

Instead of turning away, his eyes flicked to the combat master, who nodded slightly. It was evident they had spoken in private. Brice fell to his knee and looked up at Prin. “As the Rightful Heir to the Kingdom of Wren, you have the power to choose your own knight.”

The combat master pulled his sword, and with a blur of twirling movement, held it horizontally across his two open palms. “I would be honored if you use mine.”

“I-I’m not a Queen.”

Maude said, “You are the Rightful Heir. Do you think we didn’t see this coming? We researched the laws, and we spoke to Brice more than two years ago. It is the law of Wren, and you do have the power. But it is your choice.”

Prin looked from one to the other in fear, confusion, and awe. They waited. She gingerly reached for the sword—and paused. She said, “I don’t know how.”

Maude said, “Nonsense. A Queen chooses her words, but I have read that she usually dubs thee, while touching each shoulder of the intended knight with the side of the bare blade and then proclaims his new title and proper name.”

“Dubs thee?” Prin asked.

“As in, I bestow on you. She then refers to him as Sir. The ceremony is that simple, and binding.” Maude’s eyes went to the sword, still held extended for Prin to use.

Prin carefully accepted the sword, pointed the tip at the ceiling and then slowly brought it down to Brice’s left shoulder. Her voice sounded choked and weak. “I dub thee, Sir Brice, Knight of the Realm of Wren, and my personal protector.” She tapped each shoulder.

Brice remained on his knees. “I vow to protect you until my last day.”

“You may stand, Sir Brice.” Prin wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug that threatened to snap ribs.

Maude smiled and emitted a shower of blue sparkles from the tips of her fingers as she tossed them high into the air. The sparkles settled gently over the room with a tinkling of joyous music, giving the room a pleasing sound and a festive appearance.

She poured tea for all. “Prin, you performed the ceremony with grace and pomp, in a manner any royalty would envy. I believe you were born to rule.”

“We’ll see,” Prin muttered too softly for any to hear. Brice read her lips.