Retribution

CHAPTER THREE

Maude hugged Prin and Brice after the ceremony, laughing and telling them their choice of words were better than those in any of the books she’d studied. Her mood matched the tinkling of the sparkles still decorating the air.

Prin said while realizing her words were tumbling over each other, “What if I die and no one ever finds out I knighted you? I didn’t even know if a princess is allowed to knight someone—but if I can, you’re mine.”

Brice said, “The five of us know. When we arrive in Wren, you can make an official announcement to the kingdom, and perhaps even King Willard will re-knight me if he is alive. I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, I’m your knight as long as I live.”

Prin turned to Maude, “What plans do you have for me before I leave? Any special spells you’ve concocted?”

“Plans and more plans. Sara will accompany you on the voyage because there is still so much for you to learn, but she will come back by return ship. This will allow you to depart as soon as you determine a destination and book passage on a fast ship. I suggest you do both of those things before the end of this day. Brice might take care of that chore for you while you’re otherwise occupied.”

Again, the abrupt timing was a surprise to Prin, but she also understood the increased danger delaying her return put on the life of King Willard. Each day put more pressure on her enemies to kill him, and Prin remembered he was around eighty when she had fled the kingdom five years earlier.

Time had suddenly become critical—which seemed a contradiction to her casual way of life for the last five years. Prin now felt the constraint of time as if giant strong fingers with long claws wrapped around her chest and squeezed. Maude must have planned for this day a long time ago because nobody could account for all she had done today without preparation. That was just like her.

Prin turned to the combat instructor. “Did you mention you know something of Wren?”

“I know what’s important for you to know. Fetch me parchment, ink, and a quill with a sharp nib.”

A few moments later, he sketched a sweeping curve along the left side of the paper. “Pay close attention. This is better than any map because it will only contain what you need to know. The first line is the far shore of the Blue Ocean, and here is the port of Indore, where you departed for Gallium.” He drew several parallel squiggles and said, “These are the mountains and the mountain pass you crossed, and the Kingdom of Wren lies beyond.”

He dipped the pen and drew several more times without speaking, but across the mountains in what Prin assumed was Wren, he also printed the names of Ezra, Tagore, and Barotseland, all cities Prin had heard of. Next, he placed a meandering line down to the sea. All three cities lay along that line, with Indore near the end where it joined the ocean.

“The River Indo eventually flows into the city of Indore, but with a new name there, as I recall. However, people in Wren still call it Indo. There are numerous other small towns and villages along the river and more away from the river, but these are the central features of Wren. On the other side of the valley, which is shaped like a long, crooked finger, is a parallel mountain range with no way across, and beyond them is the kingdom of Peermont.”

Prin pointed and said, “Which city holds the King’s Palace?”

“None.” He used the quill to follow the river past the three large cities and to the edge of the mountains he’d drawn. He made a dot. Then, he seemed to hesitate as if reluctant to indicate her destination, and then wrote ‘Palace Wren’ beside it, and beyond it, he made another dot and labeled it the Earl’s Castle.

“I know those places.”

“And they know you. Therefore they are the most dangerous.”

Prin started to ask another question, but he held up his hand to stall her. He drew another line, reasonably parallel to the River Indo. “The King’s Road.”

She still had a question about which route to take. But the combat master forestalled her again. He said, “This road is your way to the palace.”

“The King’s Road? I thought you were kidding. That would be crazy!” Prin said. “It’s patrolled by the King’s men who watch all traffic.”

“The King’s men are probably on your side. It is better to be captured by them than those your cousin pays to hunt you. I stressed the word, probably. You will trust nobody, or do I have to take you out to the gardens and spank you again?” the combat master asked with a fond smirk she hadn’t seen often.

“Did you bring a dozen men to help you so you might be able to do it?” Prin snapped. “Why would I take the most obvious route?”

“Because all the other routes, those a person sneaking into the kingdom would use, will be impassible with so many enemies trying to locate you. They are narrow and contain few travelers, so each traveler will face a wall of opposition, and they will curse you for their delays. The King’s Road has thousands of feet on it every day, and you will lose yourself within the masses, much the same as you hide in Gallium,” he said.

Maude said, “Only more so. With the various spells you will use, one day you will appear older than me, and far uglier. At other times, with the help of another spell I’ve worked out, you will blend in so well none will notice you. There will be stretches of the road when none can see you, with the overall plan being there is no consistent trail for your enemies to follow. Those who do see a pattern may forget what they saw, or confuse their memories with other people who traveled that way.”

Prin felt a wave of relief. Maude had thought of it all.

Maude continued, her voice softer and more serious, “And there may be those who will recognize you—and they will die.”

The last two words drew a sharp reaction from Prin, but she held her tongue.

The combat master drew another line along the sea from Indore to a place he labeled Swain. “The Old Coast Road past a dead city named Swain. It’s fallen into near disuse from the travelers taking boats up and down the Indo, but a few locals still use it. I suggest you do, too.”

“I’m not arguing,” Prin said while studying the map. “But why? I don’t understand.”

He laughed. “A good question for a student to ask. I would offer compliments to your combat teacher for a job well done, except that would be self-serving.”

Prin offered a weak smile at his little joke.

He returned it and said, “Here are my thoughts and why I suggest this route. While on the ship, you will be passengers and have little chance to plan lest you are overheard by a crewman or passenger. You have sailed, so you know the routine, and how easily a stray, or whispered, comment leads to problems.”

“I do,” Prin said, thinking back to several instances while on her first ship, the Merry Princess.

“Good. The ship will depart Indore a day or two after you arrive, and hopefully, take any miscalculations you made with it. That means you will be reasonably safe once ashore. Even in Indore, you will blend in, and you have friends there if you need their support. However, I suggest you avoid endangering them by so much as a visit.”

Prin nodded her understanding. She felt confident she would make it that far. “Ships depart daily from Indore. I could take one to Swain and depart there for the King’s Road. It would be easier and faster. That was my question.”

“I want you to take the more challenging route on foot, by the old road. While Brice accompanies you, I want you to have those days alone together—without help or support. You will have no resources but those you carry inside. For more than five years, you have lived with the sustenance and protection of Maude, with Sara making most decisions as your big sister. You and Brice need time to learn to work together—without the help of Maude and Sara. But, it is you who will be in charge. Your knight will do as you order.”

Prin pursed her lips and studied the map. “I’ll really be on my own, won’t I?”

Maude touched Brice’s elbow. “No offense, but Prin must use this time to learn to survive. You will back her up and offer suggestions, but make no mistake, Prin will become a different person. She will be scared, and she may ask you to travel apart from her or give you other strange commands, but you are sworn to obey.”

“I should stay with her to protect her.”

“No,” the combat master said. “You should, and you will do whatever she says. You swore obedience and loyalty to her not ten minutes ago, and already you challenge your Princess’ commands?”

Prin said, “That’s not what he meant. Now, once I reach Swain, what will I do?”

“A boat trip would seem right, but on any vessel, no matter how large, you are restricted in area to a few dozen paces. You cannot retreat or run. There is little room to throw that knife you use to cheat the natural forces. Besides, you only carry one knife between your shoulder blades. There may be two, three, or four attackers.” The combat master placed the pen down and waited. “Perhaps a whole crew anxious to collect the reward of a fistful of gold coins.”

Prin didn’t answer immediately. “I see. A carriage is also restricted, but I can leap off and run.”

“Carriages are for the wealthy,” the combat master snapped. “The rich are noticed, remembered, and tongues wag. You are a Princess, so suspect. Only the poor are unseen, and even then, people recollect travelers and strangers. Maude and I have discussed this plan many times, and our belief is that you must transition between appearances at each of the cities you pass through.”

Maude said, “Our biggest concern is your entry into the King’s Palace. There is where you will face the most danger. The final step is where many enemies wait, and they will be those most dangerous.”

The combat master placed a hand on Prin’s shoulder. “We cannot help you there because of the unknown variables. But, know this: your enemies have had five years to plan for your return. They have tried to find you all that time, but since they have not, they expect you to return, and they are prepared. Allow that to simmer in your mind while we all sip some satisfactory tea, and if you have any sense, you will tremble in fear.”

Prin turned and walked to her bedroom, but instead of packing, she used the double doors and entered the garden. It still had the look and feel of being too perfect, but she would miss it. For now, she wanted to be alone a few minutes and let her mind grasp some of the finer points of the plan.

A raven landed on a nearby branch and whispered, “Hannah, it’s time to come home.”

Prin felt momentarily confused by the use of her actual name, one she had seldom heard for more than five years. It was another message from Evelyn, her sorceress friend in Wren. She expected it would not be the only message she would receive. By the time she had recovered her wits, the raven had flown away.

Her mind went to the end of her story, which held her wearing the ancestral crown of Wren and she worked her way back, examining each step along the way. The unknowns made the story incomplete and choppy, but one central theme persisted. Did she want to be a Queen? That one was easy. She didn’t. She did not want the intrigue, ruling over other people’s problems, making laws for things she knew nothing about, and most of all, being limited in her daily life.

As a Queen, her sorcery powers would be questioned, if known or discovered later. In her research, there had never been a Queen with sorcery powers, let alone those of a mage. The royalty of Wren might rebel if they knew of her magic powers. If the royalty reacted that way, she couldn’t imagine the reaction her subjects would have. She had to keep her powers hidden.

A new thought forced its way into her thinking. If Princess Eleonore had not tried to seize the throne, would Prin have voluntarily stepped aside and avoided all that was happening? Prin believed herself not nearly as qualified about training, preparation, and ambition, not to mention palace politics. Eleonore had begun studying to achieve her goal of wearing the crown as a child and had fully expected to rule. She was better qualified in all respects, but one. She was ambitious.

Someone had murdered several people, people she cared about. Each death brought Eleonore closer to being the Queen, and Prin refused to allow that plan to succeed. She would remain Prin, a poor, elderly traveler until reaching the King’s Palace, then she would transition into Hannah.

It would not be easy. Nobody would know where she had been for five years, or the name she used, but many would resist her rule if for no other reason than that they had believed for years that Eleonore would be the next Queen. Eleonore was prepared to fight and other royalty sided with her. Even her mages would try to oppose Prin’s rule.

The opposition to the throne and overthrow attempts had continued for the last five years, and attempt after an attempt had been made on the King’s life. Eleonore had fled when he fought back, but the conflict continued. Hannah was the wild card.

The raven was right. It was time to go home. Prin found herself anxious and wondering why she hadn’t returned to her homeland sooner. The responsibilities and difficulties seemed to call to her.

Prin glanced down and found her hands trembling. She looked at Treeman and reached for the throwing knife. It slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground near her feet.

A familiar voice behind said, “That shows you are human.”

She turned to find the combat master standing quietly beside a rose bush in permanent full bloom. He limped closer. “If you were attacking me I’d be dead,” Prin said.

“That was only your first weapon. You’re prepared to fight with more. Listen, your whole life will change by the end of this day, if it has not already. Pick up your knife and try again.”

She stooped and felt like she might pass out. But she stood and slipped the blade into the scabbard. A glance at Treeman and her hand flew to the hilt, cocked, and let the knife fly in one smooth motion. She had made the same throw more than a hundred times a day, over five years, from different distances. Probably two-hundred-thousand times, seldom fumbling or missing. Her confidence solidified.

He said, “Princess Eleonore and Lord Jeffery are in hiding, I hear, along with their servants, three powerful mages, and the support of their vast treasury.”

“Meaning?”

“Right now, you believe you must charge into the palace and claim your throne, and perhaps you do. However, that is what they expect. Think about that. Do something else.”

“I’m dense in the head today. Tell me more.”

He reached behind himself, and quickly selected a practice staff from the bucket holding almost a dozen of them, rolled it around in his hands and suddenly shouted, “Defend yourself.”

Prin glanced around for another staff or something else to use for her defense but found nothing. Her eyes darted to the combat master to determine if he was going to allow her to sprint to the stand of practice staffs before he attacked. It was lucky she did because instead of placing his hands in the typical attack stance, his arm drew back, and he threw the staff like a spear.

She dropped to the ground as it sailed over her head. “Hey, that wasn’t fair.”

“My point, exactly. Do not expect your cousin Eleonore to play fair.”

She sat up. “No.”

“There are only three things that can happen if you look at this from her standpoint. You never return. That’s a good outcome for her. You die attempting to return. Another good outcome. You return and claim the throne. Also, a possible good outcome.”

“How is that last one possibly good for her?”

“Think about it from her perspective. She has had at least six years to prepare for your return. Do you believe she has not considered the last outcome and prepared for it? For instance, to make it incredibly simple for your weak mind to comprehend, she may have placed a poisoned needle on the seat of the throne. Nobody but a King or Queen dares sit on it, and Willard is too ill. So, you would be the next to place your bottom there.”

“I think I’m beginning to see. If I die, even after my coronation, Elenore rules.”

He continued, counting off horrible outcomes on his gnarled fingers, “The door handle to your private chambers may have a spell cast on it that makes your hand wither after you touch it. The bed may contain a dozen nasty surprises. Your royal clothing may be treated to make your skin fall off. Bats may fly into your window at night and attack you with their tiny teeth until you die. An otherwise friendly dog may tear your head off your neck. An arrow you release while hunting may circle around and strike your throat. Lightning may strike you—directed by a mage.”

Prin said, “Enough. I understand. In any of those cases, Eleonore would swoop in and claim the throne without opposition.”

“Easier than fighting you. You must deal with her.”

Prin pulled her throwing knife and flipped it into the air. It spun twice and landed in her fingers ready to throw again. Her eyes didn’t bother watching the knife. She tossed it up again. And again. In a voice, almost too soft to carry, she said, “It sounds like seizing the throne will get me killed.”

“Without a doubt.”