 
THE LOST COUNTRY

by Brian Bakos

cover art: Becky Parish

interior art: Rob Jones, Brian Bakos

Copyright 2013 Brian Bakos / revised 02-2020

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to anyone else. If you want to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thanks for respecting the author's hard work.

Table of Contents

One: Kingdom of Make Believe

Two: New Horizons

Three: The Grand Festival

Four: Counterstroke

Five: Meeting the Enemy

Six: Reversals

Seven: Flight

Eight: The Uprising Begins

Nine: Crossing the Barrens

Ten: On from Defeat

Eleven: Siege

Twelve: Desperate Measures

Thirteen: Victory or Death

Epilog

Other Books for Young Readers

# One: Kingdom of Make Believe

1. The Pit-Eyed Thing

The Pit-Eyed Thing laughs at me.

The awful creature hovers above the mountain pass. An evil smirk attends its face, and vacant eyes pulse with mockery.

Despite the heat, a chill runs through my veins. I draw my cloak about myself and fight a powerful urge to flee. My mind snarls defiance:

You don't exist. You're only my imagination!

The specter fades to nothingness, leaving just the wall of mountains – twelve miles and a whole universe away. I pull my hat down over my eyes so I can no longer see the distant peaks.

My horse stands patiently, awaiting a command. My mental ravings have no effect on her.

"Let's go!"

I dig my heals into Vádora's flanks. We move down the East Road at a trot.

All is normal for a time while our familiar countryside drifts past – golden fields and bright woodlands, the thatched roofs of villages. Wagons loaded with produce rumble by on their way to the capital city. I maneuver through a herd of swine bound for slaughter. Hopefully, they are not bringers of ill omen.

I've just passed the eighth milestone when the world changes. The atmosphere blurs and thickens, as if it is more substantial than air. I seem to be looking up from a murky pond bottom. I splash canteen water on my face, but it does not improve my vision.

Try as I might, I cannot stop the reins from trembling in my hands. I twist around in the saddle. Behind me is nothing but empty road shining with heat mirage. The route ahead appears the same.

A wind gust blows off my hat, so I can see the frozen summits ahead. They stand dangerously close, monsters aching to devour me with frozen teeth. The sun becomes impossibly large and descends to block my way. A flock of dark birds explodes skyward. The air wavers, and the Pit-Eyed Thing takes shape before me.

"Y-you're not real. You're only in my mind!"

But there it is hovering over the road, almost invisible against the sun glare. I jab a finger at it.

"Be gone!"

The wraith smirks. My mind boils. How dare that apparition defy me! I am Crown Prince Rupert of Sopronia. I lower my head and grit my teeth. I force myself onward . . .

When I look up, I am back home.

2. Banner Madness

Humiliation still gnaws at me days later. I'd say I feel unmanned by my failure, were I a man yet and not a lad beginning my 14th year.

The anguish is intense, just the same. Since my defeat on the East Road, I've not been out riding again. I've scarcely left my chambers, except to take meals and to evade Gaspar.

A festival celebrating the 20th anniversary of Father's reign will be held in a few days, and there is much redecorating in progress. I dread the whole thing, as I must ride in the parade and give a speech to our people.

Besides, other matters are tormenting me – like that cursed Pit-Eyed Thing. The wraith is haunting my dreams now. What am I to do?

I need a target for my outrage, and I find one in the castle main corridor – an ape of a work crew boss. He stands arrogantly, hands on hips, barking orders at his cringing men as they prepare to replace a musty old tapestry with a large, billowy Sopronian flag.

The man is a bully. I hate bullies. The knowledge that I am also a bully, at times, only makes matters worse.

Our royal crest shows amidst the flag's red, white, and green stripes. It consists of a crown flanked by a bear and a large water creature of some sort. A bird hovers above all. Pride surges in my heart at the sight, but my ill temper soon returns.

The flying dust makes me cough, and the crew leader turns an annoyed face my direction. When he sees who I am, he jerks to attention, as if somebody has poked his rear end with a dagger.

"Good morning, Your Lordship," he says with a deep bow.

Everyone else pays respect as well. I acknowledge them with a nod.

"Carry on," I say.

The crew boss turns back toward his workers. "Quit idling!"

Yes... this gentleman sorely needs a comeuppance. I approach one of the ladders where a worker is just about to climb up.

"Step aside, please," I say.

The workman looks astonished but complies soon enough. "Yes, my lord."

He moves away. The crew leader steps toward me, a worried frown creasing his face.

"Please stand back, Your Lordship," he says. "This is a hazardous area."

"Really?"

I shove past him and scramble up the ladder until I am towering twenty feet above the floor.

"Be careful!" the crew leader wails.

He grasps the ladder as if his life depends on it. He looks like a complete fool. I'm really enjoying this! The view of the long drop tempers my pleasure somewhat as I'm not overly fond of heights.

"Lift the banner up here," I say.

The workers look toward their boss, who shakes his head frantically. "Nooo!"

"Obey me!"

Workmen reluctantly hoist up the flag on poles. I and a man on another ladder opposite me grasp it and mount it on the wall hooks. My arm isn't quite long enough, so I have to lean far over. Just for fun, I pretend to be losing my balance.

"Ohhhhhh!" the crew boss howls.

Then I'm not pretending any longer. One foot slips off the rung, and my empty hand flails the air.

"Ahhhhh!" everyone cries.

I can barely keep from screaming along with them. People rush forward, their arms outstretched to catch me. I steady myself at last.

My knees tremble, but my heart is soaring. The crew boss's face is ashen.

"Please come down," he croaks. "The King will have my head if you fall."

Excellent! I'm having the time of my life. Then a maid servant appears with depressing news.

"Gaspar approaches!"

Of course. The old chief steward always shows up just as the fun is starting.

I slide down the ladder and retreat to a doorway recess. Moments later, Gaspar's tall, bony figure clomps into view. Sun rays from the high windows ricochet off his bald head.

Gaspar isn't a bad sort, really – nothing like Duke Wiltone, for sure – but he's very gruff and bossy. His word is law for the entire castle. Even I have to obey him.

"What's all the racket?" he demands.

"Uh, w-we had some difficulty hanging the banner, Chief Steward... sir," the crew boss says.

Gaspar cocks an eyebrow. "So it would seem."

The crew leader shrinks under Gaspar's scowl, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Maybe he's learned not to act so puffed up. And if he hasn't, maybe I'll teach him another lesson some day.

"Has anyone seen the Crown Prince?" Gaspar says.

I slither back against the cool stone. The workmen look at their feet, some glance toward me. I place a finger to my lips. The maid servant steps forward, all sweet and innocent.

"I saw His Lordship heading for the Great Hall," she says.

Gaspar's mouth twists. "Very well."

He walks away, right past my hiding place. "Where is that boy?" he mutters. "Playing some foolish game, I suppose. How un-Sopronian!"

If he'd only looked over, he would have seen me. He's got good eyes for an old fellow.

Doubtless, he has some tiresome task for me to perform; therefore, I must escape. Here is something to relieve my boredom.

I emerge from my hiding place and blow a kiss to the blushing girl. I shall do her a good turn when I can. Such loyalty should be rewarded. Besides, she is quite pretty.

There are so few young people around. My days blend one into another. I sometimes feel like I've been 'Poofed!' into existence like a magician's trick, with no history and nowhere to go into the future.

Gripping an imaginary dagger inside my tunic, I creep along the walls like an assassin stalking an enemy. Thus equipped, I move into the castle's remote regions.

3. The Dark Lad

My plan is to climb the back tower and escape to the ramparts, but I lose my way in the disused corridors. Dusty light jabs through a high window. Dust lies heavy on the floor, dank air licks my skin.

Lost in my own home? Absurd!

But I can't get my bearings. The light shaft dims, as if something is blocking the window. A presence seems to lurk in the gloom behind me, though I dare not look back. Panic nips at me.

Be strong, Rupert!

I wish I'd been stronger the other day when the Pit-Eyed Thing foiled me on the East Road. The Pit-Eyed Thing has no mercy, and it mocks our weakness.

We Sopronians can scarcely imagine any reality beyond our frontiers. We never venture abroad, and no outsiders visit. Mountains constrain us on all sides. My failed effort to scale the mountain pass speaks to our isolation.

Everyone says Sopronia is a perfect land that no one in their right mind would ever care to leave. But for me it's a hothouse in which I can scarcely breathe. I can scarcely breathe now.

"One... two... three..." I count my paces so as to focus my mind.

By step fifty I've turned a corner. Beyond it is a tiny back exit. I dash through it into bright early morning. I breathe in the fresh air and raise grateful arms toward the sky.

Forget the ramparts; this is a day for riding.

* * *

The Royal stables are immaculate, but they still bear the unmistakable odor of horse, the scent of freedom. Before me stretches a long row of stalls, each with an excellent mount looking proudly over the low door.

I scoop up carrots from a hamper and feed one to the nearest horse. His whiskers and rubbery lips tickle my palm. Jonathan, the head stableman, approaches.

"Good morning," he says heartily. "Your Lordship will be riding today?"

I nod.

He waddles off with surprising speed for such a large man.

I stroll behind, offering carrots to various horses until my supply is gone. By the time I reach Vádora, Jonathan has nearly finished putting on her saddle. My beautiful white mare whinnies with joy. She's hasn't seen me for several days now, ever since my failed attempt to reach our eastern border.

I pat her neck. "Hello, girl."

Jonathan applies the finishing touches to the saddle. Something peculiar catches my attention. It's just a boy, about my age, cleaning a nearby stall... but he seems extraordinary, somehow.

Unease grips my heart.

"You there," I say, "what's your name?"

The boy shrinks back. He is broad-shouldered but unnaturally thin, as if he's been starved. People going hungry in Sopronia? Father would have a fit if he knew.

This is not the most startling thing, however. The lad is _dark_. His face has a dusky hue, as if someone has rubbed charcoal into it. His complexion is quite different from that of our ruddy people, and especially myself with a skin so pale I can hardly endure the sunshine upon it.

"He don't talk, Your Lordship," Jonathan says. "Must be simple-minded, I reckon."

"When did he come here?"

"Two days ago. I'm thinking he wandered away from home and couldn't take care of himself. I've been trying to fatten him up."

The boy moves off, but I block his way.

"Look at me when I am addressing you."

A head covered in dark, curly hair swivels up from between hunched shoulders. He has a broad face with a rather hard look to it. Intelligence shows in the eyes. This is no simple-minded person.

I motion him toward the door.

"Stop playing dumb," I say once we are outside. "Who are you?"

He still does not reply. My face begins turning hot.

"Answer or I'll have you flogged!"

Actually, I have no authority to do that, but I like the sound of it. The lad doesn't seem frightened, though.

"Do you know who I am?"

The lad nods, but still refuses to speak. The insolent...! I cock a fist, and he braces himself for the punch.

Then I pause. What would the King say if he found out? I recall the time he caught me shoving around a servant boy who had failed in his duties. Father cuffed me alongside the head saying:

"Use kindness, Rupert. A future king must love his people."

The blow hadn't hurt much, but the shame of disappointing Father was almost unbearable. My anger drains away; I lower my fist.

"Tell me who you are and where you're from, lad. I promise you'll not be harmed."

Suddenly, I realize our whole world hangs on the boy's reply. I feel an urgent desire to snatch back my questions, but it is too late.

"My name's Clyde. I'm from the Eastlands, beyond the mountains."

My chest recoils as if a horse has kicked me. My mouth turns dry, and I reach for the wall to steady myself. The stones feel mushy under my hand.

"My name is Clyde," he repeats. "I came over Demon's Maw pass three days ago."

He speaks with a barbarous, sing-song accent, but I understand him well enough. Before I can gather my wits, reckless words tumble out of my mouth:

"Take me there."

Alarm shoots across the lad's broad face. "No, Your Lordship, it's too dangerous."

His distress emboldens me, and I push myself off the wall. I stand firmly now, ashamed that I let myself be seen in a moment of weakness.

"Why do you say that, boy?"

"Bandits, my lord. Don't venture there without your army goes with you."

Right. I think of our strutting parade ground 'soldiers.' They would be a great help.

"These 'bandits,'" I say, "are there such persons atop the mountain pass?"

"No, my lord, nobody ventures Demon's Maw."

My voice comes out fast, outrunning my common sense. "Then that is as far as we shall go."

"But – "

I shove Clyde through the door.

"A horse for this lad, Jonathan. I desire an attendant for my ride."

My blood is up, and I dare not let it go down again. This will be the great day of discovery, come what may. And a plague on the Pit-Eyed Thing!

As Jonathan saddles a horse for Clyde. I pace the stables like a caged bear – before Father outlawed such cruelty – smacking the top of my boot with my riding crop. Fear paces along with me, blowing cold breath on my neck.

Worse, I am having trouble concentrating.

We are going for a ride, I know, but can scarcely remember where to. The destination flickers in and out of my mind like a candle flame in a breeze.

I retreat to Jonathan's office. His account book lies open with its listings of food, tack, and other items. I seize his quill pen and dip it in the ink bottle.

I scrawl a reminder on the back of my riding glove:

ATOP THE PASS

4. Ride into Oblivion

We ride out onto the cobbled streets, past towering stone buildings with pointy roofs and arched windows. They throw cooling shade upon the route.

People jam the byways – trading at the market, running errands, eating at food stands. Delicious aromas waft about, reminding me I skipped breakfast.

Everyone seems to be out – girls in braided yellow locks and boys with hair cut short. Men haul their various burdens, women fritter about the market negotiating with sellers. Nobody recognizes me in my plain attire with hat pulled low, but my name is on people's lips since my image graces their silver coins.

"How much for this item?" Someone asks a merchant.

"One gold sovereign and three Ruperts," the merchant answers.

Clyde follows at a proper distance. When I glance back, he wears a calm, unreadable expression – taking nothing from the fine day and adding nothing to it.

We pass through the East Gate. Outside the city confines, the sun beats down hard. My whole body aches from the brightness. A farmer clatters past with a wagonload of melons. Sun bouncing off the yellow skins nearly blinds me. Clyde moves up alongside.

"You seem to ride adequately," I say. "Have you much experience?"

"Some, my lord." He pats the chestnut mare's neck. "I can handle her."

"See that you do."

I look toward the Eastern Mountains. In their midst sulks the low dip of "Demon's Maw" pass. It grins with malice. Above it, brutal sun rays stab at me. Fear almost holds me in place, but it will not triumph today.

"Lead on."

Clyde urges his horse into a trot. I follow, keeping my eyes fixed on the lad's back so as to avoid seeing any horrors that might try to stop me – like the Pit-Eyed Thing.

A blank, peculiar half sleep descends upon me. Vádora's gait lolls me like a babe in a cradle. The miles pass...

Next thing I know, the lad has stopped his horse and I've bumped into him. I jolt back to full awareness.

"Why did you stop?"

"We must turn off the main road here, Your Lordship."

I take my feet out of the stirrups and flex stiff ankles. The road curves northward while a narrow, rising lane continues east into a wooded area. Beyond hulk the great mountains, terrible in their silence.

I try to keep my voice steady. "Turn off the main road, why?"

"But I thought – "

"What you think is unimportant. Please remain silent."

I'm frightened and trying to mask it with harsh words. This makes me even angrier. Me, heir to the throne, acting no better than that petty tyrant of a work crew leader.

"I have things to do at the castle," I say. "There's no time for this foolishness."

"Yes, my lord."

Do I detect relief in the lad's voice – a bit of contempt, perhaps? I am turning Vádora around when I catch sight of my left glove. A message in my own writing is scrawled on the back:

ATOP THE PASS

What?

Confusion elbows aside my fear. I sit for some moments, trying to unravel the mystery. The boy infuriates me with his silence. Sure, I told him to shut up, but why doesn't he say something? My stomach rumbles with hunger.

I'm thirsty, too. I should have brought a canteen. Isn't that a stream over there? Down the trail, toward the pass.

The pass!

Truth bursts through. A warped mirror inside my mind shatters as if struck by an armored fist. Joyous power surges through me.

I ram my feet into the stirrups and turn down the lane at a canter.

"Follow me!"

# Two: New Horizons

5. Ascent

The land is oddly deserted. No flock nor herd grazes the open areas, despite the sweet aroma of clover. Startled honeybees buzz my ears. The terrain rises steadily, and I slow Vádora to a walk.

We dismount by the brook. The water is the best I've ever tasted – cold, invigorating. Clyde produces fruit, bread, and cheese from his saddle bags. After the long ride, this simple meal tastes like a feast.

It occurs to me that I may have placed myself in an insecure position. I am in a remote area, unarmed, and with a foreign lad I have just met. Nobody knows I'm out here.

How do I know Clyde can be trusted?

I don't, not with absolute certainty. Something about the lad's stolid face inspires confidence, though. He looks to be as reliable as Jonathan is, and Jonathan seems to trust him.

After lunch, I walk toward the pass and study its layout. It's nothing spectacular, just a moderate climb that any reasonably fit person might accomplish. How could I have let this ignorant pile of rock frighten me?

A road, somewhat crumbled and overgrown, zig zags upwards.

"Might a horse make the ascent?" I ask.

"The road is good enough," Clyde says, "though narrow near the summit."

"I shall ride, then."

"Begging Your Lordship's pardon, but I believe the trip would be safer on foot."

I cast a disdainful glower. Does he think I'll mount the slope on foot like a commoner?

"Bring the chestnut mare for me," I say.

"As Your Lordship wishes."

Again, Clyde's tone is not quite as respectful as I am accustomed to hearing.

* * *

Several minutes later, I am scaling the pass astride the nimble little mare. I would have preferred Vádora, but do not wish to tire her overmuch. The stable boy walks behind, no longer bothering me with idle chatter.

I lean forward, balancing myself against the incline, and feel the mare's hard, laboring muscles. I breathe in gulps of mountain air and feel myself expand into the greatest of all adventurers.

At what seems the half way point, I halt to take stock.

Below, Sopronia lies in all its glory. Our capital city reposes behind its walls, Lake Hevesh sparkles before it like a sapphire. Around the city are vast fields, gold with ripening grain. Villages nestle among forested, rolling hills.

No wonder people think Sopronia is the whole world. I look back down the trail for Clyde.

"Hurry up!" My voice echoes off the rocks.

No answer.

I start to feel uneasy. Wind swirls about the rocks, and the bright day seems to darken.

"Clyde!"

"Coming." A stooped figure trudges around the curve.

"Changed your mind about riding?" I say.

Clyde wipes sweat from his forehead and smoothes back his curly hair. Again, I am struck by his starved appearance. What ordeals has he suffered? I haven't thought to ask him.

"We'll rest a while," I say.

* * *

When we get moving again, the ascent becomes steeper and much more difficult. The road abruptly narrows. One moment, two horsemen could ride abreast; the next, there is scarcely room for one. The edge is ragged where a section has been sheared off.

The air is strangely calm without a trace of clean mountain breeze. Heat bouncing off the bare rock scathes me. Big, ugly insects fly into the air, angry at being routed from their sunning spots.

The mountain side becomes a sheer wall. My horse doesn't like this one bit. Neither do I.

"Take it easy." I pat her neck. "Everything is fine."

If only there were enough room to dismount. I glance back at Clyde. He looks at me with frank concern.

"A bit tricky here," I say.

I've been stupid not to listen to him!

The road widens again fifteen yards ahead, but the distance seems more like a mile. The drop off to the right draws my eyes. Death waits down there, and I force myself to look away.

Think about Sopronia.

Yes, Sopronia, _my_ kingdom, where the people will praise my exploits throughout the generations. Where every child will grow up on the legend of Rupert the Great – no, Rupert the Magnificent – and his daring journey of discovery.

Calm returns as I relish thoughts of fame. My chest puffs out like those of the strong men who perform on festival days.

An insect lands on my neck, a sharp jab.

"Ow!" I slap the horrid thing.

My horse bolts. I yank the reins too hard; everything unravels... The mare's hoof dislodges a rock, and she loses her footing.

"Hang on!" Clyde shouts.

The edge gives way, and the horse's hind quarters go with it. My stomach drops out. The mare howls a fearsome scream. Or is it me screaming? An absurd thought barges into my mind: How will I look at the state funeral, all smashed up like strawberry tart filling?

With a last desperate heave, the horse lurches back onto solid ground and gains the wider road. I tumble from the saddle.

6. Windy Gap

Feeling slowly returns to my battered body. A rock jabbing into my back tells me _Rupert the Magnificent_ is still alive. Clyde kneels nearby; his broad face is creased with worry.

"Is Your Lordship all right?"

"Of course." My voice sounds distant. "Why not?"

Clyde helps me wobble up amid the tattered remains of my dignity. Every bone is shaken and bruised, but they all seem unbroken. Clyde has already regained control of the horse and taken her inside a cave gouged from the cliff face.

"It's a regular little stable in there," he says. "Very cozy."

If he had said more, if he had berated my foolishness, I think I would have died on the spot from shame. But he holds his peace.

We complete the ascent on foot, with talk mercifully absent. I almost welcome the pain circulating through my body, since it takes my mind off my humiliation.

* * *

A gusty wind assaults us as we reach the top, blowing so fiercely that I quite forget to act imperial for my grand entrance. My hat flies off, and my cloak nearly follows. I wrap it around myself and turn away from the blast.

Looking back from whence we came, I can almost see clear to our other border where the Western Mountains hulk in icy mist. These giants try to pull my mind to that far horizon, and I have to yank it back hard. I twist around into the wind.

Before me stretches a flat expanse of 75 yards. The road continues straight across it, then drops out of sight. In the middle of the pass stands an ancient gate and beside it, an abandoned stone barracks.

I have reached the frontier of Sopronia!

The wind howls like a living thing, deep and mournful. Underlying this roar, a high-pitched noise screeches around every stone. I can almost hear voices within it.

"Henceforth this place shall be known as _Windy Gap Pass_ ," I shout against the uproar.

"An astute choice," Clyde says.

The barracks leer at us as we approach, the empty windows and doorway gape open. A dreadful sound wails throughout the building.

Whooo!

The gate lies collapsed like a slaughtered animal. I move past it, the wind urging me along. As I near the far edge of the pass, the ground drops off. All is gray and endless sky. I creep the last few yards to the rim and peer out to see...

7. Foray

...low hills rolling off into the haze – no towns, farms, nor people, just dreary scrub land. Disappointment jabs me hard. Did I nearly lose my life to see this uninviting view?

The slope is much lower and less steep than on the Sopronian side. The road down is a faint ribbon moving through the loose stones.

Clyde gestures toward the near foothills. "My kinfolk graze our flock through here."

"Might we descend for a quick look?"

Clyde shakes his head violently. "No! We could run into bandits."

I see no bandits. What is there to steal in that barren territory? Why should Rupert the Magnificent be deterred?

Clyde must be right, though. I'm developing respect for his good sense. Even his dark skin and barbaric speech bother me less now. I gaze over the forbidding Eastlands for what I think will be the last time. I prepare to turn away.

Then Fate takes a hand. A powerful wind gust strikes my back and pushes me forward a step. The edge crumbles, and I am on my way down!

Faster and faster my feet pound the slope; I cannot stop. A mini avalanche of loose stones heralds my passage. The wind whips my face, stinging tears from my eyes. My cloak billows behind like wings. Somehow I manage to keep from tumbling over.

"Whoooo Wheeee!" I cry from sheer joy. "Freeee! Freeee!"

The world opens its vast potential as I hurtle downwards. I am free from all restriction, liberated from the suffocating role of crown prince. I'm the person I am meant to be. Anything is possible!

I don't know how long this mad rush lasts – half running, half sliding – finally the ground levels out, and my legs get ahead of me. I run several strides, miraculously keeping on my feet before coming to a breathless halt.

My heart seems ready to burst, my ears ring, yet I have never felt more alive. The damp, chilly air invigorates me. My skin rejoices to be liberated from the broiling Sopronian sun.

Misty haze limits visibility ahead, but the view up Windy Gap is clear. The mountain pass glowers huge and forbidding. No wonder people on this side call it 'Demon's Maw.'

I catch sight of a great, dark bird circling the leaden sky, an eagle or some kind of vulture, and my pleasure fades. I venture an un-princely remark:

"Ugh!"

The perspective seems off, an optical illusion created by the mountain. For, although the bird is far up the slope, its relative size makes it seem much closer to me.

The thing vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

A dust trail shows Clyde's hurried progress down the pass. He slides up beside me in a puff of debris.

"We must go back now!" he pants.

I'm in no mood to return yet, though. Why not stick around a while after all this trouble? Besides, my blood is up again and I am spoiling for more adventure.

"Did you see that bird?" I ask.

"Bird?" Clyde scans the sky.

"Yes, a very large sort, dark colored with a lighter head."

"I saw it last time I was here. It's an evil creature flying out of some legend."

"No need to be superstitious," I say, feeling properly superior and educated.

Clyde glances about like a cornered animal. "We cannot remain."

"Come now." I brush some dust off my clothes. "Since we're here, why not have a quick look? I'll just walk to that big rock over there. Start back alone, if you wish."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Suit yourself. I shan't be long."

I walk steadily downhill, Clyde tagging behind. Soon I reach the big rock, where I make another decision:

A little farther, to that gnarled tree, then on to the next curve.

In this manner, I cover a good half mile, striding with confidence as a crown prince should – master of all I survey. Finally, I stop. My appetite for exploration is satisfied.

Clyde draws alongside. His tense expression is almost comical.

"My kinfolk must be nearby," he says. "I wish I could visit them."

"Perhaps some other time. Shall we go back now?"

"Yes!"

Clyde sets a blistering pace toward Windy Gap. He looks over his shoulder frequently to assure himself that I am following. His obvious concern affects me as well, and I match his progress.

My heart grows melancholy. Odd as it seems, I hate to leave these primitive Eastlands. Here I feel like my own man, not just a boy under foot the governing adults.

Something stirs in the sky. That bird again? Clyde stops walking.

"What's the matter?"

He grabs me and dives into the underbrush.

8. Bandits

"Stay down!" Clyde hisses in my ear. "Don't move."

He grips a knife in his right hand. Is this a kidnapping – an assassination? I can't take my eyes off that wicked blade.

"What's wrong?"

"Quiet!"

Nettles poke through my clothes, but I dare not shift position. Unbearable moments drag past. Hoof beats approach, and a blacksmith hammer starts pounding in my chest.

The hoof beats stop too close for sanity's sake.

Peeking through the underbrush, I can see three hard men on horseback. One, the apparent leader, is gaunt with stringy brown hair. His skin is grayish, and cruelty twists his thin lips. I try to sink through the brambles into the ground.

The other two are swarthy like Clyde. One is a huge, bald man – a purple lump disfigures his already ugly face. The second man is younger than his companions, slender with long black hair and a close-cropped beard. He looks plenty tough, but lacks the air of viciousness that rises from the others like the stench of rotting meat.

"That bird is back," the leader says in a raspy voice. "See it there over Demon's Maw?"

"Tis the Devil Bird, as the legends speak," the bald one says in a surprising, high-pitched tone.

"What do you think, Talbot?" the leader asks the dark-haired man.

"I cannot tell if it is a Devil Bird or some freak." Talbot's voice sounds almost civilized compared to the others. "Whatever it is, I should like to see it pierced by an arrow."

"Who's gonna climb up there and shoot it?" the bald one scoffs. "You?"

"Perhaps I will, Mulgar." Talbot eyes the lump on the bald man's head. "'Tis only a big, ugly target, like any other."

"Why, you – " Mulgar grasps the sword at his belt.

The leader intervenes. "Stop it, both of you!"

Mulgar drops his hand from the sword hilt. Talbot's grin contains its own knife edge.

"I don't like any of this," the leader says. "First the boy disappears, then this bird shows up. I don't need you two making trouble."

"Yes... what about the boy?" Talbot says. "Are you _sure_ you didn't kill him, Mulgar – hide the body, forget to tell us."

The leader fixes a hard gaze on Mulgar. "Well?"

"No sir, I didn't kill him. Everything happened just as I told you."

The three remain quietly astride their horses, gazing off toward Windy Gap. Then Talbot glances down, right at me! The hammer in my chest stops dead. Clyde's hand tightens on the knife.

What a fool I've been! How could I have imagined such men as these? Their like exists nowhere in Sopronia.

After what seems an eternity, Talbot looks away as more hoof beats come pounding up the trail. Urgent voices ring out. The leader shouts orders, and all the horsemen depart.

The air hangs still, exhausted. The claw gripping my stomach begins to relax. Clyde pokes his head above the brambles, and I adjust myself to a slightly less painful position.

"Those gentlemen are bandits, I take it." I try to sound casual but am failing badly.

"That they are. Captain Afflis and his lieutenants."

"The top man himself has come to welcome me? Perhaps I should feel honored."

Clyde grunts. "Lucky they didn't _honor_ you with a sword thrust."

His comment stings me to the quick, and I want to utter a sharp reply – but that would only make my foolishness worse.

9. Hasty Plans

Several minutes go by, and Clyde relaxes a bit. I begin to feel more like a human being, rather than a hunted rabbit.

"Who is the vanished boy they spoke of?" I ask.

"That would be me."

I'm thunderstruck. What new revelation will come from this amazing lad?

"Your Lordship saw the injury on the bald one's head?"

"Yes."

"I did that." Pride swells in Clyde's voice. "Smashed him with a club, good and proper."

My eyes widen. I hasten to conceal my amazement. "Afflis seeks to punish you, then?"

"Worse, he might draft me into his gang. Says he likes a lad with fighting spirit. Of course, I'd get a hard flogging first."

I'm appalled and can no longer conceal it. "Has this happened to others?"

"Many in the bandit gangs were forced to join. Others are happy to volunteer."

Clyde jams his knife back into its scabbard. "If I must go down in a hard fight, so be it, but I will _never_ serve Afflis again."

Such boldness impresses me clear through. This formidable lad is far more than just a stable lackey. He has been places and done things I cannot even imagine. The last shreds of my prejudice drop away.

"You've had earlier dealings with this Afflis person, then?"

"Aye, my lord. I tended horses for him and rode messenger to the other bandit chiefs. Seemed a better life than struggling on the land like my kinfolk."

Clyde pushes the sheathed knife under his shirt.

"I couldn't stand their cruelty, though, especially that pig Mulgar. One day I bashed him, then ran for it. Nearly starved hiding in the hills. Nobody dared help me, and I feared to approach my kin lest Afflis' wrath fall upon them."

"So, you hazarded a crossing into Sopronia?"

Clyde nods. "I did not expect to survive the trip. But if I did, I vowed to secure allies and return with them to free our land from the bandit gangs."

Clyde's idea is huge and dangerous; it shocks me to my very soul. "That cannot be. Our people do not seek war."

Clyde stands to survey the terrain, then drops back to my level.

"Begging Your Lordship's pardon, but the war will likely find them whether they seek it or not."

An icy finger scratches up my spine. "What are you saying, lad?"

"I've often heard Afflis voice his desire to plunder the Western lands. I reckon him capable."

"That's... impossible!"

"Why? Superstition and fear is all what guards the border. We have both made passage, so can Afflis."

I am too horrified to reply.

"If Afflis finds his way to Sopronia, it's a safe wager other warlords will follow suit. They'll carve up the country like a roast fowl."

My body numbs, as if every drop of blood has drained away. I am grateful that I'm not standing.

"Please forgive my plain talk," Clyde says. "I do not know how to speak otherwise."

Alright Rupert, you've heard the evil tidings. Are you going to act like a boiled noodle?

I force myself to stand and shake some life into my numbed limbs. "I deem you to be honest. My father – our great sovereign, King Bertram – has taught me never to blame anyone for speaking truthfully."

"The King must be informed, then."

"Yes... of course."

How can I do that? The King simply won't believe me if I warn him. He'll say it's my "overactive imagination" again. I can't blame him for that; I can scarcely believe the day's events myself.

Besides, Duke Wiltone and the other royal advisors will undermine anything I say. They still have mirrors in their brains, reflecting back their ignorance. And drat the Grand Festival! It's all that occupies Father's mind. It will be doubly hard to get his attention now.

I decide to take whatever action is possible. "We must have a border lookout."

"I can do that."

"Better if you stay near me. Have you a family member who could serve?"

"Perhaps." Clyde looks around warily; he seems to make a decision. "Remain here, Your Lordship. I'll soon be back."

He leaves, crouching low, moving quickly across the uneven ground. As I sprawl alone among the bushes, my fears crush in upon me.

10. Terror on the Slope

The atmosphere turns dark and ominous. The leaden sky shouts threats, and shadowy beings creep at the edge of sight. When I jerk my head around, nothing is there.

Have I been a fool to trust Clyde? Is he, this very minute, seeking out the bandit chief – offering him a valuable hostage in exchange for a safe return to the gang? The lad knows so much about us, he'd be of tremendous help to Afflis for the coming invasion.

Fortunately, I haven't long to wrestle with my misgivings. Clyde returns in a quarter hour with another lad in tow. This new boy looks much like him, only younger. He wears similar clothing and has an awe-struck expression on his face.

I rise to meet them.

"This is my cousin, Eric, Your Lordship," Clyde says.

"Greetings, Eric."

I grasp the lad's hand, and his eyes grow even wider.

"My uncles took the flock to the lower slopes," Clyde says. "It's tax time. That must be why Afflis is hanging around."

"Are you a _for real_ prince?" Eric inquires in his sing-song accent.

"Yes, Eric." I pull my silver Crown Prince medallion from under my tunic. "Are you willing to be in my service?"

He turns questioningly towards Clyde.

"His Lordship means the lookout post," Clyde says.

Eric turns back toward me and nods.

"Excellent," I say. "Your loyalty will be well rewarded."

I feel awkward. Never before have I taken anyone into my service. My attendants have always been selected by others. I've made a step which can never be revoked.

Clyde takes the lead. "I suggest we leave immediately."

"Quite so," I say. "Well done, both of you."

Without further ceremony, we depart for home.

Every step increases my relief at our escape, and we make steady progress up the slope of Windy Gap. Thank heaven, the going is much easier than on the Sopronian side. We keep low, taking advantage of any natural cover to protect us from hostile eyes.

But near the top, the giant bird suddenly appears, bringing renewed anxiety with its foul presence. The creature must have been hiding behind a boulder, or maybe some poisonous cloud concealed it. Whatever the case, it is circling directly above us.

"The Devil Bird!" Eric cries. "Come straight from hell!"

"Nothing of the sort," I manage to say through my fear. "It's merely a freak of the natural world."

I try to sound confident, but that horrible creature would strike terror into anyone's heart. It's spiraling down, like a harbinger of death. We crouch together. Clyde draws his knife and points it upward in feeble defense.

The brute continues its lazy progress, its massive, greenish-black body drawing ever closer. Its head is a bald, wrinkled horror dangling from a scrawny neck. A hooked beak gleams viciously.

The eyes are the worst part. They stab at me with burning power, trying to bore into my mind. They shine with a fierce intelligence, unlike that of any normal animal. Cold, polluted air beats down as the creature flaps its wings.

Clyde springs to his feet. "Be gone!"

He hurls a rock, then another. The monster scarcely notices, adjusting its course slightly to avoid the missiles. We scrabble for more stones, but the bird has had enough of us. With a ferocious screech, it whirls off toward the north, wings beating the air like a funeral drum.

"We've not seen the last of it, I fear," Clyde says.

11. Return Home

By late afternoon, we are back at the stream where we left Vádora. Years seem to have passed since I've seen her. I am bone weary but dare not lie down, lest I not rise until morning.

I thrust my coin purse into Eric's hands. "Buy provisions at any village market or farm. Be a man of few words and let the silver speak for you. Tell _nobody_ where you came from."

"Yes, my lord."

"We shall leave the horse. Can you handle it properly?"

"My cousin taught me some riding. I shall practice."

And so I depart with Clyde, having posted a young foreign lad as the sole guardian of our frontier.

Our progress back to the capital city is slow. I'm so banged up from my various tumbles that even Vádora's gentle gait pains me. I cover much of the distance on foot while Clyde takes over the saddle.

Feelings of inadequacy dog every step. Clyde has been the champion of this day, and I have proved a total bungler. I'm about as capable as a fish tossed on the shore of Lake Hevesh.

Clyde speaks much concerning the bandit gangs – about their cruel and undisciplined ways, how they steal the best livestock during "tax time," how they constantly fight each other and hover between feast and famine.

Afflis is the toughest of the lot. A man called Durwick is also high among the warlords. Many smaller gangs share in plundering the Eastlands.

It is a horrifying picture. I make a silent vow. _No such fate will overcome my homeland!_

# Three: The Grand Festival

12. Important Matters of State

The sun has long since departed when we pass through the open and unguarded East Gate. Dim street lamps guide our way.

Windows glow warm and cheery with candle light, but my heart is a heavy stone. A chilling inner voice tells me that events have started which will have consequence beyond all imagining.

I leave Clyde at the stables with Vádora and wander on alone through the mysterious night. Without Clyde's reassuring presence, I feel lost in the once familiar city. I draw my tattered cloak around myself.

Weariness numbs my brain as I enter the castle and shuffle toward my chambers. A towering figure comes my way, shadow hiding its face.

"Oh!" I can't halt an un-princely cry of surprise.

The figure stops, tensed like a mountain cat ready to pounce. Its voice lashes out. "So, there you are."

Duke Wiltone slithers into full view.

He stands squarely in my path, arms crossed. In the semi-darkness, he seems much larger. Flickering taper light plays about the harsh angles of his face, and he wears his usual expression – as if he's just bit into a lemon.

Why is this old hyena creeping around in the shadows? His gaze pokes at me, hard and glittering. His reedy voice grates my nerves.

"Perhaps you will explain where you've been half the night?"

He speaks to me as if I were a commoner! After everything I've been through today, I refuse to be intimidated.

" _You_ do not demand answers from _me_ ," I say with all the authority I can muster.

Wiltone's eyebrows lift. "Very well, speak to His Majesty, then. He commands your presence immediately."

He strides toward the council chambers. I follow, resentment squirming in my heart. The burning tapers throw fantastic shapes; a shadow goblin stalks the wall behind Wiltone.

Someday, when I'm king, you're gonna get it!

We enter the dreary council chambers. The King's advisers huddle like a gang of vultures at one end of a large table. The white stone top glimmers dully. Through its center runs a band of deep red, as if someone has splashed blood over it.

His Imperial Majesty King Bertram III, my father, stands with both hands gripping the table edge. His usually kindhearted face is grim, his brow creased as he studies a document lying before him. He looms large and powerful among the lesser men, and his reddish beard bristles with regal authority.

I don't look much like him. My mother, Queen Angelica, is slim and pale with light brown hair and extraordinary green eyes. I take after her, including the green eyes. I'd much prefer manly brown ones, like Father's.

All the counselors are deep in thought, obviously considering some vital matter of state. Wiltone approaches the King and whispers in his ear.

Father looks toward me. "So, you've returned at last, Rupert."

"Yes, Father." I wish the floor would open so I could sink into it.

Father's eyes scan my ruined clothes. "You've been off on one of your adventures, eh?"

"I went – "

"I'm not interested in where you went! I am only interested that you perform the duties expected of you."

I have a terrible sensation that Father is speaking through a thick, quivering substance. His voice sounds distant and hollow. He snatches the document from the table. Everyone's eyes follow its progress.

"This is the festival banquet guest list. It appears there won't be enough room for everybody in the Great Hall."

The remark stuns me with its total unimportance. Father paces the room.

"We must seat the noblemen, the army leaders, representatives of the merchants and craftsmen. How can we arrange things so that nobody feels slighted?"

Wiltone nods gravely. The problem taxes even his powerful mind.

"Then there is the parade," Father says. "The order of procession is not yet determined. Have you prepared your speech, Rupert?"

"No, Father."

"Don't you see the gravity of these matters? Can you not understand where your duty lies?"

The room wavers. My mind screams in agony.

Bandit gangs threaten to attack us. Forget the banquet!

But I do not voice these thoughts. Father would not comprehend. He stands on the other side of the mirror from me, in our Kingdom of Make Believe.

"I'm sorry, Father."

The King raps the table top with his index finger, emphasizing each point. "I am ordering you to remain in the castle until the Festival. No more disappearances. You will be available, immediately, whenever you are needed."

"Yes, Father."

He grips my shoulder lightly with his massive hand and continues in a softer voice. "Son, I only want to guide you to an understanding of your place in life. Sopronia will be yours to rule one day. You must be prepared."

Will there still be a Sopronia for me to rule?

I bow and leave. The King returns to the guest list.

13. Preparations

I am kept extremely busy the next few days preparing for my public appearance.

Thoughts of Sopronia's peril never leave me for an instant – not as I work on my speech until I can almost recite it backwards, not even when I practice intricate steps with the dancing master so as to make a favorable impression at the festival ball.

Afflis and the great 'Devil Bird' are constantly on my mind.

Gaspar appears at my chambers looking all solemn, like he's at a funeral. With him is the royal tailor, a thin and wiry man who scurries over and sizes me up with his tape measure.

"Begging Your Lordship's pardon, but we must prepare your festival robe."

He lashes me with the tape measure, working quickly, as if fearful I might vanish. Of course, I won't. Father has forbidden it, and defying an order from the King is unimaginable. He doesn't need to compel anyone, people obey for the simple reason that he expects it.

When my time comes to rule – if it comes – how can I possibly command such respect?

Father appears at the door to observe my ordeal. He seems amused, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepen. The tailor finishes his work at last and scurries off.

"Come, Gaspar," Father says. "Let us inspect the banquet hall."

The King departs, his robe sweeping after him, pulling Gaspar along behind like a pile of dry leaves. I am chilly in the sudden emptiness. If only I could speak what's on my mind.

At the end of each day I fall into bed exhausted, all set for a night of disturbing dreams.

In these nightmares, I watch the destruction of my country. I see myself wandering a ravaged land with the fields torn up and the villages burned – our capital city reduced to rubble, our subjects displaced by ravening bands. Above it all, the Devil Bird screeches in triumph.

I have pushed through the mirror. Whatever lurks on the other side will soon be coming here.

14. Festival Morn

The morning of the Grand Festival arrives.

Gaspar comes early to my chambers bearing the coronet of the crown prince and places it reverently on my head. The jewel-encrusted silver bears down with a great weight, only part of which is physical.

"Ah, Your Lordship, you are every inch the future king."

He buckles around my waist the ceremonial sword worn by crown princes from time immemorial. Power radiates from it, warming my whole body.

I must admit that all this attention gets me pretty puffed up. With a flourish of my green velvet robe, I leave my chambers with Gaspar in tow.

Two servants appear and march ahead announcing: "Make way for His Royal Highness!"

Other servants line the corridors beneath huge, colorful banners. I acknowledge their bows with an upraised hand. Excited whispers follow me, mingling with the tromp of my boots on the stone floor.

I approach the big flag I helped mount on the wall a few days earlier. The bird on our royal crest looms above me, its wings outspread majestically. I stop in my tracks...

It's the Devil Bird! A cold fist slams my chest.

No, it can't be!

Ours is a noble creature, while this thing is a twisted horror. I blink and shake my head hard enough to nearly upset my coronet. Gaspar looks on with concern.

The awful vision passes. The bird emerges from its nightmare plumes and becomes our proud national symbol again. Yet it still bears an undeniable resemblance to the monster I saw at Windy Gap.

"Highness," Gaspar urges, "we must move on."

Determined to keep my dignity, I push the incident from my mind and continue on to the reception hall. Father awaits there with numerous officials.

The Royal Sovereign overawes the lesser men like an eagle amid a pigeon flock. I bow formally to the King and move to his side. We march together from the hall, the others falling in behind us. A brief, unseemly struggle breaks out as the dignitaries vie for position.

Outside, we tread a red carpet to the gilded royal carriage. Attendants rush to open the door. Father and I enter the carriage and sit across from each other.

Away from the glare of watchful eyes, I am finally able to relax a bit. The luxurious seat embraces me; I savor the aroma of its fine leather.

Father reaches over and takes my hands into his own. "Son, this is the greatest day of my life. My heart is at peace knowing a prince as excellent as yourself will succeed me as king."

I feel proud enough to burst. "Thank you, Father."

My heart cries in anguish: _Stay right here, time! Why do you have to move on?_

But, of course, it does move on. After a bumpy ride over the cobblestones, our carriage arrives at the West Gate where the mighty procession assembles.

15. Dreadful Arrivals

Mist shrouded Demon's Maw pass with a ghostly presence; time stood frozen on the slope. Lieutenant Talbot guided his horse up the steep, crumbly road. Its hoof sent a stone tumbling quietly through the dank air.

Ahead rode Captain Afflis, stretching forward in his saddle against the incline. Coldness issued from him, chilling the air further. Yet inside the man, Talbot knew, raged a bonfire of greed and ambition. To the rear trudged the common men, over a hundred strong.

_This is incredible_ , Talbot mused.

He'd often heard Afflis speak of raiding the mysterious Western lands but had always regarded this as empty talk. Recent events had changed things, however. First, the messenger boy fled – to the Westlands, Afflis suspected. Then the "Devil Bird" appeared near the pass. By Afflis' reasoning, it wouldn't have come unless something valuable lay beyond the mountains.

The diabolical creature was here now gliding through the scud, its wings stretched into a V measuring fifteen feet between tips. Its plumage was a dark and vile green – black, almost.

It cawed a terrifying, laughing screech.

Talbot scowled. "That bird merits a crossbow shot."

"Aye, 'tis an ugly monster," Afflis said over his shoulder. "Best not harm it, though, unless it seeks to attack."

Lieutenant Talbot inspected the foot soldiers. They were in foul temper, but kept walking – apparently more afraid of Captain Afflis than of the bird or the strange mists. Besides, Mulgar rode behind them ready to strike down any man who backtracked.

They were a hungry and shabby lot, but their weapons were all first rate. Each man carried sword and dagger. Many shouldered poleaxes or cross bows. The recent taxation day had been profitable, and Afflis had traded all the booty to the sea pirates for new arms.

A man stumbled and fell, his poleaxe flew from his hands and nearly struck another man. Angry shouts rang out.

"Quiet!" Afflis snapped. "I'll brain the next one who makes a sound."

The bickering stopped. With a final, ear-splitting screech, the bird disappeared down the slope.

"See that?" Afflis called to the men. "I told you it would leave us alone if we didn't lose our heads."

A few muttered agreement, most kept to their grim silence.

The invasion force halted near the summit.

"Shall I take the point, sir?" Talbot asked.

"Aye, Lieutenant, you've earned the honor."

Talbot maneuvered his horse to the column head and rode on alone. As he neared the summit, his old life and former self began dropping away. A powerful certainty arose in his heart that he would never be the same once he'd glimpsed the Western lands.

Biting wind assaulted him as he gained the top, flapping his cloak. Ahead, the road continued along barren ground, then dropped over the far edge. Half way across stood a ruined gate and barracks, but not a living soul stood guard.

His horse tugged at the reins; Talbot slapped its neck.

"Steady now." He twisted around in his saddle. "All clear, sir!"

Afflis rose into view. He was hard and determined, very much the leader. Then the men on foot appeared, shouldering their way against the wind. Mulgar gained the summit last, astride his great horse.

"All present and accounted for, sir," Mulgar said.

Afflis nodded. "Follow me!"

The men shuffled along behind Afflis and Talbot, but as they moved deeper into the pass, their tread became slower and slower. Mulgar's profane urgings had no effect. At the gate, the men stopped moving altogether.

Afflis shot them a furious glance. "Move it!"

They remained still. Afflis brandished his sword and rode into the crowd of fearful men. They stumbled back to avoid being trampled.

"Here now, Cap'n," one man said, "there's stories warning about this place and the land beyond. About men what crossed over and never returned."

Afflis struck him with the flat of his sword. The man staggered back, gripping his injured shoulder. His companions seized him as he fell. Men gnashed their teeth, hands gripped weapons.

"You ain't afraid of them old women's tales, are you?" Afflis said.

The men snarled defiance, and the wind became a deafening roar. Talbot rode up to support Afflis. His hard eyes scanned the crowd for signs of rebellion.

"Rich loot on the other side!" Afflis shouted. "Gold, silver, horses. Fine cattle and sheep, too. There'll be feasting tonight, if you're brave enough."

Greed flashed in the men's eyes, but they still didn't move.

"Come on, men," Talbot said. "Or do you fancy standing all day in this roaring wind just so's you don't have to hear your bellies growl?"

Despite their fear and rage, the bandits chuckled; some of their anger faded. A few bolder ones started walking, others followed. Soon everyone had passed the border gate.

Talbot and Afflis resumed their spot in the lead.

"Curse those lazy dogs," Afflis said. "Good work, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

Talbot basked in the approval, but he also experienced a tinge of pity for the struggling men. Was this not the way of the world, though? Either you were in control or somebody else controlled you. If you were stronger and smarter than the rest, you became a chieftain, like Afflis.

Talbot had been on both sides. He'd tended sheep as a boy and was now stealing them. He'd risen to first lieutenant of the most feared bandit gang because he had a knack of keeping men calm and getting them to obey orders with minimum fuss.

"Wait til we reach the other side," Afflis said. "Everything we've done before is just a trifle compared to what we'll achieve."

Has the world ever been different?

At least it was better to steal than to be stolen from, as Talbot had told himself many times. But did he truly believe that?

"Shall I scout ahead, sir?" Talbot said.

"Yes."

Talbot urged his horse toward the far end of the pass. The rim approached, a sharp divide between earth and sky. He dismounted and continued on foot.

16. The Golden Land

The air seemed to thicken until Talbot could scarcely breathe it. He forced himself on, covering the last yards like a man struggling through a powerful river current.

Then he halted, dazzled by the most beautiful vista he'd ever seen.

Below him stretched a glorious country – broad fields of ripening grain, orchards and vineyards. Villages dotted the land, and splendid woods covered low, rolling hills. A small, but magnificent, walled city reposed by a sparkling lake.

The sun showered warmth through great billowy clouds. Talbot yearned for it amid the biting wind.

The Golden Land. There really is such a place.

"What did I tell you?" Afflis said. "We were fools to stay away so long."

The captain stood beside him, chuckling softly, a hard gleam in his eye. Talbot was struck by how ugly the man was with his big hooked nose, stringy hair, and gray complexion.

Why didn't I ever notice these traits before?

Talbot became aware of his own squalor. His clothes were dirty, his beard itched. Strange longings he could not understand roiled his heart.

The other bandits joined them. They, too, were an ugly crowd with their unshaven faces and tattered, muck-smeared clothing. Some took in the beauty with open-mouthed wonderment. Others wore vicious leers. Talbot suppressed a shudder.

"This is the new beginning!" Afflis cried.

"Long live Captain Afflis!" someone shouted.

The men cheered lustily, some of them quite beside themselves with relief and joy – and thoughts of violent plunder.

Mulgar pointed toward the walled city. "How about the folk in that town? They'll be happy to see us, eh?"

"They're fat as sheep, waitin' for us to sheer em!" someone cried.

A chorus of lusty cheers agreed with the sentiment.

"All right, men," Afflis said, "twenty minutes rest."

The men arrayed themselves as comfortably as possible in the swirling air. Afflis drew Talbot aside by some boulders where the wind's power lessened somewhat.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?"

"I think my Captain is a man of rare vision. The plunder should be magnificent."

"Yes, of course." Afflis gestured toward the men. "We must satisfy these louts, and those who come after, too. We'll need them all."

"Sir?"

"Tomorrow, you'll head back east to recruit more men. Before the other chiefs know what's happening, we'll lure away their strength. Then we can conquer our kingdom."

"I-I am not sure I understand," Talbot said.

"Come now, Lieutenant, you can't think this is just another raid."

"Well... no."

Afflis gazed toward the horizon. "I'm in my fortieth year, older than most."

"Sir, your vigor and strength are unquestioned."

"Time runs on. I'll not leave this world as nothing more than a gang leader."

Talbot stroked his beard, said nothing.

"Think of it," Afflis said, "the Western and Eastern lands united under a single ruler."

"A grand ambition, indeed."

"I'll need much aid from you, and when I'm gone, you shall be my successor."

Talbot was stunned. "My Captain does me too much honor."

"Nonsense. I've no son to succeed me. And what if I did? How many stout fellows I've known with worthless offspring."

Gratitude and pride flooded Talbot's heart, and guilt, too. He regretted his doubts concerning Afflis and himself. He recalled the two boys he'd spotted hiding in the brush but had not reported to his chief, as he should have. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything unwise.

Afflis moved away, leaving Talbot to his unsettled thoughts.

* * *

The descent began. Death and destruction rode at the gang's side. The mist followed them down the pass, gathering strength. Thick, glowering clouds shot ahead to smother the Golden Land. The bandits paid no attention to this evil but thought only of plunder.

From his lookout post, Eric watched with growing alarm. He saddled the horse and rode toward the capital city.

17. Fantasy on Parade

The mass of participants line up outside the West Gate, waiting for us to lead them.

Father and I exit the carriage and mount our horses in the vanguard. Sun blazes mercilessly, but I cannot shade my eyes lest I appear undignified. Excitement prickles the air.

A dense throng of onlookers lines the street ahead. People jam the upper windows of buildings. Everyone is silent, but underneath this quiet stirs a great tension, like a caged beast.

Masses of people press in on me. Vádora yanks nervously at her reins. I feel a terrible urge to jump down and flee, but could never disgrace us like that. Nothing less than a battering ram would get me off my horse today.

"That's it girl." I pat Vádora's neck. "We'll get moving soon."

I sense a disturbance high above, roiling the sky like an infant storm trying to gain power. I venture a glance, but see nothing.

The trumpeteers raise their long horns and blow an opening blast. The band strikes up a parade march, and we're on our way – the King first and me right behind. An honor guard follows us with their crisp uniforms and ceremonial weapons.

The crowd breaks into a mighty roar: _Long live the King! Long live King Bertram!_

Flowers rain from the upper windows, carpeting the street. People surge forward to touch the King. Soldiers break ranks to restrain them.

Father reaches over the soldiers' heads and grasps the hands stretching out to him from the multitude. Ecstatic people press bouquets of flowers upon him. An earsplitting chant issues from the mob. The beast is out of its cage and roaring:

THE KING! THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING!

The mighty sound strikes me an almost physical blow. I hold tight to the reins lest I lose control of my mount.

"Steady Vádora... keep calm."

I'm struggling to keep myself calm. A hoard of girls closes in on me. They toss so many flowers I can barely see where I am going. A garland lands on my head, and I pull it away, nearly upsetting my coronet. One girl clings to my leg and will surely drag me from the saddle. A soldier pulls her off, sparing me this indignity.

The mob's heat is suffocating, the heavy coronet strains my neck, and the sweet stench of flowers turns my stomach. The blaring horns and drums, the roaring voices. And above it all the hypnotic chant:

THE KING! THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING!

Father towers above the chaos, the royal crown blazing on his head like the very sun. The magnificent crimson robe flowing over his shoulders oozes power. All make way for his magnificent black stallion, Beartsie. I keep my eyes fixed upon him, forcing out as best I can the mayhem all around.

The parade marches ahead, bordering on a nightmare.

At last we halt at the great square in front of the castle. The pounding music and chanting come to a blessed halt. The people burst into ordinary cheers. They sound like human beings once again.

"Ahhhhh," I let out a great pent-up breath.

Jonathan waddle-struts up in his flashy new outfit. He grasps the reins of Father's horse and leads it toward the reviewing stand. A boy dressed in gleaming livery takes Vádora's reins.

"Your Royal Highness!" he cries in a barbaric accent. "I wish my kinfolk could see me now."

Only then do I recognize Clyde. The change in him is astounding. He has gained weight. His hair is neatly trimmed, and he is scrubbed so clean his skin appears a full shade lighter. He also has a sizable bruise under one eye.

I lean over. "You have suffered an injury?"

"That's nothing. Just a disagreement with another lad over who'd have the honor of escorting your horse."

"It would seem you proved the more persuasive."

"In a manner of speaking. There's nothing like a good scrap to let you know what's what."

I hadn't realized how much I missed him. Now that his reassuring presence is here, everything seems brighter, more rational.

I dismount by the steps of the review stand. Father and I ascend side by side. Mother awaits in her magnificent robes; a golden tiara gleams amid her flowing hair.

We three stand together waving to the multitude. Affection roars over us from our people. The King raises his arm and the crowd falls silent. Moments later, the musicians start blasting, and the procession resumes.

Royal troops march past with banners flying. They almost look like real soldiers rather than parade ground performers. General Colfax salutes smartly. Father and I salute back. I use the abrupt, precise motion taught to me by the general himself. For a moment, I feel a great bond with these men, the defenders of our country. But the sensation soon fades.

_They'd be massacred in any fight with a bandit gang_.

A pack of noblemen, led by Duke Wiltone, rides arrogantly by. In my estimation, the beautiful horses have far more value than the men astride them.

The rest of the parade blurs past – court officials, village mayors, musicians, dancers, jugglers. Half of our country's population must be in the procession, while the other half cheers them on.

18. Unwelcome Participants

At last the parade ends. We lead the crowd's applause for the fine efforts of the marchers. Now it's time for speeches.

General Colfax forms his men into an honor guard before the review stand. The King holds up his arms for silence and the gathering quiets to a low rumble.

"My dear people!" Father begins. "Today we celebrate our continuing peace and prosperity..."

As I half listen to Father's voice, I contemplate the day's remaining events. After our speeches, the performing troupes will entertain. Then the public feasting will begin.

Already, cooks are roasting whole sides of beef, pork, and lamb; delicious aromas waft though the square. Wagons full of wine and ale are parked along the crowd fringe under watchful guard. Each wagon contains enough strong drink to flatten a legion of revelers.

There'll be a brawl or two tonight, and much other unseemly conduct. Nine months from now our population will spike, preceded by a rash of hurried marriages.

We are to drink a toast with our subjects and sample the roast meats to ensure they are of sufficient quality. Then we'll retire into the castle to prepare for the royal banquet.

Finally will come the festival ball during which I will dance with various eligible girls of the nobility, evaluating each as a possible future queen. I am looking forward to that.

A boy on horseback appears by the wine wagons, and my daydreams of beautiful girls vanish. A guard seizes the horse's reins, but the lad jumps down and begins struggling through the crowd.

It's Eric!

A bolt of terror strikes me, and I grip the railing to steady myself. A crackling in the sky, as of faint lighting, marks Eric's progress to the open area below the review stand.

"Majesty! I bear urgent tidings!"

The King stops mid-sentence, astonished, glowering. An angry murmur ripples the crowd. A soldier steps and seizes Eric's arm.

"Release him!" I yell. "He comes at my bidding."

Father looks at me in amazement. "You know this lad, Rupert?"

"Y-yes, I..."

I feel ready to pass out and grip the rail more tightly with my sweaty hands.

"Take the boy inside," Father commands. "We'll deal with him later."

Two soldiers manhandle Eric down the red carpet toward the castle. Clyde attempts to follow, but other soldiers shove him back.

Again the crackling sound comes from the sky – louder now. I look up. A lead weight crushes my heart; I stagger back under its burden.

"This is unseemly, Rupert," Father says. "We cannot tolerate such behavior."

I point at the sky with a trembling finger.

Father's eyes move upward. Shock and confusion tear across his face. Mother looks up next, and the same emotions collide on her countenance.

As if they are all one being, the people swivel their heads up together. A horrified gasp rocks them.

High above – oozing out of some nightmare – comes a roiling, greenish-black cloud. A crackling, booming noise echoes from this seething mass, and cold shadow pollutes the ground. People stand rigid with fear. Many faint dead away.

General Colfax's voice rings out: "Forward men!"

He clatters up the stairs with several troopers and stands beside us. Further horrors appear in the sky.

Behind the first cloud floats a solid dark mass, barely clearing the city walls. The black edge murders the daylight. It's in the shape of a horse and rider! A vaporous robe flows from the rider's shoulders in a demonic mockery of the King. The obscenity towers a thousand feet high, then falls in upon itself.

Father seems dumbfounded. Mother's lips are pulled back, baring her teeth. Her eyes burn with fury. A ceiling of dirty gray-black lowers upon us, and panic sweeps the crowd.

"My people!" Father calls out. "Please remain calm!"

Mother clutches his arm. "We must get to the castle. Now!"

She pushes Father away from the railing with one hand. With the other she grabs my arm and shoves me toward the stairs. An unearthly wail sounds as people surge about the square. Masses rush the reviewing stand.

"Out of the way!" Soldiers cry as they beat back the fearful people.

"Don't hurt anyone!" Father yells.

But fists and bludgeons fly as soldiers force a path for us down the stairs. I can scarcely see where we are going.

One moment we are all together, the next I am alone, the mob swirling around me like a cyclone. It howls with a storm's voice:

WOOOOOOOooooo! WOOOOOOOooooo!

The evil cloud lowers upon us and hits with suffocating impact, driving me to the ground.

When I come to, paving stones are pressed against my cheek. They feel oddly warm, and I taste blood in my mouth. I struggle to my knees.

Mist stabs my face like hundreds of needles; an eerie silence reigns. Cooking fires must have been overturned, for the stench of charred flesh pollutes the air.

I get to my feet – dizzy, and disoriented.

# Four: Counterstroke

19. Lost in a Nightmare

A land of terrors displaces our beautiful city.

The air hisses, an acid eating at my mind. It burns my lungs when I try to breathe. Panic claws at me from the mist. I crouch into a fighting stance and grip my sword hilt. I am utterly alone and exposed to attack from all sides.

"Over here!" My words fall dead. "Prince Rupert!"

My view is limited to just a few feet. What horrors lie beyond? Will that dread horseman reappear, thirsting for blood – that giant bird from Windy Gap?

"Over here!" I call again.

"Coming, Your Lordship!"

Clyde materializes out of the murk. Vádora is with him. I almost collapse with relief.

"Are you all right, Highness? I feared you'd been trampled."

"Quite fine, thank you."

I try to sound dignified, but suspect I'm failing miserably.

"Look at this," Clyde says with wonderment, "like the devil hisself blowed out the sun."

Vádora skitters about.

"Easy, Vádora," Clyde soothes.

Just like that, the horse settles down.

"I must get to the castle," I say, "but I don't know where it is."

Clyde points off in the fog. "It's that way."

"How do you know?"

"The paving stones. They're cut rectangular, see? We follow their long sides til we reach the red carpet. Then we turn left."

Despite the frightening circumstances, I can't help being embarrassed. Why didn't I think of this method? I haven't been able to do anything except scream like a helpless babe.

"Very well, Clyde, let's go."

After a brief period following the paving stones, Clyde leading and me tagging along, we reach the carpet. A painful cramp in my stomach relaxes a bit.

"Here it is," Clyde says. "We'll be through the gates in no time."

The mist begins to shake off its unearthly stillness. As we creep along, an uproar full of terror and violence gathers strength within it, like the awakening roar of some fog beast.

A rock flies out of the murk and strikes my shoulder.

"Ow!"

Vádora bucks and snorts. Two men tumble out of the fog, grasping each others' throats. They crash into Vádora, fall and roll about. My horse nearly bolts, but Clyde keeps her steady.

We run, our feet splatting on the soggy carpet. The whole world closes in on us. Suddenly, men block our way. Minions of the fog beast! Swirling vapor hides their faces.

"Halt!" a powerful voice commands.

My heart leaps into my mouth. Clyde slides up to the men and falls flat. In a moment he is up, sloshing back toward me.

"Give me your sword."

I have the blade half out of its scabbard before I recognize the men.

"General Colfax! It is I, Rupert."

The general steps from among his troops. His stern face offers a promise of security in this dangerous new world.

"Come with us, Highness."

The soldiers form around us, marching double quick, knocking aside anyone who gets in the way. The castle gate looms ahead. We pass through it into semi sanity.

20. Safe Haven

We hurtle on like a battering ram into the reception hall.

The knot of people already there gives a ragged cheer. My relief is wondrous, as if I've come back from the dead.

"I shall report your return to His Majesty," Colfax says.

He dashes away. I try to follow, but Queen Angelica appears from a side corridor. She looks ghastly pale and wraithlike.

"Rupert!" She embraces me. "I feared _they_ had come for you."

"Who, Mother?"

"I... I don't know."

Confusion muddles her face. She glances about the reception hall as if seeing it for the first time.

"Mother, you're scaring me."

She covers her eyes with a hand. "I can say nothing further. A door has shut in my mind."

She seems about to faint. The great strength she displayed on the reviewing stand is totally gone now.

"Come, Mother, let us return to your chambers."

I accompany her there and sit a while until a maid servant appears. Then I return to Clyde in the reception hall. He stands off to the side, still holding Vádora's reins.

The corridors are coming to life as more people straggle in from the fog. Colfax's men guard the entrance to keep out undesirable elements.

The newcomers include Jonathan. He grabs my arm. Fear glazes his eyes, and panic is ready to leap out. "Your Lordship," he whimpers, "w-what's happening?"

"That's yet to be determined. Get a grip on yourself, Jonathan, attend my horse."

Clyde thrusts the reins at the stableman. With a practical task at hand, Jonathan seems to regain his manhood.

"Yes, my lord." He leads Vádora away toward an unoccupied corner.

"Come with me, Clyde. I must see the King."

We trot down the corridor.

As we near the council chamber, military officers appear at the run. From the opposite direction, noblemen rush forward. The two groups jam the doorway. Finally, they all shove their way through. We follow them inside.

The council chamber is packed and hot. Fear clings to the air like a poison vapor, adding to the sour odor of sweat and damp clothing. Fog wisps slither along the tiles, entering from under the balcony doors.

The King sits in his great chair at the far end. I make my way through the crowd and take my place standing slightly behind him, Clyde in attendance.

Father grasps my hand. "Thank heaven you are well, my son."

He returns to his official pose, dignified and strong. Two rows of chairs spread before us lengthwise. General Colfax and his officers occupy one row, while Duke Wiltone and other nobles sit together in the other. Numerous lesser personages clutter the walls.

A soldier brings in Eric and shoves him before the King. The poor lad stands trembling, twisting his cap. With his dusky skin and shabby clothing, he looks totally alien, as if he's flown in with those awful clouds. The gathering mutters disapproval.

21. Grim Tidings

"What is your name, lad," the King says, "and from whence do you hale?"

"My name is Eric, Sire. I am from the Eastlands – beyond the mountains."

Angry disbelief echoes through the crowd: "What's he saying?... beyond the mountains?... Impossible... The boy lies!"

Father, too, is amazed. He quickly recovers, though. "Let us hear your tidings."

Eric twists his cap with renewed vigor. People lean forward. The entire room holds its breath. Eric looks toward me, and I nod encouragement.

"A bandit gang invades from the Eastlands, Sire. A hundred strong, at least, led by Captain Afflis. The mist followed them here."

The whole crowd cringes like a frightened animal. Even Father appears stunned.

"I've warded the frontier three days now," Eric says, "as requested by the Prince."

The King turns towards me. "Can this be true, Rupert?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

More shock and disbelief. I raise my voice over the mayhem.

"I met Eric three days ago when I traversed the great pass into the Eastlands. I saw the bandits there, and now they have come to us."

I almost add the words, "you blind fools," but I hold my tongue.

The room explodes in outrage. The noblemen draw together and speak urgently, their arms flailing.

Wilton leers out from their gaggle. "You _crossed_ our border?"

"Yes, with Clyde here – Eric's cousin," I say. "Clyde fled the Eastlands to warn us of the bandit threat."

Wiltone reddens. He seems about to burst a blood vessel. "There has been a grievous breach of our security – thanks to our unruly prince."

Despite myself, I flinch at the wheedling tone.

"You're saying the crown prince invited these brigands to invade us?" General Colfax says.

Wiltone ignores the General. "Are there other gangs besides this Afflis fellow's?"

"Many, sir," Eric replies, "but I saw only Afflis' men. My cousin was once their messenger."

All heads swivel toward Clyde.

Wiltone stabs a finger at him. "You were with these criminals?"

"Yes, I – "

"How else could he learn of their plans to attack us?" I retort. "We should be grateful to him."

Father's face darkens. His massive hands grip the chair arms with such force I fear the wood might splinter.

"Filthy vermin!" He slams a fist on the chair arm.

We all shrink back. The King's face is hard and dangerous.

"But Your Majesty," Wiltone says, "the army is hardly capable of meeting this threat."

General Colfax rises to his feet. "We will if we must!"

"We have to negotiate," Wiltone says.

"Negotiate, with criminals?"

"Yes," Wiltone says. "And is it not suspicious that a foreigner brings us these tidings? Who even knew such persons existed?"

"The tidings are grim enough, whoever has brought them," Colfax says.

Wiltone waves an arm towards Eric and Clyde. "First these alien peasants arrive, now the bandits follow. How convenient."

Anger surges through the crowd. The noblemen's faces become angry snarls. I fear they will attack Eric and Clyde any moment. Colfax places a hand on his sword hilt, and people shut up.

"Often I heard Afflis talk of invading the West," Clyde says. "I wanted to stop him."

"This is the truth, however much you wish to deny it," I say. "And there have always been people in the Eastlands. Nobody can deny that anymore, either."

Wiltone presses his attack. "Look at these lads – barbarians. They are not like us. They don't even talk like us. Send them back, I say."

The mob growls agreement.

"We must negotiate with these bandits while we still can," Wiltone continues. "Maybe we can purchase their aid against whatever other gangs that might appear."

"Buy protection from criminals?" Colfax roars. "I'd rather die first."

He turns toward Father. "Majesty, we cannot parley with thugs. They will not respect weakness."

"Well, General," Wiltone says, "then please tell us about the strength of our army."

Colfax hesitates.

"The boy speaks of a hundred invaders," Wiltone says, "with many more lurking over our border. We can assume they are hardened fighters. Is such the case with our own troops?"

"Everyone knows we have only a ceremonial force," Colfax says. "This is as our nobility wished, I might add, so's they could rest easier in their own power."

Frightened moans fill the chamber. Colfax's booming voice cuts through the despair. "We have 150 soldiers, good men, all. Weapons are in short supply, though, and we lack experience in their use. Such are the facts."

The room explodes into heated debate. Most of the braying voices support Wiltone.

"Make a deal... We can't fight... Send the foreigners back..."

A new and sinister element intrudes. The stench of smoke enters the chamber from outside, slipping under the balcony doors. Everyone notices it at the same time; all disputation stops.

Father thrusts himself to his feet and strides to the doors. He flings them open and steps outside. In the distance, flames dance like messengers from Hell, burning off the mist. Perhaps cooking fires have been upended, igniting nearby buildings – or maybe crazed persons have turned arsonist. A frightened wail quivers through the less stout-hearted.

Father turns of them savagely. "Silence!"

The noise instantly stops. The quiet is so profound it almost hurts my ears.

"General Colfax."

The general snaps to attention. "Sire?"

"Organize a brigade to quell those fires."

"Yes, Sire."

"Then prepare the troops. We march against the invaders."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Colfax salutes and departs with his officers. Wiltone's acrid gaze follows them out. Then he and the rest of the mob melt away.

22. A Plan Takes Shape

Without the need to appear strong for the onlookers, the props seem go out from under the King. He sinks back into his chair like a marionette with its strings cut.

"I never imagined such terrible things could happen, Rupert. I thought I could pass Sopronia on to you as peaceful as it has always been."

I place a hand on his shoulder. Grief rises up my arm from the King's heart. He looks suddenly much older than he'd been only minutes before.

"I dread to think of the good men who must die. Yet, how can I place our people under the invaders' boots without a fight?" A vacant gaze comes into Father's eyes. "And if we should fail..."

He leans toward me and takes a sterner note. "So, you knew of this threat. Why did you not inform me?"

"Father, I – "

"Yes... I know. I would not have believed you. Nobody would." He drops back into his chair and lets out a sigh. "That was a brave and foolish thing you did, son, crossing the frontier."

"Clyde led the way. I was quite safe in his hands."

Clyde stands erect amidst the praise and seems to expand to twice his previous size.

My heart is a heavy stone, but a plan is forming in my mind. It has lurked there since I first spotted Eric by the wine wagons. Now it is turning into a full-blown and desperate scheme.

"These thieves are an undisciplined lot," I say, "accustomed to acting without fear of consequence. Is that not so, Clyde?"

"Aye. No one can oppose them, so they do as they please."

"The passage from the Eastlands is tiring, and there is easy loot to be got here," I say. "I'm thinking they will stay near the mountain pass to plunder, at least until tomorrow."

"Yes," Father says, "why should such wretches act differently?"

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to catch them by surprise?"

"How?"

"By sending out wagons of our strongest drink to 'accidentally' fall into their hands."

Father gives me an astonished look, but my excitement is growing as my devious plan takes shape.

"Don't you see, Father? They would have a merry time drinking themselves senseless tonight. They would not be alert at dawn when we attack."

The whole thing makes perfect sense, after its fashion. What else can we do – simply march up to the enemy and get mowed down like wheat before the thresher's blade?

A glimmer shows in Father's eyes. "That might be a useful idea. I shall call for volunteers to drive the wagons."

"Excellent plan, Your Lordship," Clyde says. "Those scum won't expect such cleverness. I reckon no more than a few scouts will venture beyond their camp before tomorrow."

Father doesn't seem to have much real hope, though. The brightness soon leaves his face, and he retreats into silence. Clyde and I withdraw.

"Maybe Duke Wiltone can drive a wagon," I say. "He seems anxious to meet those bandits."

23. Grim Departure

Troops jostle in the darkening square with their mishmash of weapons – old swords and bows, rusty daggers. Many have only clubs, while others shoulder billhooks better suited for pruning trees than for fighting.

They number almost three hundred men, our 'regular army' plus volunteers. The scouts have already ridden ahead – skilled huntsmen who will now hunt whatever foes come our way. The wine wagons clattered off some time ago.

The mist has largely cleared. The air can no longer hold so much foulness and has dumped its burden. A damp and rotten-smelling chill remains.

Glum civilians observe our muster, frightened women and crying children among them. The city lurks behind in the gathering gloom. Much of the northern quarter has been damaged by fire, adding an ominous note of despair. The flames have all been quenched.

The King mounts his great charger and takes his place in the vanguard. I lead Vádora towards the rear by the hospital wagon. My beautiful horse seems terribly out of place amid so many instruments of death. Clyde stands beside me, grasping a club.

I offer him a hand up. "Do you wish to ride?"

"No thanks, my lord. From down here I can fancy myself one of the King's infantrymen."

He actually sounds joyous at this horrid state of affairs. I am far from cheerful and wish to be someplace else, had duty not required my presence here.

At first, Father refused to let me come. "What if I should fall in battle? You must stay behind to assure the continued leadership of our country."

This was not sound argument, though. We both knew that if the King fell, the army would collapse and there would no longer be any country to lead. I am as safe at the battle front as in my own bed. So, he finally granted permission.

I am to help tend the wounded. The Royal Physician has given me and the other medics a quick course in first aid. My stomach turns over at the thought of such work, but I simply must do _something_ useful.

The Queen approaches. She looks old and haggard in the dim light. I reach down a hand which she clasps in both of hers.

"Our time of trial is upon us," she says. "A poisoned flower that for long has been closed now opens into rank bloom."

I can make no sense of her eerie statement. Her words sound distant. She appears foreign somehow, and her voice carries an accent I've never noticed before. Such is my turbulent state of mind that I am detecting all manner of things.

"Take care, Rupert. Stay well away from the fighting. Promise me."

"I shall, Mother."

She looks toward Clyde. "You will watch out for my son, won't you?"

"That I will, my lady. None shall harm him without they get past me first."

The cavalry detachment clatters past to join the King. Mother's grip tightens on my hand. Torch flames backlight the King's huge figure. In his gleaming helmet, he looks to be some terrible war god leading us into the inferno.

"Onward!" he commands.

We begin moving, weapons clanking in the lifeless air. The crowd watches us with silent dread. Our capital city, once so pleasant in the evening, is now a dismal place from which men creep away to their doom.

Vádora begins walking. My hand pulls from Mother's grasp.

"Farewell... farewell."

As we move away from the city, the dank air freshens and the sky clears. A cool breeze caresses my face, bringing the fragrance of orchards and sparkling streams – the sweet breath of my homeland. I gulp it in, not knowing how much longer I will be able enjoy it.

My mind drifts into grim ramblings. Ahead of me march our best and bravest men. I try to draw comfort from their presence, but cannot shake the ghastly feeling that I am bringing up the rear of a funeral procession. I move farther up the line, attended by Clyde.

At my belt hangs the Crown Prince's bejeweled sword, freshly ground to a razor edge. It is worth a fortune, and the bandits would fight among themselves to see who'll possess it... once they pry it from my dead fingers.

"Take heart," Clyde says, "fortune favors the bold."

Some miles on, a scout returns from the east, bringing one of the wine wagon drivers with him. The poor fellow is severely battered but still coherent. I hoist Clyde into the saddle trot up to hear the report.

"I'd got nearly to East Towne when the bandits struck," the wagon driver says. "They knocked me senseless."

"Then what?" General Colfax demands.

"When I came to, riotous feasting was going on. Near my wagon were emptied wine barrels thrown atop piles of sheep guts. At first I thought they was _human_ guts."

He shudders violently.

"Have any of our people been harmed?" Father asks.

"I know not, Sire, but murder could burst forth easy enough. Them bandits must have forgot about me, or maybe they thought I was dead. Anyway, I escaped."

I'm deeply shocked by the driver's words, but also heartened.

"Bravo," Clyde whispers in my ear. "Your Lordship's plan unfolds splendidly."

As the night advances, more scouts report, including Eric who witnessed the capture of another wine wagon. After giving his account, he vanishes back into the gloom.

We halt in the last hours of darkness. The enemy are very close now. Their cruel and violent din carries through the air. I drop into the damp grass by the hospital wagon, utterly exhausted, and am soon asleep. Morning will prove if I have been right.

If I am wrong, none will survive to reproach me.

# Five: Meeting the Enemy

24. Dawn Assault

Clyde shakes me awake at dawn.

"Please don't disturb me." I roll over and try to nestle back to sleep.

"The attack commences," he says in a harsh whisper.

I'm instantly alert. "Where?"

Clyde points eastward. "Yonder."

I scramble to my feet and jump atop the hospital wagon for a better view. My whole body throbs; hairs bristle on my neck. Beneath me, down a low hill, our troops maneuver through a meadow toward the smoldering remains of camp fires.

Clyde joins me.

"Splendid. Those louts haven't posted effective watch." He chuckles softly. "They'll soon get a fine awakening."

I can't believe such good fortune. Surely, the bandits will charge forth to slaughter our men. Or perhaps they lay in ambush someplace else, luring us into their abandoned camp.

Our foot soldiers crouch in the high grass, moving silent as the mist. They halt their advance close to the enemy. Time halts with them.

My teeth clamp so tightly I fear they might shatter. Clyde grips my arm. A fierce expression attends his face; death is in his eyes.

From atop his massive horse, the King holds a sword aloft. Our history is about to be hacked in two. The voice of war prepares to howl.

The King slashes his blade down. The infantry takes off at a trot. Horsemen advance to cover their flanks. Frightened little animals scurry away, sending ripples through the grass.

I draw my own sword, feel its righteous power. Rage at my people's enemies surges through my heart. Some warrior strain from Sopronia's ancient kings burns in my veins, urging me on. I leap from the wagon and run after our troops.

Clyde catches up. "Highness, you venture too close."

I scarcely know what I'm doing. Who is this strange lad running beside me?

"Pray, stop." He grabs my sleeve, practically ripping it from my tunic.

I halt and come back to my senses. The enemy camp is a short distance away. The bandits stir, see the avenging wave.

"To arms!"

Our infantry falls upon them with a mighty roar:

SOPRONIA!

All is swirling men and steel, the crash of weapons, screams and curses. I look back for the hospital wagon but cannot see it. Clyde and I stand on the edge of total chaos.

A gigantic bandit armed with a poleaxe emerges from the maelstrom. He looks wildly around, then his pig eyes fix on me. It's Mulgar. He aims his murderous weapon and charges.

Clyde places himself between me and the onrushing brute. "Run, Your Lordship!"

I stay rooted to the spot. Mulgar's pounding feet shake the ground like an onrushing cave bear. He swings his weapon. Clyde parries with his club and is knocked sprawling.

Mulgar lunges, thrusting the poleaxe's spear point at my chest. I side step. The point rips through my cloak and becomes entangled. Rage bursts through my terror, and I slash back with my sword, inflicting a long wound on the bandit's arm.

With a vicious roar, Mulgar yanks his weapon free and swings it at my head. I duck, the blade whistling past my ear. A mad exaltation seizes me. I prepare to triumph or die.

Clyde slips in low and smashes Mulgar's knee with his club. The bandit howls and drops his poleaxe. Clyde steps behind him and, wielding his club two-handed, delivers a savage blow. Mulgar collapses like a great tree.

The battle surges away, leaving us alone in the grassland. Mulgar struggles to rise, but I press my sword point into his face.

"Stay down, you dog!"

Mulgar glowers up with pure hatred. I yearn to thrust my blade into his vicious eyes, but he flattens himself on his belly and turns his face away. He looks like a filthy heap of garbage, stinks like it, too.

Clyde picks up the poleaxe and jabs its point against the bandit's ribs. Mulgar flinches.

"Go ahead, move. Give me an excuse to butcher you."

I scan the battlefield for Sopronian wounded, see none. Many bandits litter the ground, though. The ones continuing to resist are being overwhelmed.

"We're winning!"

Clyde jabs our prisoner with the poleaxe. "Hear that, pig face? Your friends are having a hard time."

The assault reaches a furious crescendo – screams and grunts, the horrid thud of weapons on flesh. The fighting abruptly ceases. All that remains of the bandit gang are heaps of bloodied men. Silence, except for the moaning wounded.

A bright gleam shoots across the battlefield and enters my spirit. A mighty cheer rises from our army.

Sopronia! Hurrah for King Bertram!

I yell along with them, maddened with joy: "Hurrah for King Bertram!"

"Hurrah for Prince Rupert!" Clyde shouts. "Creator of victory!"

25. Victory!

The joyous celebration settles down. Our troops begin mopping up the carnage – piling enemy slain in one area and manhandling prisoners to another.

A party of soldiers comes to fetch our prisoner. It takes two stout men to muscle the bandit lieutenant to his feet.

"How's it feel, Mulgar?" Clyde taunts. "This is the second time I've bested you."

The squad leader points to the poleaxe. "Give me that weapon, boy."

Clyde makes to hand it over.

"Let him keep it," I say. "He's earned a victory prize."

The squad leader hesitates briefly. "Very well, Your Lordship."

Clyde beams with pride. "Oh... many thanks!"

The soldiers lead Mulgar away, assisting his progress with punches and kicks.

"Your Lordship should attend to his wound," the squad leader calls back.

Wound?

Then I notice a warm trickle on the left side of my face. I raise a hand, and it comes back bloody. The end of my ear is missing! Sharp pain jabs into my life.

"Ai!"

Everything suddenly becomes much less rosy, and I sit down quick so as to avoid fainting. The Royal Physician's chief assistant trots up and examines me.

"This doesn't look too bad," he says.

Easy for him to talk. I don't see any blood running down his face. He sprinkles a pain-killing powder on my ear.

"Save that for the seriously wounded," I snap – though I am plenty glad to get the medication.

Clyde stands by grinning, as if he is watching me receive some great award. I am shamed by his approval. The medic finishes bandaging my ear and departs.

"I am sorry, Clyde, for being so reckless and nearly getting you killed."

"Think no more of it, Your Lordship. Such a noble injury! Would that I bore some token upon my own person to honor this great day."

"Yes... well. Consider we have both been sufficiently 'honored.' I should have been more cautious."

"It's all the same to a Royal soldier." Clyde thumps his chest. "Everyone in the Eastlands will know it was _me_ who fought beside their future king in the opening battle for their liberation."

I touch my bandage gingerly. "You seem to expect much additional conflict."

"That I do." Clyde gestures toward the defeated bandits. "There's plenty more scum such as those."

He grasps my hand and speaks with the frank equality of a comrade-in-arms: "We of the East are an abandoned people in a lost country. Come and claim us."

A shadow descends upon us, thrown by Father astride his horse. Anger shines from him like the rays of some dark sun.

"Rupert!"

"Yes, Father." My voice sounds tiny in my wounded ear.

"I ordered you to stay back from the battle. Why did you disobey?"

"I... w-well, I..."

"I see that you are wounded. You might have been killed. What then for the future of your country?"

Deepest humiliation sears through me. Even a stab of pain would be a welcome diversion, but the medicine has denied me even that mean relief.

"It was my fault, Your Majesty," Clyde says.

I spin toward him. "No, Clyde, it was _not_ your fault."

The King waves an arm toward our troops. "One day you will lead this army. How can you expect to command discipline if you have none yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Father. I got carried away."

I almost wish Mulgar had sliced my entire head off. An officer trots up with the casualty report.

"None of our men have been killed, Sire. Thirteen are wounded, none seriously."

The King's face brightens. "Excellent!"

He turns his horse around. "We will return to the city with the prisoners," he says to me over his shoulder. "Then I shall take the army to scout the borders. You will remain behind, Rupert. Understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"Use the time to think about your responsibilities."

I keep my eyes fixed to the ground, my face burns with shame. Father starts to ride off, then he pauses.

"Your plan worked, Rupert. Our country thanks you."

Then he is gone. I feel proud enough to explode.

26. The Captives

I report to the hospital wagon, but the Royal Physician does not require my aid, so light have our casualties been. He examines my injury and declares his satisfaction with the treatment I received.

"Come then, Your Lordship," Clyde says. "Let's visit our foes."

We trot off toward the miserable group of captives sitting in the grass. They look up mournfully as we approach. Fear and bitterness show on their coarse faces – except for the one I recognize as Lieutenant Talbot who maintains a sad dignity amid their defeat.

His left arm has suffered injury, and he clutches it with his good hand. Our eyes meet a few moments before he looks away.

The King approaches the sorry group. "Who is your leader? Does the wretch still live?"

A tall and lanky man gets to his feet. Coarse, blood-streaked hair hangs over his face, but I recognize him well enough.

Father motions him to approach. "What is your name?"

"Captain Afflis, Your Majesty."

Violence simmers in Afflis' pale gray eye. The other eye is swollen shut. He seems a vicious animal beaten into submission, but still dangerous.

"I trust our country pleases you," Father says. "Enjoy the scenery while you can, as you will hang by sunset."

Afflis' eye narrows. Father waves his arm over the bandits.

"All of you will suffer the same punishment for violating our fair land."

A gasp shoots through the bandits, and our men close in to squelch any rebellion. Two soldiers manhandle Afflis back to his place and push him down.

I almost feel a tinge of pity for our defeated enemies, but the King's justice cannot be gainsaid, however stern it may be. Then I recall Clyde's remark that many gang members had been drafted unwillingly. Might some of these wretches prove useful to us?

I follow the King as he strides away. "Father?"

He turns and looks down from his great height. The sun shines around his head and through the hairs of his flowing beard. He is an awesome presence.

"Yes?"

I freeze, overawed. Never before have I asked the King to change a decision he's made.

"Well, what is it, Rupert?"

I gather my courage. "Would a general execution be advisable, or should only the worst ones hang – the leaders and such?"

"And what of the rest?"

"We could put them to work. Perhaps we could compel the better fighters to instruct our army. The troops sorely need training."

Father strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Yes... some of this rabble might prove useful."

He returns to the bandits.

"Upon further consideration," he announces, "we have decided to grant mercy to the less wicked among you."

A spark of hope seems to enter the beaten men. They all sit up, gazing intently at the King.

"Your sentences will be determined by a court of inquiry. Those who do not hang will atone for their crimes with hard labor."

The prisoners glance uneasily at each other, every man must be wondering if he will be among the hanged.

Father mounts his horse.

"Physician!" his mighty voice booms.

The doctor emerges from the hospital wagon. "Here, Your Majesty."

"Have all our wounded been cared for?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Tend to the captives, then."

* * *

I join the Royal Physician and his other helpers as we move among the prisoners. Soldiers accompany us, ready to strike down anyone who might try to molest us. As always, Clyde is with me.

I approach Lieutenant Talbot. He looks up from his place on the ground with a weary, ironic expression.

"Let me see that arm," I say.

"Certainly, my lord." Talbot replies in his oddly mellow voice.

He offers his injured limb. I probe the bones with my fingers, seeking evidence of fracture. He flinches whenever I touch a painful spot.

"How did this happen?"

"I blocked a club stroke intended for my head. It was a glancing blow, fortunately." He assumes an offended air. "And this after I'd already dropped my sword and attempted to surrender."

Clyde stands nearby leaning on his poleaxe. A poison cloud of rage hovers around him. "Too bad they didn't break your arm clean off."

A melancholy smile crosses Talbot's lips. "It seems we have found our messenger."

"That's right, Talbot, and I shall identify you to the King so's he'll know you belong with those to be hanged."

Talbot gives a slight nod. "Many thanks."

"Please, Clyde," I say. "Whatever this man's crimes, he is paying for them now."

"That suits me fine."

I complete the examination.

"There aren't any broken bones, so far as I can tell. I'll have the Physician check you later to make sure."

"It ought be healed just in time for your hanging," Clyde says.

"Get me a sling, will you?" I say. "There are some at the hospital wagon."

With a final angry glance at Talbot, Clyde trots off.

"He's become a blood-thirsty sort," Talbot says.

"If he is, then he learned it from you and your kind."

Again the tired, melancholy smile. Talbot shifts position, grimacing with pain. "And how of Your Lordship? You seem to be doing better than when last I saw you – hiding in the underbrush like a frightened rabbit."

I flinch, as if poked by a dagger. "So, you _did_ see us. Why didn't you capture us, then?"

"Perhaps I should have."

I want to speak further with this mysterious man, but Clyde has already returned. I secure Talbot's injured arm in the sling.

"Life has many surprises, don't you agree, Lieutenant?"

I give the sling a sharp, tightening jerk.

Talbot winces. "Quite so, my lord."

27. Victorious Return

We return to the capital city in triumph. Bound prisoners shuffle behind our victorious throng or jostle in carts like spent wine kegs. They endure much verbal and physical abuse from our men, until Father puts a stop to the cruelty.

The people go mad with joy. They bear our soldiers aloft through the streets amid thunderous cheering. Even stony General Colfax gets a raucous, undignified ride upon the people's shoulders.

Arrogant noblemen prance about on their horses as if they'd gained the victory all by themselves, while anyone who was there knows it was our common men who battered down the enemy. The conceit of these 'gentlemen' is revolting. I cannot let it offend me on this most perfect of days, however.

The following morning, Father leads the troops out to inspect our borders and reassure our jittery population. The captured bandits take up residence in the castle dungeon as its first prisoners within living memory. When he returns, Father will hold the court of inquiry to determine their fates.

I mean to speak on behalf of Lieutenant Talbot. His rank marks him for execution, yet he does not seem cut from the same vicious cloth as Mulgar and his sort. Besides, Talbot allowed me and Clyde to escape when he could have easily captured us, so I feel myself to be in his debt.

Why did he do that, anyway?

Father has granted Clyde's family a holding around Windy Gap as reward for the services of Clyde and Eric. These hardy settlers will also help to secure our border. I've given Clyde leave to help them and have loaned him my horse as an added distinction.

I'm convinced our future lies eastward, even if Father and the noblemen think we can resume our old, isolated ways. Already the battle is becoming ancient history. Stone masons and carpenters are rapidly erasing any damage from the fire. Soon, the Grand Festival will disappear from memory.

I've tried to record events in my diary, but even my recollections are getting dim. How long before this conflict is forgotten and the smashed mirrors in people's minds reassemble? How can our population be so backward? There must be answers to these questions, shrouded in the ancient mists of our country.

I, at least, must be prepared for the future, so I develop two skills – archery and medicine.

My archery instructor says I have a "rare talent" for the bow. I study him to determine if flattery colors this statement, but there seems to be none. The bow feels right and natural in my hands; I get good results.

The royal physician says I have a "healer's touch," a natural understanding of the medical arts.

Maybe both aspects are necessary in a ruler: strike the enemy and cure the people. I dislike following this line of thought too far. It leads into hazy realms I am too young to enter. Perhaps when I am older, things will make more sense.

# Six: Reversals

28. Rat Attack

I stretch out in my bed, exhausted after hours of archery practice and study with the Royal Physician. I blow out the candle, expecting a night of sweet repose. Instead, the nightmare begins.

I see thousands of rats welling up from a hole. They run madly, yellow fangs gleaming, eyes burning red. Their greasy gray bodies move as one, guided by some fiendish intelligence.

The rats dash up a stairway. They are loose in the castle! They are rushing down the corridor, noses twitching, searching, searching. The beasts poke into every doorway and cranny, overpowering anyone in their way. They are coming after me!

I struggle to waken but cannot. The rats are pouring into my chamber, flattening themselves to slither under the door, forcing the latch. Their leader climbs onto my chest and flashes razor teeth.

I awake to cold steel at my throat.

"Silence!" Afflis hisses.

The dagger presses against my skin, forcing my head back. The entire universe narrows to this sharp point and to Afflis' hardened face. Other bandits crowd around, like ghosts in the moonlight bleeding through my window.

"Tie him up," Afflis commands.

I am beyond horror as Mulgar approaches. He jams a gag into my mouth.

"Is that to your liking, young master?"

Soon I am bound hand and foot.

"Talbot – the note," Afflis says.

"Aye, sir."

Lieutenant Talbot steps forward and gazes at me with a peculiar, almost regretful look. For a mad instant I think he might rescue me, but the hope soon dies. He holds a piece of my stationery in one hand, a lit candle in the other.

"Read it to me," Afflis says.

"Follow us and the prince dies," Talbot reads from the note. "Send a representative to the mountain pass to discuss ransom."

"Excellent." Afflis scrawls his mark on the paper and places it on my night stand. "Let's go."

I am hoisted into Mulgar's massive arms like a sack of flour and am carried down the corridor. Here and there unconscious guards litter the floor.

"You'll pay for this," I try to say, but all that comes out is a strangled mumble.

"Quiet," Mulgar says, "or I'll tear off your other ear."

Our cursed party exits the castle and rushes to the stables. Afflis and several others enter. A brief struggle. Jonathan cries out and is silenced. The bandits emerge with several horses.

"Talbot, Mulgar, take these," Afflis indicates the best mounts. "The rest of you double up."

Then we are off.

29. Prisoner in the Eastlands

I sprawl upon a heap of straw in the dingy hut – quite a change from my comfortable bed at the castle. The rope binding my wrists chafes, but the rest of me is so battered I hardly notice. I reckon the time to be mid afternoon.

Despair, anger, and fear squirm in my mind, along with bitter loneliness. The last Sopronians I saw were the guards at Windy Gap last night.

"Let us pass or we slay the prince," Afflis growled, and the soldiers meekly stepped aside.

It had been just that simple for our enemies to deal Sopronia a heavy blow.

The door cracks open admitting dim sunlight. At first I think it's the guard, but then I recognize the tall, slender figures of Afflis and Talbot. I struggle to my feet and try to present myself with as much dignity as possible.

"Your Royal Highness has enjoyed a pleasant night?" Afflis says, offering an insolent bow.

I do not reply.

"Well, boy? You can still talk, can't you?"

I know it is unwise to provoke him, but I cannot resist: "Yes, I can talk. I can also see how you repay mercy. Were it not for my foolish intervention, you would have already swung from a rope."

"Is that so?"

The mockery has left Afflis' voice. His face turns lifeless, except for his glittering eyes. He springs, slashing a hand toward me. I try to duck, but the slap catches me hard on the face. I fall backwards, stunned.

"How's that for mercy?"

I taste blood in my mouth and spit it at him.

"You little pup! I'll teach you proper manners."

Afflis advances, but Talbot blocks the way, holding out his hands.

"Stop it, sir... please! Harm this lad and provoke King Bertram's vengeance."

Afflis backs off, trembling with rage – and with fear as well. I smile to see how Father's name strikes terror into wicked men.

Afflis jabs a finger at Talbot. "Maybe you're right. But if you're going soft on me, you'll have the devil to pay."

Talbot bows his head. "Yes, sir. Please forgive my disrespect."

Afflis flings the door open and stomps away. The guard closes it again.

I lift a bound hand to nurse my face. Talbot lowers to one knee and offers a clean handkerchief. I take it without comment.

"It seems we are not the only ungrateful ones," he says.

"You were only protecting your own skin, and I do not express gratitude to thieves and cut throats."

"Thieves, yes, but not all of us are cut throats. You realized that yourself when you tempered the King's anger against us."

I rub my eyes with the handkerchief. "I only realize my stupidity. Father was right, you should have all been executed without delay."

"Perhaps if life in your country was as harsh as it is here, you would understand us better."

"How so?"

Talbot spreads his hands. "Well... you'd know how a barren land curdles men's spirits. How poverty turns their minds to pillage. I myself toiled as a shepherd until I learned hard work and honesty do not pay."

"So, now you steal from those who do work hard and who are honest?"

Talbot hesitates. "Yes, that's true."

"I sense you are not proud of this, Lieutenant. Why not stop, then?"

"It's a way of life. You can't give it up just like that." He snaps his fingers to emphasize his point.

I remain silent.

"Besides, where would I go?" Talbot says. "This is the only chance for a better existence."

"Well then, since you are a good thief, I can thank you for helping me just now."

I turn away in a gesture of dismissal. After more hesitation, Talbot rises and moves toward the door.

He spins back toward me. "I have a right to survive, don't I? You don't understand how things are here."

"I am not interested in your excuses. Now surely you have duties to perform. I shall not detain you further."

"Pardon me, _Your Royal Highness!_ Not everyone is born with the advantages of a prince."

"Quite true." I gesture with bound hands at the miserable hovel. "And as you can see, I have the best of everything."

Talbot tries to reply, but I cut him off.

"If you are not happy with your choices, make different ones. Or stay the way you are. I weary of this conversation."

Talbot strides to the door and grips the latch. Even in the dim light his face looks crimson. He flings the door open and stomps away. The guard reaches in to close it.

"Doesn't anybody know how to leave a room properly?" I say.

30. A New Plot

I spend the day pacing and napping, forcing myself to eat the coarse porridge brought to me so as to keep up my strength. I bandage my ear with Talbot's handkerchief, a cumbersome task using my bound hands.

And I wait for Talbot to return. I'm convinced he wants something from me, though I do not yet know what it is.

Night comes, bringing the harsh talk and laughter of brutish men. I glance through a chink in the wall and spy a campfire around which several bandits play at dice. I continue to wait.

Sometime later, Talbot comes in bearing a candle and a length of rope. The racket of the dice players becomes louder briefly, then muffles when Talbot shuts the door.

"Good evening, Lieutenant. What took you so long?"

"You were expecting me?"

"Yes. Why the rope, is there to be a hanging?"

"No, of course not."

Talbot sticks the candle into a wall bracket. A draft plays with the flame, throwing grotesque shadows about the room.

"Then what do you have in mind?" I ask.

Talbot kneels in the straw beside me. His face is grim and tense in the shadows. Candle flame flickers in his eyes. He leans toward me, and I struggle to keep from recoiling.

"I can help you escape," he whispers.

I fight to keep the astonishment off my face. "Really? What's in it for you?"

Talbot glances toward the door, then back toward me. "I want to live in the Golden Land."

If he'd walked straight up the wall like a spider, I could not be more surprised. I play for time, assuming a light, mocking tone.

"Why the change of heart? Didn't you tell me earlier today that you prefer your present life?"

Talbot spits on the dirt floor. "I hate my life. And I hate this cursed place. I must go to Sopronia, with or without you."

"What nonsense is that? Return to Sopronia alone and you'll be killed for certain."

"So be it."

I begin to feel new respect for this formidable person and drop my mocking tone. "Why should I endanger myself? The ransom will soon be paid, and I'll be released."

"You have seen what Afflis is like. Yes, he might release you unharmed, then again he might not. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Talbot speaks the truth. Any moment, Afflis could snuff me out like that candle flame, ransom or no ransom. But does this mean Talbot is worthy of trust? I consider the options.

In Talbot's favor: he spared Clyde and me when we hid among the bushes, and he protected me from Afflis' fury earlier today.

Against him: he's a career outlaw, and he participated in my kidnapping.

Yet, what choice did he have but to escape by any means available? Had not Clyde threatened him with hanging? Also, there was his regretful expression back in my bedchamber; it seemed genuine.

I make my decision. "Very well, Lieutenant. See me safe home and I will petition the King to grant full pardon for all your past crimes."

"I'll trust your word on that."

"A pardon for all _past_ crimes, mind you. Return to thievery and you shall be punished twice over."

"That's good enough." Talbot gets to his feet. "Let's go."

"Under one condition."

Talbot shoots me an astonished look. "Condition?"

"It must be clear that you are at _my_ service, not the other way around."

Talbot balks. "You are hardly in a position to make demands."

"Decide now, Lieutenant. Accept King Bertram as your lawful sovereign, and me in his stead, or continue as you are. Do you agree to my condition or not?"

After an angry pause, Talbot gives a single, sharp nod. The gesture carries more weight than the most flowery oath.

"Good." I get to my feet.

Talbot opens the door and calls out: "Guard! Come in here."

A dull-witted looking fellow enters. He's got a pig face and beady eyes, similar to Mulgar's. "Aye, Lieutenant?"

Talbot closes the door. "I am transferring the prisoner to the new campsite."

The guard shifts uneasily. "I don't know about that, sir."

"Afflis has already left for the new camp," Talbot says. "I'm in charge when he's gone. You know that."

"Aye, sir, but I have my orders direct from the Cap'n."

"Here are your new orders."

Talbot crashes a fist against the guard's chin. The man goes down hard and remains still.

"I feared this might happen," Talbot mutters.

He withdraws a knife from his belt and slices the cord on my wrists. Exquisite pain shoots through my numb hands. Together we bind and gag the fallen guard.

Then Talbot ties my hands loosely behind my back so as to make me seem yet a prisoner. "If the need arises, you can twist free."

"Very well."

I glance about the room. It doesn't seem quite as awful as before. I'm badly scared by this departure into the unknown, but would rather take a dagger thrust than show it.

"Lead on."

We move outside. The dice players look up as we pass the campfire.

"What's goin' on, Lieutenant?" one man asks.

"I'm taking the hostage to the new camp."

"Does Afflis know about this?"

"Of course. He ordered it."

The lout strokes his chin. His ugly face is doubtful in the fire light.

"And he's ordered this for all of you," Talbot says.

He withdraws a purse from his tunic and tosses it to the dice players. Coins spill on the ground. The men scrambled after them, and a fight breaks out. We walk quickly away.

31. Dash for Freedom

Dim moonlight illuminates our way, and we make steady progress through it. The Eastlands, which had appeared so barren in daylight, now gleam with mystery. Strange birds call from high up, and bats flutter closer in. I feel myself to be crossing the surface of an alien planet.

"Where to now?" I ask after several minutes have gone by.

"Demon's Maw pass, along the main road if possible. We should be able to – ugh!"

A sickening thump. Talbot stumbles back, grasping his head. A compact figure charges out of the darkness and knocks him over. I see the gleam of sharp steel.

"Stop!"

Clyde looks up from his stunned victim.

I wrench my hands free of the rope. "Put away that knife."

"Why? Let's cut his throat and be off."

"You don't understand. Release him – now!"

Reluctantly, Clyde rises and sheaths his knife. I help Talbot to his feet and bring him to a large rock nearby. He sits upon it, cradling his head in both hands.

Only now can I voice my astonishment. "How on earth did you find me?"

"I know the gang's hideouts well enough," Clyde says. "Me and my kinfolk saw Afflis carry you up the pass, since he rode right through our property."

I clap his shoulder. "Good work."

"Eric and the others wanted to come, but I said I'd do better alone. The guards on Windy Gap were too much confused to notice one person sneaking past them."

"My dearest friend..." Tears well up in my eyes and brush them away.

Clyde jerks his head toward Talbot. "What about that bandit?"

"He is aiding my escape. I have promised to speak favorably of him to the King."

Clyde is aghast. "You trust him?"

"He has kept his word, thus far."

Clyde smacks a fist into his open palm, as if to say I've taken leave of my senses.

I move to Talbot's side. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know... what happened?"

"Oh, just a little misunderstanding."

"I bounced a rock off your skull," Clyde says.

Talbot looks up. "You again."

"Aye, fancy that."

Clyde glowers in the moonlight, murder in his eyes. Talbot stares back, like some long, thin snake poised to strike. I attempt to calm things.

"Now that the greetings are over, shall we get moving?"

I help Talbot up. He must have an iron skull to survive the blow he received.

"Let me bring up the rear," Clyde says.

"Certainly," I say, "as you wish."

He turns on Talbot. "I'll be right behind you. Should anything happen to His Royal Highness, you will be the first to die."

"Should anything happen to him, we're both dead."

32. Unwilling Comrades

The next couple hours pass happily enough. The rocky, twisting road seems a smooth highway beneath my feet, and the night air holds the sweet scent of liberty. Best of all, my loyal friend, Clyde, now guards my back.

Talbot throws some shadow onto my cheeriness. "Everything has been too easy thus far. The escape from the castle dungeon, crossing the pass, tricking those dice players."

"This disturbs you?" I say.

"Yes. It goes against the nature of things. I fear we're heading for trouble."

"Let's hope good fortune attends us a while longer."

"Even the King's victory over us was too easy," Talbot says. "Imagine, wagons carrying barrels of wine blundered right by us. Naturally we took it, and everyone got dead drunk. So, when the attack came, we were unable to rally our defense."

I choke back a snicker.

"This amuses Your Lordship?"

"No, no, of course not. Just clearing my throat."

I add a robust "Ahem!" to emphasize the point.

Seconds pass. I can almost hear the thoughts churning within Talbot's mind.

"Wait a minute," he says. "Were _you_ involved with the convenient appearance of the wine?"

"Well... I did suggest it to the King."

"Things are not quite so simple after all, and you, my lord, are far more dangerous than I reckoned."

I wave a hand amid the chilly air. "Why dwell on such matters? This is a night of fresh beginnings, is it not?"

Talbot chuckles softly. "Rather amusing, actually – now that it's over."

Approaching hoof beats cut off our conversation. We conceal ourselves amid high weeds, raising our heads just enough to watch two horsemen clatter past on the road. The lead rider is a stout man whose bald head shines in the moonlight.

"Durwick!" Clyde spits.

"Who?" I say.

"Another warlord. Afflis' chief rival."

"He's looking for us," Talbot says. "News of our escape must be out."

A thick cloud drifts in front of the moon, and the last of my good cheer trails off with the fading hoof beats.

It's Talbot's turn to smack a fist into his palm. "Durwick knows of our defeat. Otherwise, he would never dare enter Afflis' territory. I'll wager he's already been at the camp seeking to kidnap you."

"Can we take a different route to Windy Gap, er... Demon's Maw?" I say.

"I think not. Durwick's men must be watching all approaches."

"Are there other routes over the mountains?"

"A high pass to the north might be scaled," Talbot says, "but the climb would be dangerous."

"We'll have to risk it. What other choice do we have?"

Clyde scrambles to his feet. "This escape was a fine idea, Talbot! Were it not for you, His Lordship would be safe at home now."

Talbot's voice takes on a steely edge. "Highness, please tell your servant I have had enough. Either he stops his slanders, or I will teach him a harsh lesson."

Clyde's unsheathes his knife. "How about now, lieutenant?"

"Please, Clyde," I say, "I do not ask you to be Talbot's friend, but can't you accept him as a comrade-in-arms? All our lives depend on the trust we have for each other."

Clyde glares at Talbot. Then he looks toward me, and back to the lieutenant. Violence hovers about, gleaming in the knife blade and within Talbot's narrowed eyes.

Finally, Clyde speaks, the words almost choking him. "All right, I will."

He returns his weapon to its scabbard.

"And you will not provoke the lieutenant with angry words?"

"I will say nothing more. But only for your sake, my lord."

"Good." I rub my chilled hands together. "Well then, let's head north."

# Seven: Flight

33. A New Day

After a few more hours, we gain some woods where we decide to halt.

We settle into a patch of scrub and conceal ourselves as much as possible. Talbot produces some biscuit and salted pork for a meager supper. A nearby brook relieves our thirst.

"I'll take first watch," Clyde says.

"Wake me for the second," I say.

With a final suspicious glance at Talbot, Clyde moves out alone into the darkness.

I shift about in the underbrush, trying to find a tolerable position for my much abused body. I am exhausted, but questions are preying on my mind, forbidding sleep.

"Talbot," I say across the prickly enclosure, "you said the escape from the dungeon was easy."

"True, my lord."

"Why?"

"His Majesty's soldiers are poor jailers, and the locks were rusted with age."

"I'd thought there were near forty of you in the dungeon, yet only half that number broke out. What of the others?"

"They refused to leave," Talbot says. "Claimed they'd rather risk the King's justice than serve Afflis again. I might have stayed, as well, had I not already felt the rope about my neck."

Here is something of great interest for me to chew on.

"Your kidnapping was Afflis' idea," Talbot says. "I was in no position to stop him, so I had to go along."

"No need to explain. I bear you no ill will."

I'm too tired to think anymore. When my turn on watch comes, I can ponder these incredible facts. Clyde never wakens me, though, and I sleep through the night.

* * *

Come morning, just as we are preparing to leave our campsite, the world crashes in.

"Hold it right there!" a harsh voice commands.

Talbot and Clyde draw their weapons.

"Show yourself!" Talbot says.

The misty air is quiet as death. Towering evergreen trees stand ghoulish sentinel in the chill air. Then, wraithlike, a dozen armed men appear. Their foul, ragged appearance identifies them as bandits.

Their leader approaches. He is the biggest among them, with a hardened face and dark hair tied back under a bandana. A long scar attends one cheek.

"Give me your weapons."

Talbot's eyes scan the group surrounding us, calculating the hopeless odds. He hands over his sword. Clyde looks toward me; I nod. He flings his knife into the ground at our captor's feet.

The leader regards Clyde icily. The scar on his face reddens, but he does not attempt any violence. He turns toward Talbot.

"You must be Lieutenant Talbot, formerly in the service of Afflis."

"Who wants to know?"

"I am Lieutenant Franz, in the service of Captain Durwick."

"Why are you trespassing on Afflis' territory?"

Franz gives a contemptuous snort. "Afflis is a broken man. You know that yourself. Why else did you steal his hostage?"

He points toward me. I feel polluted by his attention. "You must be the wayward prince."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," I say. "Now, kindly allow us to be on our way."

The bandits standing behind him break into coarse laughter.

"You got plenty of brass," Franz says. "Now come quietly. Durwick wants to see you."

The bandits close in and start pushing us along.

"Anyone harms His Lordship deals with me!" Clyde shouts. "I swear, first chance I get I'll slit your belly open!"

The bandits laugh again, but they seem to give some weight to Clyde's threat. At least nobody pushes me further.

Anger boils within me, but I can do nothing except yank the makeshift bandage from my ear. The wound has pretty much healed, and rending the cloth gives me some slight relief.

Of course, I do not look my best – with a piece of my ear missing and my hair not yet long enough to conceal the disfigurement. But personal vanity seems absurd under these circumstances.

Talbot slips ahead and takes a place at Franz's side. "Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

Franz nods, and they continue together at the column lead.

"The scoundrel," Clyde whispers. "He seeks to make a deal at your expense."

34. The Enemy Encampment

By mid afternoon we've reached an encampment of tents and small huts clustered around a wretched log building. Numerous outlaws mill about, gaping at us. The whole area reeks of old smoke and unwashed bodies.

"Don't these brutes have nothing else to do but stare?" Clyde mutters.

"It isn't every day they see a 'wayward prince,'" I say.

The guards bring Clyde and me inside the log building and order us to sit on the floor beside a small table. Talbot remains outside with Franz.

"Treachery is in the air," Clyde says. "Talbot's bargaining to save his own neck."

I bite my lip. As much as I want to deny it, Clyde's words make sense. Why shouldn't Talbot betray me? A man of his abilities could easily find a place in Durwick's crowd. A position of authority and a full purse would dispel any notions of the "Golden Land" soon enough.

My heart sinks to a new depth. The building begins to fill with bandits, every one of them reeking of ignorance and cruelty. Some also radiate a cold wickedness such as Mulgar has. The evil batters my senses, making it difficult to breathe.

Talbot enters and stands nearby. He looks toward me and nods. I nod back. Is there treachery in Talbot's heart? The prospect oppresses my spirit. I daresay the question will be answered soon enough.

Franz enters with Captain Durwick. Tension shoots through the air ahead of them.

"We're in for it now," Clyde mutters.

Captain Durwick strides through the crowded room. His men step aside with respect, or is it just fear? Someone produces a chair upon which the leader spreads his bulk, like an overfilled sack of manure.

The scene resembles a grotesque royal court, and this ugly slob seated before us is the parody of a king. All he needs is a crown to make the joke complete.

Durwick indicates with a flick of a finger that Talbot has permission to speak.

Talbot approaches and bows respectfully. "Greetings, Captain Durwick. I trust you are well?"

"I trust I'm more 'well' than you are."

The outlaws laugh harshly, following their chieftain's lead.

"How could anyone fare better than to be under your protection?" Talbot bows again.

"Enough of your flattery," Durwick snaps.

He tries to sound annoyed, but I can tell he enjoys the fawning. I've seen this kind of thing at court – the more undeserving the man, the more he likes hearing such nonsense.

"Lieutenant Franz says you've been talking his ear off," Durwick says.

My hand slides to the side of my head at this distressing turn of phrase.

"In a manner of speaking, perhaps I have," Talbot says.

"Sum it up for me quick like."

"Yes, sir." Talbot adjusts his stance, straightening his clothes and clearing his throat. "I advised your lieutenant, in the most direct terms, that Prince Rupert should be returned home unharmed at once."

Amazement erupts on all the bandits' crude faces – on my face, too, no doubt. Excited chatter whips through the room.

"What's he doing?" Clyde whispers.

I'm too astonished to reply.

"Why should I return the prince after all the trouble I had finding him?" Durwick says.

"To gain favor with his father, the mighty sovereign over the mountains," Talbot replies.

"Just like that?" Durwick tries to snap his fingers, but no sound comes from his fleshy hand. "Without even a ransom payment? Do you think I fear any man that much?"

"Of course not, sir. Your courage is well known."

Durwick's vanity is incredible, as proved by his craving for an audience. He shouldn't be holding this parley before the common men. Franz has thoughts similar to mine, judging by the nervous way his eyes dart about the room. He whispers in Durwick's ear.

"The fighting skill of Afflis' men is also well known," Talbot says. "Yet King Bertram's army overcame us in battle."

"That ain't how we heard it told!" a bandit yells. "You was caught napping like babes."

Talbot reddens. "Yes – that's true."

Laughter roars through the building. Durwick leads the chorus, his double chins shaking.

"But that only proves King Bertram's cleverness." Talbot's voice rises over the din. "He struck us when we were least prepared."

The raucous laughter gets even louder.

"I have seen the Sopronian king with my own eyes," Talbot says when things calm down. "He is a man of honor and will reward you handsomely for rescuing his son."

A scrawny, greasy-looking man speaks up. "In a real battle we could beat this king. With a few other bands, we could conquer his whole realm."

"On to the Westlands!" a second man shouts.

"Slit the prince's throat and be done with him!" cries another.

Many of the outlaws roar agreement. I can almost feel a sharp blade at my throat.

"Do you really think the bands could work together?" Talbot says. "We'd scarcely cross the border and we'd be fighting each other, just as we do here."

But his comment is ignored. Violent talk rumbles through the mob – like maggots squirming inside rotted meat. Most of the voices call for my head, but I also sense an undercurrent of support for Talbot, though no one dares express it openly.

Again Franz whispers in Durwick's ear.

"Oh, all right," Durwick says. "Shut up everybody!"

The babble instantly stops.

"Franz requests a private audience," Durwick says. "I suppose I should accommodate him."

He hoists his bulk out of the chair and walks outside with Franz. Talbot attempts to follow, but the door is closed against him. The supply of fresh air is thus cut off, but the place stinks less without Durwick.

35. Rebellion

Talbot stands in silence, trying to maintain his bruised dignity.

He's been excluded from the conference, which is a very bad sign – for all of us. He glances my direction, then looks away, as if shamed by his failure.

"Well, I can die now," Clyde says, "content that I have seen everything."

This talk of death is not reassuring, but I am too busy studying the ruffians to pay much heed. Many of them are obvious lost souls, but others seem less corrupted.

How many have been forced into the gang and would welcome a way out? Might an honest leader, even a very young one, sway them to a just cause? The air squirms with possibilities. Soon Durwick will return to announce my fate. It won't be pleasant, I am sure. Without realizing what I'm doing, I climb atop the table.

Clyde and Talbot stare up at me, dumbfounded. The bandits snarl. In moments they will recover from their surprise and throw me down.

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Look at you _brave heroes!_ Pig stealers no better than the beasts you take from unarmed peasants."

Anger shoots through the crowd. Fists curl, teeth gnash.

"All of you." I wave an arm over the room. "Stupid, frightened children cringing before your master."

A ferocious man advances; he's every bit as foul as Mulgar. "Get down, brat!"

Talbot withdraws a hidden dagger from his boot and blocks the man's way. "You'll listen to the Prince! I'll kill the first one who tries to stop him."

A hush comes over the room; the thief backs off. I thrust myself into the silence.

"Do you want to go on like this? Crawling along, doing the dirty work while your boss stuffs the profits into his fat belly."

I jab a finger at one man. "What have you got? Nothing." I point to another. "Who are you? Nobody."

I address the whole group. "There is a _better_ way – a new life for those brave enough to reach out and grasp it."

"Hear, hear!" someone cries.

I've struck a nerve. Heated argument erupts; a scuffle breaks out in back. Clyde jumps onto the table beside me. I scarcely notice him. My blood is up, maybe for the last time in my life.

"Be a _real_ hero," I shout over the mayhem. "A soldier for the lawful King – honored, respected, AND WELL PAID!"

The scuffling ceases. I lower my voice and project every ounce of power I can muster.

"Come forward. Join me."

Talbot has posted himself at the door, meaning to block entry, but with a mighty heave, Durwick and Franz shove their way in. I see the glint of steel as Durwick prepares to hurl a knife. What a glorious moment to die!

Clyde thrusts me aside, shielding me with his own body. Talbot strikes Durwick's throwing arm. The knife flies wild and hits the wall behind me. Franz grabs Talbot from behind in a murderous choke hold. Talbot struggles desperately, but cannot free himself.

My rebellion seems about to die with him. But from out of the crowd, a bandit rushes forward and strikes Franz with his fist. The blow echoes like a thunderclap, and Franz crumples to the floor. Talbot crawls away gasping.

"Take that, _Sir!_ " the bandit sneers.

Everyone remains frozen. Durwick stands alone in the doorway, his double chins trembling.

"Who is on my side? Who?" I shout. "Prove yourselves NOW!"

The whole room explodes.

Every man seems to be fighting every other. Clyde and I jump down, upend the table and wrench off legs to use for weapons.

A bandit grabs my tunic. I club his arm away. Clyde bashes another man's skull. We stand back to back, slashing away, but foes press us from all sides, overwhelming our defense. Clyde goes down, I stumble over him and fall sprawling.

Faces twisted with hate and rage loom over me. Rough hands pull me across the floor. But then allies force their way to my side and form a solid rank against the enemy. I struggle back up.

"Clyde! Where are you?"

I feel a hand on my arm, whirl around. Clyde stands by me, an ugly bruise mars his face, but he is otherwise unharmed.

Durwick remains in the doorway, stunned by the swirling events. Rebels charge him. He tries to flee, but from his position on the floor, Talbot grabs his legs. The fat outlaw shouts for help – too late. The rebels smash him into a bloody pudding.

Durwick's fall disheartens the enemy, despite their superior numbers. My rebels attack them with redoubled fury.

Suddenly, our foes break and scatter outside.

The man who struck down Franz shouts an order: "To the weapons!"

He dashes through the door, followed by the other rebels. They drag out the disgusting corpse of Durwick with them, leaving a bloody smear on the floor. They also take some injured enemy outside to their fate.

Judging by the screams, it is quick and brutal.

36. Rite of Passage

I stand alone, scarcely able to believe what's happened. Clyde leans against a wall, nursing his bruised face. Talbot drags himself off the floor and retrieves his dagger.

"Is Your Lordship all right?" he says in a voice hoarse from choking.

"Much better than expected. And how of yourself?"

Talbot massages his ravaged throat. "I seem back among the living."

Clyde advances toward Talbot and thrusts out his right hand. "I was wrong about you. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course." Talbot grasps Clyde's hand. "And can you forgive me for the misery I caused in former times?"

Clyde nods. "That I do... friend."

For a moment, all seems right with the world, but harsh reality soon returns. I'm in a strange land with only two solid allies. Outside, bandits are arming themselves. Will they remain loyal, or will they turn on us when they realize their own power?

The Eastlands swarm with enemies. Every gang will soon be astir, and Afflis will be on the march, seeking to run me to ground.

"I regret our escape plan has failed," Talbot says.

"I too have regrets, but as you stated before, things were going too easily."

Talbot offers an apologetic smile. A surge of affection rises in my heart. I feel myself in the presence of a wise and good elder brother.

"What now?" Clyde asks.

I throw up my hands. "We must go forward on the only course open to us."

"Which is?"

"We cannot flee, and we cannot survive here while enemies control the Eastlands."

"Therefore, we must fight?" Talbot says.

I nod.

Clyde drops to his knees and kisses my hand. "Thank heaven I have lived to see this day!"

Talbot regards us with sadness in his eyes. He sees the doubtful path ahead and all the sufferings that await.

* * *

The rebel bandits clatter in bearing swords, lances, and bows. They were already a dangerous and unpredictable lot, now they are heavily armed, as well. I must gain control immediately; cement and reward loyalty.

"You there." I point to the man who had slugged Franz. "What's your name?"

"Norman, my lord."

"Henceforth it's _Lieutenant_ Norman. You shall command these men, subordinate only to myself and Captain Talbot."

Norman bows. Talbot's eyebrows go up with surprise at his abrupt promotion. I extend my hand toward him.

"Give us your dagger."

I mean to conduct a ceremony similar to my investiture last year when I received the official trappings of crown prince. I have never felt the same since this right of passage. Something akin to it might impress these men – hopefully.

Talbot hands over the long, thin knife. I hold it aloft.

"This is the first weapon raised in our defense. It is, therefore, the most honorable of blades."

I pause a moment, then speak in my most commanding voice: "Lieutenant Norman, kneel before us."

Norman does so. I am struck by his light hair and blue eyes. He is not swarthy like the other Eastlanders but looks very Sopronian. There's no time to consider this distraction, however.

I place the blade flat on his left shoulder. "Do you, Norman, pledge absolute loyalty to King Bertram and to me, Prince Rupert, in his stead?"

"Yes, my lord."

I place the blade on his other shoulder. "Do you repent of your past misdeeds and vow to defend your Sovereign against all enemies?"

"Yes, my lord."

I offer my hand. "Then rise, Norman, soldier of the King."

Norman gets back to his feet. His face glows, as if he's been relieved of a crushing burden. I, too, am greatly relieved. The ritual appears to work!

I call the other thirty-two forward, one at a time, and repeat the ceremony, altering the phrasing slightly as seems appropriate to each man. The effect is amazing. Hardened faces melt with child-like emotion. Many of the men weep or kiss my hand, as if I am opening the gates of heaven for them.

I hate to admit that I start getting puffed up, feeling myself only the smallest step down from God Almighty. This is a dangerous trap, and I try to evade it by recalling Father.

King Bertram has true modesty and love in his heart. If only he were here now! So, this is how I become a leader – like a babe tossed from its cradle into the dust, struggling to find its way.

Last of all, I perform the ritual for Talbot, adding special thanks for his loyal service. "Stay by me," I whisper in his ear. "Always speak the truth, however much I might hate it."

Clyde kneels.

"Do you choose, by your own free will, to remain in my service?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then, as heir to the throne of our united country, I christen you Clyde – First Champion of the Eastlands."

He regains his feet in a stupor, as if no longer aware of his surroundings. The whole room is quiet, motionless.

"Good fortune to us all!" I raise both fists high. "On to victory!"

"Hooray for Prince Rupert!" My soldiers cheer.

Every ounce of energy has been rung out of me. I look toward Talbot.

He takes over smoothly. "Prepare the men to march, Lieutenant Norman."

"Aye, sir."

Norman and the others scatter across the camp to gather provisions, leaving me alone with Talbot and Clyde. I want to curl into a corner and sleep, but crucial matters need to be discussed.

"What is our best move, captain?"

"We should head north," Talbot says. "Afflis will already be gathering strength to the south, blocking us there. The remainder of Durwick's men will surely join him."

"But the honest men will flock to our banner," Clyde says.

Talbot nods. "Perhaps we can defeat some of the northern gangs and recruit from their ranks. But once Afflis is fully organized, I doubt we can prevail against him without help from the Sopronian army."

I place a hand on my hip and stroke my chin, as I've seen Father do, though I lack his flowing beard. The world has become very adult, and I try to adopt a mature gesture.

Talbot sees through my pose. A kindly expression flashes in his eyes, then he becomes full military. "An envoy must inform King Bertram that Your Lordship is no longer held captive. He must know he can come to our aid without causing your death."

"We'll smash them all – never doubt it!" Clyde exclaims.

Talbot and I exchange a knowing glance, but we say nothing further.

# Eight: The Uprising Begins

37. March of the Rebel Army

We head north in high spirits, as if on a picnic outing, almost.

A constant breeze dries the sweat from our brows as we labor across rolling forest and bramble. An occasional run-down farm or pasture breaks the dreary landscape, but in the main, this is an area of scant population.

Tramping along, my arms swinging, I can imagine myself to be on a wondrous adventure. Clyde marches beside me.

"It's great to be free, eh, Your Lordship?"

"Truly."

"Ah, if only we could find a battle around the next turn. I wish I had my poleaxe."

I do not share Clyde's enthusiasm for battle but am feeling my oats just the same. There's a swagger to my step, and my hair flows in the wind. Never would I go bare headed under the hot Sopronian sun, but here I can rove all day without fear of burning. Here I am leader of a great Rebel Army.

In truth, Talbot is the army leader, but he's vowed to serve me, which means I have the final say.

I can deceive myself only so much, though, and harsh facts steal into my mind like goblins. We are all in deadly peril. The survival of Sopronia itself is in doubt, and hard fighting lies ahead. What will be the final outcome? How many of us will be slain? The answers lie within the fog of an unknowable future.

To the west lurks the mountainous border with Sopronia. The peaks are beautiful, yet horrid, in their splendor. They mock the efforts of mere men. Icy clouds swirl among them, promising danger for any intruder.

* * *

As the second day of our march draws on, a great pass emerges from the mists above. It is narrower than Windy Gap and much higher. I christen it "Deadly Gap." The name pops into my head and I cannot shake it out again. Our destiny awaits there.

Talbot and Norman keep the men marching in disciplined order. Only when we take an afternoon break do my commanders relax a bit to talk with me. As always, Clyde listens in. The four of us make an ad hoc war council

"We have made good time," Norman says. "The men march faster without Durwick flailing their hides."

"Yes, they have kept the pace well," Talbot says.

Norman looks toward the mountains. "The pass draws nearer. We should be in its foothills soon."

"Aye, that we shall... indeed."

An awkward silence descends. The commanders look my direction expectantly. I take their hint; what needs to be done next is my responsibility.

I draw Clyde away.

"You do understand our situation, don't you?" I ask.

"Yes, my lord. We head for the pass so's we may dispatch our messenger to the King."

I nod. The wind freshens a bit, tousling my hair. Why can't the wind speak for me, too? I plunge ahead with my distasteful task.

"I know you wish to stay and join such fighting as may occur, but you can better serve our cause in a different way."

Clyde grows instantly wary; his eyes narrow. "What's that, my lord?"

"You must be our envoy to Sopronia."

His eyes widen with alarm. "And leave you alone with this rabble? No, pray, send someone else!"

"There is no one else."

A dark cloud settles on Clyde's face. His lips press into a tight line.

"The King knows you," I say. "He'll believe what you tell him."

"Come with me, then. Leave Talbot to run the campaign."

I shake my head. "How many of these men would remain loyal if I deserted them? Very few, I'd reckon. I gave them my pledge."

Clyde stares at the ground. A tear rolls down one cheek.

"Sopronia must claim the Eastlands, or be itself overwhelmed," I say. "Is this not the goal you desire?"

Silence.

"We must summon aid while there is still time," I say. "Only you can do that."

Clyde gazes at the mountain pass a long while, then looks me straight in the eye. "I'll go, then. And I shall return to strike terror into your enemies."

38. Request for Aid

Late that afternoon, we reach a small settlement of thatch-roofed huts among the foothills of Deadly Gap.

Myself, Talbot, and Clyde enter it with a few soldiers while the other men rest in the surrounding fields. The hamlet is poor and shabby, as is the grizzled man who meets us.

"Good afternoon," I say. "Are you the headman here?"

I try to sound friendly, though I know the presence of so many armed men must be causing great alarm.

"That I am. Gilbert is my name."

"We are pleased to meet you, Gilbert."

He looks me up and down. "Judging by your peculiar appearance and speech, you must be the wayward prince."

"You would do well to show proper respect," Talbot snarls.

"It's all right, captain. Gilbert only speaks the truth, after his plain fashion." I turn back to the headman. "It is well you have heard of us. You know, therefore, that we mean you no harm."

Gilbert cocks an eyebrow.

"We only wish to trouble you on behalf of our comrade." I gesture toward Clyde. "He must make passage over the mountains. He requires warm clothing and other necessaries."

Gilbert glances over his shoulder at the mountain pass and then looks at Clyde. "What's your name, boy?"

"Clyde."

The people of the settlement, about a score of men and women, stand around nearby. Children peer from behind their mothers with frightened eyes. All are as drab as the landscape.

"We are currently low on funds," I say. "But you will be well paid as soon as possible."

Gilbert nods. "Grant me a few moments, Your Lordship."

"Certainly."

He walks over to the other villagers. They gather around him for a conference. I hear urgent voices, but can make out no specific words.

"Perhaps we will have to take what we need," Clyde says.

"No," I say. "These people have been robbed too much already. They must understand that we represent lawful authority."

"I wish they'd hurry," Talbot says. "Our men are open to attack out in the fields."

Gilbert returns with a boy about my age at his side. The lad has typical Eastlander looks – swarthy, lean, and hungry.

"We have decided to help," Gilbert says. "We ask no payment, but we do make two conditions."

Talbot looks furious, but says nothing. He's not a man who takes well to 'conditions,' as I know from past experience.

"What are they?" I ask.

"The first is that my son, Niels, acts as guide." Gilbert indicates the boy. "He knows the lower slopes well, though he's not climbed to the pass itself."

Niels grins, but quickly becomes serious at a stern glance from his father.

"Agreed," I say. "And the second condition?"

Gilbert pauses, and some of his gruffness drops away. "Forgive me for asking, my lord, but it's clear you and your followers are out seeking trouble. What is your purpose?"

I choose not to disguise the truth. Any story I make up would only cause further suspicion.

"We intend to overthrow the bandit gangs. Clyde is to summon aid from my father, King Bertram of Sopronia – a wise and just monarch."

Gilbert breaks into a wide grin. The change in him is astonishing. He seems years younger, and his slouched posture straightens up.

"Then our second condition is this. Take into your service any of our men who wish to fight by your side."

I clasp Gilbert's hand. "Agreed."

39. Early Successes

We move quickly to attack the northern gangs. They are small and disunited, so our early efforts are crowned with success.

Common people flock to our side. Numerous bandits desert their gangs and join us as well. Talbot recruits as many of these men as he can use and sends the rest away.

These rejected men return home or else join the various uprisings convulsing the land. Old scores are being settled, violence is everywhere, and the whole country is aflame.

Whatever thrill I once felt about our rebellion has long since departed. I am sick to the depths of my soul with all this suffering. I've seen little actual fighting, though, as Talbot always insists I stay behind in camp.

Yesterday, my frustration boiled over. "I'm going, whether you like it or not!"

"As you wish," Talbot replied. "Just bear in mind what would happen should you fall in battle. Do you think the rebellion could continue without you?"

I knew he was right. Talbot is always right! So, I stayed behind again.

I'm told the Eastlands are a long and narrow territory fronting on the sea. The sea! Would that I live long enough to behold its glory. As far as I have been able to discern from various sources, the Eastlands are, perhaps, two thirds the extent of Sopronia.

I keep myself busy in camp with archery and sword practice. More important, the training I received from the Royal Physician is proving useful to our wounded.

One man took an arrow in the chest. When he first came in, I thought he was hopeless. But somehow I managed to draw out the arrow and cleanse the deep wound. Now, as I change the man's dressing, I'm astonished at the extent of his healing.

I gaze away from my patient and toward the mountains. The peaks are shrouded in icy mist – frigid and mysterious. The dark suspicion that Clyde has perished upon them grips my heart.

"Where are you?" I murmur.

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing... nothing."

I finish the bandaging, and my patient stands up to go.

"Thanks, my lord. I feel ever so much better."

He backs away, bowing reverently, his right fist over his heart. These men put me to the test. Many almost seem to worship me. Right, and I can't even protect my dearest friend.

40. Mountain Calamity

Clyde squinted up the slope where icy terrain merged with the sky. Instinct, more so than vision, told him he was near the summit. He shifted his pack on aching shoulders.

Where's Niels?

The steep mountain mocked his discomfort, and a biting wind struck his face. The weather was turning ugly fast. A dark spot appeared in the sky off to the north and grew rapidly larger, reminding him of the dread cloud horseman who'd topped the city walls on festival day.

This would not be an ordinary storm like before. The air crackled, making his hair stand on end. If only they could reach the sheltered lee in time. The exposed ground on this side offered no protection.

"Hurry, Niels!"

A reply floated up from a struggling figure. "Coming."

Niels had been a useful guide, but his strength was failing. Clyde himself was exhausted, and only fear of the approaching storm kept him moving. Yesterday, severe weather had forced them to camp among the boulders of the lower slopes. The experience had left them chilled and feverish, yet they'd pushed doubly hard today to gain time.

Niels caught up, breathless. Clyde placed an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, it can't be far now."

They trudged, arm in arm, their labored breathing the only noise in the chill silence. To the north, the darkness drew nearer. The sky began to boom like the approaching footsteps of an evil giant.

"I see the top!" Niels cried.

They broke into a stumbling run while a dark, boiling wall of snow roared toward them. Wind tore the words from Clyde's mouth.

"Hang on, Niels!"

The storm hit with an unearthly roar, knocking them flat. Their packs tumbled into oblivion...

Clyde lay stunned while the end of the world raged all around. Deadly cold pierced him to the core, and time became meaningless. Then the fury seemed to grow distant. He was scarcely aware of himself any longer. His body grew numb. It was so peaceful now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

A still functioning corner of his brain screamed: _I'm dying!_

Someone was shaking him. He looked into Niels' face looming out of the maelstrom. "Get up! You must win through."

Clyde felt himself begin to move. He staggered to his feet somehow, and his befuddled mind cleared a bit.

"Let's go." He grabbed Niels' arm.

"I can't... leave me." Niels tore off his sheepskin coat and thrust it at Clyde. "Take it."

Then he lurched off into the storm's embrace. In a moment he was gone.

"Niels!"

Grief tore Clyde's heart. He very nearly collapsed, but the echo of Niels' bravery kept him upright. He wrapped the extra coat about himself and began walking again. The snow was much deeper now. He slogged through it on numbed feet.

_Keep moving. Just five steps more..._ Cold punched through him. Total whiteout, frozen death. _Must keep moving, moving..._

Something snapped inside him, and his body no longer obeyed his will. At that same moment, the ground leveled out. Clyde reeled a few steps and fell.

He lay, gulping the wind's fury into his tortured lungs. With a last burst of strength, he rose to his feet and charged ahead. The storm loosened its grip. Sun peeked through the raging snow. Clyde opened his arms wide.

The ground disappeared. He was tumbling downhill, jagged rocks punching into him. He thrashed about desperately, trying to stop.

Finally, he did stop.

The wind had ceased, and the sun's warmth flooded into him. He forced his eyes open. Above, a pure blue sky; below, a landscape of incredible beauty.

This must be heaven.

Everything went black.

41. The Grind Continues

War has stalked the Eastlands for almost three weeks now. We continue to battle in the north, while o the south, Afflis bides his time and gathers strength. Still no word of the Sopronian army coming to our aid.

I've spent another day in camp while Talbot and Norman have been out fighting. Every day is the same – more skirmishes, more pain, more lives cut short. When will it end?

The raiding party returns. Talbot and Norman dismount and continue toward me on foot. Their gait is not that of confident men.

"Report," I say.

Talbot hesitates, looks at Norman, then back at me. A deluge of bad news bursts forth. "Afflis has come. We have seen his encampment some miles east of here."

My stomach turns to ice. "So soon?"

Talbot nods and wipes his brow. "I suspect he will attack today or tomorrow. They outnumber us badly and are better armed. We cannot prevail in open battle."

My mind reels. I take a step back, then another.

"We are nearly boxed in," Norman says. "To the east, Afflis – mountains to the west, and to the north, the impassable Barrens."

"We must attempt a breakthrough to the south," Talbot says, "then retreat over Windy Gap. Fight our way over if we have to."

I'm appalled at this avalanche of evil tidings and am quite unable to speak. Icy sweat glistens on my face and runs down my armpits.

"My lord?" Talbot says.

"You mean... we should abandon the campaign?" I manage to reply.

"Yes."

"What of the people who have risen against the bandits? Without us in the fight, they'll be slaughtered."

"A regrettable outcome," Talbot says, "but we simply cannot go on. The hoped for aid has not come."

"You believe Clyde's mission has failed, then?"

"Yes, I do. Otherwise, help would be here already."

I look off toward the mountains and bite my lip to keep from screaming.

"Perhaps we could return with the Sopronian army and resume the campaign," Norman says.

"I think not," I say. "Scheming men have the King's ear. They'll persuade him to make a shameful peace."

My commanders say nothing. They are experts on the battlefield, but I know the hyenas at the Sopronian court.

"Besides," I say, "Afflis has surely left forces in the south to deal with us. We'd be heading into a trap."

"We might defeat them," Norman says, "or evade them somehow."

"Even so, they'd delay us so much that Afflis could strike us from behind with his main force," I say.

"That's true," Talbot says, "but it just isn't possible – "

All my bottled-up stress and pain erupts; a mad windstorm roars in my ears.

"I'm not interested in what _isn't_ possible!" My voice cracks. "Tell me something that _is_ possible."

Talbot and Norman gaze upon me, astonished. I force myself to calm down.

"Forgive me. I know you advise what you believe to be right... It's just that I grieve for my friend."

"We share your sorrow, my lord," Norman says.

I force back tears. "My mind tells me Clyde has perished, but my heart cannot accept it."

"He is beyond our aid," Talbot says. "Let us discuss matters about which we can do something."

I try to push aside my grief and concentrate upon our appalling difficulties. "Tell me about these 'impassable Barrens.'"

"They lie twelve miles north of here," Norman says. "Very dangerous territory, men cannot cross them."

"How do you know? Has anyone tried?"

"Well... not that I am aware of."

"It's common knowledge the Barrens cannot be traversed," Talbot says. "They are an evil place of swamps and ferocious beasts."

"I've heard such things before," I say, "superstitious rot, mostly."

Talbot and Norman look unconvinced.

"Don't you see? The Barrens are the last place Afflis will expect us to go. We could come out again in an unpredictable direction – keep the initiative."

My officers do not reply.

"Have you a better plan?" I say.

More silence.

"No, my lord," Talbot finally says.

"Then we head north, at once."

My officers hesitate. I fear they will defy me.

Then Talbot snaps a salute. "As ordered."

42. To the Barrens

We head north on the double, 275 strong.

Our ranks include hard-bitten veterans and raw recruits, goat herders and former bandits – all of us brothers in arms and equally subject to the fortunes of war.

The weather is the usual chill overcast, and my heart is as cold as the surrounding air. The last softness has been wrung from it – My heart is now just a lump of rage and determination to smite our enemies.

By noon the men begin walking more slowly, talking among themselves in low voices. Tension fills the air.

"They are figuring out where we are headed, my lord," Talbot says. "You must officially tell them our destination."

I nod. "Let's rest a while first. This place seems as good as any."

"Break for the midday meal!" Talbot calls.

All around us, men wearily set down their burdens.

"Double rations for everyone," I say.

"The men will appreciate Your Lordship's generosity."

"The less we have to carry through the Barrens the better."

* * *

The men sprawl about the coarse grass, feasting on their extra rations. I recline in the grass as well, and Talbot rests against a nearby rock.

Norman joins us. The atmosphere becomes relaxed, almost fraternal; but, as seems in keeping with my nature, I cannot resist an impulse to disturb the peace.

"Are we following the right course?" I say.

"With all due respect, Highness," Talbot replies, "it is rather late for such questions."

"Still, I keep worrying about the trials our men must endure."

"Your Lordship never promised them a holiday outing," Norman says.

I look over the troops. They are a scraggly lot, but tough and resolute – even if they lack sufficient weapons. Some have nothing better than wooden staffs to arm themselves with.

"Why is the enemy always so well armed," I say, "while we have to scrape by on whatever weapons we can capture?"

"The gangs get their weapons in trade with the pirates," Talbot says.

"Oh? And where might these pirates be found?"

"Their ships call along the coast, but mostly they keep to their own port. It's north of here, perhaps 30 miles."

I chew on my rock hard biscuit, contemplating this new information. A scout returns on horseback, and my commanders dash off to see him. I feel some relief at their absence.

I stretch myself out and imagine myself back in Sopronia. The rough ground becomes a fragrant meadow. I can almost feel the warmth of an imaginary sun on my face as I doze off.

Soon, I awake with a start. Talbot, Norman, and the scout loom above me, their faces grim as death.

I scramble to my feet. "What is it?"

"Afflis is coming," the scout replies. "His force is not more than three miles distant."

I struggle to overcome my shock. "How many men does he have?"

"Around 500, all well armed."

Talbot slams a fist into his palm. "I've underestimated the scoundrel."

The news shoots a lightning bolt of terror through the men. They about to scatter in panic, but Talbot and Norman them together – for now.

"Form up, quick march!" Talbot bellows.

43. On the Edge

Within minutes we are moving rapidly over the final hills to the Barrens.

An invisible hand seems to push us along with urgent haste. Weapons clatter, men breathe heavily, feet pound the earth. I fear the troops might break into an unruly mob, but my officers keep them under control.

We halt abruptly. In front of us, thick underbrush grows from puddles of slimy brown water. Gnarled trees rise from this dense tangle, and a rotten smell pollutes the air. The men whisper among themselves in alarmed voices. Fighters who willingly confront death every day tremble in their boots.

"The haunted Barrens!...we cannot enter... demons lurk within..."

I am suddenly hot and loosen my collar. "This place stinks."

Talbot nods. "Some great evil once lived here. Perhaps it still does."

"You read a great deal into a simple odor."

"These Barrens echo of old wickedness." Talbot glances toward the men. "Our soldiers feel it, too."

Norman approaches. "They fear to advance. There is talk of retreat, desertion even."

Talbot's eyes flash with rage. "Desertion? I'll make them regret – "

"It's all right, captain," I say. "Let me speak to them."

I walk toward the troops; their mutterings cease as I draw near. A silent wall of frightened men stands before me. If only King Bertram were here. Never in my life have I felt so overmatched. But I have to speak; I must inspire them, somehow.

"Soldiers of the King! A powerful enemy pursues us. We must move on." I point toward the Barrens. "The road to victory leads that way."

A cold shudder runs through the ranks.

"We'll fight for you, Highness!" a soldier cries. "Against Afflis or any other man."

The others shout agreement.

"Your bravery is unquestioned. However, we lack the strength to face this enemy in open battle." I gesture back to the wilderness. "From inside the Barrens, we can strike by surprise. Should Afflis try to follow, we can ambush him."

"But the legends about this place!" another soldier protests. "They warn no one can enter and come out alive."

"I don't believe that. Yes, it will be difficult passage, but not impossible."

Many glance over their shoulders, as if planning to run.

A tall, powerful man steps forward and salutes. "Trooper Hobbs reporting, my lord."

"Say your piece, Hobbs."

He glances back at the others for support, then begins to talk. "Your Lordship, Afflis is only a man, but the horrors in this place are unknown. Besides, these Barrens are beyond the borders of our land."

I move closer until I am bare inches away. Hobbs towers above me like a steeple. I look up, straight into his eyes, and he takes a step back.

"We are all far beyond our own borders," I say. "Myself most of all."

I walk down the ranks.

"It is not too late to turn back, though. You may, if you wish, give up the struggle and return to your old lives."

Excited chatter breaks out; Hobbs silences it with a severe gaze. I pause before a group of former bandits.

"You men can go back to thieving. Afflis has room for you in his rat pack. Unless he chooses to hang you, instead."

The stare at the ground, shamefaced.

"You others – farmers, shepherds," I say. "Afflis needs your labor. He has loyal followers to reward, and what better way to obtain wealth than by beating it out of your hides?"

"Your Lordship," Hobbs says. "We do not want to be slaves. Not to Afflis nor anyone."

"Then free your minds from superstition. Defy this wasteland and those who told you it cannot be crossed. Become the heroes of new legends."

I draw my sword. I feel the power of our warrior ancestors surging in my heart. My voice comes to me from afar, as if spoken by another.

"The people of this land are battling for their freedom. They have courage only because you stand in the forefront – the bravest and best. Will you creep away like whipped dogs?"

I turn my back on them and walk toward the thicket. "Stay if you wish, but I am going forward."

I begin slashing a path through the underbrush. Talbot and Norman join me. One by one, then in groups, all the rest follow.

# Nine: Crossing the Barrens

44. Foul Passage

For what must be hours, we hack and push our way through the Barrens, one soggy, aching step after another. I cannot say how long this labor goes on, as time seems frozen.

It is a harsh task made tolerable only by the assurance that an even more brutal reception awaits at Afflis' hands. The heat and humidity are suffocating. There must be hot springs in here somewhere, bubbling evil from the nether regions.

No one speaks, thankfully, for we have nothing pleasant to say. Any irritated words we might voice would be regretted later, when we get out of this horrid place.

Late afternoon, we cross a muddy, sluggish river and move into the marshes on the north shore, pulling leaches off ourselves as we go. I slog along, as grim as everyone else. Muck pulls at my boots, and clammy water soaks my feet. Thick, rust-colored scum floating on the surface throws off a disgusting odor.

At least I am freed of my other worries. All thoughts of Clyde, Sopronia, and the war vanish from my mind. I can scarcely imagine any reality beyond this muddy track. I have always been treading upon it. I shall ever tread upon it.

"This is surely no rose garden," Talbot says.

He wipes sweat from his dirt-streaked face. My own face must look equally bad.

A large, poisonous-looking snake slithers away. Norman makes to strike it with his sword but gives up the effort. He seems unwilling to expend energy on such a nonessential task.

Bare, twisted trees press down like a coffin lid upon us. The air is scarcely breathable. The Rebel Army flounders, horses and men together. I begin to doubt the wisdom of this expedition.

45. Easier Going

Finally we gain higher, more solid ground. My aching body cries out with joy.

"The air improves a bit," Talbot says. "Un-fouled nature seeks to enter this cursed place."

A riot of yellow and white flowers covers the forest floor. Spiky plants, three or four feet high, poke through this flower carpet bearing large purple blooms. We come to a weary halt.

I stretch myself, and the bones of my spine snap back into place. "Well, captain. We have come thus far without the predicted catastrophe."

My confidence is soaring, but Talbot only nods gravely.

"What's wrong? Are things going 'too easily' again?"

Talbot cocks an eyebrow. "Would that we could leave these lands before dark."

"Better if we camp in the Barrens tonight." I brace my hand against a tree so as to take some weight off my tired legs. "Afflis will be all the more confused if we delay our reappearance. Do you think he will try to follow us?"

"No. His men would mutiny. He lacks Your Lordship's... persuasive abilities."

Something cold and slimy covers my hand. A huge slug has crawled onto it from the tree.

"Ugh!" I fling the horrid creature away. It slams against another tree, exploding into a burst of yellow goo.

I try to recover my composure. "So, what will be Afflis' next move?"

"He'll patrol the south edge of the Barrens," Talbot says. "He will expect us to come out again and try to attack him by surprise."

"Could we?"

Talbot shakes his head. "Afflis will never allow himself to be caught napping again."

I rub the back of my hand which is slightly numb from the slug crawling over it. "Then we shall exit the Barrens to the north."

"That would place us in the pirate lands," Talbot objects.

"So? Surely these pirates are no friends of Afflis. Could we not deal with them at least as well as he can?"

"With due respect, this is either a plan of surpassing genius or a reckless gamble that will lead us to destruction."

I raise an offended eyebrow and muster my imperial dignity.

"Begging your Lordship's pardon." Talbot bows slightly. "But you bade me to always speak the truth, as I see it."

I choke back my wounded pride. "Quite so. Thank you for your frankness, captain. If you have a better plan, I am anxious to hear it."

"That I have not, unfortunately."

The men lounge amid the flowers. Their usual grousing talk is absent for a change. The air is heavy and not well suited to conversation. Norman joins us.

Finally, I break the silence. "This isn't such a bad place, now that we're out of the swamp."

I pull off my boots and shake the water out. Norman keeps glancing around, like a rabbit fearful of a fox.

He waves a hand at the vegetation. "Many of these things are not normal. That tree, for instance."

He indicates a scrawny, twisted tree from which dangle heavy growths, like stretched potatoes.

"Yes," Talbot says, "and those jagged shrubs yonder look poisonous."

Such ignorant superstition. My patience begins to wear thin.

"True, this is an odd place," I say, "but we are making progress, the enemy does not pursue. What more do we want?"

My commanders do not reply.

Be tolerant of these men. They do not enjoy the advantage of a Sopronian upbringing.

From the distance comes a fierce barking and howling. Men clutch their weapons, and horses snort with terror. Then, just as the racket seems almost upon us, it veers away.

"A pack of wolves, or maybe just wild dogs," I say. "Nothing to worry about."

* * *

The going becomes easier as dusk nears. We enter an area of tall, fragrant evergreens. No underbrush grows in this pleasant glade. The atmosphere is quiet and peaceful, except for the rather eerie creaking of the trees overhead.

But the men grow not a whit more cheery. They walk in nervous silence, backs bent.

"What's wrong with those fellows, Talbot?" I ask. "You'd think they were marching in a funeral procession."

"Does Your Highness not feel the soul of this place?"

"All I feel is a blister on the _sole_ of my foot."

"Perhaps Your Lordship has closed his mind too tightly against the peril," Norman says.

"What peril?"

Norman maintains his silence, as if he does not wish to waste time speaking with an impudent child. My anger flares, but I keep it under control.

We come to a wide trail. Underbrush intrudes along the edges, but the original passage must have been wide enough for a carriage to ride through. Faint wheel ruts are still visible.

"Someone has been here before," I say.

"So it would appear," Talbot says.

"See? The worst is behind us. We're returning to civilization."

The road leads past a gouged-out hillside atop which sits a large ruin, as of some ancient palace. The men speak in hushed whispers and jam themselves tightly together.

"How interesting," I say. "Let's investigate."

"No, my lord," Norman says. "Leave such places to the ghosts."

"Ghosts, bah!" I say, more severely than I intended. "Can't we at least have a quick look? It might prove to be a favorable bivouac spot."

"As Your Lordship wishes," Talbot says, without enthusiasm.

He picks several men to accompany us. They creep forward, glancing about with fear, clutching their weapons.

"Buck up men," I say. "This won't take long."

46. Encounter with the Soul

We ascend the road up the ruined hill. Talbot and I lead while the troopers flank us.

"What do you suppose this place was?" I ask.

"I don't know." Talbot's face is hard and grim. "The tales do not speak of it."

"Tales, legends – a plague on all such ignorant jabber."

The road levels out and approaches the ruin under a dense canopy of trees. The last trace of daylight vanishes into a gloomy murk. A large gateway yawns before us; behind it, all is darkness.

Foreboding grips my heart. I want to retreat, but pride refuses to let me turn aside. The gaping entry draws me forward. It seems to be coming on its own – while I stand in place shuffling my feet.

A presence lurks inside the ruin. It beckons to me, trying to penetrate my mind. I glance at the men. For all their fear, they do not seem to share my impressions.

The gateway continues its approach. My senses become unbearably sharp. I hear a loud, dripping echo coming from inside the ruin. Behind this noise lurks a gibbering voice, a mad ape chatter. I see faint sparks within the gloom.

The evil soul of this place oozes from the ground in all its foulness. It seeks to envelop us like a burial shroud. How could I have been so blind, deaf – stupid?

I cannot raise my voice above a strangled whisper. "Let's get out of here!"

"Back to the main body, on the double," Talbot orders.

The words have scarcely left his mouth when a small, fuzzy creature drops from the trees onto his neck.

"Captain!"

Talbot screams and swats the spider-like thing. It hits the ground running, and I stomp it hard. Its legs spread from both sides of my boot sole.

"Die!"

I throw all my weight onto it. The monstrosity bursts with a sickening _Pop!_ Greenish-black slime explodes from it. Talbot sinks to the ground. From inside the ruin comes a buzzing roar.

"Bear the Captain away!" I shout.

Two men hoist him up just as a cloud of hornets, the length of a man's finger, comes vomiting out of the ruin. They surge toward us on a wave of hatred. We rush downhill like madmen; we scarcely rejoin the main body before the insects are upon us.

I grab a stick and swat several hornets before one gets through and stings my left forearm. A bright flash of pain explodes in my head. I fall and roll away, crushing hornets beneath me. Men scatter in panic.

A ferocious howl streaks through the woods. I stagger up and draw my sword. The air has cleared of hornets, but a far worse threat approaches.

"Stand your ground, men!" Norman shouts.

Several huge beasts explode from among the trees. They look like dogs, only much larger, with humped shoulders and flashing red eyes. They tear into the troops, bringing down fleeing men and savaging them with terrible yellow fangs.

Hornet venom slows my reactions; my eyesight dims. My sword feels heavy as an iron pole.

"Norman," I mumble through numb lips.

A butcher dog leaps at me.

I grip my sword in both hands and present it to the enemy. Fangs slash at my face as I fall backwards. The beast crushes me down, but I hold firm to the sword hilt. The blade pushes slowly into the animal's belly.

With an ear-splitting screech, the butcher dog rolls away. It lies gasping, a look of pure hatred on its devilish face.

WUMP!

A blade flashes, and the monster's head disappears. Norman swims into view. A strong hand hoists me up. All around, chaos reigns.

The butcher dogs rise on their hind legs, like hunch-backed goblins, and attack the horses. Our poor animals scream, bite, and kick but are overwhelmed. It's a horrifying onslaught, but it takes pressure off the men for a while.

"Over here!" Norman shouts over the chaos.

Our fighters retreat, dragging wounded comrades with them. A circle of defiance forms around us. When the butcher dogs finish with the horses they close in, pressing back our line. The slaughter is horrific; blood soaks the ground.

47. Lost Survivors

Pale sun rays end our long night of horror. The moans of injured men quieten, and the ghostly howls of butcher dogs fade.

Vultures observe us from the branches. I sit propped against a tree trunk, my left arm numb and useless. Nearby sprawls the unconscious figure of Captain Talbot.

Why haven't the dogs carried me off? Any fate is better than the utter misery I now feel. Lieutenant Norman approaches across the soggy ground.

"What are our casualties?" I manage to utter.

"We have lost 37 men, my lord, and all the horses."

His matter-of-fact tone makes the news even more terrible. Grief crushes me down. I sag back, and a world of pain explodes inside my head.

"How many have escaped the hornets' stings?"

"One man in three," Norman says, "myself included."

"This venom attacks the spirit as well as the body." I gesture toward Captain Talbot. "Worst of all, my strong right arm is broken."

"Then rely upon me as your strong left arm," Norman says.

"Thanks, Lieutenant, but what's the use? I have already lost the war for us."

"Begging Your Lordship's pardon, but that sounds like the venom talking."

"Perhaps, but let us face the truth, shall we? It's my fault we are in this sorry condition."

"A man makes many mistakes in his lifetime," Norman says. "Can anyone know how the future will unfold?"

I slam my good fist on the ground.

"How could I have been so stupid?" Bitter tears well up. "So reckless with other people's lives!"

"Your Lordship never asked us to do anything you were unwilling to do yourself."

Norman seems a pillar of strength amid so much ruin. His words are a soothing balm. I wipe away tears with my sleeve.

"Please help me rise, Lieutenant."

Norman pulls me up.

I'm unsteady on my feet and brace myself against the tree. Through my darkened vision, I can barely make out the shapes of our men. They lie in ragged heaps, as feverish and broken as myself. A few of the healthier ones creep about silently, like undertakers.

I spot something in the branches. "There it is. My old friend has returned."

"Beg pardon, my lord?"

"The Pit-Eyed Thing, in the trees, among the vultures. It's laughing at me."

Norman surveys the tree tops. "Please calm yourself. Only carrion birds befoul the branches."

"Of course you can't see the brute. It hasn't come for you."

My vision narrows to a dark tunnel. I can scarcely see anything except the cruel eyes of the Pit-Eyed Thing glowing with mockery.

Though I am nearly blind, my hearing is unnaturally sharp – enough to hear the low, spiteful giggles of the Pit-Eyed Thing. And something else... a distant rushing sound.

"What's that noise, Lieutenant?"

Several seconds pass, then Norman also hears it. "A wind approaches from the south."

# Ten: On from Defeat

48. Enter the King

The Sopronian army, 400 strong with a tough edge of former bandits, gained the summit of Windy Gap. Clyde rode in the vanguard with King Bertram.

A warm and fragrant breeze sweeping up from Sopronia aided their ascent, and the chill gusts gave way before it. A great bird circled high above, but none, save Clyde, paid attention. It flew off northwards.

The garrison commander saluted King Bertram. "Sire, the eastern slope is only lightly defended now. Most of the bandits cleared out a few days ago."

"Excellent." The King turned toward General Colfax. "Prepare the assault."

"Aye, Your Majesty." Colfax moved away, shouting orders to the men.

King Bertram beckoned to Clyde atop his chestnut mare.

"Yes, Sire?" Clyde said.

"Are you certain you wish to go on? You are not fully recovered from your ordeal."

"I would not miss this for the world, Your Majesty."

"Very well. Our people owe you a great debt."

Clyde felt immense pride, but could only manage a melancholy smile.

He'd come a long way in the weeks since a goat herder found him sprawled half dead on a mountain slope. For days he'd lain helpless and raving. Even when the terrible fever broke and Clyde was in his right mind again, nobody paid him any heed.

To them, he was just a strange boy with an odd accent and a pack of wild stories. No one could read the letter he bore from Prince Rupert. Finally, he'd struggled out of bed and made his way alone to the capital city.

"Why do you look so sad?" Bertram asked.

"I'm thinking of Niels, Your Majesty."

"Ah, yes. Such fine young people serve our country today..." The King's eyes grew distant.

_Does Prince Rupert yet live?_ Clyde wondered. _Will Bertram be the last of our virtuous kings?_

General Colfax drew Bertram away, leaving Clyde to mull his own plans. As soon as possible, he meant to leave the army and strike out on his own to find the prince – wherever the trail might lead.

* * *

A shock force drove off the bandits. The whole army poured into the Eastlands, the warm Sopronian breeze following in its wake. The chilly dampness burned off, and sunlight poked through the clouds.

49. Liberation Wind

The roaring grows louder. The trees bend; men shift about fitfully. The butcher dogs cease their infernal howling, and the whole Barrens seems to cringe.

The wind strikes with great force, driving me back against the tree. It batters my face and pushes into my mouth. I shut my eyes tight against the onslaught.

The air forces its energy into me. I exhale, and a dead rottenness leaves my body. I inhale; vitality surges into every nerve. I stand entranced, bathing in the glorious wind until it finally passes through. I open my eyes.

I can see clearly again!

The shadow of terror lifts from my heart. All around, soldiers begin to stir, amazement etched on their faces. Norman's usually impassive countenance breaks into a wide grin.

I grasp his arm. "Come with me."

All around us men are struggling to their feet. We approach a group of them.

"Take heart," I say. "This breeze is the sweet breath of my homeland."

"It drove away the Death Angel!" a soldier cries.

"There's only one way it could have got here. The King has finally arrived, and with him a mighty army for our deliverance."

The men give a ragged cheer. "Hurrah for King Bertram!"

I release Norman's arm and move back toward Talbot. The captain stirs under his blanket as I kneel beside him. He looks much improved but is less vigorous than the others. The spider venom must be more potent that that of the hornets.

"How do you feel, captain?"

Talbot rolls onto his side. "Like a draft horse trod over me."

Joy surges through my heart at the sound of his voice. "Yes, a mighty 'draft' indeed. Did you recognize it?"

"Of course, my lord." Talbot braces himself on an elbow. His face is hollow and gray, but his eyes are clear. "It heralds King Bertram."

"Yes!"

Talbot recoils from my outburst.

I lower my voice. "Afflis surely understands this, as well. What's his best move?"

Talbot massages his temples wearily.

"Please forgive me for pressing you," I say.

"That's all right, my lord. This round trip to Death's door has tired me a bit."

I grin. It feels good.

"Afflis should leave a screening force behind to keep us in check," Talbot says. "Then he should take his main army south to fight the King."

"Will he do that?"

Talbot shakes his head. "I think not. We are within Afflis' grasp, and that maddens him. He will pursue us."

"Then we must outrun him."

* * *

Some hours later, we exit the Barrens to the north. We look a sorry lot—more like beggars than soldiers with our ragged, filthy clothes and gaunt faces. At least most of us can walk although Talbot and several others have to be carried on makeshift stretchers.

My arm still aches fiercely, but the swelling has abated. I hardly notice the pain, as the recent avalanche of good fortune had washed away all miseries.

We traverse low, grass-covered hills and empty meadows. Fine grazing land, but this is the pirate domain where none dare reside.

"Do the pirates rove far from the coast?" I ask Lieutenant Norman.

"Mostly they keep to their port town or their ships,"

"So, it's possible they do not yet know we are here?"

"Yes, my lord, that could be the case."

Sky and wavering grass meet on the horizon, giving the area a feeling of vastness. It's easy to imagine we are the world's final inhabitants.

"The longer I am in the Eastlands, the less I understand them," I say.

"Your Lordship speaks of the Barrens?"

"Yes, and of the people, too. They look different from Sopronians, but you and some others I've seen are just like us. And we all speak a common language."

"As a boy I was taunted much for my 'strange looks,'" Norman says. "Imagine my surprise when I first saw Your Lordship."

"There is a strong link between our two peoples, but it's been replaced by superstition and fear. Why is that?"

"Perhaps we'll know someday. Now we have other problems."

Norman points to a hillside where two men watch us from horseback. "Get them!"

Our best archers take aim, but the horsemen flee out of range.

"Somebody knows we're here now," I say. "Pirates, do you suppose?"

"I know not, my lord."

"Those were no pirates," Talbot rasps.

He stands nearby, gripping a trooper's arm for support.

"You shouldn't be walking around yet," I say.

"If we're not careful, none of us will be walking around much longer."

Should Talbot wish to scare into me, he's doing an excellent job.

I try to keep my voice calm. "Why do you say those men are not pirates?"

"They would have headed north toward their port town. Those men rode southeast. They are Afflis' scouts."

"Curse him!" Norman spits. "He must have found a river crossing downstream beyond the Barrens."

"Soon his main force will be after us," Talbot says.

"So be it," I say. "At least one thing is certain—we are not going back into those Barrens."

The gloom that had so recently lifted from my Rebel Army crushes back down. Men lean on their weapons, trembling. The Pit-Eyed Thing stares out at me from their faces, but I pay it no heed.

"We march to the coast," I say. "We shall see this pirate town and, heaven willing, drive the evil from it."

50. Across the Pirate Lands

The knowledge of Afflis' pursuit drives us on. The pirate town offers the only possible refuge, and we fairly run towards it like the entry to paradise. The land slopes gently downward, aiding our flight.

Hornet venom still courses through my brain, bringing ghastly visions. I see Afflis loping after us—shoulders hunched, waist bent. He opens his mouth, reveling huge yellow fangs; he looks about with burning red eyes, sniffing the air. Behind him, many others follow.

"Highness!"

Norman's voice sounds from a million miles away. A hand grips my shoulder.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Some vision torments you. Is it the butcher dog?"

"Yes."

"Others report likewise, but it's just a daydream. And Afflis is only a man. Remember that."

* * *

Two horsemen appear alongside our column, riding insolently just out of bowshot range. Would that we still had our own mounts! A nightmare image enters my mind—the butcher dogs standing on their back legs tearing up our horses. Blood and guts pour out of the screaming animals.

Norman dispels the hallucination with a firm shake of my arm.

* * *

We continue our quick march to the brink of exhaustion through the unvarying landscape. A new scent wafts in the air. It adds a pleasant tang to the grassy odors around us. I hear a faint roar in the distance.

"What is that noise, Lieutenant?"

"The sea, my lord."

Norman points to a nearby rise where several men stand gazing eastwards. A bolt of excitement drives away my terrors. I run ahead and take a place among the crowd.

Below us drops a steep cliff. At its base reposes a beautiful white beach. And beyond that... the sea! An endless expanse surging with life and power.

"It's so much better than I imagined!"

Late afternoon sun sparkles upon the water. Foamy breakers tumble onto the beach, and large fish-like animals frolic near the shore. I breathe in the salty air like a rare incense as the hornet venom loosens its hold. I imagine myself aboard a ship with great billowing sails, heading beyond the horizon—away from war and death and my cruel enemies.

"What are those creatures swimming out there, Lieutenant?"

"I know not, Your Lordship."

"They almost look familiar, though I've certainly not seen their like before."

The wonderful sea air clears the last of the Barrens rot from my lungs, and my mind sharpens. Norman points northwards toward a large, horseshoe bay. A settlement stands upon its shore.

"That's the pirate town," he says. "There are no ships in the harbor,"

"Surely, that's a good sign."

The pursuing horsemen depart, cleansing the area of their presence. Talbot joins me and Norman. He looks much recovered, and the deathly grayness has departed his face.

"Stay close by, Captain," I say in a low voice. "Advise me. I wish no further disasters like the Barrens."

"It was an unspeakable place," Talbot says, "but we'd have all been slaughtered had we not taken refuge there."

"Thank you for your attempt to humor me. It is not necessary, though."

Talbot shakes his head. "Your Lordship knows it is not my practice to sugar my remarks. I'm stating plainly your decision was the only one possible."

"But the losses!"

"This is _war_. We will suffer losses wherever we go."

"What about our men?" I say. "How do they feel?"

"Didn't they all volunteer their service? If Your Lordship truly wants my advice, here it is: Stop blaming yourself. After all, a man—"

"I know. 'A man makes many mistakes in his lifetime.'"

Talbot's eyebrows go up with surprise.

"Thank you, Captain. I feel much better... I think."

We head down the slope toward the pirate settlement and whatever destiny awaits us.

51. The Rebel Army Comes Calling

We advance along the shore, crouching behind any available cover. The bay is still empty, and no breakers disturb its surface in the gathering dusk.

The settlement is a collection of crude wood and stone buildings. A tumbled-down stockade rings the outskirts. A black pennant with skull and crossed bones upon it flies from the center of town. Just looking at that evil banner chills my blood.

No guard mans the stockade, and the entrance has no gate.

"Good fortune attends us," Talbot says. "The inhabitants grow arrogant in their power."

We slip into the town like silent death and reach the outermost buildings undetected. All is quiet, except for the cries of seagulls. Might the whole town be deserted?

Then, from farther inside, comes shouting and coarse laughter. We creep toward the noise, down the narrow street, hugging the walls of empty buildings.

We halt. Ahead opens a small square in which a dozen men with chains around their ankles collect debris or drag around barrels and crates. Off to the side, two covered heaps sprawl on the ground.

Several armed louts watch the laborers. Their chief is a large, ferocious man with a scarred face. These pirate guards curse the workers and laugh at their distress, delivering shoves and kicks. To complete the misery of the laborers, a hateful little dog barks and nips at them.

My face burns at the sight of so much injustice.

The prisoners toil with heads bowed. Except for one—a bald, hefty man who is shoveling up rubbish. He wears an expression of proud dignity, quite out of keeping with his sorry circumstances. The guards direct much of their abuse against him.

"Come'n Baldy!" The chief lands a kick. "Can't you work no faster?"

The other thugs laugh. The dog yips along.

"Should we take them now?" I whisper. "Or check for others first?"

Before Talbot can reply, the dog gets wind of us and starts barking furiously. The ugly little wretch runs toward us.

"Hey!" The pirate leader calls. "What goes on there?"

He approaches us, cutlass drawn; his mangled face is hard and alert. The other pirates follow. The bald prisoner creeps behind them and raises his shovel.

WUMP!

He brings it down on the leader's head. The brute crumples. The other guards spin around.

"Attack!" I shout.

My troops surge forward, and the pirates flee like rubbish before a whirlwind. The bald prisoner stands his ground, holding his shovel before him like a spear. Our men bypass him as a river current flows around a rock.

In moments, they cut down all the guards. Blood befouls the ground.

Talbot strides to the bald prisoner and seizes his arm. "Are there more of them?"

The man regards Talbot coolly. "Aye, by the docks most likely," he says in a thick accent. "And I'll thank ye to release my arm."

"Lieutenant Norman," Talbot commands. "Take one company and scour the town, starting with the docks. Have the rest secure this square."

Men dash off. The bewildered laborers huddle around the bald fellow, jabbering in a language I do not understand.

Talbot lets go of the man's arm and fixes hard eyes upon him. "Who might you be?"

"Captain Petra, of the merchant ship _Starcoast_ ," the man says with great dignity. "These others are what's left of my crew."

The din of combat echoes from elsewhere in the town. It surges closer, then drifts off.

"And who might the lad be?" Petra asks.

"Crown Prince Rupert of Sopronia. It's to him you owe your liberation."

Petra draws himself up and salutes me. "Captain Demetrius Petra and his crew at your service."

I return the salute.

"Talbot, have the chains struck from these men's legs." I jab a finger at the pirate banner. "And tear down that filthy rag! Burn it."

Talbot moves off, shouting orders to the men. Petra looks about the square, hands on hips. Even in the fading light, his eyes sparkle.

He turns towards me. "Highness, I regret I do not know of your country. Your people are not seafarers?"

"No, we are not. How long have you been held captive?"

"It's been three months since they attacked us. Lost most of my crew, but I scuttled the _Starcoast_ before the pirates could take her."

"So, they brought you here. Why?"

"They was hoping for ransom!"

Petra laughs uproariously until tears enter his eyes. I wonder if he's taken leave of his senses.

"Imagine. Who'd give ransom for _me_?" Petra wipes the tears away. "Most of my competitors would pay to have me hanged."

He laughs some more, then turns abruptly solemn. "Ah, they'd have killed us before long, except for our ship's doctor, maybe."

"Is the town often this unoccupied?"

"Usually there's plenty of cutthroats in port. Just today a ship departed, and what a brawl they had before they sailed." He gestures toward the shrouded bodies. "They left two gentlemen behind. Very quiet types they are."

"There's new governance in this place now. We require your aid for its defense."

"Aye, your lordship. We're with you, whatever befalls."

52. The Battle Standard

The next hours pass in hectic activity.

We strengthen the stockade, block the gateway, and begin an inner defense line around the square. The pirate corpses are disposed of; I do not ask how this is accomplished, as I have seen more than enough death and destruction.

Night becomes too dark and the men too exhausted for further effort. Everyone, save for the sentries and our outlying scouts, retires to quarters.

Mine are dreary and bare, but they seem the height of luxury after so many nights in the open. Talbot enters, and we spend a brief time relaxing over hot cider which we have 'liberated' from the pirate quarters.

"I am so grateful to have made your acquaintance," I say at one point. "You have been like a wise elder brother through all this."

Talbot frowns.

"Did I say something to offend you?"

"No, of course not. I'm highly honored. I was just thinking that if I truly were your elder brother, _I'd_ be the crown prince. I do not envy your situation."

"Yes..."

I shift position. The blunt honesty of my commanders still makes me uncomfortable.

"Besides," Talbot says, "Afflis already offered me the succession, should he prevail in his conquests."

I'm beyond astonishment. "And you turned it down? Why?"

"It was a great temptation, but such a realm would be without honor or justice. I could not serve it." Talbot leans forward in his chair. "I see in you the true nobility Afflis lacks. He is not worthy of my allegiance."

Before I can digest this amazing news, Petra appears at the door.

"You sent for me, Your Lordship?"

"Yes, Captain, please come in."

Petra enters. He carries himself with new confidence and even seems to have gained weight. His eyes glitter sea blue in the candlelight.

"How may I be of service, my lord?"

"I wish to make a Sopronian flag. Can any of your men do cloth work?"

"One is a sail maker. He could stitch a flag easy enough. And there's plenty of materials in the storehouses."

"Excellent," I say. "The hard part will be the Royal Crest, it's rather complicated."

I pull my cloak from its peg. The fine garment is almost done for, and the feel of its tattered material gives me a pang of regret. I locate the little royal crest stitched into the lining.

"Look here."

Petra examines it critically. "A bit difficult in this light, my lord."

"It's a crown attended by three animals. See?"

"Ah, yes," Petra says.

"There is a great bird overall. On the left side is a bear, and on the right side a water creature..."

My head jerks back in surprise.

"Is something wrong?" Talbot says.

"W-why... I saw this same creature only today. I'd always thought it was some myth."

Petra studies the crest. "It's a porpoise, my lord. Common in these waters."

Understanding flashes in my mind. "Do you understand what this means? Sopronia and the Eastlands—one country! The bear of the Western Mountains, the porpoise of the East Sea."

"An interesting explanation," Talbot says.

"It's the only one possible." I pace in high agitation. "Clyde said the Eastlands are a 'lost country.' How true."

"There's also the bird," Petra says. "Does it represent a third part of the old realm?"

"One mystery follows another," Talbot says.

It's all too much to absorb at one time. I ease myself into a chair, exhausted from excitement.

The guard pokes his head in the door, and my joy evaporates. "Our scouts have spotted horsemen. Forty in number."

Talbot rises. "That would be the advance guard. We can expect Afflis' main force soon."

A grim quiet settles upon us. Defeat has entered our deliberations, but I cannot allow myself to be discouraged.

"We must reunite the Kingdom, all three parts," I say. "There can be no peace until this is achieved."

Talbot displays a rather irritated look. "Perhaps we should first concentrate on the problems at hand."

I refuse to be put off, though. "It's the only way. Things have been unleashed we cannot contain. We must confront them as a united people or be destroyed. I shall need your assistance."

"You will always have that, my lord."

Talbot is sincere, though far from confident. Perhaps I am not so confident myself, but I must hold to my vision or be swept away by approaching events.

# Eleven: Siege

53. New Enemies Arrive

By late afternoon the next day, hundreds of enemy fighters lurk outside the town, with more arriving. We watch them grimly as we continue building our fortifications.

Talbot recognizes some of them. "Ah, they seek revenge on their old lieutenant. Should have joined us when they had the chance."

The outer wall is much strengthened. A new inner stockade surrounds the town square and its storehouses, along with a small area of waterfront. It's a good defensive system. If only we had sufficient troops to man it! Our new flag billows overall, showing our proud defiance.

The sea guards our back, or so we think until two pirate ships appear in the bay. The military council, which now includes Captain Petra, has just convened in my quarters when the news comes. We dash outside and scale the watchtower by the dock.

"Wondrous!" I can't help exclaiming through my horror.

The ships are the most beautiful things I've ever seen—great wooden structures with billowing sails, worlds beyond the fishing craft that ply Lake Hevesh. They glide across the water as if pushed by a divine hand. Only the black Jolly Roger flying from the mainmasts betrays their evil nature. The sight of it weakens my bones.

"Petra, how many men would you say are on each ship?" I ask.

"Thirty-five or so. More, if they've taken captives."

"They won't attempt a landing with so few men," Talbot says. "They can easily see the town is occupied."

"Aye," Petra says. "My guess is they'll anchor and bide their time."

BOOM!

A mighty explosion slams my ears. Everyone ducks. A puff of smoke billows from one of the ships, and an object whistles by overhead. A great hole appears in a nearby roof amid a shower of splintered wood.

"What was that?" I gasp.

"Cannon," Petra says. "We'd best get off this tower."

We scramble down the ladder and take refuge behind the sea wall.

BOOM!

A second missile smashes into the town. My jaw drops at this display of raw power. We have nothing like it in all Sopronia. A horrid fascination grips me, despite our peril.

Twice more the ships fire into the settlement. Then they raise their aim. The next shot flies over the town and beyond.

"There's one for Afflis," Norman says.

Three more shots hiss by on their way toward Afflis' camp. The last one breaks the flag pole. Our beautiful new banner tumbles down.

"An evil omen," Petra says.

"No!" I snap. "I refuse to believe that."

The cannons fall silent, leaving me in a world which never be the same.

"Those buccaneers object to our presence," Talbot says.

"They sent Afflis the same message," Norman says. "That's some comfort."

"Did you know about cannon weapons?" I demand.

"I've heard of them," Talbot says, "but this is the first I've seen them used.

I turn on Petra. "Tell me about cannons."

"It's simple enough, Your Lordship." Petra mimes loading and firing. "You just pack gunpowder inside the barrel and ram a stone ball on top, or maybe some scrap iron. Light the thing and Poof!"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

This explanation brings the magic down to earth where I ache to grasp it.

"Cannons are mostly used by armies to blast city walls," Petra explains. "They are less common on ships. Grapple and board are still the preferred attack methods."

"Are there gunpowder weapons small enough for a man to carry?"

"Aye, my lord, but such guns are slow and dangerous to use. They cannot best a good longbow, yet."

"We must have these weapons." I slam a fist into my palm.

Petra nods but says nothing.

I return to the outer stockade with Talbot and look out across the fields toward Afflis' troops. More enemies arriving all the time, and so few of us. I imagine our fortress walls bristling with cannons. What we couldn't do then!

* * *

Night descended on the besieged town; chill fog muffled everything in a nightmare gloom. Sentries stared through the vapor, expecting an attack any moment. The waiting became unbearable, and men finished their watches nearly maddened by the strain.

The pirate ships lurked in the bay, almost invisible except for single lanterns burning upon their decks—great, hulking beasts peering through the murk with cyclops eyes.

Alone in his cabin, Talbot pondered his fate. How different life would be if he had not deserted Afflis. He feared tomorrow would bring death, or perhaps capture, which would be worse.

A plague on you, Afflis. Come and get me.

Toward dawn, a witch breeze blew off the fog. It whistled in every nook and crack, terrifying all in their sleep.

54. Opening Attack

Petra is waiting in the square when I leave my quarters. "Good morning, Your Lordship. Might I accompany you?"

"Of course. I wish to inspect the outer stockade."

We walk together through the empty town. After the suffocating night, day seems fresh and alive with promise. I think of King Bertram and the Sopronian Army on the quick march, hastening to our rescue. I think of Clyde who braved the frozen mountains to bring us relief.

Pray they arrive in time!

We pause in the open area behind the main gate and look up toward the stockade.

"Talbot has done well with the fortifications," I say.

"Aye. Them bloody pirates never thought to strengthen their defenses, confident nobody'd dare attack."

Talbot and Norman stand on the main platform above the gateway, our troops flanking them. Everything looks quite efficient.

I grab the ladder. "Coming, Petra?"

"No, my lord. A man of my bulk had best stay off such high places."

I climb to the main platform. Talbot meets me.

"How are things going, Captain?"

He points toward the enemy camp. I cross the platform and peer over the stockade. What I see makes me gasp.

"So many!"

"Six hundred, at least," Norman says.

My sense of well-being vanishes. However powerful the Sopronian Army might be, it isn't here. Brutal reality is here, festering like a plague.

Foot soldiers move about Afflis' camp. Horsemen ride among them shouting orders. Curses and the clatter of weapons drift across the fields.

"An assault cannot be long in coming," Talbot says.

Even from this distance, the enemy troops appear to be very fit. I look to our own men, ragged and scrawny from weeks of short rations, stretched thin along fortifications that now seem terribly fragile.

"You must return to the inner defenses, my lord," Talbot says.

"Certainly not. My place is here."

"Forgive me, Highness, but I cannot allow you to remain."

Hobbs and another soldier stand beside Talbot.

"How dare you try to order me around. I'm staying right here. Norman, give me a bow."

"Talbot is right, my lord," Norman says. "You _must_ go back now."

Rage chokes me. Talbot and the men flanking him present a grim wall, blocking my will. I do not doubt they'll remove me by force should I press them further.

"Very well, then."

I swing onto the ladder and climb down amid a cloud of anger and humiliation.

"Petra!" Talbot calls. "Escort His Royal Highness back to the square."

"Aye, Captain."

I stomp along ahead of Petra, burning with resentment.

"Insubordination, treason! I'll have Talbot flogged. I'll..." I turn on Petra and stab a finger at him. "You're in on this too, aren't you?"

Petra gives a helpless shrug. "Please try not to be upset, my lord."

"Upset? I'll upset all your heads before this is over!"

I pass into the inner fortifications, my royal dignity in shreds. I scale the ladder to the observation post over the entry. Petra starts climbing up, too.

"Isn't this a bit high for a 'man of your bulk?'"

"That it is, my lord."

By the time he reaches the top, he's out of breath and sweat glistens on his bald head.

"A bit of starvation might benefit you," I taunt.

At least the view up here is good. Standing on a heap of rocks, I can see Talbot has divided our fighters into two battle groups on the outer stockade. The men to the right of the main platform are under his direct control, while Norman commands those to the left.

Beyond, Afflis' troops bustle around their camp but do not begin an assault. Their busy movements seem pointless.

"That swine is toying with us," I say. "He could have attacked a dozen times by now."

"So it would seem, my lord."

I climb down from the rocks. "Afflis will attack when it pleases him. Why should I miss breakfast on his account? Fetch me some food."

"But Your Lordship— "

"Don't worry, I'll not escape. You've all made it very clear what my place is."

I know I'm being unfair, which makes me even angrier. Petra huffs back down the wobbly ladder.

Why doesn't Afflis attack already? The strain is unbearable. My fingers itch to be on a bow string. I scarcely notice Petra's return, and I gnaw the bread and cheese he brings without even tasting it.

* * *

A horrid, out-of-tune trumpet blast announces the assault. Sea gulls leap from their perches, their startled caws heralding death. With a savage cry, Afflis' foot soldiers throw their massed strength against Norman's section.

Horsemen bring up the rear, driving the infantry forward. Crossbowmen screen the advance with a volley of bolts, forcing our defenders to duck for cover.

The surging enemy troops reach the stockade, fling ladders against it and attempt to climb up. The crossbowmen cease their volleys lest they strike their own men. Norman's troops fight back desperately—knocking over ladders, hurling rocks, slashing with swords and clubs. Talbot's men rush to help.

The attack falters. Masses of enemy foot soldiers try to run, but the cavalry stops them. The horsemen drive the infantry back and hurl them against the fortifications once more. This time they strike Talbot's area.

Another furious struggle begins. Several enemy soldiers penetrate the defenses. A bolt of horror strikes me.

"Hold them!" I'm shouting like a mad man.

Our men strike down the intruders and fling their ladders from the walls. Savage howls fill the air, and once again the attack wanes.

Afflis' men stumble back, falling over each other. Their discipline cracks, and they run for their camp. Not even the cavalry can stop them.

"Hurrah!" A mighty cheer rings from our battlements. "Hurrah for Prince Rupert!"

"We've done it!" I swing a fist through the air. "Gave them a good bloody nose."

A stream of wounded men hobbles back towards us, and my joy turns to sorrow.

55. Second Assault

After a few hours of treating the wounded, I'm about done for. To our great good fortune, Petra's men include the ship's surgeon; and his skill is prodigious.

I sit with him and Petra amid the patients, many of whom are sound asleep. The storehouse loot includes a powerful pain-killing drug which the doctor has used liberally.

"I almost envy these poor fellows," I say. "I'm tempted to take a strong dose of that drug myself, just to forget all this horror."

Petra gives me a kindly smile. "Yes, but when the drug wears off, the horrors will still be here, worse than ever."

He fills two cups from a wooden cask and hands me one.

"Try this, Your Lordship. It's the proper stuff to lighten your mood."

I sniff the libation cautiously. "What is it?"

"Whisky. I found it in a storehouse. Lots of barrels there—oil, whisky, salted fish—I've not had time to examine the half of them."

He knocks back a draught, and I foolishly do the same. Flaming liquid scorches my throat. A club strikes the back of my head.

"Water!" I croak.

"Sorry, Your Lordship." Petra hands me a water flask. "I should have warned you of its potency."

I drain the water flask. When I put it down, the room is moving across my vision all on its own. "I'd rather my mood was a bit heavier and my throat less burned."

The doctor says something in his foreign language.

"What's that, Petra?"

"He says Your Lordship would make an excellent physician. You have the healing touch."

"Tell him thanks, and please thank him for helping my soldiers."

The two men exchange comments in their foreign language. The doctor looks toward me, nodding and smiling. His approval, blended with the whisky, warms my heart.

Then an eerie trumpet blast freezes it. "Those dogs are coming again!"

* * *

We dash across the square and mount the observation post just as the enemy forces slam against the outer stockade. Their numbers are fewer now, but still vastly superior to ours.

At first the assault seems a repeat of the morning's battle, but this time the enemy fights with better discipline. When they retreat, they stay in better order, regrouping behind their screen of crossbowmen. There is less panic in their ranks. They have learned deadly lessons from this morning.

I watch helpless and appalled. My fists clench so tight that my fingernails draw blood.

Afflis' force divides in two. Both wings advance at once, hitting widely spaced areas of the stockade. Our defenders spread out, trying to hold back the onslaught. For a while the defenses do hold, but a breakthrough soon occurs, then another. A gap opens in Norman's sector and enemy troops pour over the stockade.

Norman's men jump down from their positions and try to fight their way through an increasing swarm of foes.

"Hurry!" I shout. "Get back here!"

Talbot's men are now abandoning their posts, enemy troops in hot pursuit. The streets became a mad swirl of fighting men.

"Come on!" Petra yells.

A small group of enemy soldiers dashes through the makeshift gate of the inner defenses, into the square below us. They halt, glancing about savagely. They look up – right at us!

I fling a rock. One of the enemy goes down. A crossbow bolt whistles past me.

Petra hurls another rock. "Take that, you scum!"

The bandits dodge away. The crossbowman retreats beyond range to reload his weapon. The others slip under our platform, out of sight. I peep over the stockade at the battle outside. Talbot and Norman have joined forces and are fighting a desperate rear guard action.

"Get down!" Petra says.

The top of the ladder shakes. I maneuver my dagger out of its scabbard and lie frozen, scarcely daring to breathe. A brutal face with a scraggly black beard pokes into view.

I lunge. "Yaaaah!"

The enemy soldier jerks back, throwing up his arm, and I jab the dagger point into it. He tumbles away shrieking. Petra sends the ladder crashing after him. Another bolt shoots past my face. Then...

"Retreat!" someone shouts, and the bandits flee.

With a last desperate push, our troops gain the inner defense line. They crowd through the gate and barricade it shut just ahead of the onrushing enemy forces.

"They made it!"

I leap into Petra's arms with such force that he nearly falls over.

Our men scramble onto the makeshift stockade. Afflis' infantry halts outside howling with rage, but their force is spent.

The trumpet blares a sour note, and the enemy withdraws to their newly won territory. Crossbowmen take a few parting shots.

Our soldiers slump at their posts, exhausted.

56. Ultimatum

Talbot approaches. He is battered and bloodied, but otherwise unhurt. Norman has also survived, through the number of our troops is cruelly reduced.

Pride surges in my heart. I want to embrace all of my soldiers, starting with Talbot. But he only stands at attention, cool and distant.

"Captain Talbot reporting for sentencing," he says.

"What on earth for?"

"Insubordination. Preventing Your Lordship from joining the battle."

I pause, uncertain how to react. My first impulse is to dismiss the whole matter with a wave of my hand, but Talbot is deadly serious. It would be an insult to take him lightly. The others are watching, too.

I'd been an idiot this morning; Talbot was right to stop me. The chain of command had been violated, though, and must be restored.

"Very well, Captain Talbot. For an act of insubordination, you are hereby sentenced to twenty lashes."

Talbot stiffens, but betrays no emotion. The men suck in their breath. I scan their faces, see no rebellion lurking within. Norman and Hobbs grip Talbot's arms and lead him off.

I hold up my hand. "However, owing to the present grave circumstances, and in light of your many services to the Crown, sentence is suspended."

A murmur of approval runs through the men. Thank heaven, I seem to have handled things properly for once.

"Return to your duties, Captain," I say. "Let us speak no more of this."

A lone horseman bearing a white flag nears the stockade. He halts and observes us with the cool arrogance of a victor. His horse is less calm. It paws the ground and bobs its head nervously.

"What do you want?" I call down.

"I present a goodwill gesture from Lord Afflis."

"So, he's _Lord_ Afflis now," Talbot mutters.

"Well?" I say. "Get on with it."

The man snaps his fingers. Two other men approach on foot. A third person walks between them.

I gape with disbelief. "Clyde! Are you all right?"

"Yes, my lord. Please let me in. I'm mighty uncomfortable out here."

The horseman retreats with the foot soldiers, and Clyde scrambles up the ladder we lower down. The moment he gains the top, I embrace him.

"I thought I'd never lay eyes on you again."

Talbot grasps his hand. "Welcome back, Clyde."

From along the stockade, men shout their greetings. Clyde's face glows, brightening the whole area.

"How did you get here?" I ask after the uproar abates.

"I came with the King's army!" Clyde yells so all can hear.

"Hurrah for King Bertram!" my troops shout. "Bravo Sopronia!"

Our elation surges. We can see the Sopronian army marching beside us. Our deliverance is written in the heavens.

Talbot draws Clyde away and speaks in a low voice. "What of His Majesty?"

"The King's army is bogged down at the river."

My joy fades. All around, the men sense bad tidings and stop their cheers.

"The enemy holds the north bank," Clyde says, "and we dare not outflank them through the Barrens. Our scouts entered that cursed place but did not return."

"We cannot expect immediate relief, then?" Talbot says.

"No... but the King will surely break through in another day or so."

"Too late," Norman mutters.

"Why didn't you stay with the King?" I say. "You'd be safe there."

Clyde holds out his hands. "I had to come, that's all, so I slipped away. Afflis' men caught me, and here I am."

"And what of Niels?"

"Lost in a storm, my lord. He saved my life."

"Ohhh." Fresh anguish stabs me.

"Why did Afflis release you?" Norman says. "Surely not for the sake of 'goodwill.'"

"He wants us to learn of the King's delay from a trusted source," Talbot says.

Clyde withdraws a little scroll from inside his shirt. "Afflis bade me deliver this message, though I detest the idea."

"Come now." I take the scroll. "Surely you cannot think I would hold this against you."

I open the scroll and read aloud:

To Prince Rupert of Sopronia,

Congratulations on a battle well fought. You have done everything honor requires, and further resistance can only bring death to you and your followers. My envoy will return shortly to present surrender terms.

Afflis, Lord of the Eastlands

Norman grunts. "He's become quite the nobleman."

"What do you make of this, Captain?" I say.

"I think Afflis wants to dispose of us quickly," Talbot says. "We've already hurt him more than he expected."

The horseman returns under his white flag. He's as arrogant as ever with his feathered hat and pointy beard. He halts a short distance from the stockade, an insolent smile playing about his lips.

"Say your piece, envoy!" I yell. "You have two minutes."

The smile disappears. He produces a scroll:

I, Lord Afflis, call upon Prince Rupert to cease this war. Spare your followers from certain destruction. Withdraw your claim to lands not rightfully yours. I offer you safe passage to Sopronia as soon as peace is concluded with King Bertram.

The envoy addresses our soldiers: "Men of the Eastlands! Come over to my Lord Afflis. Join him in building a new country, free of foreigners. Lay down your arms. Avoid the slaughter which awaits you."

Absolute silence. Even the sea gulls stop their customary racket. The men stand at their posts, eyes downcast.

"Time's up, envoy," I say.

"What reply shall I give my master?"

"He'll get my answer first light tomorrow. If we are attacked before then, there will be no further parley."

"But – "

"Archers!"

A dozen men draw their bow strings. The envoy spins his horse around so fast he nearly falls off. He gallops away amid raucous laughter.

57. Feverish Plans

Later that afternoon, the war council meets in my quarters. The bare, unpainted walls and rough furnishings are appropriate for our grim discussion.

Clyde has joined us, and we question him about the enemy's strength.

"They're plenty strong," Clyde says, "and more popular with the common folk than I imagined."

"How's that?" I ask.

"Those outside his old territory, what don't know him as well as me, think he's a 'liberator.'"

Talbot snorts. "He'll show his true colors soon enough."

"I'd agree with that," Clyde says, "but for now, he's treating his new subjects well. He ain't stealing from them, and he's bringing 'law and order.'"

"He's learned from Durwick's failures," Norman says. "Squeeze people too much and they turn on you."

This report is highly disturbing. Until now, I'd viewed Afflis as a mere brute, but he's got subtlety and intelligence. He knows when to reward people and when to use the iron hand. What can I offer my followers? Only suffering and death, along with a fading promise of freedom.

"How did you learn all this, Clyde?" I ask.

"I'd free rein to speak with whoever I wanted. I shared meals and campfires with the common men. They hold Afflis in high regard."

Talbot rises from our conference table and drops a fresh log into the fire. "As I said before, Afflis seeks to dispirit us with information from a trusted source."

"Please forgive me, Your Lordship," Clyde says. "I only tell what I saw and heard."

"Of course. This bitter pill is better swallowed without honey."

Talbot returns to our table. I press a hard question upon him. "Can we hold out another couple of days until the Sopronian army gets here?"

He shakes his head and replies in customary blunt fashion. "No, Your Lordship, we cannot."

His words place a heavy stone on my heart. Of course, I already knew the truth, but hearing it from Talbot magnifies its terror.

"We are overmatched," Norman says. "Afflis can take us with one more assault, though we'll make him pay dear."

"He could set fire to his part of the town and burn us out," Petra says. "Or he could build rafts and try to outflank us from the sea."

"I think not," Talbot says. "Why burn the storehouses with their valuable wares? He must provide loot for his fighters or court rebellion."

"Rafts would take too much time," Norman says. "He'll seek to overwhelm us quick with a frontal attack."

These words hang heavy in the air. The fresh log in the fireplace pops and throws out a flaming ember. It burns itself out on the plank floor.

Finally, I speak. "If we did surrender, would Afflis spare the men?"

"Don't even think that," Clyde says.

"Answer the question, please, Captain."

"Yes, he well might." Talbot strokes his chin. "Afflis needs manpower, why not get it from us? Our troops have proved their mettle."

"He wouldn't spare you nor me, Talbot," Norman says. "We'd be butchered like pigs. And the 'safe passage' he offered Your Lordship would be a difficult journey, indeed."

Talbot nods agreement; sorrow glistens in his eyes. "For myself, I am not concerned, but..."

The full, rancid horror of our situation presses down like a mountain of cattle manure. I sink back in my chair, already feeling the cold steel at my throat.

Moments of grim silence drag past before Talbot speaks again. "In my opinion, Afflis might spare Your Lordship. But to survive, you would have to become a traitor to your people."

Wild hope surges in my heart. _Maybe there's a way out for me after all!_

Too bad about the others, but this is war. People get hurt no matter what. Nobody can say I haven't given my best effort.

I push aside these unworthy sentiments and smack a fist on the table. "Never!"

I close my eyes and stroke my throbbing temples. I need to think. What was this talk about fires and rafts? Vague ideas float at the edge of my consciousness, the way the Pit-Eyed Thing once hovered outside my bedchamber window.

Hobbs and some other soldiers appear at the door.

"What are you doing here?" Talbot snaps. "Get back to your posts!"

"We ask a word with the Prince, sir," Hobbs says.

I look toward the intruders. I am so tired... tired. "Of course. Please speak your mind."

Hobbs bows with great dignity.

"We have agreed among ourselves, all the men." He glances at the others who give firm nods of assent. "We want no part of a surrender. We'll fight for you, Highness, to the end."

They turn and walk off. I am stunned and ashamed for my earlier weakness.

Talbot sighs. "Well, that's clear enough."

The headache crushing my skull vanishes. I rush outside to the middle of the square. Clyde follows.

I hail the men on the stockade. "Soldiers of the Crown!"

Every face looks toward me.

"Your loyalty and courage will remain unmatched forever! Generations yet unborn will salute you!"

"Long live Prince Rupert!" the men cheer.

"Ah, such fine words," Clyde says. "Worth the journey just to listen."

I spin towards him. "The game's not over yet. One more play is open to us."

My plan is taking solid form; I must get it outside my head quickly. I rush back into my quarters.

"The storehouses contain many casks, right, Petra?"

"Why, yes. Your Lordship desires to sample the whisky again?"

I wave my hands. "No, no! I have an idea. Hear me."

# Twelve: Desperate Measures

58. Rest for the Wicked

Mulgar drained the wine goblet and placed it on the table. The stink of his vast bulk filled the tent, making Afflis wrinkle his nose.

"You're sure you can delay King Bertram another two days?" Afflis said.

"Aye, my lord. If he didn't have some of our own men within his ranks, I could hold him off longer."

Afflis felt hemmed in by Mulgar's presence.

Such a vile brute. Why are the best men always on the other side?

"Two days are enough," Afflis said. "You will be well rewarded."

Mulgar grinned maliciously. "Might these rewards include Talbot, should he survive the battle? I got special plans for him."

"He's yours."

"And the messenger boy?"

"Yours, as well," Afflis said.

"Thanks, my lord." Mulgar stood up. "I'd best be returning to my command."

"Very well, you're dismissed."

Mulgar departed, taking his stench with him. Afflis stretched himself out on his cot. Despite the heavy losses, things had gone well today. He'd secured a section of the town but had launched no further attacks, as the Prince had demanded.

_Insolent boy, making demands as if_ _he_ _was the victor._

In any case, Afflis dared not push his exhausted troops further that day. Men pushed too hard are apt to mutiny. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to finish off his pesky foes, should they refuse to surrender.

Foreigners! What right have they to interfere?

Only he, Lord Afflis, could unite these lands and stop the constant fighting among the rival chieftains. He'd become the Eastlands' first true monarch. And he would be great, even if he'd never be loved as the Prince was.

After he defeated King Bertram, Afflis would conquer Sopronia. He'd unite both realms into a powerful whole. Such noble plans, and to have them threatened by a mere lad.

But there was far more to the Prince than met the eye. The prim exterior concealed an icy will bound to an indomitable spirit. He was a cunning fox and slippery as a poisonous eel. Worse yet, the traitor Talbot was assisting him.

God help me should such a foe survive to manhood.

Despite himself, Afflis respected his young enemy. He'd even considered making Rupert his heir, but knew in his heart the boy would never accept. Their outlooks simply did not match. To Afflis, men had to be dominated and bent to his will. Prince Rupert actually tried to uplift them. It was much too late to teach the lad anything different.

What a waste of fine abilities. How has that ox of a King Bertram merited such a worthy successor?

Afflis rose from his cot and looked out the tent flap. His exhausted troops barely stirred in their camp; those garrisoning the town were equally quiet.

Night set in, with clouds hiding the sliver of moon. A light wind blew, and fog settled over the bay where the pirate ships completed the noose around the enemy. The pirate envoy had demanded steep payment for the damage done to their port.

Well, that could be settled later. After the downfall of the Prince.

59. Nightmare Swim

The water is surprisingly warm, unlike the chill night air.

I wade back toward shore with salt water squishing inside my boots. I pull them off and tie them to the raft alongside my sword. Men gather around with their own rafts made from barrels, inflated goat skins, and other buoyant objects.

Out in the bay, the pirate vessels lurk amid darkness and fog. Except for their single deck lanterns, the ships are merely blacker forms in the surrounding ink.

"A fine evening for a swim, ain't it, Highness?" Clyde says.

"Indeed it is." I try to sound hopeful but am unable to match Clyde's upbeat mood.

Why not admit my true feelings? I'm scared and worried. My plan, which seemed so clever in the daylight, now appears to be absolute folly.

Talbot looms out of the blackness. "My force is leaving now for the north ship. You'll stick close to Norman's men and wait til they secure the vessel before you board, right?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good luck, Your Lordship."

I grip Talbot's hand in both of mine. Will I ever be able to do this again? "Thanks, and may every good fortune accompany you."

Talbot addresses the others: "Remember, men, wait for the shore signal. Everything depends on surprise."

He moves off. I am terribly alone, despite the troops gathered all around me.

Fear reaches tingly fingers up my spine. We're on an absurd mission. How can we possibly float right under the pirates' noses and seize their ships? Why, we'll be spotted halfway out and blown to smithereens by cannon fire.

But what else can we do – wait around for Afflis to slaughter us?

When I first proposed the attack, all save Clyde were highly doubtful. Then Petra weighed in.

"By heaven," he said, "if I must die, I'd much prefer the water to this cursed town."

This was hardly a ringing endorsement, but Talbot organized the assault and the men obeyed, as ever. Their loyalty is frightening.

"Tell me the truth, Clyde," I say. "Can we succeed?"

"Don't fret yourself, my lord. Them pirates will not expect such a bold stroke." Clyde thumps his chest. "Under my shirt is our flag, wrapped safe in oilskin. We'll fly it from the mainmast before this night is over."

I wish desperately I could believe that.

Norman approaches. "Are you ready, my lord?"

I take a final look at the darkened town. "Yes, Lieutenant."

I wade out with Clyde. Between us we pull a small raft made of blown-up goat skins. Behind comes the muffled splashing of seventy men. The rocky bottom drops away, and I experience a moment of panic as my head bobs underwater. Holding tightly to our float, I kick hard and stroke with my free arm.

We move out into an eerie reality, using the southernmost ship's lantern as a beacon. A steady breeze pushes us along, and dirty clouds scud by, blotting out the moon.

Until now, I've never been in water above my head, and that in sparkling Lake Hevesh. This swim is a journey through some nightmare. Far off, a bird voice shrieks as a night fowl swoops down on its victim.

The bulk of the pirate ship draws closer.

After some time of kicking our raft along, we enter an area of thickening fog. I can no longer see Clyde's form across from me. Steam covers the water three feet thick.

"Perfect," Clyde whispers, "they won't spot us til we're right on 'em."

I can see nothing of the attack force, hear nothing besides the low moan of the breeze. All is a misty blur. Only the deck lantern on the pirate ship stands out dimly. That corpse light beckons to us, growing constantly larger. My brain slows as the water numbs my body...

Suddenly, the pirate ship looms above the fog, only a short distance off, It floats huge and menacing, silhouetted by stars, like some monster from the depths.

I stifle a cry.

Things are happening much too fast. We have underestimated the breeze, and the wind is getting stronger, too. It's breaking up the fog.

We drift past the ship, kicking to avoid being blown off into the bay's far reaches. Our raft bucks in the strengthening waves. The ship blocks the wind somewhat, aiding our efforts.

I feel terribly exposed, like a clam torn from its shell. I imagine a cannon aimed at my head. The water becomes rougher, and a wavelet splashes into my mouth. I struggle to breathe.

Finally I choke the water out, just as another wavelet enters my mouth. I pull myself higher onto the skins, leaving just my legs dangling in the water. Chill wind bites into me.

For what seems like hours we wait. More fog blows off.

The ragged clouds begin to disperse. Starlight pours out of the sky like gleaming diamonds. The sliver of moon pokes through, sending a ghostly band of light across the water. The sight enraptures me. I want to let go the raft and drift, right out of the bay and up into the heavens along the moonbeams.

Clyde's grip on my arm. "Look!"

The entire attack force is bunched together in the water, like fish waiting to be speared. My breath stops cold.

A tremendous explosion rips the night. I clench my eyes shut, awaiting the cannon ball.

60. Boarding Party

It is not cannon fire, though. The din comes from shore where a huge fireball bursts skyward. The signal at last!

It's far more spectacular than expected. The ship is brutally outlined as if by a rising sun. A din of confused voices and stomping feet drifts across the water from it.

Our flotilla closes in. The first wave swims to the ship and climbs the hull using any available handhold or gouging new ones with sharp tools. Other men stand on rafts preparing to throw grappling hooks and hurl missiles.

I'm determined to follow Talbot's advice this time and stay back from the fighting. Some horrid fish has other ideas, though—a thump, followed by the harsh scrape of a massive body sliding along my legs.

"Uh!" I fling myself onto the raft.

"What's wrong?" Clyde says.

What's wrong emerges from the water, a blunt snout and an under-slung mouth filled with razor teeth.

"Shark!"

Clyde instantly joins me. We totter atop the slippery goatskins, in danger of falling off any moment. A huge black eye slides past. It is lifeless except for the reflected flames, like an entry to hell. I grope for my sword, but the beast swims out of range.

Several frantic strokes bring us alongside the ship. Grabbing our weapons, we abandon our craft and swim the last few feet. Massive forms slither around us. Every moment, I expect shark jaws to clamp on my leg.

Our lead men creep over the gunwales. I grip the lowest handhold and fling myself up the hull. A barnacle gouges my foot and I suppress a cry. I forgot my boots!

It's too late to worry about that. We scramble up and join the others crouching on the deck behind a small covered boat.

Pirates stand along the far gunwale watching the shore conflagration, their bodies forming dark silhouettes against the flames. Excited chatter in a foreign tongue goes through their ranks. They seem like figures from the nether regions.

Filthy scum. Get off my ship!

Grappling hooks fly over from the rafts and dig into the wood behind us. At the same moment, a hail of rocks and bottles filled with quicklime arches overhead and crashes among the pirates. As the bottles shatter, they release a choking powder.

The pirates roar in angry confusion. Invaders swarm aboard over the ropes.

" _SOPRONIA!"_

My troops crash into the enemy. Men struggle under the glare of the flaming town. Fantastic shadows play about the deck – shouts and screams. Blood flows over the planks.

I yearn to join the fight, but Clyde grips my arm. "Stay. The busted glass'll tear up your feet."

It's an unequal contest. Our men hack down the mostly unarmed pirates where they stand or force them over the gunwales into the sea.

"Raise our flag!" I yell.

Clyde swings into the ropes and climbs toward the top of the mainmast. He's scarcely unfurled our banner when cheers drift across the water from the second ship.

"Hear that, Clyde? Talbot has also triumphed!"

Everyone goes mad with joy. Men shout across the water, trading playful insults with their comrades on the other ship. Others swing from the rigging like frolicsome children.

When the mayhem dies down a bit, I hear a familiar voice at my side. "I believe these are Your Lordship's."

I spin around to see Norman holding my dripping boots. Petra stands at his side.

"Uh... yes they are. Thank you."

I shove the boots on, feeling oddly humiliated.

"There's a legend in this," Petra says. "'The Victory of the Barefoot Prince.' People will speak of it for generations."

I join the laughter. Amid such wondrous success, a little bruised dignity hardly matters.

A hellish sound rips through our joy. In the water below, sharks are attacking the wounded pirates. The poor devils' screams freeze my soul.

My knees give out, and I clutch some rigging to keep from falling down. Even our most battle-hardened soldiers gasp with horror; their eyes widen in the flame light.

"Archers!" Norman commands.

Men rush to the gunwales and shoot arrows at the fearsome beasts, and at the pirates as well, so as to end their agony. Finally, the screaming ends.

I look over the ghastly waters, red with flames and blood. Torn bodies drift among the knife-like shark fins.

"This must all end soon, Norman, lest we become as savage as those fish."

61. Dawn Salute

Gray dawn is just beginning when Hobbs boards our ship with the last of the shore party.

"What happened back there?" I say.

"I don't know, my lord. We started the fires as ordered, then a storehouse blew sky high. Lucky we was already in the water, else we'd have gone up with it."

"Must have been gunpowder kept there," Petra says, "in some hidden storeroom. I should have searched the place more thoroughly."

"Gunpowder?" I say. "We could have used it against Afflis."

"Most likely we'd have just blowed up our own selves, and we'd still be in that foul town."

Petra strides about the deck with authority, both fists on his hips. I should be angry with him, but I can't maintain any outrage amid such splendid achievements.

"How I've missed oaken planks beneath my feet," Petra says. "What shall we christen this vessel, Highness?"

"We shall call this... _Windshadow._ It blocked the wind for us as we floated in the water."

"A fine name. And the other vessel?"

"I christen it _Starcoast II_ , in honor of your lost ship."

Petra beams with pride and offers a deep bow. "Highness, you are too gracious."

"No more so than you deserve."

Clyde makes his way across the deck, brandishing a sword. "There's a load of weapons below decks. Any kind you want."

"Outstanding," I say. "At last we can face the enemy on equal terms."

"I brought this for you, Highness. It's the only one of its kind."

Clyde hands over a short, recurved bow, quite unlike our unwieldy longbows.

"That has an Oriental look," Petra says. "You can shoot it from horseback."

"Thank you, Clyde." I hold the weapon aloft and shout for everyone to hear. "This shall be the symbol of our blessed victory!"

Everyone cheers until they are hoarse.

* * *

The last embers of the burned town are dying out, and a new light strengthens in the eastern sky.

"Are we ready, Petra?" I say.

"Aye, my lord."

I approach the bronze gun at the ship's stern. It shines cold and deadly in the rising sun. My face reflects back to me, distorted by the barrel's curves.

This is the face of the future.

"Best stand back," Petra says. "I can't guarantee this won't blow itself to smithereens."

I move away. Petra touches a lighted stick to the gun.

BOOM!

Thick smoke pours from the muzzle and drifts back upon us. I'm intoxicated by the acrid smell. The shot hurtles over the dead town and crashes to the land beyond. A mighty cheer echoes from both ships.

"Afflis has my answer. At first light, just as promised."

# Thirteen: Victory or Death

62. Indecision on the Water

We settle into our new home upon the bay. _Windshadow_ , which had appeared so large from a distance, now seems rather small. Its 70-foot length is crammed with soldiers and weapons.

Talbot reports from _Starcoast II_. Their story resembles ours—total surprise and victory without serious loss, then a horrifying finale provided by the sharks.

"Your Lordship's plan was pure genius," he says. "It brought us triumph from certain defeat."

"Didn't I tell you it would work?" Clyde says.

I reply loud enough for those nearby to overhear. "Thanks for the kind words, Captain, but it was our brave soldiers and their commanders who won the battle."

Talbot keeps his usual impassive stance, but I can tell he's glowing inside from the praise. Father has taught me the power of sharing credit. Would the King were here now! Yet, a part of me is happier with things as they are—me at the center of great events.

After a brief conference, Talbot returns to his vessel.

Fishing is good, and we eat our fill. Porpoises splash about the hull, chattering and smiling at us with their curved mouths. The ghastly remains of the battle have disappeared.

The arms store includes many stout bows and a vast supply of arrows. Our new archers practice shooting bits of wood tossed into the water. The longboat retrieves the spent missiles.

On shore, Afflis' troops stir like angry hornets, poking about the town's ruins. We drive them off with cannon fire. Another night of fog and chill passes. We keep a sharp lookout for raiders, but none appear.

* * *

The following morning, our lookouts give a surprising report: "Afflis is gone!"

_Windshadow's_ deck rocks with excitement. Opinion divides into two camps.

"The King has finally crossed the river, and Afflis has gone to fight him," Clyde says. "We must follow."

Norman expresses the opposing view. "It's a trap. Afflis seeks to lure us ashore for an ambush. His force is hiding in the hills."

Men argue; here and there a fight starts, which Norman quickly breaks up.

"Save it for the enemy!"

The launch from _Starcoast II_ pulls alongside. Captain Talbot disembarks and makes his way across the crowded deck. The bickering immediately stops.

"Good morning, Captain," I say. "We are of two minds as to what's become of the enemy. What do you think?"

"Both possibilities make equal sense," Talbot replies."

"Afflis is gone," Clyde says. "If you don't believe me, send scouts."

"Without horses?" Norman says. "They'd be useless."

"We must land," Clyde says. "The King needs our help."

I draw Petra into the discussion. "Could we transport the army by ship?"

The sea captain shakes his head. "Overloaded as we are, we'd flounder like beached whales. Besides, I've only nine crewmen between the two vessels, and one of them is a doctor without knowledge of seamanship."

"Couldn't our soldiers help?"

Petra shakes his head again. "The mouth of this bay is narrow, with rocks and a nasty current. Even experienced crews would find the passage challenging."

I move alone to the bow and try to think. Over the land, a glorious day advances, but my mind is dark and confused. We are safe on board, but it's a cowardly refuge if we withhold aid when it's needed. On the other hand, rash action could result in our destruction.

After some minutes, Petra approaches. "I'm as uncertain as anybody, Highness, but it seems to me there is only one decision you can make."

"What's that?"

"Take the army ashore. You'll go mad otherwise, wondering what's become of your father and countrymen."

I gaze toward the open sea. The porpoises are out, and birds wheel in the clear skies.

Why does war have to spoil everything?

Talbot joins us. "What have you decided, my lord?"

"We land immediately."

63. Ashore

I step off the launch and wade ashore with the last of our troops. We stretch cramped muscles and glance warily about the charred ruins of the town.

"Thank heaven we're off that floating prison," Clyde says. "I've ate enough raw fish to last a lifetime."

I look across the bay toward _Windshadow_ and _Starcoast II_. Only Petra and his crewmen remain aboard with our wounded soldiers.

Will I survive to walk those oaken planks again?

"The fish might sound pretty good around suppertime," I say.

Clyde brandishes his sword. "Before this day's over, everything will be settled. No one will care about missing supper."

We begin our march. Talbot arrays the bowmen on the landward side to counter any attack from the hills. The other men move along the coast.

Our troops carry shiny new weapons on their shoulders; their free arms swing lustily in the morning air. They seem as happy as men marching to battle are ever likely to be.

I walk near the head of the column with Talbot, carrying my new bow and a quiver of razor arrows. Clyde accompanies me, as always.

"How far to the river, Talbot?" I ask.

"About twenty miles."

"We needn't go that far," Clyde says. "We'll find the King somewhere north of it, and Afflis, too."

Talbot only nods.

I drop back to speak with Norman. "How do you feel, Lieutenant?"

"Like a sheep going to the slaughter, my lord."

"Oh, fish guts!" Clyde says.

"I believe we're walking into a trap," Norman says. "Afflis is waiting for us to get far enough away from the ships so's we can't retreat. Then he'll attack."

These words hang heavy in my ears. Am I sending us to destruction? I hold fast to Talbot's admonition: "Stop blaming yourself!"

It's all in God's hands now. I try to concentrate on the fine day. The sun climbs steadily, and a wonderful sea odor wafts on the breeze. Seagulls wheel about, cawing.

The atmosphere changes drastically when a huge evil-looking bird begins circling overhead. Men gasp, but I am not surprised to see it.

"It's the Devil Bird," Clyde says, "come all the way from Windy Gap."

The creature's feathers shine greenish-black, affronting the pure sky. Its bald head gleams, and its ear-splitting screech drives away the seagulls.

Craaaw!

"It looks to be the same creature," Talbot says. "Unless there are two such monstrosities."

"It's the Pit-Eyed Thing," I say.

"Beg pardon, my lord?"

"Up there, riding atop the bird,"

Talbot glances around warily and speaks in a low voice. "I'd advise Your Lordship to speak quietly of such things. Are you unwell?"

"Don't worry, Captain, my P.E.T. no longer frightens me."

"Your pet?"

"It's kind of a reverse guardian angel. It hopes to see me fail. I used to think it was just imagination, but it's as real as the ground under our feet."

Talbot frowns.

"I cannot make a friend of it," I say, "but I must grant respect. I think every ruler who cares for his people must have one. It's tangled up with our conscience."

"As I've stated before, I do not envy Your Lordship's position."

The bird's appearance casts a pall over my troops. Their good cheer vanishes along with the gulls. To heighten their distress, a group of enemy horsemen appears atop a low hill.

"Defensive positions!" Talbot orders.

Our troops close ranks, crouching behind any available cover. The archers draw their bowstrings.

"Save your arrows!" Talbot calls. "Wait til they get closer."

The mounted foe remains on the hill, surveying us arrogantly.

"Just as I feared," Norman mutters.

"There can't be more than a handful of 'em," Clyde says. "They seek to delay us while Afflis attacks the King."

He steps before the front rank of archers and shouts up at the horsemen. "Come down and taste our steel!"

Crossbowmen take up position on the crest.

"Get back here!" Talbot snaps.

"Why don't we go forward?" Clyde says.

A dark shape hurtles out of the sky. Clyde ducks just as the bird strikes him. He falls and rolls, kicking at the horrible creature.

"Get away!"

The bird snaps viciously, ripping Clyde's tunic. Then it leaps into the sky. I draw my bow string full back, every muscle aches with the strain.

"Filthy brute!"

Despite its great size, the bird is a difficult target, jerking this way and that. My arrow flies wide...

I shoot another, and it strikes home.

Craaaw!

The monster shakes loose the arrow and resumes its climb, but it has tarried too long at the lower altitude. Other archers take aim and let fly a storm of missiles.

Shot through a dozen times, the bird tumbles from the sky and vanishes over the cliff. A mighty cheer echoes through our ranks.

Hoo-Rahhh!

Talbot's voice cries out: "Charge!"

We surge toward the enemy. The horsemen flee under a torrent of arrows. The crossbowmen shoot a few bolts our direction, then take to their heels.

We gain the crest unharmed. Before us, thirty enemy soldiers are in full retreat.

Clyde spits. "Just a little diversion, like I said."

Blood is trickling from a head wound.

"Let me see your injury," I say.

"It's nothing. Let it bleed a while."

"Reform ranks," Talbot orders. "Quick march!"

64. The Reckoning

We head south on the double. A great store of energy has been liberated in the men. Their feet tromp a hypnotic beat, and a chant rumbles through the ranks:

Ru-PERT! Ru-PERT! Ru-PERT!

Their enthusiasm sends my spirits soaring. My feet barely touch the ground.

"They can't stop us!" Clyde cheers. "We're a mighty flood washing the Eastlands clean."

The army rushes ahead mile after mile—moving as a single, mighty being. I'm the spearhead of an astonishing power, scarcely an individual any longer. The giddy feeling blots out all awareness of my burning lungs and aching legs.

"We're almost there," Clyde says. "I can feel it."

The army begins to flag. Some of the less hardy men fall back. Others trip, get up again, keep moving. The chanting dies out, and only the rhythmic tramping remains.

A new sound begins—drifting in and out, muffled by the hills. It's the din of battle.

"Halt!" Talbot commands.

We stumble to a pause. Men lean on their weapons, breathless. Numerous stragglers rejoin us. I draw in gulps of sea-freshened air and stretch my weary legs. The clash of arms drifts louder on the wind.

After a brief rest, we move on. The clamor of battle draws us forward, giving us renewed strength and purpose. We scale a final hill and peer at the fight raging below.

Two forces contend on the level ground, midway between the river and our vantage point. Above the chaos, Imperial banners snap defiantly.

"The King's army!"

Our joy is short-lived, for the situation is grim. The outnumbered royal troops are losing ground steadily. Before long, the brutal weight of the enemy assault will break them, as it broke our resistance at the stockade.

"Pray we're in time," Clyde murmurs.

Afflis' cavalry brings up the rear. They drive the foot soldiers mercilessly toward the slaughter. The enemy foot soldiers fight like maddened beasts, pushing the Sopronian troops back toward the marsh along the river. I look for the King, can't find him among the swirling chaos.

"We must hit their cavalry from behind," Talbot says, "scatter them with arrows. See to it, Norman."

"Aye, sir."

Norman gathers all the archers and heads downhill with them.

"Come on, Clyde," I say. "They'll not keep me away this time."

We fall in behind the archers and creep down the hillside. We crouch amid the high grass, seeking to conceal our movements. The enemy horsemen do not seem to notice us.

"They won't know what hit 'em," Clyde sneers. "Brave heroes when others do the fighting."

The bow vibrates in my grip, crying out a mighty war song. I ache to unleash its deadly power. We gain level ground and dash forward. Still the cavalry gives us no heed. Their arrogance works to our advantage.

When we are within good bow range, Norman halts our progress and raises an arm to signal our attack.

Then he spots me. "What are you doing here? Get back!"

"Come on! I can shoot as well as anybody."

Norman hesitates, then slashes his arm down.

We all let fly together. A barrage of arrows hisses toward the enemy horsemen, knocking several from their saddles. The others wheel about in confusion.

"Shoot at will!" Norman orders.

We launch arrows as quickly as we can fit them on our bowstrings and decimate the cavalry. Men accustomed to terrorizing others are now themselves being terrorized.

"Big men on horseback," Clyde snarls. "Sitting ducks!"

I scan the enemy, looking for one man. "Over there on the black horse. Afflis!"

Afflis rides about frantically dodging the arrow storm. Rage strengthens my arms. My vision turns red, then black, then to absolute clarity. How many have suffered at the hands of that evil man? He's trying to destroy my country, enslave my people. He's dared strike my royal person!

I draw my powerful bow and let fly at him; the arrow goes wide. I shoot again and miss. On the third draw, sharp pain tears through my shoulder and back.

"Ah!" I drop the weapon.

Norman is instantly at my side. "You're hurt?"

"I've pulled a muscle is all. Keep shooting."

Afflis gallops away, ducking down in the saddle and hugging his horse's neck. Arrows fly thick as hornets, but none strike home.

"Some curse protects him!"

The surviving cavalry scatters. Talbot's men crash into the enemy infantry. Afflis' foot soldiers reel from the unexpected attack, and the faltering Sopronian troops rally. The battle becomes a roaring maelstrom of injury and death.

Despite their superior numbers, the enemy begins to crack. Pressed from two sides, deprived of their leader and cavalry, they cannot maintain discipline. A few panicked men run away, many others follow. A large mass heads our direction.

"Let 'em have it!" Norman shouts.

Our archers launch an arrow storm at the retreating men. Many go down; their piteous screams assail my ears.

God, when will this end?

The enemy's will shatters under our brutal assault. Men throw down their weapons and surrender. With astonishing abruptness, the fighting stops.

65. Triumph

"It's over!" Clyde raises both fists and leaps to an astonishing height. "We won!"

I'm too spent to celebrate and simply ease myself onto a rock. My shoulder throbs with burning pain, every other muscle and bone hurts. I am sickened by the carnage all around.

Men shout, officers bellow orders, and the wounded moan. Behind this racket dwells a profound silence.

"The voice of war," I say.

"Beg pardon, my lord?"

"The voice of war. It isn't screaming any longer."

"How true," Clyde says. "We can speak in gentler voices now."

I spy King Bertram atop his great horse—a dark and glowering figure surveying the field of slaughter. Joy surges in my heart.

I stand upon the rock and wave my good arm. "Father! Over here!"

My words reach the King's ear. He turns my direction; a bright ray of sunshine bursts upon his face. He crosses the field and dismounts.

"Rupert!"

He sweeps me up in his great arms and kisses my cheek. Pain blasts through my shoulder, but I don't care.

"Thank heaven you're safe."

The King sets me back on my feet. Tears flow from our eyes, and we brush them away without embarrassment.

"Look at you," Father says, "thin as a willow switch. Your mother will be upset."

He grips Clyde's hand. "Welcome back. I feared we'd seen the last of you."

Clyde expands with pride like a blown-up goatskin. "Ever at your service, Majesty."

General Colfax approaches leading Talbot and Norman.

"Your Lordship!" The general's face splits into a wide grin. He runs the last few yards and grasps my hand. "This is indeed a blessed day."

Father sets aside his joy and assumes an official tone. "Who are these men?"

"The rebel leaders, Sire," Colfax says.

Talbot bows. "Captain Talbot reporting, Majesty, and my deputy commander, Lieutenant Norman."

"Good work men," the King says. "Your arrival could not have come at a better time."

He turns his back and stands conferring with the military officers. Quick as that, Talbot and Norman pass from my command to the King's. The men form a solid wall which leaves no room for me to enter.

Father glances back over his shoulder. "Excuse me, son. I must speak further with these gentlemen. Go and get cleaned up, we'll talk later."

"Yes, Father."

The King and his commanders stride off together. Talbot and Norman turn back briefly and salute. I return their salute.

Then they are gone.

My Rebel Army is being absorbed into the ranks of the King's troops, taking orders from Sopronian officers. A force that had been a mighty extension of my will abruptly ceases to exist.

All I have left is a bow which has proved too powerful for me.

"Well, Clyde. It's time to go home."

# Epilog: To the Future

King Bertram quickly brought order to the Eastlands, now renamed _East Sopronia_.

He wiped out the last bandit gangs and established the rule of law throughout this once criminal realm. Our country now extends from the Western Mountains to the East Sea. The towns and geography of East Sopronia have received new names:

The pirates disappeared into the vast oceans from whence they came. A new town is going up in place of their old settlement. I am granted the honor of having it named after me. It is now known as _Rupert Bay_.

I spend much of my time there wandering the construction site and observing our ships maneuvering on the water. Clyde often accompanies me.

Father has loaned Captain Petra both vessels for a voyage to his home country. In return, Petra is training the first recruits of our new navy.

"Another few months and we'll be ready to sail," Petra told me this morning.

"That must gladden your heart," I said.

"Aye, Your Lordship. Sopronia is a fair country, but for a seaman like me, any land becomes too confining before long."

"So it would seem."

He gave me a questioning look. "Your Lordship feels something similar?"

I made no reply.

* * *

Talbot comes to visit this afternoon. He finds me and Clyde on our usual hillside observing the ships. Talbot has little to do these days besides tend the estate Father granted him for his service to our country. Eastlander officers are not welcome in our army, except for Norman who can pass for a "true Sopronian."

What a stupid waste!

"So nice of you to come, Captain," I say. "I should have thought you'd be busy with your crops."

Talbot chuckles. "Imagine—me, a farmer! No, I've leased my fields to the neighbors. A profitable arrangement for us all."

He gazes at the town and at the new road snaking along the shore. "The Eastlands are becoming civilized."

"Yes... they are," I say.

Talbot cocks an eyebrow. "Perhaps a bit _too_ civilized for Your Lordship's liking?"

"Soon they'll be like the rest of Sopronia. Already our noblemen are moving in, grabbing up the best land. I'd thought we could do without them here."

"Surely they won't oppress the people," Talbot says.

"Father will prevent that. Still..."

I think about the many good men who perished in the war. They are seldom far from my mind these days. "Was it all worth it, Captain?"

Talbot smiles. "We move in the current of history, my lord, and can see ahead only a small distance. But, yes, I believe future generations will look upon us with favor."

I wave a hand at the distant ships. "Petra's efforts are going well."

"Indeed they are."

A long silence follows, broken only by the cawing of seagulls.

"Let me venture a guess," Talbot finally says. "Your Lordship wishes to accompany Petra on the voyage?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

"Me too!" Clyde pipes up. "Take me along."

"Certainly, Clyde—if I should go, but that is highly unlikely."

"I will accompany you, as well," Talbot says.

"Isn't your ambition to live in the 'Golden Land.'"

"And so I shall, as long as Your Lordship is there. But wherever you travel, conflict is certain to follow. You will always require defenders."

"If you expect violent adventure, you will surely be disappointed. I would be going as a peaceful observer only."

Talbot shakes his head. "Your Lordship has a deep hatred for all evil things, and it's your nature to oppose them. This will be a constant source of strife."

"You are quite the philosopher."

"I only state the obvious."

"Well," I say, "if you feel that strongly about it... yes, you may come along."

"Thanks, my lord."

"Besides, Father told me that I couldn't go without you."

Talbot looks astonished, then breaks into a wide grin. "You've outfoxed me again. That's why you're the Prince and I'm—"

"The greatest soldier in our kingdom."

We look out over the bay, following the long sunset shadows from the hills to the open sea beyond.

THE END

Thanks for reading! You must have liked the story if you got this far, so why not write a review? Just a few words is fine, either at the online bookstore where you obtained this book or in any other medium you wish. May numerous blessings come your way.

# Other Books for Young Readers

Here are brief descriptions of my other books for young readers. They are available at all major online retailers in ebook format. Also, please check my Smashwords author page.

Captive in Terror Orchard

Book 1 of the _Terror Orchard series_

To the authorities, Billy Conner is just a rebellious and defiant juvenile delinquent. To his foster parents, he's a pawn in a fiendish drug plot. He's much more than anyone realizes, though – he'd better be, or the consequences will be unspeakable. Assisted by unlikely allies, one of them literally "dug up" from the orange orchard, Billy struggles for his freedom and for the lives of countless other potential victims.

light horror / action adventure

The Bulb People

Sequel to _Captive in Terror Orchard_

Book 2 of the _Terror Orchard series_

What's going on in the awful little town of Bridgestock? Why did the English teacher's husband race his truck down the streets screaming his head off, and why are people vanishing? Of course, only nasty types have disappeared so far, but that could change at any time.

Ryan Keppen, a 13-year-old newcomer, must tackle these mysteries, along with the issue of his "happy blended family" which he desperately wants to disappear as well. Maybe everything is related, and one problem can help solve another.

light horror / action adventure / humor

Disaster Productions

Matt's struggle to win media fame by his 14th birthday leads to escalating disasters. Matt knows that he is too much of an impractical dreamer achieve this goal on his own. He needs help from a smart collaborator. Enter manipulative genius and borderline frenemy Stephan "Duals" Chrono.

The resulting power struggles and unexpected consequences drive the story. Throughout the chaos, Matt develops the focus and leadership skills necessary for true success and, incidentally, does become famous in a totally unpredictable way.

humor / satire

Raptor Aces

The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron.

Its leader, Dytran is the cream of his totalitarian country. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation duty in the war. At the front, he and his comrades are swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.

New Adult / Action-Adventure / War

A Hurricane in Your Suitcase

Brett's constant lying is getting him into serious trouble. Can big brother Joe stop admiring himself long enough to help turn things around? A strange mixture of cautionary tales leads to a showdown with the Giant Hill.

Children's humor / satire

The Daring Rooftop Rescue

"Coming up in the world" can bring unexpected problems as Johnny Badger learns the hard way. Despite his new-found wealth, Johnny is no match for the complicated political situation in Forest Towne. His own bumbling arrogance adds to his woes.

Children's humor / satire

TIME BEFORE COLOR TV SERIES

Follow the adventures of Amanda Searles and her friends as they make astonishing discoveries, invent new stuff, and generally save the world. Based in 1950's USA, they branch out into strange realms of the wider universe to set things right. It's all in a day's work.

Middle grade – Young Adult humor / adventure / fantasy

How Raspberry Jam got Invented

Book 1 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The last summer picnic turns into an astonishing disaster! Melissa's snotty arrogance involves the friends in a situation they may not survive, but maybe they will.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

The First Ring Rainbow

Book 2 of the _Time before Color TV series_

1950's cold war tension at it's scariest. Anything can happen during the Atomic Summer. Amanda struggles to deal with the era's sexist restraints, her fugitive Russian communist grandparents, and the appearance of a bizarre creature at Secret Pond. Somehow, everything ties together.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

Adventure Bike Club& the Tire Giant

Book 3 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The huge tire on the freeway outside town is not an advertisement, as people think, but a vessel from another universe on a sinister mission. Can Amanda and her friends make it back out alive? The fate of the world might hinge on the outcome. Not only that, but the town mayor stands to lose a fair amount of money.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

The Great Flying Adventure

Book 4 of the _Time before Color TV series_

Amanda and Quentin fly to an alien universe where Quentin competes in a brutal sports tournament to determine the fate of the Earth and of human civilization. Amanda falls for the enemy team captain, and things become terribly complicated.

Tween humor / adventure / fantasy

Return of Mr. Badpenny

Book 5 of the _Time before Color TV series_

Tommy gets more than he expected from a mysterious two-headed coin. The power it gives him goes rapidly to his own head, setting him on a course to moral decay. Solution? Hand it off to Melissa, who also goes off the rails with her new found power. Eventually, they team up to battle the danger.

Tween humor / adventure / fantasy
