The Prince Read online

  The scent of smoke grew stronger as he got closer to the city. He turned his horse away from the creek and headed up a densely wooded hill. As he crested the summit, his heart sank.

  Below him, nestled around Kelmyrr Bay, lay the remains of Dyven. Smoke rose from every district of the city, making the evening dark and gloomy. Gwythian soldiers strode through the streets, pillaging what they didn’t vandalize. Their campfires flickered like stars in the surrounding orchards and fields, while the masts of their dark ships crowded the sky over the harbor. The sound of their drunken singing floated up to Hugh’s burning ears. Their words of victory turned his stomach as he retreated from the hilltop into the trees.

  This was truly a dark day. In the whole history of Lyonesse, no invasion had ever been this successful. Thanks to men like King William and Hugh, the nation had never had to face a war on its own soil. The people had never known the fear of such destructive violence. All of that was about to change. Gwythia, their ancient enemy, had arrived, and by the looks of it, they meant to stay.

  By the size of their army, the Gwythies must have planned this invasion for months … even before Gaelyn’s assassination.

  His blood boiled as he descended from the hill and headed for Cyndyn Hall. It was too late to do anything for Dyven, but perhaps he could still save Myrredith.

  Hugh saw nothing on the ride to Cyndyn Hall. The anger within him grew with each step, until the only image his mind could conjure was blood. Rivers and oceans of Gwythie blood.

  He found the enemy camped in the woods and fields east of Cyndyn Hall, which gave them control of the main road and high ground overlooking the drawbridge. The tents furthest east were in orderly square arrays in the fields, while the tents of the woods were coarse and strewn like seed, in an arc around the castle. He sneered at these and muttered to himself, “Mercenaries.” The outmost of the mercenary camps looked across at the north wall of Cyndyn Hall, just yards from the entrance to a hidden hunting trail.

  By the time the sentries spotted Hugh, it was too late. He swept into the Gwythian camp like a flood, cutting down every man that got in his way. Many who saw him simply ran. Some would never forget the image of Hugh slaughtering their comrades with wild abandon. Others wouldn’t live long enough to remember it at all.

  A cheer went up from the ramparts of Cyndyn Hall as Lady Myrredith’s men saw what was happening. The sight of a lone warrior raining such destruction on the enemy camp gave them hope. They hurled missiles and insults at the soldiers below and picked them off with bows as they left cover to confront Hugh.

  ***

  The Lady of Cyndyn heard the commotion and ran to the battlements, accompanied by Malcolm the Magnificent.

  “What is it, Captain?”

  “Milady, you should not be up here!”

  “Never mind that. Why are the men cheering?”

  “A warrior, milady.” The captain pointed. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s down there in the Gwythies’ camp, and madder than a wet hornet.”

  Lady Myrredith looked over the wall at the chaos below. The battlefield swarmed with mercenaries running every which way. In the center of this scene was a single man on horseback. In the dim light, she could see that he wore no armor or colors, yet he sat his mount like a nobleman. He fought with merciless rage; the ferocity of a hungry wolf.

  At that moment, a company of archers commanded by the mercenary captain launched a volley of arrows at the warrior. His shield bristled like a porcupine from all the arrows in it, but he never slowed down; he merely swept off the arrows with his sword. Suddenly, Lady Myrredith caught a glimpse of his face.

  “Hugh.”

  “What?” Malcolm said.

  “It’s Hugh!”

  The men on the wall, upon hearing this, called out Hugh’s name.

  Myrredith clasped her captain’s shoulder. “Ready a force for a mounted attack on that camp. Force their archers back! And order our archers to protect Hugh.”

  “Milady. We don’t dare lower the drawbridge!”

  Lady Myrredith placed her hands on hips and looked the captain in the eye. “We must help Hugh. We will help Hugh!”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “I will lead that charge, milady. If you will allow me.”

  Lady Myrredith eyed Malcolm, the man who was both warrior and juggler. She had come to trust him and even count on him in recent weeks.

  “I must go, milady. He is my friend.”

  In truth, Myrredith wished she could run to Hugh’s aid herself, but she could not. She nodded, and Malcolm left.

  Myrredith returned her attention to the battle. Aided by many volleys of Cyndyn arrows, Hugh continued his brutal punishment of the Gwythian troops. He cleaved flesh and steel like a man threshing wheat. He smashed down the mercenary captain as he rushed in, and his men scattered and fled. The leaders of the besieging army were helpless to halt their retreat.

  ***

  A great cheer rang from Cyndyn Hall when Hugh toppled a siege tower still manned by Gwythian soldiers. He drove his mount around the wreckage and charged towards another siege tower near the moat of the castle as the drawbridge lowered.

  His way to the siege tower was clear. The men who operated it scrambled to get out before he and Lady Myrredith’s men arrived. They joined the scores of Gwythian troops fleeing into the woods or felled by arrows.

  Hugh came to an abrupt stop. Through the smoke and dust, he saw a young boy standing in his path. The boy stood erect and defiantly tossed back the unruly hair from his face. He glared at Hugh with his piercing blue eyes.

  Stunned, Hugh lowered his guard. “Billy?”

  Many eyes were upon them. The boy stood his ground, without a sound—a lonely David to Hugh’s Goliath.

  “It can’t be,” Hugh muttered. “Billy is dead.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes to clear the apparition from his vision and noticed a broken arrow jutting from his thigh. He stared again at the brave boy, and a wave of remorse destroyed his anger. Without warning, the long journey to Dyven took its toll, stripping Hugh of his strength. The shield fell from his arm. “I betrayed you.”

  Suddenly, the boy flung a rock and struck Hugh’s head. A hush fell, while Hugh swayed and rolled from the saddle.

  “Hugh!” Myrredith cried out, as he fell to the ground. Her voice hung on the air. It was a lonely, haunting sound.

  ***

  A moment later, the retreating Gwythian army cheered and turned around to attack the warriors who had sallied forth from Cyndyn Hall. With newfound courage, they fell upon them and overwhelmed Lady Myrredith’s men before her archers could respond. She scanned the battlefield for Hugh and Malcolm but could find no sign of either man.

  “Raise the drawbridge!” Lady Myrredith yelled. “Now!”

  Before it could be raised, Gwythian soldiers toppled their siege tower onto the drawbridge. The army poured across the lowered bridge and smashed through the portcullis. The attack was so sudden and effective that the castle fell before Lady Myrredith or her staff could escape into the secret passages.

  Within the hour, enemy soldiers dragged Lady Myrredith into the main hall and presented her to the conquering general. The three men needed to restrain her tossed her to the floor before the dais that she had sat upon as master of Cyndyn Hall.

  Lady Myrredith’s eyes came up from the floor to stare at the man lounging on her throne. He was a well-groomed, comely man dressed in fine chain mail and rare silks. A red eagle—the crest of Gwythia—blazed across his yellow doublet and a well-crafted long sword rested in his hands. While Myrredith had never laid eyes on him before, his features seemed eerily familiar.

  “So, you are the wench responsible for my brother’s death.” The man pointed his sword at Lady Myrredith. He spoke with the Gwythian accent she had expected, but much stronger than she had heard before.

  Myrredith pushed the hair back from her face and attempted to stand up. The guard behind her shoved her back to the stone floor. She snapped a harsh loo
k back at the man, who grabbed her soiled, crimson hair and forced her to face his commander.

  The man rose from the throne. “That won’t be necessary, Rhyfelwr.”

  Lady Myrredith remained kneeling and faced her captor. Again, his features struck her as familiar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come, come, Lady Cyndyn, let us not fence around truth.” Her conqueror made sparring gestures with his sword in her direction and descended from the dais. “You know it as well as I that you planned and carried out my brother’s murder.”

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  Myrredith’s captor stepped on her hand and placed the point of his sword at her throat. “Aye, that I do.” He laughed, and his men joined in.

  Her hand burned under the man’s boot, but Myrredith fought back with all the dignity she could muster. “I am a lady! How dare you treat me this way?”

  “I will treat you as I will.” The man released her hand. He then used his blade to lift her face up. “As for you bein’ a lady, that has yet to be decided.”

  Again, the men laughed. Myrredith flushed with embarrassment and rage at the insult.

  “You are no gentleman!” Myrredith forced the words through clenched teeth. “Who are you?”

  The man glared at her. “I am Prince Hereweald, brother to Prince Gaelyn, and you are my prisoner.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eleanor’s Enchantment

  Billy was poked, pinched, prodded, rubbed, scratched, sniffed, squeezed, tickled, tweaked, turned upside down, and finally bathed by the three strange creatures known to him only as “the Witan.” Elzgig had left Billy in their dubious care, simply asking them to “test him.”

  Elzgig explained that he should do as they say and all would be fine. “The Witan knows what must be done.” The little mage then left Billy alone with his examiners.

  The Witan lived in the heart of a great tree, accessed through a narrow door at the top of its stair-like roots. Inside, nature had carved out a spacious compartment. The hollow was dark and musty, illuminated only by a greenish fire in the center that burned without heat or smoke. Aside from the books, jars, and peculiar objects jammed into rough niches honeycombing the walls, it reminded Billy of a cave.

  He found the Witan’s unique domicile an equal match for their quirky appearance and character. Each was no taller than three-and-one-half feet and hunched over with age. The skin of their vaguely elfish bodies, including their long, pointed ears, had passed the leathery stage and now resembled tree bark. In fact, they were so bent, gnarled, and wrinkled, that Billy couldn’t tell if they were male or female. They were a little creepy.

  Each member of the Witan seemed to conduct their own “tests” on Billy, unmindful of the others. They continuously mumbled to themselves, occasionally stopping to nod and say, “Yes, of course.”

  After an hour of this behavior, Billy reached the end of his patience. “What?”

  His examiners stood back and stared at him, their heads all cocked to one side. Billy made contact with their sparkling green eyes and, for the first time, noticed a distinct characteristic in each. The eyes of the first faerie studied Billy with discerning intellect, the second set regarded him with patience, and the third set of eyes smiled knowingly.

  Billy held out his palms. “Who are you?”

  Together, the Witan answered Billy, each speaking in turn.

  “We–”

  “are–”

  “the Witan.”

  The method of their reply confused Billy. “What is the Witan?”

  “We are scholars–”

  “physicians–”

  “wizards–”

  “advisors–”

  “protectors–”

  “and friends.”

  The Witan’s tandem speech threw Billy off balance. It was like talking to someone who keeps jumping about the room.

  “What are your names?” He hoped to gain some clue as to their gender.

  The first ancient faerie gestured to the others and said, “This is Gwylid, and this ... Gwylain.”

  “I am Gwylain, not Gwylid.”

  “And I am Gwylith.”

  “I suppose that makes me Gwylid.”

  “Quite so.”

  “Got it right the first time–”

  “and we didn’t have to help ... much.”

  Billy, seeing that this was going nowhere, decided to forget learning names and get back to the purpose of his visit. “What have you found?”

  “Found?” the third Witan asked.

  “Yes. You keep saying, ‘yes, of course.’ What do you mean?”

  “Yes, of course.” The first Witan nodded. “You mean what have we found–”

  “with you.”

  “Yes,” Billy said.

  The first Witan stepped forward and scratched its chin. “Well, you’ve been enchanted–”

  “by Queen Eleanor–”

  “and you are quite short,”

  The first two Witan looked at the last, who shrugged.

  “What he means–”

  “Yes, what he means–”

  “What I mean, is that you are short, for someone your size.”

  Billy tilted his head. “For someone my size?”

  “Yes,” the first Witan said.

  “I don’t understand,” Billy said.

  “You should be taller.” The third Witan waved its hand over Billy’s head.

  “But … I’m … not.”

  “Precisely,” the second Witan said.

  Billy tried to keep the Witan primed. “Why not?”

  “Queen Eleanor.”

  “Her enchantment.”

  “Probably there to hide you.”

  “Hide me?”

  “Yes–”

  “from your enemies–”

  “both here and in the land of men.”

  Billy felt excited by the prospect of being a “normal” height. “So, I’m really much taller than this?”

  “Much?”

  “Much.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How much taller?” Billy asked.

  “We don’t know,” the Witan answered in unison.

  “But there’s more,” the first added.

  Billy looked at the first. “More?”

  “Yes,” the second answered.

  The third Witan came forward and tweaked Billy’s ear. “Eleanor’s enchantment does more than just hide you.”

  “More?”

  “Yes. Eleanor left more than a disguise upon you.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Very powerful.”

  “Very powerful.”

  “Ve-ry powerful.”

  Billy looked at the three creatures, whose appearance and manner were less alien and threatening with each passing minute. They seemed worried about something.

  “Can you remove the enchantment?” Billy asked.

  The first Witan turned to the others. “Can we remove the enchantment?”

  “Yes, can we?”

  “Dare we?”

  After a brief pause, the first turned back to Billy. “Why?”

  “Why not?” Billy asked.

  The third Witan smiled. “You ask good questions.”

  “Thank you,” Billy said. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Can you remove the enchantment or not?”

  “Oh yes–”

  “the enchantment.”

  “Very powerful.”

  The Witan folded their hands. Finally, the third said, “We don’t know.”

  Billy waited for more, but his hosts weren’t volunteering anything. “You don’t know?”

  “Very difficult.”

  “Could be dangerous.”

  “Could be fun!”

  Once again, the first two faeries glared at the last and grunted their disapproval.

  The third leaned towards Billy. “Those two never admit when things are fun.”

 
; “How would it be fun?” Billy asked.

  “Because, if we succeed, it is the beginning of a big journey.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes.”

  The first two Witan stood with their backs together and their arms crossed. They tapped their feet and stared at their colleague.

  “What?” The third Witan shrugged. “He asked!”

  “Is there something I should know?” Billy said.

  “You don’t need to know any of that!”

  “No, no, no–”

  “but you must know–”

  “it will be dangerous–”

  “if we remove the enchantment.”

  Billy looked at his hosts and asked, “How dangerous?”

  “Very.”

  “Very, very.”

  “Very, very, very ... but fun!”

  Billy stared at the first two Witan. “Please, explain.”

  “If you survive–”

  “it will be a most memorable experience.”

  “If I survive?” Billy said.

  “Yes.”

  “Not removing the spell–”

  “but what will follow.”

  Billy was almost too afraid to ask, but he had to. “And what is that?”

  “We cannot say,” all three Witan said.

  “What we mean is–”

  “you will have to find that out–”

  “for yourself.”

  “It is your destiny–”

  “your path–”

  “your journey.”

  “Your task–”

  “your mission–”

  “your adventure.”

  “And what if you don’t remove the enchantment?” Billy asked.

  The Witan looked at one another, then back to Billy, and shrugged.

  At that moment, the jagged, narrow door flew open and sunlight blasted in. The light struck a crystal dangling in one of the niches, spraying flecks of light around the chamber like sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil. The room’s occupants were still blind from the flash when several silhouettes charged into the doorway.

  Billy squinted at the door and saw one of the short dark figures raise its hand. He detected the glint of metal just as the creature threw something at him. He ducked down and the object sliced by him with a choppy whirling sound. He looked up from the smooth wooden floor and saw a crude steel axe embedded in the wall where he had stood.