The Prince Read online

  Billy returned his attention to the door. Three armored hobgoblins wielding axes and long curved knives stepped into the room, grinning at Billy and clicking their teeth. The Witan had vanished, leaving Billy alone.

  One of the gloating hobgoblins cast about the room with his large black eyes. “They have run away, as she said they would.” He laughed until slobber ran from his toothy maw.

  The would-be killers ambled towards Billy, shifting their weapons in their hands. He glanced around the room for some means to protect himself. The only thing in reach was the axe over his head.

  Billy jumped to his feet and grabbed hold of the axe as his attackers stepped forward. He tugged with all his might, but the weapon remained buried in the wood. The hobgoblins closed in. The largest of the ugly brutes raised his axe, intending to split Billy in half. Suddenly, he stiffened and dropped his weapon to the floor behind him. His mouth and dark cow-like eyes opened wide, and then he collapsed in a heap, an arrow jutting from his back.

  For a moment, the hollow tree was quiet as Billy and the two remaining hobgoblins stared at the downed assassin. The killers returned their gaze to Billy. He could see the wheels turning behind their eyes. The stillness grew heavy as they sized up their situation.

  In the blink of an eye, both hobgoblins acted. They drew back their weapons and charged. Billy heard a hissing sound, and before they had taken two steps, the remaining assassins were struck down from behind.

  Still in shock, he stared at the three bodies at his feet. Each lay with a single arrow protruding from its back. The arrow shafts and fletching were bright leaf-green, but Billy couldn’t tear his eyes from the near-black blood that oozed from the wounds.

  Once again, shadows blocked the light from the doorway. Billy looked up to see Onian and a second male elf step through the door. The proud, thin elves stared at Billy and bowed.

  “We tracked these three from Malkry’s camp,” Onian said in his crisp manner.

  “We knew they were up to no good.”

  Onian noticed Billy’s preoccupation with the corpses. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.” Billy forced his gaze back to the elf. “And thank you for saving my life.”

  “The Witan has not yet told us who you are,” Onian said. “But I think Malkry put these worthless scum up to this.”

  Onian’s companion kicked one of the hobgoblins and knelt to remove his arrow. He looked back at Onian and said, “These warts haven’t enough brain amongst all of them to come up with this on their own.”

  “Aye, Shaldra. And if that dark-hearted wench is behind this ...” Onian turned to Billy and grinned. “Then she must be afraid of you.”

  “Me?”

  Shaldra nodded. “Aye. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If you were not a threat, then she would not have tried to have you killed.”

  Onian poked one of the hobgoblins with his bow. “Malkry knows something she’s not sharing with the rest of us. That’s enough for me to crash her little party.”

  Shaldra examined the sticky black point of his arrow and asked, “But why use these useless toads? One of her warriors would have a much better chance.”

  “Ah! But using one of her own would lead straight back to her. Besides, she didn’t exactly count on us showing up.”

  “Precisely.” One of the Witan appeared from a dark corner.

  “Gwylith!” Onian turned and knelt.

  “Onian, I see all that jumping about in the forest with Shaldra has not weakened your grasp on strategy.”

  Onian replied while still kneeling, “Thanks to my teacher, Gwylith.”

  At that moment, the other two Witan materialized from dark cracks in the wall. They circled the dead hobgoblins and one of them approached Billy.

  “The fun has already begun, and we haven’t even removed the enchantment from you.”

  Onian shot a glance at the faerie. “What enchantment, Gwylid?”

  “Eleanor’s enchantment.”

  “Queen Eleanor?” the elves said in unison.

  “The very same.”

  Shaldra and Onian eyed Billy with suspicion. He felt very uncomfortable under their stare and backed into the shadows.

  “Is it the ring?” Onian asked.

  “It is–”

  “Eleanor’s–”

  “ring.”

  “No. Is the spell coming from the ring?”

  “No.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “But while he wears the ring–”

  “we cannot remove it.”

  “The spell, that is.”

  Billy examined the ring on his finger. Its simple design was just as beautiful as the first time he’d laid eyes on it. It was the only thing left of his mother. The only tie he had with her. He didn’t want to take it off. What’s more, he had made an oath to the spirit of his mother that he would never remove it.

  Billy returned to the light. “I can’t take it off.”

  “Can’t–”

  “won’t–”

  “or shouldn’t?”

  “I made a promise,” Billy said.

  “What’s so important about this enchantment, anyway?” Shaldra asked.

  “Aye,” Onian said. “And why remove it?”

  “It’s a disguise. It’s made me shorter than I really am.”

  “And more–”

  “much more–”

  “much, much more.”

  Onian leaned forward on his bow. “What more?”

  “We foresee–”

  “that he shall never be king–”

  “while the enchantment is in place.”

  “Tirn Aill needs a ruler!” Onian said.

  “Aye.” Shaldra nodded. “Without a king, we are doomed.”

  Onian looked hard at the Witan and asked, “Is he Eleanor’s son?”

  “He wears the ring,” Gwylid said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “The ring knows,” Gwylain said.

  “Knows what?” Shaldra asked.

  “The ring chooses,” Gwylith said.

  Onian rubbed the tip of his ear. “What does that mean?”

  “If you had paid attention to your magical studies ...” Gwylith wagged his finger.

  “Yes, yes, yes. I know! It’s yesterday’s sun.” Onian gave a heavy sigh. “Please, just tell me what you mean.”

  “Yes,” Gwylith said.

  Onian waited for more, but once again, the Witan were not very forthcoming with information. “Yes, what?” the frustrated elf warrior asked.

  “Yes–”

  “he is–”

  “Eleanor’s son. You really should pay more attention.”

  Onian scanned Billy and shrugged off the Witan’s scolding. His keen emerald eyes took in every detail as he asked, “If you remove the spell, the boy will become our king. Is that right?”

  “Only time will reveal whether ‘tis so–”

  “but he cannot rule Tirn Aill–”

  “while Eleanor’s enchantment is bound to him–”

  “and he to it.”

  “If this boy is our king,” Shaldra said, “then you must remove the spell!”

  “That is for him to decide–”

  “not the Witan–”

  “not you.”

  Shaldra and Onian stared at Billy.

  “What?” Billy looked from one to the other. “You want me to let them remove the spell? The enchantment my mother put upon me for protection? The spell that has kept me alive for all these years, and may have very well just saved my life not five minutes ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you crazy? That spell has been on me since … since forever! And—and—and they told me that I’d be in great danger if they removed it.”

  “You’re in great danger now.” Onian kicked a dead hobgoblin.

  “But—but—but it would be even more so, right?” Billy turned to the Witan.


  “Possibly.”

  “Probably.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Onian glared at the Witan. Then he frowned at Billy. “We need you.”

  “Get someone else.”

  “Tirn Aill needs you.” Shaldra held his gaze.

  “There’s got to be someone else!”

  “There is,” Onian said.

  Shaldra and the Witan turned to Onian with great interest.

  “Who?” Billy asked.

  “Malkry.”

  “Malkry?” Shaldra spat on the floor. “That treacherous wench has no right to the throne!”

  “Aye. But unless we put the rightful heir on the throne, she will take it.”

  “Aye.” Shaldra nodded. “And by bloody force too.”

  “I like having my body in one piece,” Billy said, half to himself. “In fact, not having it chopped into little bits is my favorite pastime.”

  With slow, measured steps, Onian approached Billy. He stopped just inches away and leaned towards him. Just having the imposing elf that close made Billy uneasy.

  Onian glared down at Billy and whispered, “If you are truly a son of Eleanor, you will take up this challenge. If not ...” Onian glanced at the dead hobgoblin assassins. “I will not risk lives to protect a coward.”

  Billy stared at the three bodies and the axe in the wall. I was lucky this time, he thought. I know that. There will probably be more attacks, whether or not Mother’s enchantment is removed. It would be nice to have the protection of Onian, but what of the protection of the spell? Hasn’t it protected me my whole life? What might happen if it were removed? The Witan keep saying that it’s more. What do they mean? I wish they were clearer!

  Onian, seeing that Billy was thinking it over, took a step back to give him some room. Billy looked into his stern eyes and detected a glimmer of hopefulness. He allowed his eyes to stray back to the dead hobgoblins.

  That might have been me, he thought, and turned to face the wall. If not for Onian, I would be dead already. What should I do? I wish Mother were here. She’d know what to do. No. I have to start making my own decisions. If I am to become anything, I must make the decision. No more will I be the victim of my fate. Either I am king or …

  Billy turned around to face Onian, Shaldra, and the Witan. Sweat coated his palms and his heart pounded. He took a deep breath and said, “Remove the enchantment.”

  Onian knelt before Billy and bowed his head. Shaldra knelt just behind him.

  “I pledge my devotion and loyalty to you, Highness.” Onian looked into Billy’s eyes. “The elves of the forest are yours to command.”

  “Command?” Billy grimaced and looked at the Witan. “I don’t know anything about giving commands.”

  “You will–”

  “in time.”

  Onian rose. “Trust the blood that flows in your veins, and the courage that lives in your heart. I will be here should you need any help. Right now, I think we had better do something about your safety.”

  While Onian and Shaldra discussed what steps to take to protect Billy, the Witan surrounded them and prodded them out the door.

  “You can discuss strategies–”

  “out there.”

  “We have a spell to unravel!”

  Billy removed his ring and forced a smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

  ***

  Three days later, Billy emerged from the Witan’s hollow, hungry, exhausted, and feeling a strange melancholy loneliness. He had been alone before and felt longing, but this was different. Some part of him was missing, as if the world was somehow closed off to him. Even when he placed his Mother’s ring back on his finger, the usual comfort he received did nothing to dispel his mood.

  Everywhere Billy looked, the surroundings seemed less vibrant, less alive. The ground was wet from a rain that had started the moment his melancholy descended on him. He looked up at the grey sky and let the cold drops of rain strike his face.

  Onian stepped out of a dark crevice in the tree and stood next to Billy. He then spoke to the Witan, through their still open door. “He’s no taller.”

  “Yes–”

  “but he will be.”

  “Give him time.”

  Billy examined himself. It was true, Eleanor’s enchantment was gone, but he was unchanged, physically. “How much time?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Perhaps you will need to grow like an ordinary boy–”

  “or perhaps not.”

  Billy had hoped to gain something from the removal of the spell, but at present, it seemed like he had only lost. The words of the Witan were disheartening after having his hopes built up for a change. Again, Billy felt the ache of separation from that part of himself which had been severed.

  “What have you done to me?” Billy asked the Witan.

  “We have started you on your journey,” the third said.

  “It’s all up to you,” the second added.

  “Your destiny is in your own hands.”

  “Be you king–”

  “or–”

  “fool.”

  “We will be here–”

  “when you need us–”

  “but now we must rest.”

  With that said, the Witan closed the door. Billy looked at Onian and sighed. His tired, hungry body was now cold and it showed on his face.

  The elf placed his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Come, we must get you to shelter where you can rest.”

  Suddenly, a flash of lightning blazed and illuminated dozens of elves clustered in the forest. Billy fell back against the huge, hollow tree.

  “It’s all right, Highness. These are my—your—warriors. Forest elves all, and handpicked by me to watch your back.”

  Billy came down the root steps and greeted his new bodyguard. Each of the elves bowed, then took up a position around him. Billy felt a little bit crowded.

  “Why so many?” Billy asked. “My back isn’t that big!”

  Onian grinned at Billy’s joke, then became very solemn. “All of Faerie is aware of what the Witan found. And this strange storm that gathered while you were in seclusion with them. … We’ve never seen a storm like it. Many of them are afraid.”

  “Afraid? Of what?”

  “Of the storm … of each other … of you.”

  “What about Malkry?”

  Onian’s eyes snapped to Billy at mention of the dark elf. “That one,” he said. “That one is the reason for all these bodyguards.”

  “Why? What’s she done?”

  “Nothing, yet.” Onian frowned. “But she’s planning something.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Faith is Lost

  Hugh woke with a start. “Billy!” He grabbed his head and thigh in pain. A pair of firm hands stopped him when he attempted to sit up. The room was dim, and the man attending him was seated in shadow.

  “Who are you?” Hugh’s voice was weak.

  “It’s me, Malcolm,” the man whispered. “You must be quiet.”

  “Malcolm? I can’t see. Are we in Cyndyn Hall?”

  “No.”

  “The battle?”

  The highlander sighed. “Lost.”

  “And Cyndyn Hall?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “When you went down, they overwhelmed us. The drawbridge was compromised. It was all over in a matter of minutes. I only escaped because I was knocked into the moat. When it was fully dark, I swam back and found you. The Gwythies were too busy celebratin’ and lickin’ their wounds to see me, or look for you. I think Lady Myrredith was captured.”

  “Myrredith,” Hugh whispered. “My fault.”

  “No, laddie.” Malcolm shook his head. “You did your best, and that’s a damn site better than most …”

  “No! Don’t you see? I failed because I am no longer fit!”

  “Shh. You must be quiet, or the Gwythies will find us.”

  “I have done evil to another.”

  “Evil? I know you, Sir Hugh, and that canno
t be.”

  Hugh furrowed his forehead—his lips twisted as he fought to contain his emotions. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek. He hid his face and sobbed. “My soul is on fire. I am damned.”

  “Damned?”

  “I betrayed my friend. Now I must pay.” Hugh straightened. “‘A life for a life.’ My worthless life for his.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If not for my sin against him, Billy would not have brought about my defeat.”

  “Billy? … I saw what happened. That boy was not Billy. Now, please, be still.”

  “I know,” Hugh said. “But Billy was there, in that boy. He reached out from the grave.”

  “Who? What grave?”

  “Billy.”

  “Billy … is dead?”

  “Aye.” Hugh shook with sorrow and bitter shame. “And I am as responsible as any who plotted against him. I have dishonored myself.”

  Malcolm kept silent for a moment while he tried to grasp this news. Billy had been the best student and juggling partner he had ever known. He had come to think of Billy as a son, and now for him to be dead was unthinkable. At last, he asked the only thing his stunned mind knew how to ask. “How did it happen?”

  “Billy was killed in a shipwreck.”

  “You found his body?”

  “No.”

  “Then he might still be alive.”

  “No.” Hugh spoke as if the words were not his own. “The storm was far too great, and I saw him … struck by a mast, just before the ship broke up and went down. I and one other—a crewman—were the only survivors.”

  “Then you were lucky to survive.”

  “Lucky?” Hugh raised his eyebrows. “That was the most unfortunate day of my life, until today.”

  Before Malcolm knew what was happening, Hugh had commandeered the dagger from his hip and raised its blade up with both hands above his own heart. Malcolm’s hands flew to the weapon. If not for his honed reflexes, he would not have been able to stop Hugh.

  Malcolm struggled with him to gain control of the dagger. Despite his grievous injuries, Hugh showed remarkable strength. The point of the narrow blade descended towards his chest. Malcolm pulled with all his might, but only managed to hold his own.