The Prince Page 7

  Hereweald felt a slight chill and stepped away from the window. As he stretched out on the comfortable furs before the fire, he was reminded of whose room this had been, and how cold and barren her current accommodations were. Part of him relished the thought of her shivering in the dark, dank cell. He allowed himself to smile, but then another part of him asserted itself. It was the part that remembered the tears held back in the eyes of a woman too proud to cry, the part that recognized a woman with strength and courage …

  “As fiery as her lovely hair,” he mused.

  ***

  “Your Ladyship,” a kind voice said.

  A gentle hand rested upon Myrredith’s shoulder. She turned and looked behind, groggily. The room was dark, but she could make out the silhouette of Eadwig, her elderly Chamberlain.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, milady,” he offered.

  “Oh, Eadwig.” Myrredith sighed. “I had the worst dream …”

  At that moment, Eadwig raised the hood on his lantern and his gaunt face resolved into the new light. His forehead flaunted a dark bruise, the result of a bashing he’d received from Gwythie soldiers for protecting his mistress. His ancient, loyal eyes stared at her apologetically, and the twinkle she had known since childhood was gone. Myrredith thought he was going to cry.

  “It’s all right, Eadwig.” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Eadwig took her hand, in his fatherly manner. “You must come with me, milady.”

  Lady Myrredith looked over his shoulder, and in the dim yellow light saw three Gwythian soldiers waiting at the door. “Where are we going?”

  “You have new quarters, milady.”

  “Oh?”

  The old chamberlain continued. “They brought me out to prepare the room.”

  Lady Myrredith sat on the edge of the bed. “Where are they keeping you?” She kept her voice low.

  “We’re all in the stables, milady.”

  “Push off!” one of the guards said. “That’s enough claik! Get a move on.”

  Lady Myrredith and Eadwig shuffled to the door and fell in behind the leading guard. Her ladyship became despondent when she saw the condition of her ancestral home. Much of it was now barracks and hospital space for the dirty, uncouth occupiers. All the symbols of Lyonesse and her family, proudly displayed for generations, had been torn down, broken off, or burned from the walls. Standards and banners, bearing the predatory eagle of Gwythia, rose in their stead. The air reeked of sweat and smoke, and a hint of urine. Myrredith could not help but weep at the blatant disrespect for her home and family.

  Even if this is war, she thought, certain things should be sacred.

  Eadwig noticed her tears and placed a supportive hand under her arm. “Do not worry, milady, these brigands will be gone soon.”

  “Shut up, old man.” The guard shoved him from behind. “Or do you want another clout?”

  Lady Myrredith spun and faced the man. “Coward.”

  Without hesitation, the guard slapped Myrredith across the face. The force of it knocked her back, but she did not cry. Instead, she tossed the hair from her face and stared at her assailant.

  “Coward.”

  The guard’s face puffed up. He drew back his arm and backhanded Lady Myrredith, this time sending her to the hard stone steps beneath them.

  “Lyonesse cow!”

  Suddenly, the ruffian straightened and pulled off his belt. Eadwig gasped as the man hauled his arm back to strike his mistress. Without thought for his safety, Lady Myrredith’s oldest retainer stepped in the way of the whipping belt. Eadwig winced after the stinging blow, but kept his body between the brute and his mistress.

  The two other Gwythian soldiers evidently intended to do nothing. The older of the two wore a satisfied smile that, due to a long, jagged scar, stretched up to his left eye. The third guard was little more than a boy, who stood with his back against the wall, his wide eyes windows to confusion.

  Still stunned, Lady Myrredith blinked and saw Eadwig leaning over her. She attempted to rise, but instead of helping her, his gentle hands held her fast. Then there was a loud crack accompanied by a forceful grunt as the guard lay into his back once more. The sound brought her back to her senses and she screamed out for help.

  Again and again, the villain whipped the old man’s body, in mindless frenzied repetition, while the others stood by. Lady Myrredith tried to protect Eadwig but only received a welt on the arm for her efforts. Her cries for help echoed through the castle unanswered.

  “Aneuch!” a voice shouted from the top of the stairs.

  All three guards stopped what they were doing and looked up. They snapped to attention. Lady Myrredith and Eadwig held their awkward position, too frightened to move. The only sound in the broad stairwell was that of someone slowly padding down the steps, one step at a time.

  The footsteps came to a stop in front of them. Then silence again. Lady Myrredith and Eadwig dared a quick look. Prince Hereweald stood in front of his men.

  Without warning, the prince slapped the faces of the two spectator-guards. The sound of his hand on their cheeks reverberated in the stairwell. Then he approached the guard who had beaten his prisoner and her servant.

  “Forgive me, my prince, but—but this Lyonesse cow insulted us … and you … an-an-and Gwythia!”

  Prince Hereweald’s face was blank. Not a shred of hatred or anger or any other emotion was present. Even his hands and body seemed quite relaxed.

  Like a stroke of lightning, the prince struck. His hands and feet moved together to throw the guard down the stairs in one movement. Hereweald flew down the stairs and kicked the man before he could stop his tumble. His target sailed down the stairwell out of sight, and the prince followed him.

  Lady Myrredith listened as her captor beat his own man down the steps. For a moment, the sounds brought her a small amount of gratification, but each additional blow caused her to cringe and wish it would end. A moment later, it did.

  Once again, the slow, plodding footsteps of the prince came towards them. When Hereweald turned the corner, Myrredith was surprised to see his face in its usual placid condition.

  “My apologies, Lady Myrredith.” The prince helped Myrredith to her feet. “I assure you, that man’s actions were not my intention.” Hereweald’s eyes shifted to the two remaining guards. “And their like will not be tolerated again.”

  Much to Myrredith’s surprise, the Second Prince of Gwythia bent down to help her elderly chamberlain to his feet. It seemed incongruous that this pompous, violent foreigner would do such a thing. For a brief moment, the enemy was gone and she saw in him Prince Gaelyn’s likeness.

  Hereweald steadied Eadwig. “There now. Can you continue to her ladyship’s quarters?”

  “Yes. My thanks to Your Highness.”

  Prince Hereweald led the way up the stairs, followed by Lady Myrredith and Eadwig, who supported each other. The two guards took up the rear. Myrredith had grown up in Cyndyn Hall. She knew every turn and twist, every room and hallway, and to the best of her knowledge every secret passage, but on this night she was surprised when she found herself in Cyndyn Hall’s master bedchamber.

  Hereweald gestured to the room. “Your new quarters.”

  Although Eadwig was shaky, he went about his duty without pause, examining the room and taking note of any needs. Unlike elsewhere in Cyndyn Hall, this room was undamaged. The heat from the fire and her family crest, which survived unblemished above it, gave Lady Myrredith comfort. She turned to thank Prince Hereweald, but then his cold, dispassionate eyes met hers, and she knew him for what he was. She remembered what he had done to her home, her people, and the man she had loved. Nothing the prince did could erase that.

  All of a sudden, Eadwig collapsed to the floor. Lady Myrredith rushed over to him, followed closely by the prince.

  “Eadwig?” Myrredith cradled the old man’s head in her lap. “Eadwig? What’s wrong?”

  Eadwig’s eyes fluttered open and stared at his mistress. The
prince came near, and he sat up. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

  “Forgive me, milady. I appear to have passed out.”

  “Quite understandable.”

  Eadwig made motions to rise, but Lady Myrredith held him down.

  “I must see to your room, milady.”

  “No, Eadwig, the room is fine. You need to rest right here.” She took a large pillow and placed it under his head. “That’s not a request.”

  Lady Myrredith got up and motioned for Hereweald to follow her to the door. He hesitated, eyeing Eadwig as he lay before the hearth. The prince offered to get Eadwig a doctor, but Myrredith insisted on tending him alone and showed Hereweald the door. He raised his finger, but then gave in to her will. He took a last glance over her shoulder at the chamberlain, and then bowed and departed with his guards.

  Myrredith closed the door behind the prince and returned to Eadwig’s side with a washbasin and a towel. As she applied the cool, damp cloth to his forehead, Eadwig’s left eye popped open and glanced about.

  “Is he gone?” Eadwig whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Eadwig rolled to his feet. Before Lady Myrredith realized what was happening, her old retainer pulled her to her feet and ushered her to the wall nearest the fireplace.

  “Eadwig!”

  “No time to talk, milady.” Eadwig placed a hand on a small stone sconce, which was part of the hearth. “You’ve got to get out of here.”

  Eadwig tugged on the sconce, pulling it out a few inches. Then he gave the stone a quick twist. A soft thump sounded, followed by a low grinding sound, and the corner of the hearth moved to reveal a small doorway.

  “Go, milady.” Eadwig thrust a candle into her hand.

  Myrredith started into the opening, then stopped. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “No, milady.” Eadwig shook his head. “I will make good your escape.”

  “But—”

  “No.” His frown melted into a smile, and she saw again the familiar twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry, daughter of my heart,” he said. “I know more ways out of here than they know in.”

  Myrredith looked at the man who was so much to her: friend, surrogate-father, teacher, caretaker, and conscience. She placed her hand on his and squeezed. “Thank you. You will leave as soon as ...”

  Before Lady Myrredith could finish her thought, the door opened. Both she and Eadwig looked up to see the prince striding into the room.

  “Forgive me, Lady Myrredith, I—” Hereweald stopped cold, his eyes widening uncharacteristically, and his head tilting as he spotted his prisoner halfway into the secret passage.

  All three stared at each other for a moment before Eadwig pushed Lady Myrredith through the opening.

  “Guards!” Hereweald shouted. “Guards!”

  Eadwig pushed on the hearth to close the opening. The secret passage had diminished to a crack when the blade of a dagger thrust into it. Eadwig spun to jam the sconce and met Prince Hereweald’s fist head on.

  Lady Myrredith struggled to move down the narrow steps of the passageway. She knew this “secret way” well, but her candle had been blown out when Eadwig forced her through the door, and in the darkness it was rough going. The steps were more uneven and the corners further apart than she remembered. Myrredith now wished that she had practiced descending this escape route in the dark. She stumbled past one turn, then another.

  Just then, a low grinding reverberated through the passage. Myrredith held onto the wall and listened. Heavy footsteps and voices from behind told her that Eadwig had been unsuccessful in stopping her pursuers. She hoped the kindly old retainer had not been injured again, but did not allow herself to dwell on the unhappy thought. Eadwig had risked much to help her, and she wasn’t about to let his sacrifice be in vain. She hurried down the passage as swiftly as the gloom would allow her.

  The sounds of her pursuers grew nearer and Myrredith looked over her shoulder. The dim yellow glow of a lantern leapt across the far wall of the previous corner. With one hand on the wall and the other extended before her, Lady Myrredith raced into the darkness.

  Without warning, the wall that had guided her down the passage disappeared from under her touch. Lady Myrredith tried to stop, but it was too late. She smacked into the opposite wall. Dazed, she rebounded down the corridor, trying to regain her balance. Her feet were unable to find the proper footing on the narrow steps and again, she banged into a wall. Her foot caught sideways on a step and she tumbled down the corridor.

  The next thing Myrredith knew, two men yanked her to her feet. The back of her head pounded like an angry war drum. She wanted to rub the ache away, but her captors held her arms tight to her sides. Myrredith blinked her eyes to clear her vision, and in the amber lantern light, she saw the fuzzy image of Prince Hereweald strutting down the thin passage to her. She focused on the large red eagle on his chest, which appeared to soar toward her.

  The prince lifted her chin gently, to look into her eyes. Lady Myrredith frowned as the pain became sharper.

  “Are you well, Lady Myrredith?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I think so.”

  The prince struck Myrredith across the face. The sting of his hand snapped her out of her daze, but any anger in her drained before a sudden wave of nausea.

  “You made a fool of me! I showed you courtesy and generosity, and this is the thanks I get?”

  Myrredith’s legs shook, her head spun, and her wrathful stomach knotted like a fist.

  “I should have you executed now. I should have you drawn and …”

  Myrredith vomited. The two guards dropped her, but not soon enough to protect their master’s clothing. Myrredith fell to the stones, holding her stomach. She remained there until there was nothing left in her gut to eject.

  “Pick her up, you fools!” Hereweald bellowed.

  The prince’s men dragged Lady Myrredith up the steps of the secret passage, back to her chambers, and dropped her on the floor before the fire. Eadwig still lay facedown near the hearth, surrounded by several Gwythian soldiers who waited for their commander.

  “You.” Prince Hereweald pointed at a pair of his men. “Pick up the old man and take him out with the others. And you—” He pointed to four others. “—I want you in that passageway. You will stand guard, here at the top, while you two search for the other end. When you find it, report to the sergeant and show it to him. I want guards at either end at all times. Standard watches.”

  The soldiers jumped to their ordered tasks. Myrredith, though still nauseous, watched in amazement. She had always been told that Gwythies were uncivilized, undisciplined barbarians, but now she realized this was propaganda. While they might be uncivilized, their soldiering was far from undisciplined.

  When the room had emptied of soldiers and the secret passage closed once again, the prince turned to Lady Myrredith. He stood over her with his arms crossed. The fire’s reflection flickered in his lithic, unblinking eyes. Then, without a word, he left.

  Lady Myrredith crawled to her bed and dragged herself onto it. Though her body hurt from stem to stern, there was no ache like the empty pain in her heart. Her people were suffering, and she felt guilty. She, like her father and his father before him, had sworn to protect the good people of Lyonesse. And her beloved Hugh had given his life for them. This sacred duty was more than an oath or an obligation to her. It was at the core of her soul. It was all she had left. By failing to make good on her only chance for escape, she felt she had failed her people, her father, and her love.

  Love? Yes, love. Despite all that had passed between them, she could finally admit that she loved Hugh.

  Myrredith glanced around her room. It had been a refuge since her childhood when it had been her father’s, but it seemed desolate now that it was her prison. Oh, Hugh, how I need you. How can you be gone? Perhaps if our last words had not been in anger … I’m sorry, my love.

  Unbidden, a tear slipped onto her ch
eek. It traced a thin line that smiles had created and fell to her pillow. The loss of Hugh and her fears for the future overwhelmed her. Myrredith turned her face into her pillow and, for the first time in many years, cried herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The First Leaf of Autumn

  His days with the Witan left Billy spent. The elves of the forest took him in, but for the first few days, the only hospitality he was up to sampling was a forest bed under the stars and a few simple but tasty meals.

  In the days that followed, Billy spent most of the waking time with Onian and his children, discovering the secrets of the forest and tree-listening—a faerie ability Onian awakened in Billy. With it, he learned quite a bit from the trees, about wind, water, elves, and time.

  “What about Quercus?” Billy asked.

  Onian grinned. “It’s better just to speak with the oakmen.”

  “How is it that he can speak?”

  “How is it that I can speak? Or you?”

  The elf children laughed; a sound that reminded Billy of anxious sheep bells.

  Billy smiled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Quercus is our kin, as is the willow and the elder, the hazel and thorn, to name a few.”

  The trees talked, and Billy listened. They taught him that all trees had an innate desire to live and to nurture life, to provide home and shelter, and even food. The oldest had the strongest desire and the longest memory.

  “In the lands of men,” a humble hazel whispered, “the old ones still remember a time when faeries frolicked under the sun, in their roots and branches. They loved the faeries like children, and the trees’ lament at their loss can be heard on the wind; as far away as Tirn Aill.”

  On another occasion, a kindly elder tree asked, “Be you fate-born, child?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s rare, but some elf mothers see the fate of their child at the moment of birth. Rarer still when they tell anyone. These children are the fate-born.”