Mercy's Prince (16 page)

Kieran
leaped down from his horse and grabbed Theo’s bridle.

“Easy,
easy,” he crooned to the injured stallion.

Valerian
dismounted and immediately crouched down to examine Theo’s leg. He ran his
hands down the length of the limb but discerned no break. Theo was definitely
favoring it, though.

“I’m
relieved his leg’s not broken,” Valerian said to Kieran, “but there’s no chance
he can continue on this journey. Thankfully we aren’t far from the Keep.”

The
others crowded around to see what had happened.

“Is
the beastie injured, Your Highness?” someone asked.

“Not
seriously, thank you, but we’ll need to return him to the Keep and get another
horse.”

“I’ll
take him back, Sire,” said Kieran. “There’s that young dappled gray Conrad has
been training. I can have him saddled and bring him back quicker than a flight
of arrows.”

The
squire Terron dismounted and brought his horse forward.

“If
it pleases Your Highness, I’ll walk while you ride my Ranger. That way we won’t
have to slow down much until Kieran returns.”

 “Thank
you, Terron, and you also, Kieran. I see I am in good hands.” Valerian stroked
Theo’s neck and gazed into the great horse’s brown eyes. “You must heal so we
can go on other adventures.” With a final pat on his withers, Valerian turned
away and mounted Terron’s horse. The squire adjusted the stirrups while
Valerian watched Kieran ride back to the Keep, leading the limping Theo.

The
eleven men made their way eastward following the road. Terron trotted alongside
Valerian, not at all winded. The air was crisp but not too cold. The northern
mountain range rose majestically to their left, all of the peaks snow-covered
on their march to meet the taller Dragon’s Backbone. Long purple grass waved in
the breeze except in the cultivated fields, which contained only stubble this
close to winter. Small villages lay along the road at regular intervals, and
when people recognized their approaching band by the royal pennon, they came
out of their cottages to see who it was. Once they spied the royal surcoat,
everyone bowed. Valerian made sure to smile and nod at them, though he wished
he could wear plain leathers and blend in with his men rather than be singled
out by this overly ornate, uncomfortable garment indicating he was the crown
prince.

They
stopped at midday by a stream lined with evergreens to rest the horses and eat
a brief meal. From their vantage point, Valerian could see back along the road
as it wound through the hills, but he could not yet spot Kieran and the other
horse. Valerian sat on a fallen tree and opened his saddle bag. He unwrapped a
piece of flat bread and a small wheel of cheese. While he ate, Valerian
observed the others. Sir Gregory squatted beside the stream, washing his hands.
The five Highlanders sat together in the grass, sharing food and tall tales.
The two men-at-arms, one older and more experienced than the other, leaned on a
shelf of rock, eating quietly. Hawk had climbed an outcropping of rock and
perched high above them, scanning the horizon. Terron sat nearby chewing on a
piece of dried meat.

“Terron?”

The
young man quickly stood.

“Yes,
Your Highness?”

Valerian
had to keep in mind these men were used to expecting orders from those in
charge. He wasn’t sure how to carry on a regular conversation with them.

“Please,
be seated.” Terron sat gingerly, prepared to jump up at a moment’s notice. “I
don’t see Kieran yet. Would you like me to trade with one of the others so you
can ride?”

“Truly,
Sire, I don’t mind running. As a boy, I used to run messages between the Keep
and outlying villages because I was so fast.” He grinned.

“Well,
perhaps we can have a race someday.”

“Do
you run, Your Highness?”

“Not
fast, I’m afraid, since my legs grew so long, but I was thinking about a race
in general.” Valerian remembered that Drew was a fast runner. “There may be
others who would like to test their speed against yours.”

“I
would like that, Sire,” Terron said, smiling.

They
continued, with Terron keeping pace and showing no signs of being winded.
Kieran did not catch up to them until late in the afternoon. By then the light
was fading and it was time to find a place to stop for the night.

Valerian
grew restless watching the men efficiently set up camp on a bluff overlooking
the road. He wrung his hands, used to helping, but Sir Gregory quietly reminded
him he must act like a prince now, not a squire.

Kieran
was helping Parker, the younger man-at-arms, set up Valerian’s small tent.
Though it was barely large enough to sleep two, Valerian was grateful not to
have anything finer than the rest of the men.

“Your
Highness,” said Parker, bowing. “This is the best of the tents, but it’s not
much.”

“It
is quite adequate, thank you.” Valerian smiled at the young man. “If we had
brought anything larger we would have needed sumpter horses.”

Parker
pulled his forelock. “Aye, Your Highness. A scouting party needs to travel
light.”

Hawk
strode toward Valerian, inclining his head.

“Your
Highness, MacAlister and I have scouted the area and see no sign of the Horde.”

“Thank
you, Hawk.” Valerian tried to project confidence into his voice. “Do you
recommend one per shift on the watch then?”

“Yes,
Sire. This bluff affords a long view, and the moon will light the countryside.”
Hawk indicated the moon rising in the east.

Valerian
leaned closer and spoke quietly.

“Who
would you recommend make the schedule for the night guard?” He met the scout’s
piercing gaze and
Saw
no scorn there, only a willingness to help the
young prince learn the usual ways of doing things.

“You’d
best let Cameron have that duty, Highness.” Hawk smiled. “The old soldier
thinks no one else can do it as well as he can.”

“Thank
you, Hawk.” Valerian spied the older man-at-arms setting up the last of the six
tents and strode to him. “Cameron,” he said. “A word with you.”

The
soldier stood and bowed his head. His ice blue eyes studied Valerian, who
Saw
the man’s obsession with efficiency. Now Hawk’s remark became clear.

“You
are in charge of scheduling the night guard,” Valerian said. The tone of
command grew slightly more comfortable to use, and Valerian hoped it would
someday come naturally. “I expect you to include me in the schedule.”

Cameron
inclined his head again. He did not smile, but his eyes relaxed a little.

“Of
course, Your Highness. Consider it done.”

            *         

After
an uneventful night, Valerian and his men set off in the morning under gray
skies. It took half the day to traverse the gap between the mountain ranges.
Late in the afternoon it began to lightly snow. White patches formed in the
ruts of the road, in the dry grass along either side, and upon the boughs of
the evergreens.

Valerian’s
purple dragon pennon appeared over a rise in the road, and Hawk upon his brown
horse materialized out of the snow and gloom.

“The
garrison is just ahead, Your Highness,” he said. “We’ll reach it before dark.”

By
the time they reached the gate, it was open, welcoming them. Two soldiers stood
with raised spears on the crenellated wall. They inclined their heads as
Valerian rode past. Behind him, Kieran and the other Highlanders called out
greetings to friends or relatives quartered there. Kieran’s accent broadened
and Valerian could scarcely understand him. The commander stepped out to greet
Valerian. Behind enormous black mustaches dotted with snowflakes, the man’s
face was familiar.

“Welcome
tae the northern garrison, Your Highness.” His voice was loud and deep. “I am
Angus MacLachlan.”

“MacLachlan?”
Valerian glanced back at Kieran, who was having an animated conversation with
several garrison men.

“Aye,
he’s my wee baby brother.” When Angus grinned, Valerian saw the family
resemblance.

“Your
brother is my squire. I would be lost without him.”

“I’m
verra glad to hear that, Sire. Come, let us get indoors. We have a fire in the
hall, and ye are just in time to join us for our evening meal.” He led Valerian
inside, and Valerian had to duck under a low doorway.

“We
don’t wish to deprive you of supplies,” he said. “We have brought provisions.”

“Nonsense,
Sire, ’tis our pleasure to break bread with you.”

In
the hall, three long tables and benches were arranged along three sides,
leaving the middle of the room empty. The fireplace took up most of the fourth
wall. The meal consisted of heaping platters of venison, flat bread, and a
bitter mead. The men were rough and loud, not at all like the overly formal
courtiers Valerian was used to dining with. These men, however, appeared to
enjoy one another’s company. Two large dogs vied for scraps the men tossed to
the rush-strewn floor. Valerian imagined what his mother’s reaction would be
upon seeing that in the Keep’s great hall.

After
the platters were removed and cups refilled, one of the garrison men tuned a
small lyre. Another pulled a flute from his belt, saluting Valerian and Angus
MacLachlan before placing it to his lips. He and the lyre player began a lively
tune. Kieran jumped up, grinning.

“They’re
calling to me feet, Sire.” He winked at Valerian and hopped over their table to
the open space. Three others joined him a wild dance filled with tapping feet,
leaps and spins in the air. It fatigued Valerian just watching them. More
dances followed with others joining them. Kieran never seemed to tire.

One
of the garrison men placed two crossed spears on the floor, forming four equal
quarters. Kieran stood in one with his hands balled on his hips, and Anson
MacDougall, the youngest of Valerian’s Highlanders, took the opposite corner.

The
musicians began a measured song. Valerian watched, entranced, as Kieran and
Anson moved in unison with complicated foot movements, heel and toe. They made
their way through the four quarters until the end of the first verse. Then
began a wilder verse full of leaps and twists as the two Highlanders made their
dizzying way around the quarters. Valerian was sure they would trip on the spears
or collide in midair, but their grace and precision were so finely honed they
made the impossible look easy.

When
they leaped away from the spears, the final note sounded, triumphant, and the
hall erupted in cheers. Valerian stood with the others, clapping as hard as he
could, full of admiration for his squire’s heretofore unknown talent.

Kieran
and Anson bowed low, accepting the applause. When Kieran returned to his place,
he drained the cup Valerian offered.

“Kieran,
I’m amazed. Why did you never tell me you could dance like that?”

The
squire grinned at him.

“There’s
nae such music at the Keep to call to my feet.”

 “We’ll
remedy that when we return.” Valerian smiled in anticipation.

Angus
MacLachlan took advantage of the lull to lean closer to Valerian.

“May
I ask, Your Highness, if there be some problem that brings you out here? Surely
you didna come just so Kieran and young MacDougall could dance for us?”

“The
king sent us to the garrisons for your reports on the Horde.”

Angus
sat back and took a drink. He wiped his mustache before replying. “Well then,
Sire, there isna a report tae give you. We have seen nae sign o’ the beasties
for at least two new moons.”

“Nothing?”

Angus
shook his head. “I send scouts on a regular basis. They range far into the
plains but have found nothing. ’Tis as if the Horde have disappeared from the
face of the earth.”

“Could
the colder weather have driven them south?” Valerian frowned. “Or do they
perhaps sleep for the winter like some lizards and serpents?”

“If
that were true, ’twould be new on their part. We have always found signs of
them before, even during the coldest winter months.” Angus took another drink.
“We’ll keep scouting, for ’tis our job to guard this northern pass. If we find
anything, we’ll be sure to alert the king.”

Though
Valerian was happy to sleep with the men in the barracks, Angus insisted that
the prince take his room for privacy. Valerian was grateful when Kieran made a
pallet beside the bed. He’d half expected the squire would want to spend more
time with the other Highlanders.

“Nay,
Sire,” said Kieran after Angus left them alone. “I dinna feel the need to dance
all night. Besides, by now the others will be wanting to drink more than
dance.” He helped Valerian untie and remove the surcoat.

“So
you don’t drink with them?”

“Never.
I dinna want what little good sense I have to vanish in me cups.” Kieran cocked
his head, listening. “If we don’t fall asleep quickly, we’ll soon be privy to
their loud and awful singing.” He shed his own outer garments and rolled up in
furs his brother had provided.