Mercy's Prince (18 page)

Valerian
followed the soldier to one of the stone buildings. He barely ducked under the
low doorway in time to keep from bashing his head. Seated at a desk near the
fireplace sat his former pagemaster, Sir Walter. A familiar knot of
apprehension clenched his gut at the sight of the grizzled knight. For three
years, Valerian had done his best to please Sir Walter, but the older man had
been a stern taskmaster to a shy young prince.

 Sir
Walter glanced up, and his eyes widened when he recognized Valerian. He stood
and inclined his head.

“Your
Highness. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Sir
Walter.” Valerian avoided direct eye contact, reluctant to
See
the man’s
thoughts.

“What
brings you so far south at this time?”

Valerian
stepped closer to the desk. He glanced at the stack of parchment and pot of ink
beside three fat candles. Steam rose from a mug, and the scent of cloves wafted
in the air.

“The
king sent us to visit each of the garrisons.”

“So
what think you of that strange attack?” Sir Walter gestured to the embrasure in
the corner. A short bow and quiver of arrows were propped against the stone
wall. “Have the other garrisons been so harried?”

“Nay,
Sir Walter. In fact, they all report the situation unusually quiet. The Horde
have disappeared from the north.”

“Hmm.”
Sir Walter frowned. “Perhaps it’s because we’re so far south and winter never
grows as cold as in the north. But that doesn’t explain these daily pointless
attacks. To me, it suggests the Horde are mindless beasts, not nearly as intelligent
as we originally feared.” He gestured to an empty stool. “Please, Your
Highness, be seated.” Only after Valerian sat did the knight reseat himself.
Then he leaned closer.

“I
realize, my prince, you never expected to take your brother’s place, but I’m
confident you will find your strength. Your grandfather believed in your
potential.”

“Thank
you, Sir Walter.” The mention of his grandfather made Valerian miss him even
more.

Sir
Walter’s gaze shifted from Valerian’s face to his long hair. “Permission to
speak as your former pagemaster, Sire?” When Valerian nodded, the knight
continued. “It has been my experience that short hair is easier to keep in the
field. Less trouble under a helm.”

“Thank
you, Sir Walter.” Valerian forced a smile. Did Sir Walter disapprove of
Valerian’s hair because it was not military or because it reminded him of
someone who would rather be a priest or a scholar?

The
knight cleared his throat and took a sip from his mug.

“Did
you remember that today is winter feast? We would be honored for you and your
men to join us, Your Highness.”

“Then
we gratefully accept your hospitality. I know I can speak for all of the men.”
Valerian hoped there was enough food, knowing how much Kieran and the other
young men could eat.

“How
many do you have with you, Sire?”

“Ten,
not counting my squire, Kieran MacLachlan. Father thought that a good number
for my first command.”

Sir
Walter nodded and smiled.

“Kieran,
eh? I’m sure he’s grown out of the rascal he was as a page.” He studied
Valerian. “And how have you been getting along with your first command, my
prince?”

Because
he’d known the knight all his life, Valerian began to feel comfortable
discussing the men and the journey with him. He
Saw
Sir Walter’s
grudging approval, though laced with the certainty that Valerian was not
ruthless and fearless as Waryn had been.
Would people never stop comparing
him to his brother?
Valerian shook off his petty thoughts and focused on
the situation at hand.

“You
mention you’ve been ‘harried’ by the Horde. For how long?”

“About
a month, as I was writing to the king.” Sir Walter gestured to the parchments.
“We’re never in danger, have never had a man injured, but every day about that
number of the creatures run in from the east, shoot their poisoned arrows, and
then run back the way they came. I’ve sent scouts to follow them, but even
after riding for miles into the plains, they find no sign of them, as if they’ve
melted into the ground. I don’t know what to think about it.”

“Indeed,
Sir Walter, it is puzzling. If they were men, I’d say it was a diversion, but
as you say, they seem to be mindless creatures.”

“Do
you have a timetable, Sire, as to when the king expects you back at the Keep?”

“No.
Father did not specify. I’m sure he meant for us to return by spring thaw.”

“Then
would it be too much to ask for you and your men to winter here and help us
solve the puzzle of the Horde’s strange activities?”

Valerian
paused to consider the request.

“First
tell me how far it is from here to Lord Reed’s castle.”

“No
more than a two day journey, due west.” The knight pointed in that direction.

“And
have you heard whether or not Eldred, my father’s former Seer, has taken up
residence in one of these southern villages?”

Sir
Walter stroked his beard.

“I
have heard mention of Eldred recently. I’ll have to ask around. Why do you ask,
Sire?”

Valerian
did not want tell Sir Walter the primary reason he desired to see Eldred, which
was to ask him about the Sight and how to control it.

“I’d
hoped while I was in the south to find the old man and inquire about him.”
Valerian shifted on the stool. “I also owe Lord Reed a visit, but not for the
same reason.”

“Oh?”
Sir Walter raised an eyebrow.

“He
wishes to offer his daughter’s hand, and my father wishes me to accept her as a
future queen consort.” Valerian sighed. “She would have married my brother,
after all.” He had overheard his father and Waryn discussing the importance of
his marrying a woman from the south to diffuse the tensions between the two
regions.

The
knight chuckled when Valerian grimaced.

“As
I recall, you could do far worse, my prince.”

“Lady
Hanalah is very beautiful,” Valerian admitted. He had never planned to marry,
but now as crown prince he would be required to produce an heir. If he couldn’t
avoid marriage, he wanted more than physical beauty in a wife; he’d hoped to
find one with intelligent conversation, at least.

“That
sounds like a more pleasant problem than chasing after phantom monsters.” Sir
Walter leaned back and smiled.

“Then
I have a proposal, Sir Walter.” Valerian folded his hands to still their sudden
trembling. “What if I leave my men here to assist you while I and my squire
visit Eldred and Lord Reed? If I am delayed, I can rendezvous with the men at
Midway Garrison by the next new moon. If I conclude my business sooner, then I
can return here and we will leave together. Is that acceptable?”

Sir
Walter stood and made a respectful bow.

“That
is one proposal I can wholeheartedly agree to, Prince Valerian. Shall we go to
the hall and celebrate the winter feast?”

“It
will be my pleasure.”

While
they walked to the garrison’s hall, Valerian wished with all his heart he could
find a way to avoid marriage to the beautiful but empty-headed Lady Hanalah.

***

Caelis
sat upon his restless horse in the predawn chill. The gate was barred for the
night, so they would have to wait until it was opened again. Not, he mused,
that there would be any resistance from the villagers. But he would prefer not
to damage the gate in the attack, even though they had their Horde battle-axes.
If anyone discovered the bodies, he wanted them to think it was their work. He
had to wait until the right moment to blame it on Valerian.

“Sir
Caelis,” whispered one of the men. “I checked the gate again, and it has been
opened, but there is no one in sight, inside or out.”

Caelis
frowned. Had one of them gone outside? Or had someone merely opened the gate in
preparation for something else? He growled in his throat. He didn’t have time
to chase phantoms. They needed to get in, do the deed, and get out as quickly
as possible.

“Squire,”
he hissed.

Drew
guided his horse closer to Caelis’ mount.

“Yes,
sir?”

“Pass
it along for the men to dismount and ready their axes.” Even in the dim light
Caelis could see the frown on Drew’s face.

“But
sir, there are women and children, innocents--”

Caelis
backhanded Drew, knocking him to the ground. “Don’t you dare question me.”

Drew
pushed himself up and fingered his jaw. Caelis slid off his horse and grabbed
Drew’s surcoat.

“If
you dare disobey me, I will kill you myself.”

“Yes,
sir,” the squire whispered. His eyes glistened.

Caelis
pushed him away. He strode to the next man and gave the curt order to be passed
down the line. Once all the men had dismounted, Caelis left the horses tethered
and led the men up the bluff to the open wooden gate.

There
was no one in sight. Once all of Caelis’ men had filed inside, he counted the
structures and divided up his men. They lit their torches and silently approached
the sleepy cottages.

Drew
followed him to the first one. Caelis pushed open the door and found one
middle-aged man inside. Before the man came fully awake, Caelis swung the ax
around and split his chest open. A fountain of blood gushed out. While Drew
became violently sick, Caelis kicked the dead man to the floor and pulled his
ax out of the man’s ruined chest. Then he pushed the body over, picked up the
man’s long braid in one hand, and sliced through the scalp with the ax.

“Now
you can die a man instead of a cowardly woman,” he growled.

He
pulled Drew along to the next cottage. They found another man about the same
age, who was fully awake and standing in front of a young boy. Before the man
could say a word, Caelis cut him down.

“Take
care of the boy, Drew,” he said while he scalped the second man.

“I
can’t, sir.” Drew placed himself in front of the child. “You’ll have to kill me
first.”

Caelis
lifted his ax to kill them both. But when he gazed at the boy, he checked his
swing. Those frightened eyes were just like
Caeden’s
on that morning
long ago when he’d failed to save his drowning brother. He lowered the ax.

Outside
the cottage screams shattered the peaceful morning. Caelis inspected the bloody
scalp in his hand. There was no satisfaction in killing those who would not
fight back.

“I’ll
deal with you later, squire. Bring the boy.” He strode out without a backward
glance.

In
minutes the screaming stopped. Each of Caelis’ men held at least one scalp. One
had several braids draped around his neck. All of their leathers were spattered
with blood, which appeared black in the dim light.

“Let’s
get the devil out of here,” Caelis growled. He glanced behind him. Drew held
the boy’s hand.

They
hurried back to the horses and galloped away.

Mercy
tossed and turned on her pallet, unable to return to sleep. Papa’s anger
frightened her, but also made her angry, too. Didn’t he realize how cruel he
had become? Was it her fault Mama had died? Or Rafael’s?

She
sat up and covered her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Did Papa blame
himself
for Mama’s death? After all, he was a Healer, and yet he’d been unable to
save his own wife in childbirth. What a burden that must be to him! Even so,
Mercy didn’t understand why he would treat his own children with such hateful
contempt. The men had only been home for two days and already Mercy found the
situation unbearable.

She
got up and silently pulled on her overdress and apron. She tied her scarf over
her braid. For a moment, she stood motionless, listening to Papa’s and Rafael’s
regular breathing. Then she opened the door wide enough to slip through and
closed it behind her.

The
village slept peacefully more than an hour before sunrise. The world was so
wide without the clutter of people’s voices, the clamor of their demands. Above
her, the stars twinkled coldly in the moonless sky. Her bare feet padded on the
chilly dirt.

Mercy
approached the barred gate. She had a twist of guilt while she struggled to
lift the bar and set it down without making too much noise. Whatever her
punishment for this second violation of the rules, she would face it gladly;
the turmoil inside her had to find release, and the only place she knew to find
it was at the river.

She
hurried down the winding path until she came to the willow. She heard an owl’s
muted call and a gentle splash in the river. Other than that the night was
quiet. Mercy sat on the fallen tree trunk beside the willow. Her thoughts were
too jumbled to focus on one and make sense of it, so she lay back and
contemplated the stars. The sky changed from black to midnight blue, and the
first rosy glow of the sun began to lighten the eastern edge.

All
her senses came alive at once, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
She sat up, listening, when a scream sounded from up on the bluff, coming from
the
village
. Mercy forgot to breathe. Her feet were frozen in place.
Dragons must be attacking. What could she do? Oh, God of Peace, what should she
do
?

Mercy
gasped, and that was enough to unlock her paralysis. She began to run up the
path, but her legs moved in slow motion. A rumble vibrated the ground, as if a
thunderstorm were approaching. But in moments the sound faded, and all was
silent again.

By
the time Mercy reached the open gate, the gate that
she
had left
unbarred, she had to catch her breath before she could enter. Her heart leaped
inside her chest, frantic with fear. There was enough light to see something
lying on the ground nearby. With trembling knees, she came nearer. One of the
villagers lay face down. Blood covered his tunic and the back of his head. She
knelt to examine him. He’d been partially scalped and his braid was gone.
Gently she turned him over and a wail escaped her throat.

It
was Michael. Her poor cousin lay dead from a dozen terrible wounds. She backed
away from the sheer awfulness of the sight of him. Tears blurred her vision.
Had anyone else been hurt?

Mercy
turned and ran to her cottage. She stifled a scream when she saw the open door.
But she stopped at the threshold.

“Papa?
Rafael?”

No
answer. Mercy stepped inside. Her father lay slumped on the floor. Blood
dripped from a gash in his chest and puddled beneath him.

“Papa!”
She felt for a pulse, but he was dead. “Rafael?” Her voice rose in terror.
“Rafael!”

He
was not there.

Mercy
ran from cottage to cottage and found everyone dead, many still in their beds.
Only Dilly and little Samuel were outside, as Michael had been. It appeared
they’d tried to run, but they had been cut down too.

“Rafael!”
She screamed. Where was he?

She
ran to the sheep pens, and a whimper came from her throat when she saw they had
all been slaughtered. She’d hoped Rafael might be hiding here, but she found no
sign of him, dead or alive.

Desperate,
Mercy raced around the village again, searching every one of his hiding places,
but he was nowhere to be found.

The
sun rose above the tree line, casting a harsh light on the silent village,
blinding her. She turned toward the village square and tripped over something
on the ground. Another body lay face down. Like the rest of the men, but not
the women or children, the braid had been cut away with part of the scalp.

Mercy
knew who this had to be. She gently turned him over and her hands became soaked
in blood from the terrible wound in his chest.

It
was Gabriel.

Incredibly,
his face was peaceful, more beautiful to her in death than he had been in life.
She started to caress his cheek and saw the gore on her hands. Anguished
keening burst from her, turning into a scream so raw that something tore inside
her throat. She fell across Gabriel’s body, sobbing until there were no tears
left and her swelling throat closed off all sound. The world went mercifully
black.

            *         

When
she came to herself, it was midday. Gabriel’s face had grown stiff, his body
now a hollow shell; the vital man he’d been had left this world. That certain
knowledge helped Mercy return to rational thought. Her throat spasmed,
painfully tight and dry, but she feared she would throw up if she drank any
water now.

Already
vultures circled overhead. She couldn’t bear the thought of them feasting on
the bodies of her loved ones. What could she do? She hadn’t the strength to dig
a grave large enough to bury everyone.

Most
had died inside their cottages. They would be protected for a little while. It
was those few who had died outside, Gabriel and Michael, Dilly and Samuel, who
needed immediate attention.

Mercy
ran to Dilly’s small broken body and gently carried her to the chapel. She laid
the poor girl on the wooden floor, arranging her limbs to appear that she was
sleeping peacefully. Mercy placed young Samuel beside her. Their faces were
beyond pain, and she prayed they now knew perfect peace.

Michael
and Gabriel were too heavy to carry. It pained her that she would have to drag
them as if they were sacks of flour. Both deserved much more dignity than she
was able to give them.

Even
though she knew he could no longer feel pain, Mercy gently eased Gabriel over
the chapel threshold and down to the front where the children lay. She placed
him beside Dilly, arranging his hands over the gash in his chest. Her eyes bled
tears and she angrily wiped them away. How cruel that their feelings for one
another had been awakened just before all hope of a life together had been
shattered!

Last
of all, she went for Michael’s body. Mercy reeled in horror when she grabbed
his hands and his nearly severed arm began to tear. She had to carefully pull
him by his bare feet. Once she got him over the threshold, a streak of blood
marked his passage on the floor of the chapel. Trembling, Mercy took a basin of
water from the corner and set it down beside her cousin. She dipped the hem of
her apron in the water and wiped the blood from his face and hands before
crossing them on his chest.

Oh,
Michael
,
she said silently, since her voice had failed her.
I’m sorry I wasn’t here
to die with you, my dear, dear cousin
. She tried to smooth his brow, but it
was too late to erase the agony from his face.

Mercy
kept vigil over these four as the shadows of that terrible day lengthened and
darkness fell. From time to time she gave in to the tears. It was such a waste,
a tragic waste of life, and she was the one who had left the gate open to
whatever had killed them all. She wept for Papa, that his final words to her
had been so unkind, that they would never have a chance to heal the rift. She
wept for Gabriel and the love they would have shared. And she wept for Rafael.
Not knowing what had happened to him was the worst of all.

How
could she bear to keep living? Why had she been spared? She cried out from her
heart to the Most High, but there was no answer. And sometime in the quiet
hours of the night, she fell asleep, utterly spent.

            *         

Mercy
woke, stiff and sore and very thirsty. Though she was numb from the horror of
the violence and the crushing guilt that her careless act had been the cause of
it, she realized even in the fog of her grief that she had to decide what to do
with the bodies. She couldn’t bury them, and she didn’t think she would be able
to make a proper pyre for all of them. Her only option was to burn the
buildings in which the bodies lay so they would be consumed too.

Mercy
fashioned several brands of wood, wrapping a piece of oil-soaked cloth around
one end. Before she used Papa’s flint and steel to light them, she dragged Papa’s
body to the nearest cottage in order to spare her own with the healing herbs
drying from her ceiling beam.

Beginning
at Ishmael’s house, Mercy lit one of the brands. When it burned hot and bright,
she tossed it onto the thatched roof, which quickly burst into flames. There
were heavy low clouds and no wind, not even a breeze. The sky itself seemed to
share in her mourning.

She
did the same at each cottage, mentally saying goodbye to those within, shutting
the door and setting it ablaze. Finally, she came to the chapel and opened the
door. She gripped the last brand but didn’t light it right away. The four
bodies lay so still. She knew they were dead, but part of her hoped they would
open their eyes, that all she needed to do was Heal them and they would be
restored to her.

Tears
poured from her eyes. She struggled to light the brand with trembling hands.
When it caught, she told Gabriel and Michael and Dilly and Samuel goodbye, shut
the door, and tossed the brand onto the chapel’s thatched roof. Mercy backed
toward the gate, watching the flames to make sure they didn’t go out and
wishing she had Gabriel’s hair clasp to keep in memory of him. Whoever had
killed him had taken it with his braid.

Mercy
made sure all the fires were burning well, and then she turned and ran out the
gate, down the path, and did not stop at the willow. She ran until there was no
more path. The riverbank flattened out into a sandy cove, and Mercy fell to her
hands and knees, gasping for breath.

Once
she could breathe normally, she crawled to the water’s edge. She washed her
hands, but even after several minutes of scrubbing, she still didn’t feel
clean. Mercy cupped some water in her hands and splashed it on her face. Then
she sat quietly until she regained control of herself.

Only
after she took a long drink of the cool water did she look back. Columns of
black smoke rose into the darkening sky. She covered her face to shut out the
sight, but she couldn’t close her mind to the images of bodies blackened by the
fires.

As
twilight lengthened, fear intruded on her grief. What creatures lurked among
the trees? She ought to return to the village and sleep behind the barred gate.
But how could she sleep there with the bodies still burning? Tears spilled onto
her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them.

She
remembered a tree that Michael used to climb, showing off. Her throat tightened
at the memory of her beloved cousin. She pushed her grief aside and stood. Her
feet took her to that tree. It was tall enough that she would be able to climb
to a high branch, one that would keep her safe from night predators
investigating the smell of death.

It
took a long time to climb the tree. Her skirts kept getting in the way and she
had to hike them up in the apron ties. She didn’t think about how high she’d
gone; she focused on one branch at a time. When she reached one that was
perpendicular to the ground and large enough to straddle, she swung her leg
around, sat with her back against the trunk, and glanced down. It made her
dizzy to realize how high she’d climbed, and for a long moment she seriously
considered letting go and ending her life.

Reason
returned, and Mercy scolded herself for even thinking of squandering the gift
of life. Although she did not understand why she alone had been spared, she
retained enough sanity to realize there had to be a reason, whether she
understood or no.

The
light faded, and the night turned dark and cold. Owls hooted nearby. When the
breeze blew from the direction of the village, Mercy caught the scent of smoke
and death, and she shuddered.

The
night seemed longer than just a few hours. Mercy feared falling asleep.
Sometimes she dozed off and startled herself to wakefulness. Panic rose in her
if she thought too much about the distance to the ground. Insects crawled on
her, and once she heard a distant roar and imagined it must be a river dragon.

At
dawn, she decided she’d had enough of the tree. There was sufficient light that
she could slowly work her way down. It was more difficult going down then
climbing up, and twice she made a bad step, scraping her leg and hand. When she
touched the ground with her foot, she sighed.