Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Read online

  Just then the bell tower began to ring out the call to afternoon prayers. Kain heard the High Prefect’s voice shouting above the bells.

  “Wait, do not go inside yet. Today, we honor one of our own.” The portly prefect was waddling through the crowd. He held a long, slender object wrapped in a crimson cloth. He approached Kain and motioned for the crowd to gather in close.

  “It has been a long time since Saint Onnasus brought the good news of the One God to the Realm of the West. It is said that he sailed across the oceans for two months before landing on our beautiful shores. Most men of Belanda know that Onnasus was a man of great learning and of greater compassion. But, he was also a warrior. And understandably so; this land was once, and in many ways still is, a pagan land, hostile to the truth we cling to and cherish. Many of you have seen and even copied the Scrolls of Truth which he brought us. But that was not the only token that has survived the many years. I have here the Sword of Onnasus.”

  With a flourish, the High Prefect pulled the cloth from the sword. It shone brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight. The scabbard was emerald green, with foreign characters inscribed in crimson down its length. It was a straight sword, not curved like the Oddolan weapons from the East, and it was narrow, unlike the broad swords of Belanda. The handle was long enough to be grasped by two hands and wrapped in leather that was once dyed red, but was now faded into a dark brown. The hand guard was small and square and looked to be made of a black metal.

  “Onnasus, it is said,” continued the High Prefect, “won many converts with his skill as a swordsman. His movements were precise and overcame the brute strength of the native Belandians. And although this weapon is slight, it is as strong as any sword, as strong as the heart that wields it. For countless years it has been kept by the High Prefect of our order. It has been passed down from generation to generation with this admonition: that one day a hand will take this sword. And that day has come. I can think of no better use for the sword of Onnasus, than in the hands of our future king.”

  There was much murmuring among the crowd, and then, as the High Prefect placed the sword in Kain’s shaking hands, a great shout went up, with applause from the throng. And at that moment the weeping came. But Kain was no longer sad; in fact, a wave of love and support, like he had never felt in his life, lifted him on its crest. The crowd began to put their hands on him. Familiar faces flowed past him with hugs, admonitions, and prayers. It felt like a dream, but tangible.

  Kain had never known the close love of parents, but now he saw the pride and joy on the faces of the older monks. There were tears of joy on many faces, but one face in particular stood out—it was Tellis, a monk the same age as Kain and a close friend. While Kain had studied and mastered the art of the scriptorium, Tellis had chosen the path of the priesthood. Both had known that one day soon Tellis would leave the Monastery to travel through Belanda, teaching the ways of the One God. Now Kain was leaving, it was strangely sad.

  “This was not how I imagined our parting,” said Tellis.

  “Nor I, but you can come to me, in Royal City. I will need a good friend.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  Kain continued his goodbyes, and soon Fairan was waiting with the horses. With the monks and prefects watching, Kain mounted the horse Fairan held for him. They rode out through the gate, and as Kain looked back over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the men he had lived with all his life, moving off to different chores as if nothing had happened. He watched them, some walking to the chapel, others to the scriptorium, some gathering tools for the garden.

  “Life goes on.”

  Kain turned, surprised to see that Fairan was watching him.

  “They act as if nothing has happened.”

  “Isn’t that the life they chose? To live in a world set apart, dedicating themselves to their god.”

  “Yes, but…but I thought this moment would be different. If feels normal, like any other day, and yet I am leaving all I have known behind.”

  “Sometimes momentous occasions only feel that way when remembered.” Fairan had a distant look in his eye. “The day I brought you here, that was a normal day, but now I look back on it with sadness. It is unfortunate that your family was denied you, and now the life you were promised is denied. And the road ahead will not be an easy one. Are you familiar with the sword?”

  Kain looked down at the gleaming weapon that lay across his thighs. “I did not know it existed before today.”

  “Not that sword,” Fairan exclaimed. “Do you know how to use one?”

  Kain shook his head, “This is the first one I have ever touched.”

  The big man grunted, but said nothing else. In fact, they road for over an hour without speaking. Kain was lost in his thoughts, trying to get his bearings and trying to stay on the horse.

  Finally, Fairan broke the silence.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve done much riding?”

  “No. We don’t keep horses at the Monastery.”

  “I see, well, we’ll stop under that tree up ahead and take a look at that new sword of yours. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in. Are you familiar with the law of Kingship in Belanda?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am no teacher, but I do know that the King rules with the Council of Nobles. Together they make decisions on the governance of the people of Belanda. In the last few years, Derrick of Westfold has slowly increased his position on the Council. Now he charges that with your family dead, he should be named King. He has secured the loyalty of the priest at Royal City, and together they are trying to force your sister into marrying Derrick.”

  “How can they do that?” Kain asked.

  “She has no family left to speak for her. The priest has claimed that right in the name of your father and has pledged her to marry the man who is responsible for the deaths of your parents and brothers.”

  “Surely not; a priest of the One God would never stoop to such low handed and sinful practices. If he has pledged my sister to this man then it must have been her father’s wish.”

  “Don’t be a fool! You have lived your life in a place of innocence. All at the Monastery are pledged to the same god, the same way of life. They have the accountability of one another. It is different for the rest of us, we live for different purposes. We do not have the accountability that you have lived with. The priest at Royal City has grown in power due to the influence of your father and his dedication to that religion. And as often happens to people who taste power, the priest longs for more of it. He has brokered a deal with Derrick, I am sure of it.”

  “What proof do you have?” Kain asked. He was growing angry, both with the callous and cynical claims of the warrior, and the despicable ways of the people he was going to lead. “How do I know who to trust? You could be setting me against them for your own purposes. I don’t know you any better than them.”

  Fairan reined in his horse. They had reached the tree, and the big man stepped down from his mount and tied the animal securely to a low branch.

  “You don’t, but you will in time. I was pledged to your father, much the same as you were to your god. We grew up together, fought together. I promised him my sword, but I was not there to die with him.” A hardness touched the features in Fairan’s face. “But we can discuss that later. For now, come down and take a rest.”

  “I’m not tired.” Kain said.

  “But you will be sore tomorrow. We will take our time until you become used to riding. I knew a priest once, your father made him ride from the lake in Sulhain all the way to Royal City, a hard day’s ride. The priest was bed ridden for a week afterward. He never walked the same after that. He complained of the pain until he died. I do not want to push you too hard.”

  Kain nodded and stepped down from the horse.

  “Now, take off your robes.”

  “What?”

  Fairan grinned. “You’ll need to wear different clothes than those of the Monastery.” He reached up
into the shaded branches of the tree and pulled down a large knap sack. “Here,” he said, “try this on. It may be a little tight. I wasn’t expecting you to be quite so thick in the belly.”

  Kain’s face burned with embarrassment. It was true that he was a little pudgy, but when a person spends all their time at a desk copying manuscripts, there just isn’t much time for exercise. He pulled off the robe and pulled on a stiff leather vest.

  Kain laced the vest together tightly with a brown cord.

  “You have the build of your father—and don’t worry, we’ll work off that baby fat soon.”

  Again Kain burned with shame. He was beginning to not like the warrior at all. He had never paid much attention to his appearance before. At Aquista, mirrors were frowned upon as a vanity. He had a little hand held mirror to shave with; he had packed it in his bed roll.

  “Here is your mail,” Fairan said, pulling a shirt of metal ringlets over Kain’s head. “This is why the leather is so stiff. The metal can stop an arrow, even some blades, but not the impact. So be careful and always wear the leather vest. It will take a while to get used to, but since you’ll be riding and sleeping in it, I imagine you’ll take to it soon.”

  Fairan then slipped a dark blue tunic over the mail; the sleeves were loose, but had straps attached to the cuffs. Fairan proceed to tie these around Kain’s wrists, over the ends of the mail shirt.

  “This keeps your sleeves from sliding up and down your arms when you raise your sword.” Fairan explained.

  Finally, he placed a dull, gray, metal helmet on Kain’s head. The inside was leather and, although it was heavy, it fit rather comfortably. It was an open face helmet, reaching from mid-forehead down to the top of his neck, with slight curves for the ears.

  “That’s called a skull cap. It was your dad’s, and your oldest brother Fairhain’s, too.”

  “My brother Fairhain? Am I really a prince?”

  “Of course.”

  “It seems so hard to believe. I have seen the royal family, but only from a distance. The queen commissioned several books from the Monastery. I had the privilege of working on most of them. She even came and watched me work once. I was so distracted by her presence I had to throw out that day’s work.”

  “She was your mother, and although you were sent away at birth, they never stopped loving you. In fact, your father gave you the life he had longed for. He was very devoted to your god.”

  “But you aren’t?”

  “I don’t…” There was a pause as Fairan searched for the words. “My beliefs,” the last word was spoken awkwardly, “are personal.”

  “Now,” said the warrior firmly changing the subject, “step into these.”

  He held out a pair of leather leggings, like pants with an open seat and fly, held together with a thick belt which was wider at the back than the front. Kain pulled them over his breeches, which were lightly woven wool. Fairan buckled the belt rather snugly. With all that Kain was wearing, he felt as if he could barely move.

  “You are beginning to look like a man,” said Fairan.

  “I feel as stiff as a scarecrow in all this. How do you ever fight in it all?”

  “You’ll get used to it. Now you need weapons. Let’s see that sword.”

  Kain withdrew the sword from its scabbard. The metal rang and the blade gleamed. It was edged razor sharp on only one side. The blade was long and did not taper as the broadswords of Belanda did. The end was angular, with the sharpened side ending a mere inch before the other and turning stiffly to the sharpened point. The non lethal edge was polished to a mirror shine which gradually faded to a cold gray, hinting at the danger of the blade.

  “How does it feel to you?” Fairan asked.

  Kain swung the sword, slashing awkwardly and thrusting.

  “It feels good, I guess,” Kain said.

  “A sword must feel better than good. A sword must feel like it is part of you, an extension of the deadliness of who you are.”

  “I’m not very deadly,” Kain interrupted.

  “Not yet, but you will be. I think that blade suits you. A king’s sword must be special; it is the symbol of his power. Yours is unique and, if it is as good a sword as the High Prefect claimed, it will suit you well. We will stop at a place I know and make sure that it is good. Now, here are the weapons you will keep on your body.”

  For the next half hour, Fairan displayed and demonstrated various weapons for Kain. The first was a dagger, as long as Kain’s hands end to end, kept in a leather sheath. The blade was an inch wide at the hilt and narrowed steadily into a dangerous point. There was a loop in the leather belt for it. Next was a set of three knives, each about half as long as the dagger and sharpened on only one side. One was strapped onto each calf of Kain’s legs, and one tucked into the belt at his back. Fairan demonstrated the usefulness of stabbing with the knives or throwing them. Then there was a belt of black canvas, like the sail of a ship. It fastened in the back and hung low on Kain’s hips, over the scabbard of his sword and the sheath of his dagger. In the front were small, wedge shaped pockets. Into each pocket fit a steel lump, shaped like an egg, with one end slightly larger than the other; Fairan called them Mogs. The sides of the Mogs were smooth. Fairan said they could fracture a man’s skull if thrown hard enough.

  Then, with Kain fully armed, they added the weapons that he would carry on horseback. First was a quiver of arrows hung at the back left hand edge of the saddle. The bow was shorter than normal. Fairan explained the need for its size.

  “A long bow would get hung up on your saddle and gear as your aim moved from one side of your horse to another. With this shorter bow, you have the freedom to aim in any direction. The arrows are shorter, too, but you’ll not be needing much distance if you are fighting from your horse.

  “The next weapon is an extra sword that is hung on your horse’s left shoulder. Should something happen to your sword, perhaps it gets wedged in bone or wrenched from your hand, then you draw this one. On your horse’s right shoulder is a battle axe.”

  The axe was as tall as Kain’s forearm from elbow to fingertip. The blade was as wide as a big man’s hand, with the edge curving around until the points almost touched the handle. Opposite the axe head was a thick metal spike.

  “Now the axe will give weight to your attack, but it will lodge in a person easily. Finally, you’ll have a lance.” Fairan held out a staff that was as tall as Kain was. One end narrowed to a point and was covered with metal, rather than having the tip attached onto a head of its own. “The lance will kill a man, using the momentum of your horse. Most mounted knights carry a lance of some sort. The lance is deadly, but takes an exacting amount of skill. Most knights train with lances from the time they are very young boys. The danger of using the lance is that it can easily unseat you, leaving you vulnerable to attack. If you ever have to use your lance, hold it loosely. It would be better to lose the lance than your horse. And we also attach our colors to the lance.”

  At that, Fairan tied a purple flag with the red falcon onto the lance. Then he slid the butt end of the lance through a set of hoops on the right side of Kain’s saddle. The flag hung down neatly from the end under the horse’s head.

  “I’m armed for war, it appears,” said Kain. “Is all this really necessary?”

  “Yes!” Fairan’s reply was heated. “Do you not understand that you are the last remaining heir to the throne of Belanda? That alone makes you are target. One man is a seemingly small obstacle to a throne. Your enemies have already shown that they will not hesitate to murder you. They murdered your mother. They killed every servant, every soldier that rode with them that day. And that is no small fact, considering that your family rode with ten Royal soldiers, your father was a master with the sword, and your brothers were raised with weapons. A troop of thirteen seasoned warriors could only be overcome by a sizeable force. No raiding party is that big. No gang of killers would have risked it. The only people with the men and motive are nobles. And the onl
y one with the audacity to do it is Derrick of Westfold. He is a dangerous man, as you will learn soon enough.”

  They mounted their horses then and began to ride.

  “We’ll ride for another hour and then make camp. I want to get off this road as soon as possible. I know the river path; we’ll take it soon.”

  “This is really too much. You said earlier that no one knows about me. They all think the royal family is dead. How do you propose that I become King?”

  “That is a good question. One we will have to deal with soon enough, but we shall not have to deal with it alone. I am taking you to a man named Tooles; he was your father’s chief advisor at one time. He has returned to his ancestral home…and religion.” At the last word, Fairan eyed Kain nervously.

  “He does not worship the One True God?”

  “No. And you are going to find that there are many of our people who only follow your god in name. Their lives are still lived according to an older standard. That is why you were sent away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fairan grimaced. “This is difficult to explain. Not everyone was raised by priests.”

  “Monks and prefects,” Kain corrected.

  “Yes, well, most people live in two worlds, sometimes even more. You will find that people will behave in the way they think you expect them to. And most people will worship the One God at church and follow the old gods at home.”

  “What does any of that have to do with me?”

  “I’m getting to that,” Fairan said irritably. “I told you I was no teacher. I fumble with the words and have no patience with students.”

  “Sorry,” Kain said.

  “No. You do not have to be sorry to me. You are the Third Prince of Belanda. I am nothing. I am a man without honor. A warrior who was absent during the battle. Never be sorry to me.”

  Kain nodded. It saddened him to see the big warrior dealing himself so lowly. It was obvious that Fairan was a man of honor, but also obvious that he blamed himself for the king’s death.

  “Well, you have the mark,” Fairan continued. “And not just any mark, but a falcon, over your heart. Many people would say you are marked by the gods to rule Belanda, or perhaps cursed by your birthright. Either way, if you had stayed with your family, people would have talked. Whether your father and mother believed it or not, surely you can see the strain it would have put on your family. Your brothers would have resented you, perhaps feared you.”