The Iron Prince

"Well, you've got quite the mouth, half-blood!"

"And you haven't seen my swordarm. Would you like to?"

The short man opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the leader.

"Enough! Have you seen anyone else on the road today?"

"Merchants and a mule train," replied Aranthir, his eyes still on the belligerent little man. "And a pack of rude soldiers."

The leader furrowed his brow and studied Aranthir's expression. At last he made his decision.

"On your way."

"Oh, come on, Yarok! Let me at least take one ear for my string!"

"Soldiers, ride!" Yarok spurred his horse ahead and the other riders followed him, the short man lingering to stare down Aranthir, who merely gave him an easy smile and a wave.

Leaving the man behind, he resumed his course northeast. The road wound its way around a hill topped by a scaffold and watchtower before giving way to the river plain. He rode toward the ice-choked banks where the farms grew denser. The villages here were nestled tightly together, often with walled gardens and temples for the gods instead of shrines. Not far away was the Balatonn River, which was free enough of ice in its center that some boats plied the cold waters.

Aranthir rode through the snow-covered fields and entered the village of Ardista, situated at the western end of the Old Bridge. The bridge was a worn stone span that stretched the entire hundred yards from bank to bank, rising high enough in its center that riverboats might pass beneath it. The village that has grown up at its foot was a thriving settlement, even in the midst of winter. Some enterprising residents had hacked a channel through the ice that crowded the riverbanks, allowing boats to call at the jetties during the cold months.

He attracted some curious stares as he rode into town. Aranthir was aware he cut quite the figure, his strange northern bow in its case hanging from the saddle and his embroidered silk quiver hanging opposite. His sallet was blackened to defeat rust in the way of many mercenaries, but his dark red brigandine coat bore no insignia of the major companies. And to add to it all, his elven features were plainly apparent even if his distinctive pointed ears were hidden beneath the sallet.

He ignored the curious peasants and made straight for the bridge. It rose at the end of the village's main street like a great gray serpent arched over the water, prepared to pounce at any moment. The village's streets had been cleared already, and his path was made easier by the wide berth the villagers gave him.

At the foot of the bridge waited a company of two women and seven men. The men were all armored, some in plate and some in brigandine like that which Aranthir wore. Long, straight swords hung from their hips and some of their saddles carried crossbows. They surrounded the women in a protective circle, all ahorse and on alert.

But the women were nobleborn to be sure. One wore a thick winter cloak of richly dyed red wool, the other a cloak of black silk trimmed with ermine. Beneath their cloaks, they each wore fine ladies' traveling gowns, with skirts divided for the saddles and high collars to keep out the cold. Both women were pleasant to look at, but cold as the winter wind and haughty as a queen. All those in the company, men and women alike, rode gray palfreys in well-oiled tack. Aranthir noted their accoutrements in the depths of his mind as he approached.

The straight path he forged for them drew the armed men to attention. With practiced caution, three rode forward to intercept him as the others tightened their protective circle about their charges.

"Halt," commanded a man in unmarked white plate. "Stay back from my lady, and be about your business elsewhere."

"I suspect my business is here," Aranthir replied, "And I come in peace. Your lady will answer to the name Vyna, will she not?"

The man's eyebrows furrowed in dismayed surprise, and his two companions reached for their swords. Aranthir sighed.

"The man you were to meet is delayed. Pursued, rather, by companies of armed men. He has instructed me to meet you here and guide you to him at Pegia. For this, I have sworn him a most holy oath."

The lead soldier gestured for Aranthir to stay put, then retreated to his mistress. Their words were hushed, but the cold wind off the river carried them to Aranthir's elven ears all the same.

"Could he be telling the truth?" wondered the woman in red.

"How else could the elf know?" wondered the lead soldier. "But this bodes poorly for us if the Lord Protector's men are already on his trail."

"If they are," the woman in black replied in cool, regal tones, "we had best move quickly. They could be just outside the village."

"My Lady," the woman in red protested, "we cannot trust this half-blood. He could be one of your father's spies."

"My father would hire an elf? I think that unlikely."

"You would never suspect it, it's the perfect plan," said the red woman insistently.

"I would never suspect it because I know my father, Alssa. No, this man must be from Petarr or the Gods themselves. We will follow him to Pegia." She looked around her soldiers and called to Aranthir. "Approach, elf, and name yourself."

Aranthir sighed to himself, but did as commanded.

"I am Aranthir of Ildranon, a sellsword in service of no man until I chanced upon your friend in an inn. He bid me swear an oath to come here and retrieve you for deliverance to him at Pegia. You are Vyna?"

"I am," replied the woman in black. She brushed the hood of her cloak back from her pale face, rich brown locks spilling out from beneath it. With cool blue eyes she met his own and inquired further. "What have you been told?"

"Very little. Your man and his soldiers were hard-pressed by their pursuers. They rested a spell in an inn, then road off west to lead the soldiers away from here. They will be at Pegia in three days."

"Nothing else?" Vyna prompted after a pause. Aranthir merely shrugged. "Very well, that will suffice. This is Nerum, captain of my guards, and my handmaiden Alssa." Aranthir waved to them both in greeting but was greeted by only stoic professionalism from Nerum and cold disdain by Alssa. He sighed to himself again.

"Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, perhaps we should move? We can make it in two days if we are fortunate."

Vyna nodded and snapped her reins. Her palfrey started forward and her escorts fell in about her, all except for Nerum.

"You ride in the lead, mercenary. So that we might keep an eye on you."

Aranthir resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he turned away and rode to the front. He assumed his position at the front of their little column, with Nerum ten paces behind him, followed by two more men riding behind him and then the women at the center of a protective knot. Aranthir gave little thought to those behind him, instead keeping his eyes trained on the roads ahead.

The countryside was still covered in a thick blanket of snow, which both made moving figures stand out in contrast but also reflected the harsh rays of the afternoon sun into his eyes. Here in the river valley of the Balatonn, villages separated their fields from their neighbors by long lines of tall, thin trees that honeycombed the countryside, incidentally limiting Aranthir's vision and providing lanes for enemies to approach upon.

Keeping a cautious eye to the west and south, Aranthir led the party north toward Pegia as fast as he dared press them. He quickly found their horses to be the equal of his own, though he always spent lavishly on steeds of fine breeding stock. The mounts kept up the grueling pace even through the thick snow and when the roads turned to those of lesser quality. Aranthir pressed them on even as the sun sank low in the sky and the horizon flamed in the day's dying light. When at last they could ride no more, he turned them off the road and made camp in a hollow overhung by ancient oaks.

Vyna and her guards kept on alert, eyes always searching the trees for signs of pursuit or ambush. It was only once she was out of that saddle that Aranthir noticed how tall she was, standing eye to eye with him. It was uncommon for human women, or any women, to match a half-elf in height, but Vyna had the height and the poise to match it.

Her attendant Alssa merely played idly with a long length of red cloth, wrapping and unwrapping it about her arm as she stared sullenly into the fire. All around them, the land was quiet beneath its blanket of snow. Vyna and her companions kept their distance from him, though they deigned to allow him to share their fire. It suited Aranthir well enough. He sat across the fire from them, sharpening his sword and mending his armor's wear and tear.

Silence reigned over the camp until at last it was broken by Vyna.

"Tell me, half-elf. Did you really meet my lord at an inn?"

"I did. As I said, it was by mere chance. I had stayed the night after being snowed in by the blizzard and was on my way out when he hired me."

"A most fortunate encounter," she mused.

"It is an omen," Nerum murmured, and the soldiers chorused in agreement. "The gods are on our side."

"And who is against you?" Aranthir asked. The soldiers looked into the dirty snow beneath them, and Nerum looked away. Alssa bitterly cast a bit of cloth into the fire and only Vyna answered.

"Powerful men at court. The currents of a royal court are subtle yet deadly, like those of the sea. We move quickly to secure our fates against our enemies."

"I see," replied Aranthir, though he found their guardedness frustrating. He knew the ailing king's regent, Lord Protector Herevar Uhltor, stood against them, but the origins and loyalties of his charges and his mysterious employer remained unclear.

Morning came soon enough. Aranthir awoke before the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon and set to striking their camp. Once prepared, they covered up as much evidence of their stay as they could as set off north.

It was nearly midday when Aranthir spied a party of horsemen shadowing them.

"There," he called to Nerum. "Ten men, perhaps half a mile off."

"Have they seen us?" the captain demanded, pulling his horse to a halt.

"Perhaps, but they have our trail."

"Can we avoid them?" Vyna asked anxiously.

"Perhaps," Aranthir demurred again. "But they know they can't be far."

"How did they find us?" Nerum muttered.

"There have not been many others on the roads," supplied Aranthir, "though I agree it is suspicious."

"I thought you were supposed to be covering our tracks, half-blood?" Alssa remarked acidly. Aranthir glared at the impertinent handmaid, but said nothing.

"We should keep moving. Perhaps we can set an ambush for them up ahead."

"We weren't supposed to get caught," Alssa complained bitterly.

"Come on, then. There's still a chance we won't." Vyna kicked her horse forward and the rest of the party followed hot on her heels.

Aranthir drove a hard pace, but their pursuers closed in all the same. He endeavored to give no sign he had spied the pursuit and soon turned a bend in the road and stopped.

"Here, hide yourself among the trees and those snowbanks. I will signal the ambush with an arrow. Ladies, stay out of sight."

"I am not above defending myself if need be," Vyna declared in a steely tone. She drew a dagger from beneath her cloak and held it before her.

"If it comes to defending yourself with that, might as well cut your throat and save them the trouble. Go hide yourself, my lady."

Vyna and Alssa did as ordered and disappeared behind a tall snowdrift. Aranthir dismounted and sequestered himself in the trees with a nocked arrow pinched between thumb and forefinger. The trees were bare and the brush thin, but with practiced expertise he found himself a place out of sight from the road. Still and silent as death, he waited for the sound of hoofbeats.

They drew near soon enough and Aranthir held his breath so that its misting would not betray his presence. To either side, Vyna's guardsmen waited impatiently. At last, they were close enough, and Aranthir swung himself around the tree and let fly. His arrow struck against a man's cuirass and splintered, but before it had finished spinning away, Aranthir had let fly another one. This one struck beneath the man's arm as he raised to it bring his horse to a halt. The soldier cried out in pain and surprise, his reins falling from his hand. The others turned toward Aranthir just as his allies burst from the trees to attack.

Aranthir's pursuers found themselves surprised ahorse by men afoot, an unfavorable situation for all but the most skilled horsemen. Two burst away, attempting to gain the space a cavalryman so desired for his attack. The rest, including the wounded man, found themselves embroiled in a close-quarters battle when they had not even drawn their blades.

Nerum seized a man by the wrist and attempted to wrestle him from the saddle even as he rained blows against him with his sword. Another of his guards plunged his blade into the unarmored neck of a horse, bringing the animal down with a hideous wail. Another was less fortunate and found his face split asunder by a quick-witted horseman. A pistol shot sounded, harsh and sharp in the air that soon filled with white smoke.

Aranthir discarded his bow and closed in, sword at the ready. He bore down on a frightened young soldier who was struggling to keep his horse under control. The young man desperately parried Aranthir's first stroke, but the second found him between his greaves and cuisses. He cried out as the swordpoint pierced his mail and Aranthir seized the opportunity to wrest his sword away. It tore from the man's grasp with the sickening crack of fingers and Aranthir threw it aside.

Disarmed, the man kicked his horse forward and bolted from the fight. Aranthir moved to follow, but a panicked horse bolted across his path, nearly knocking him to the ground. Atop it was a man in mail and brigandine, clutching a deep wound to his arm.

Beyond the man, another of their pursuers was trapped beneath his dead horse, his leg clearly broken from the angle of his foot projecting from beneath. Aranthir ignored him and rushed past to aid Nerum, who was beset by two riders aiming to encircle him. His longsword flashed, and a horse wailed its death cries. With a crash of armor and flailing hooves, horse and rider plunged into the snow.

His companion turned on Aranthir and drew a wheellock pistol from his saddle. A third man charged in, one of those who had fled the initial ambush and now came galloping down on Aranthir unexpectedly. Aranthir darted aside, narrowly missing a sword blade aimed for his head. He came up again and found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

He froze. The man on the other end of the weapon pulled the trigger. The wheel spun and sparked, but there was nothing more. Aranthir recovered his wits quickly and slashed his blade down at the man's hand. He caught the man at the wrist and clove through his quilted sleeve. The hand and pistol fell into the snow, the man screamed, and blood sprayed across the snow.

Grievously wounded, the man slumped in the saddle. Nerum appeared to plunge a blade into the man's side with a grim smile.

The others had seen enough. Five men remained, and all turned tailed to run. Aranthir retrieved his bow from where it lay in the trees and loosed three shafts after them. One struck home felled a horse, but the others escaped unharmed.

"Damn, they're getting away!" Nerum roared. "You three, mount up and go after him!"

Vyna and Alssa emerged from the woods, approaching apprehensively as they studied the carnage. Two of Nerum's men were down, and five of their enemies lay beside them. Blood from both horses and men painted the snow in garish patterns.

Under a dead horse, the man with a broken leg moaned and attracted Vyna's attention. She stood over the horse and looked down into his eyes. He laughed, then choked and spit up blood. Alssa stepped past her and tore Vyna's dagger from its sheath.

"Wait," Aranthir called, but the handmaiden ignored him. Kneeling beside the man, she stabbed him in the neck just above his gorget. As Kanaron took him, the dying man stared hate into her eyes and Alssa stared the same back at him.

"Damn, I wanted one alive," Aranthir growled.

A groan from his opposite side distracted him. It was one of Nerum's men, on his knees in the snow and clutching a wound to his stomach. Aranthir knelt beside him.

"How bad is it?" the man asked with clenched teeth. Aranthir gently pulled his hands aside and inspected the wound.

"Bad," he replied after a moment. "Hold still. Ladies, get the red bag from my horse. This man needs healing."

After a moment, Vyna emerged from the woods carrying his medicine bag. Alssa lurked behind her, looking anxiously at the road where the pursuers had run off as she clutched her strip of cloth.

"We can't linger here," said one of the guardsmen.

"You want to leave your friend to die then?" Aranthir shot back.

"Do what you can," said Nerum. "We'll find a priest or a peasant and leave him with them. Once you're mended, come and find us."

The wounded man nodded his assent as Aranthir went to work. "Keep an eye out for them," the half-elf commanded as he worked. "They might come back."

He did what he could for the man, patching up his wounds, applying a poultice, and giving him a little something for the pain. Had he some spice, Aranthir could have returned the man to fighting condition with a ritual. Winter's scarcity bites deep this year, he thought darkly.

Nerum led the man's horse back to him, having rigged a simple travois from discarded branches.

"This should suffice to get him to the next village, though I'll warn you, Gwynas, it won't be comfortable."

"Comfort, ha," he laughed. "I'd shove a hot iron up my ass if it staved off Kanaron for another day. Tie me in and don't lose me, Nerum. You've got debts to pay."

"Live to fight another day, my friend." Nerum and the others tied Gwynas to the travois as the three men returned with their prisoner. They cast him into the blood-stained snow in front of Vyna, hands bound.

"How many of you are there?" Vyna demanded. The man spat at her feet.

"Rot in Tarnilaen's clutches, ungrateful wench. Your father will peel the skin from your back when he catches you."

"How many men has he set to find me?" Vyna pressed. Behind her, Alssa looked at the man with barely disguised fear. Strange, Aranthir thought, she fears the bound man, but kills the dying? The prisoner laughed again.

"How many men does he have? He has set them all against you to stop your betrayal."

"That's all I needed to know. Nerum, be done with this and let us ride."

"Wait," Aranthir commanded as Nerum stepped up to deliver the execution. Aranthir turned to the prisoner. "How did you find us?"

"The duke's spies are everywhere," the prisoner replied. "You won't make it far."

"Nerum," Aranthir called as he stepped away. Behind him he heard the wet slap of a sword through flesh, then the thudding of a head falling into the snow. Vyna closed her eyes and breathed deep, Alssa looked relieved.

"Mount up," the lady called.

Gwynas and the dead man were left with a village aldorman a mile away and the depleted company resumed their journey. Aranthir, Nerum, Vyna, Alssa, and the four remaining guards rode hard to the north throughout the midday, but Aranthir found time to pull alongside Vyna and question her.

"You are the Lord Protector's daughter," he accused, and she tightened her jaw.

"I am, though I do him no loyalty as such."

"Why? Why does he send his own men to kill you?"

"Kill me?" Vyna laughed, "No, he sends them to catch me. My mother is recently dead, and I now own her estates. Vast estates, you see, and my father's grip on the ailing king has grown weak of late. He seeks to marry me to his closest ally and tighten his grip on the kingdom."