The Iron Prince

"And you would rule alone? Or marry someone else?"

"Indeed," she replied, "My father thinks for himself, not for me. I will make my own way."

"And what way would that be?" inquired Aranthir. Vyna smiled slightly and set her jaw.

"North," she replied. Aranthir shook his head and laughed to himself.

They passed through more miles of open countryside without incident and soon enough came to a bridge over the Prasny River, a tributary of the Balatonn. Aranthir, in the lead again, stopped his mount as the bridge came into view.

"Damn, the Lord Protector is one step ahead of us again," he called back to the others. They rode up alongside him and stared ahead to where the wooden bridge spanned the river. A score or so of armored men and archers waited at the bridge, a wagon turned across the near side of the bridge to block it.

"How does he know?" Aranthir muttered.

"He doesn't have to," Nerum replied grimly. "He has enough men to block all the paths. He then sends out search parties and herds us into his traps, like deer into a killing field."

"We must go around if we cannot go through," Vyna said quietly, her cool blue eyes searching upriver for another crossing or ferry. To the south lurked the dark treetops of the Blackreach Swamp. Gnarled branches, bare in winter, reached up from its depths like skeletal hands clawing at the sky. Aranthir felt the foreboding of the place even from this far off.

"It's no use," Alssa whined, "this half-blood has led us astray! We'll never make it to Pegia now."

"Have hope, girl," Aranthir replied, "We may be able to find us a ferryman to let us cross somewhere else."

"It will have to be soon," Nerum said, extending a hand to point back the way they had come. Another company of riders had crested the hill behind them, a dozen or more lance heads bobbing against the sky.

"Damn, always on our heels," Aranthir growled.

"They've got us trapped!" Alssa wailed, "this elf has betrayed us!" She leveled a finger at Aranthir, her eyes wild. Aranthir batted it away.

"Cease your whining! We must ride south, toward the swamp!"

Alssa's eyes widened further. "I'm not going in there! There's things in there I would not prefer to the duke's torturers!"

"We have a better chance of surviving the swamp than those men," Aranthir replied. "Once they spot us, the guards at the bridge will join in and that will be the end of us. Now come on!"

Without waiting for a reply, he turned his horse east and rode for the swamp. Behind him, he heard the hoofbeats of the others as they followed soon after.

He took a winding road, darting through thickets and backtracking over ground he had already covered to confound his pursuers as best he could until at last, as darkness closed in, he brought them to the edge of the Blackreach Swamp.

The waning rays of the sun played long shadows over the crooked trees as they dismounted where the ground grew soft. Foul odors reached their nostrils, and Alssa coughed as she covered her nose.

"This place is foul," she whispered harshly, "We never should have come here."

"Calm yourself, Alssa," Vyna soothed, "We will manage."

"We should get inside far enough to be out of sight," Aranthir suggested. He took his horse's reins in one hand and drew his sword in the other.

"This is what we get for trusting an elf," Alssa hissed, "And a half-blood at that."

"Alssa, hold your tongue," Vyna snapped.

"The elf has not led us astray yet," Nerum added.

"Not led us astray? What do you call this! I can hardly think of a place more astray than this swamp! No, your people are treacherous!"

"Alssa!" Vyna seized her servant by the arm and shook her. "Keep your mouth shut, or I'll have you beaten."

Alssa said no more, but shot hateful glares at both Vyna and Aranthir. Aranthir pointed into the swamp undeterred.

"We'll find a patch of dry ground in there. No fires, the lights will draw things to us. Stay quiet and don't disturb the water. We'll be through it tomorrow and then on to Pegia."

Their camp was cold and sullen. Aranthir ate his meal of bread and cheese in silence. Alssa sulked at the edge of their little island in the swamp while Vyna huddled close between Nerum and Aranthir for warmth.

"Are you always so fortunate?" Vyna asked, and Aranthir stopped mid-bite to think of a response. She did not wait and continued. "I saw that man tried to kill you with a pistol. Nine times out of ten, the pistol would have worked, and you would be dead."

"They can be unreliable weapons," Aranthir responded evasively.

"They can be, but it is little solace to the thousands killed by them. But you, you were lucky. First to chance across a man at an inn who paid you to retrieve me, then to reach the Balatonn unmolested, then the pistol, then the chase to the swamp... You would appear to have the favor of the gods."

"Hmph," Aranthir responded, "You would not think it to see the other things I've been through."

"But you've made it through them."

"I have. I was trained by the best swordsmen in Tirannion. My father was a wealthy man and saw to it that I was tutored in swordsmanship, warfare, fieldcraft, sorcery, and intrigue by the finest available teachers."

"A wealthy man? How is it that you came to be a wanderer as you are?" Vyna inquired. Aranthir sighed. He was not sure he wanted to answer.

"Perhaps the same way as you. I did not want what my father had for me. I chose my own way."

Vyna laughed bitterly to herself. "I did not choose this on my own. My father had his hand in it, or so I suspect." Vyna's teeth chattered as a cold wind blew through the swamp, carrying with it yet more foul smells. "My mother is the Duchess Upesta. Or was... Three weeks ago, she was out riding and her horse was spooked by something and threw her off. She broke her neck and died that night. Now I am heiress to her estates, the largest in the kingdom save for those of my father and the king himself."

"Were you close with your mother?"

"Moreso than my father. He has always had both hands in the court and neither at home. But there is more than that. All the men out riding with her when she fell were men close to him. She had a groom that served her father before her and would never let anyone else touch her horses. But the morning she set out, he was suddenly ill and someone else prepared the horse. The first time in thirty years someone else sees to the horses, and she dies."

"And this someone else was one of your father's men."

"You don't need a Tirannion tutelage in intrigue to see the plot. Now my father seeks to marry me to his closest ally, a man twice widowed and nearly thrice my age. I will not have it."

"I see," Aranthir replied. The man in the inn made more sense now. The Lord Protector's reputation did not preclude a man who would kill to gain more estates. Vyna's suitor put himself in grave danger by courting her hand. "There will be a wedding in Pegia."

"Indeed. A wedding that will create a new power in the kingdom, one that might unite the lord's slipping from my father's grip."

"Bloodshed will result," Aranthir stated grimly. Noblemen never gave up power willingly.

"Bloodshed has already resulted. But this time, I will win."

"You speak too much," Alssa muttered from across the camp. "This half-blood elf is a mercenary, loyal only to gold and with the treacherous blood of his people. Do not give away your plans my lady, for once he has his gold, he will turn right round and sell you back to your father."

"Your tongue will make us a new enemy if you carry on like that, Alssa," Vyna shot back. "Aranthir has served us well so far."

Alssa scowled, her thin eyebrows furrowing on her long face as she played with her length of cloth. It had been torn somewhere along the way and frayed strands floated in the night breeze. She set her strong jaw and whispered something under her breath. The others left her to it, but Aranthir heard the curse she muttered.

"Someone's coming," Nerum whispered. Aranthir followed his gaze to a light bobbing its way toward them through the swamp. "A strange torch," he mused. "And all alone?"

"Perhaps a peasant," one of the guardsmen suggested, "Out looking for peat or a lost dog?"

"There's another!" Vyna whispered with alarm. Aranthir saw that it was true, for a second light appeared some ways behind the first. He sat up from his seat and drew his blade.

"Quietly," he hissed, "Stay low and out of sight."

Nerum and another guardsman prowled forward, their weapons drawn. Aranthir signaled to them in the faint moonlight, directing Nerum out to the left and the other guardsman to take the middle while Arathir covered the right.

"Get close and see who it is. But stay out of the water," he hissed and then went about his way. He checked over his shoulder to see that the women were safe with the last three guardsmen, then went forward into the depths of the swamp. Creeping closer through the swamp, Aranthir ran over in his mind the list of monsters that might lurking beneath the murky waters. Northern Saeclar was too cold for stranglevines, but the climate was right for a hydra lair and in every swamp there was always the threat of the unburied dead. He whispered a spell of warding as he advanced.

The light floated eerily forward, then stopped dead. It seemed to rotate and though it was merely a point of light in the darkness, Aranthir felt that it, or perhaps a face beneath it, was staring right at him. He shrank lower in the thin brush.

To his left, he saw the guardsman approaching slowly, his neck craned forward as he stared into the darkness. He was nearly upon the light, Aranthir realized, when suddenly it winked out. Far in the distance, a new light appeared, its cold white rays flickering through the trees.

"Get back," Aranthir hissed, but the guardsman did not hear him. He crept forward toward the second light, now drifting toward where its companion had disappeared. Aranthir stole forward as speedily as he dared, for the guardsman was now drawing close to the light.

"Get back!" Aranthir called again, louder now for the light was almost upon him. The guardsman looked back to him in surprise and the light darted forward to sit directly overhead. The man looked up and both lights winked out. There was only darkness.

Aranthir reached the spot where he had seen the guardsman disappear, but there was nothing there but cold, murky water.

Nerum burst through the brush next to him. "Where did he go?"

Aranthir was at a loss. "He's gone."

"What are those things?" Nerum demanded, eyes wildly searching the dark swamp for any sign of his man.

"Will-o'-wisps," Aranthir murmured, "they haunt the swamps to draw curious wanderers to their deaths."

"Deaths? So he's gone?"

"Aye, I'm afraid." He grabbed Nerum by the shoulder and looked hard into his eyes. "Enki willing, we will be through this swamp before another nightfall, but you must impress upon the others. Don't go toward the lights."

Nerum nodded, but he was clearly rattled by the experience. Slowly, they stole back to camp. When questioned on their missing companion, all Aranthir had to offer was a grim shake of his head. Aranthir kept a watch all night, but the guardsman did not return.

Morning came early to the swamp, rudely awakening them on the cold, muddy ground where they spent the night. Aranthir was already awake, still vainly searching for any sign of their missing companion. The others rose sullenly and ate a meager meal before striking the camp and falling in behind Aranthir as he cut a path through the swamp.

Alssa was staring hatefully at him, her ire still as hot as it had been the night before. Aranthir did his best to put it from his mind and concentrate on the task ahead. The blizzard was now three days gone and the air had begun to warm. All over the swamp, snow melted in black rivulets, ice cracked, and the crunch of melting snow resounded. Water dripped on them from the treetops, one frigid claw of it reaching down Aranthir's collar to crawl down his back.

With one hand on his horse's reigns, Aranthir pressed through the swamp's thick brush. He endeavored not to leave a trail, but the imprints of feet and hooves in the mud and snow made things difficult. The swamp was unfamiliar ground to him and, with no road to follow, he was forced to rely on the sun's position for a guide.

Aranthir hoped to reach the swamp's northeastern corner, where the Prasny joined the Balatonn, and from there catch a boat across the river. If need be, he would swim it, though he disliked his chances in midwinter, and his charges were unlikely to make it.

The others were struggling in the rough ground of the swamp. Vyna's ermine had become stained with swamp water, with Alssa insisted on taking the long way round most obstacles so as to keep her clothes clean. She sneered at each of Aranthir's suggestions and defied his exhortations to keep moving. It was as she was riding a hundred yards out of their way to avoid a narrow path between two bubbling pits that Aranthir's patience grew thin.

"Perhaps we should leave her for the beasts of the swamp," he muttered, loud enough for Alssa to hear even as she crossed the far end of her detour. The handmaid's head snapped around to glare at him and she nudged her horse to a faster pace. Eyes aflame, she bore down on Aranthir haughtily, one hand on her reins and the other at her belt.

"You have only yourself to blame, half-blood, for my trust in your guidance has grown thin indeed."

"Your trust in me was stillborn, my lady," Aranthir remarked acidly. He stifled a smirk as he saw Alssa heading for a low-hanging branch, apparently unaware.

"I confer as much trust in a half-blood whelp like as I---" she cut off she ran face first into the branch. It bent and snapped back, sweeping her hood off her head and marking her long face with white lines where it had cut her but failed to break the skin. Alssa swatted furiously at the branch, as angry as she was confused. Behind him, Aranthir heard Nerum snort as he stifled a laugh.

"Eyes forward, my lady," Aranthir teased.

"Enough!" Alssa screamed. "I have no more patience for you!"

"Well, will you be going your own way?" Aranthir mocked.

"Alssa," Vyna pleaded, "calm down, you'll draw the whole of Blackreach down on us like that."

"To the Depths with this place! To the Depths with all of you!" Alssa wheeled her horse about to flee and stopped suddenly. Aranthir's hand went to his sword.

"Get back!" he cried, and Vyna was pushed behind a wall of her guardsmen. Through the trees, they could see armored men approaching. At Aranthir's shout, the men halted and burst into action.

Aranthir drew his bow and nocked an arrow. "Nerum, safeguard the women, I'll get around them and put some arrows through their weak points. Hold this narrow path through the water!"

Nerum nodded grimly, sword in hand, for he could see the enemy's number. A dozen men were dismounted, all in armor and carrying swords, axes, and halberds. Aranthir ducked away into the woods.

"My lady!" shouted one of the men, a tall man in plate armor and a tabard emblazoned with a red eagle on gold. "Stop this foolishness! Your father bid me bring you home!"

Vyna made no response, instead sheltering behind her guards as best she could.

"We've got thrice your numbers," the man continued. At his side, his men arrayed themselves in a line, visors lowered and weapons raised.

"Go home to my father, Sir Vedan," Vyna called back. "Tell him he will answer for my mother's death."

"Lady Vyna, this is madness. Your father is a good man, such a murder is beyond him entirely."

"No more words," Vyna replied, though a tremor had crept into her voice. "Turn back now, or this will get worse."

"We've followed you into the Blackreach this far, I'll not turn around without you. Come on, before someone gets killed."

Aranthir let his arrow loose. It streaked across the swamp and pierced a man-at-arms just below his shoulder. He cried out and fell to the side, splashing into the dark waters and showering his companions with filthy droplets. Sir Vedan slammed his visor shut and stabbed his sword toward Nerum.

"Kill the guards, bring me the duke's daughter!" his men surged forward with a roar. Aranthir loosed another arrow, this time aiming for the inner thigh of a man in plate. His arrow struck off the outer thigh of the man's opposite leg, Aranthir bit off a curse and nocked another arrow.

Vedan's men-at-arms stormed across the narrow land bridge in the swamp and were met at the far side by grim faces and flashing swords. The bridge was narrow enough that only one man could cross at a time, and upon reaching the other side, he was set upon by three foes before he could clear the way for those behind him. The first man to cross was quickly driven back onto the causeway where he jostled with the others and nearly sent one of them into the water.

Aranthir loosed another arrow, this one speeding into the gorget of a man-at-arms. The man winced as the shot struck off his neck, but was unhurt. Nerum stepped forward and gave the lead man a hefty shove. He spilled backwards into the water with a heavy splash. As he flailed about and tried to extricate himself, the man behind him closed on Nerum. Vyna's stalwart captain clashed against his opposite and sparks flew from their blades.

Aranthir's next arrow struck another man in the side, piercing his mail and arming doublet below the arm. This arrow went deep enough to slay him instantly, and the man toppled over and plunged into the swampy water on the far side of the causeway. Sir Vedan wheeled about to look for the source of the arrow. His eyes locked onto Aranthir's position and he bellowed to the two rearmost men-at-arms to follow. Visors lowered, they broke from the causeway fight to hunt Aranthir in the trees.

He shouldered his bow and, longsword in hand, moved to meet them atop a small rise in the earth, hemmed in on either side by bare thickets so that they could not surround him. Vedan came first, wielding a gilt sword with a ruby in the pommel, and behind him came two men-at-arms in half-plate and bascinet helms.

Aranthir was outmatched, he knew. Three against one and in heavy armor, it was a mere matter of time before they overcame his superior speed and brought him down. So, as he moved to meet them, he swallowed a vial of spice from his belt. The spice surged through him, and he felt his skin crawl with lightning and his eyes dilate. His vision sharpened and his pace quickened. Veritably glowing with power, he summitted the small rise and stared down at Vedan and the others.

They came onward, heedless of his sorcery. The first man, wearing a yellow brigandine coat, thrust at Aranthir's legs with his glaive. A second man circled out to one side, brushing up against the thicket, and attempted to split Aranthir's skull with his battleaxe. Aranthir deftly aside from both strikes, right into Vedan's sword stroke. The point of his blade stabbed against Aranthir's armor, but blunted by the cloth padding and turned aside by the iron beneath, it left him unharmed.

Called upon his sorcerous talents, Aranthir set his blade aflame. Their faces tightened and eyes went wide as he now took to the attack. His blade burning an arc in front of him, Aranthir drove his foes back and darted to and fro, fending off an attack by the axe, then turning aside a thrust of the glaive. He attacked to his right, pushing Vedan back against the thicket, then broke to his left and assailed the axe-wielding man.

He kept all three of them off-balance, his blade searching for an opening through which he might even the numbers. Soon enough, he found it, and cut down the man with the axe. The man's tabard blazed with sorcerous fire, and he fell to the dirt. No blood poured from the cauterized wound. The man with the glaive blanched at him companion's demise, and hesitated. He was saved from death by Vedan, come came rushing in from Aranthir's side, but still retreated half a step as Aranthir battled the knight.