“Orgoru!” Ciletha gasped. “To say such things about your parents!” Then curiosity overcame her: “What are you?”
“Tonight, listening to the minstrel, it all became clear to me-I’m a prince, sent to be raised in secret where my parents’ enemies would never think to look for me—among peasants! He even told me my proper name—the Prince of Paradime!”
“He did?” Ciletha stared. “When did he say that?”
“Early on, when he had just begun to talk! And he must be a courier in disguise, sent by my true family, for he even told me where to find my own kind—in the Lost City in the forest!”
“The Lost Place!” Ciletha gasped. “But Orgoru—he said it was filled with ghosts!”
“Oh, that was for the lack-wits.” Orgoru didn’t even try to hide his contempt. “The courier knew full well that those were no ghosts the woodcutter had heard, knew that if he had climbed a tree by that wall, he would have seen actual lords and ladies dancing!”
“How could he have known that?” Ciletha asked, eyes huge. “Does that matter?” Orgoru demanded with a flash of irritation. “He knew, or should have—that’s enough. Of that I’m sure, completely sure! That story of a man who overheard the ghosts—bah! I’m not taken in, like the rest of these clod-heads. It wasn’t a woodcutter who found the city and heard the lords and ladies—it was the minstrel himself, and they brought him in and made him their courier to me! I’ve heard that tale he told before, only it was about the Little People who are supposed live within the Hollow Hills, and now and again take a human prisoner to watch their feasting and dancing, then give him so much wine that he falls asleep and wakes up outside the hill twenty years later! No, I’m no fish, to take such bait and let it hook my soul! I know what I know!”
“Why, the tales are somewhat alike,” Ciletha said in surprise, “though the minstrel didn’t say he’d gone into the city and seen the gh—them.”
“He couldn’t very well, could he? Letting everyone know why he was really here! No, he came to give me the message in secret, and knows I’ve found it! I’m going to find that Lost City, Ciletha, and be with my own kind of people at last!”
“Will the magistrate give you leave?” she asked in wonder. “Magistrate? Bah! What right has he to interfere with a prince born?”
“Orgoru!” Ciletha gasped. “You don’t mean to run away?”
“I shall escape the prison of this village!” Orgoru shouted. “They have no right to hold me! I’ll go this very night!”
“But the punishment—” Ciletha protested.
“Punishment? Bah! What matters their chain and labor when I’ve endured it all my life? Surely they can’t hold a prince of the blood royal, or find him if he doesn’t wish it! No, I must go now—now, for the magistrate and his hounds won’t dream I’d go so quickly!”
“Tonight?” Ciletha stood a moment in shock, then all at once threw herself upon him, clutching Orgoru’s tunic and pleading, her face turned up to his. “Oh, Orgoru, take me with you! I would never have the courage to go by myself, but with you I dare! Maybe you’re right, maybe you do have some charm that will keep you safe from them!”
“You come with me?” Orgoru stared, taken aback. “But, Ciletha, this is your home, you’ve been happy here!”
“Not since Father died last winter!”
“Yes, the poor soul, pining away for your mother!” Orgoru muttered. “Why, he didn’t outlive her by a year!” They’d been one of the very few couples he’d seen who were really, truly, in love.
“But now that he’s dead, the magistrate has warned me that I’m going to have to marry soon, or he’ll choose a husband for me!”
“Choose one for you!” The faces of Tan and Bork flashed before Orgoru’s eyes—the ugliest boys in the village, who would surely never find wives by themselves. “No, Ciletha, that mustn’t be!”
“The magistrate says Father’s house is too big for one woman alone, and that no woman can be trusted with his wealth—but I know that none of the boys are attracted to me for myself. Oh, they treat me politely, but only because Althea and Shara are my friends, and all the boys hope to win them someday,”
“But they’d marry you if the magistrate made them, and gladly, too, since house and money would go with you.” Yes, he thought, then treat you like a dog they had to keep but didn’t like. Gentle Ciletha, kind Ciletha, shackled to a brute who would make her life one long torment!
“I don’t want them!” It was almost a wail—would have been if Ciletha had dared raised her voice. “I don’t want any man who doesn’t love me! They can have the house, they can have the money, so long as they leave me my heart!” Her hands tightened in his tunic again. “Oh, please, Orgoru, take me with you! I’ve been aching to leave the village—there has to be some life better than this! Ever since the magistrate told me I’d have to marry a man who despises me, I’ve been in a panic to escape! But I’ve been terrified to try—even if the bailiff and his foresters didn’t catch me, there are highwaymen and forest bandits—and men who’d be honest enough at home, but who might want to take advantage of a woman traveling alone. With you beside me, though, only the outlaws would be a threat. I’d have no chance by myself, but with you I just might!”
Well, what could Orgoru say? The one person in the village who had been willing to talk with him, to be his friend, to see some good in him? How could he leave her to misery? “Well, two might have a better chance than one.”
“Oh, thank you, Orgoru!” Ciletha threw her arms about him and hugged him close. “Oh, thank you, thank you! You won’t be sorry!”
Orgoru put an arm around her, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t be sorry indeed—for two might stand a better chance than one alone, but they also might stand worse.
The dogs bayed in Miles’s dream, huge dogs with flabby dewlaps, long ears, and sad eyes, sad that they must chase the fox, though their voices rang with the delight of the hunt. The poor fox ran panting and trembling with weariness, blown and on the verge of collapse, but it didn’t wear a fox’s long nose, it wore Miles’s face, and as he looked back at the dogs, he saw that the foremost bore the magistrate’s face, contorted with anger, mouth yawning wide to show long, pointed teeth…
With a shudder, Miles came awake, thrashing about in panic for a minute, then realizing that the firm walls about him were made of hay. He went limp, burying his face in his arm, trying to put the nightmare aside, but it wouldn’t rest, the dogs’ howling still echoed in his head…
And in the rest of the world too. He finally realized that he was really hearing them, though their voices were faint and distant. The hunt! He scrambled out of the haystack, heart thudding, and saw with a sinking heart that he had slept the night through, and that the sun burned on the horizon. It was dawn, very early dawn, but he was lost if he couldn’t find some fortress, some safe bolt-hole for hiding. He set off down the gravel path, pulse thudding in his ears, hoping that he would come to a main road, where his scent might be lost in the thousands that lay upon the stones, where he himself might find a crowd in which to lose himself…
He found it. Panting and disheveled but with his staff still in his hand, he hurried down the cobbles, trying to catch up with a dozen travelers ahead.
Then he heard the voice behind him. “Slow down, lad! What’s your hurry?”
The voice sounded so friendly that Miles looked back, hope leaping high—and falling into a pit. The friendly face topped a soldier’s livery, and the huge man beside him wore the same. Miles turned and ran.
“Ho! We mean no harm!” But if they didn’t, why were the heavy boots thudding closer and closer behind, why was the huge heavy hand catching Miles’s shoulder, whirling him about—