She waded across a shallow stream. Several dead bodies lay on the forest floor. Vrell identified two Kingsguards and a half dozen poroo without having to look too closely. A steep hill rose up before her. She climbed it, heading in the direction she sensed the soldier. She wove around briarberry bushes and grappled for tufts of grass to pull herself up the incline, but the mist had dampened her hands and she slid backward every few steps.
Pain shot through her skull. She cowered in a briarberry bush, clutching her temples. The soldier was close, debilitating her with the pressure of his untamed bloodvoice.
She concentrated on closing her mind, something she had never needed to do simply to keep from experiencing pain. The pressure eased some, and she crawled to the top of the ridge and peeked over.
Shrouded in fog, a Kingsguard soldier fought two poroo in a small clearing, his movements quick but careful.
Vrell darted behind an oak tree to get a clearer view and clutched the scratchy bark. She had been right. The gifted one was a soldier. Younger than she had expected, but no mere boy. He was tall, strong, and wounded. Plum bruises covered his handsome face. His dark, wet hair and soggy Kingsguard cape whipped about as he swung his sword. Studded jewels on the ivory crossguard caught Vrell’s eye. He must be a noble to wield such a weapon, yet she had never seen him at court. And he’d been walking instead of riding.
Movement to the far left turned her head. Prince Gidon! The heir to the throne of Er’Rets leaned against an allown tree, watching the soldier fight. A hedge of briarberry bushes concealed him somewhat. She and the prince stood on the same ridge that sloped down the hill to the stream. He was simply further down. Vrell crouched lower, heart thudding.
Where were his distinguished guards? The mighty Shield? And why was His Highness just standing there? He was quite gifted with the sword, or so his reputation said. He could be helping the soldier fight off the poroo.
Vrell snorted. Our new and noble, lazy king.
A third poroo charged up behind the soldier.
Look out! Vrell yelled to his mind.
Scratch? The soldier spun around just in time to parry the jab of a spear. He scurried back in the pine needles, holding his sword up to his attackers. “If you’re not going to help, Your Highness,” the soldier said to the prince, “at least climb the tree. I’d hate for you to be killed. Your death would secure my own.”
Vrell’s brows shot up at his snide tone. Prince Gidon only smirked. One of the poroo charged. The soldier waited until the last moment before dodging and swinging his blade into the creature’s side. The soldier stiffened and the poroo fell at his feet.
Vrell felt his horror of having killed. He swallowed and exhaled before wrenching his blade free with a growl. His grey eyes flashed to the other two poroo. He steeled himself and stepped forward.
He could do this.
One of the poroo threw his spear. The soldier dodged it, and it sank into the soil near the prince’s briarberry bush. The soldier advanced on the weaponless man and swung into his side, severing the man’s arm above the elbow and cleaving into his torso. The soldier screamed as loud as the dying man. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected that to happen.
The other poroo, a quite tall one, darted forward and jabbed his spear at the soldier, who jerked his blade free from the dying man and spun around. With a quick swing of his sword, the soldier cracked the spear. The poroo broke it fully over his knee and held up the shortened version.
An arrow thwacked into Vrell’s tree. She jumped back. Two more arrows sank into the soil near Prince Gidon’s briarberry bush sanctuary.
Three poroo approached from behind the prince, forcing him out into the open. Vrell hoped he would be killed so someone else would be king. Then she thought better of such treasonous hope, especially if the soldier would be punished for failing to protect his future king.
She concentrated. The prince needs help.
The soldier’s head jerked to the side, taking note of how Prince Gidon skirted the bushes and the poroo chased him. The soldier, still fighting his poroo, couldn’t get away to help. He swung a few times at his tall opponent, but the man dodged every strike — until an arrow pierced him through the back. The poroo stood still for a moment, then dropped his half-spear and collapsed.
The soldier grabbed the broken weapon and sprinted for the prince, bounding over dead bodies and ignoring the arrows raining through the mist.
“Your Highness!” The soldier tossed the half-spear to the prince and attacked a poroo with his sword.
“Typical insolence.” Prince Gidon stabbed one poroo in the chest and kicked him into the other poroo attacking him. They fell. “Give your king a broken spear when you wield a sword.” He crouched and jerked the spear free, then stabbed the second poroo in the neck.
Vrell looked away.
Where were the arrows being shot from? She crouched to peer through the trees, but she could not see any archers. In fact, there were no more Kingsguards fighting in this area of the forest, though there were quite a few bodies. She could see movement in the distant east. She could hear battle cries. But where were these poroo coming from?
The answer came as she turned back to the soldier’s battle. The poroo were coming from the west. From Darkness.
The soldier dodged the thrust of his poroo attacker’s spear. He grabbed the shaft with one hand and jerked it forward. The poroo man stumbled, and the soldier cut him down.
Prince Gidon pulled the bloody spear free from his second victim and waved the weapon about. “I’ll tell you who I’d like to stab.”
Two more poroo closed in on the soldier and he raised his sword. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” The soldier moved with incredible speed, and he quickly overcame all his attackers. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and flinched at an arrow sailing past his shoulder. “Will you get in the tree, now?”
Prince Gidon pointed the spear at the young soldier. “If you were to die by this spear, everyone would think it was at the hand of the enemy.”
The soldier wiped each side of his blade on his trousers and sheathed it. “For Cetheria’s hand, get in the tree.”
The prince scowled. “But if I stabbed you, they might declare you a hero.” He threw the spear down. “And I cannot have you exalted in death.”
“Please, Your Highness.” The soldier grabbed the prince’s elbow and pulled him toward an allown tree with low branches.
“Don’t touch me, stray!”
Vrell frowned. Stray?
The soldier released the prince. “Please. Climb up.”
“I will not hide in a tree like a coward.”
“Yet you hid in the briarberry bush moments ago,” the soldier said.
Vrell smiled.
So did Prince Gidon. “I was hoping to see you killed. Alas, the gods have been thwarting my entertainment dreams of late.”
The soldier continued, “It’s my duty to protec—” He screamed.
Hot pain shot through Vrell’s lower leg. She pulled away from the soldier’s mind.
He spun around to the arrow protruding from his lower left calf. He grabbed the shaft, yanked it out with a grunt, and pitched it aside.
Vrell fortified her mind, shocked to have shared his pain so vividly.
The soldier pushed Prince Gidon toward the tree, gently at first, then harder, limping a bit. He growled through clenched teeth. “Now, Your Highness, I beg you!”
Prince Gidon pushed the soldier back. “Do not touch me!”
Arrows whooshed over the ridge and into the soil around them — they were coming from the trees! — and the soldier lost his patience. He punched Prince Gidon in the mouth, sending him stumbling back.