Chapter 4:

  An Auspicious Beginning

  “Is everyone ready?” the Prince asked.

  Ean held his breath. It must have been the fifteenth time the Prince had asked that question. Each time, there’d been a problem. Flora’s pack split open. Roarke’s saddle needed to be tightened. One of Leo’s reins snapped. Chadwick wanted to use the privy one more time. Ean turned to Asali. It was her turn to cause a delay, wasn’t it? To his surprise, she was looking at him, her dark eyes making the same accusation.

  “Roarke,” Aldine called, stepping out from the lodge. “A word?”

  Roarke handed his reins to Asali and jogged over to the Mage.

  Ean huffed in irritation. He wasn’t eager to partake of the quest, but if they never left, it would never be over. He wasn’t alone in his restlessness. Chadwick bounced on his toes. Flora checked her pack for the third time. Leo glanced at the sun and frowned. The Prince had wanted to leave at dawn; it was easily two hours past.

  Ean glanced over at the Mage, who was whispering something into Roarke’s ear. From the carefully stoic expression on the ex-general’s face, it wasn’t anything good. His eyes cut to Ean’s. His mouth tightened. So, Aldine was telling Roarke about his attempt to kill the Prince. Ean flipped him a rude gesture and didn’t miss the way Roarke looked back at Aldine, eyebrows raised. She shrugged.

  “My herbs!” Flora exclaimed. She took off running for the lodge. Asali muttered a curse.

  Roarke returned to the group. Flora took another moment to appear, clutching a small satchel and offering breathless apologies.

  “Anyone need anything else?” Leo asked. His voice was mild, but Ean spotted the tension in his shoulders.

  No one answered the Prince’s question. The silence carried for a couple of beats. Ean exhaled in relief.

  The Prince’s sigh was more audible. “Let’s move out.”

  Chadwick let out a whoop and swung himself up onto his saddle. His horse snorted and pranced in place, matching his enthusiasm. Ean’s horse was a quieter animal, for which he was grateful. He wasn’t much of a rider. Owning a horse was expensive, and shadow-walkers didn’t make that kind of money. It was more practical to rent a horse for short trips or join a caravan for a longer journey.

  The Prince urged his horse off at a trot and the others followed, falling into some semblance of order. Chadwick rode at the Prince’s side with Asali behind them, leading one of the packhorses. Flora and Roarke were next, Roarke leading the second packhorse. Ean was content to fall to the rear and ride alone. It let him keep an eye on the group. It also meant he didn’t have to do a lot of active steering. He gave the reins plenty of slack and let the horse follow the others.

  It took them the rest of the morning to ride out of the Red Hills. In the afternoon, they reached the main road leading north and rode straight into a rainstorm. When it showed no signs of stopping, Roarke called for camp to be made early. The tents were quickly set up—small, water-proof tarps strung over flexible rods. Ean immediately crawled inside, eager to be out of the storm. When he stretched out, his head and feet brushed the front and back of the tent. The ceiling was too low to sit up straight. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but there was no point complaining—everyone had the same accommodations. It was a bit of a surprise, really. He’d thought a prince would demand preferential treatment.

  It rained the next day. And the next as well. The road turned to mud beneath them, slowing their pace to a crawl. Ean shivered atop his horse and wondered if the rain was an ill-omen for the journey’s success. Not that he believed in omens, but it was supposed to be a three-day ride to their first stop, the village of Colburn. Instead, it took them five.

  The sky finally cleared as they reached the village, a modest-sized town surrounded by open farmland, though the recent rain had turned the fields into swamps. Dozens of workers dotted the landscape, trying to plow the mire into something more farmable.

  Roarke led the group past the gate to skirt around the village wall. They’d originally planned to spend the night in Colburn, but now the consensus was to push on and make up for lost time. Ean hadn’t been asked, but he would have voted to keep traveling as well. The sooner the trip was over, the sooner he could go home.

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  The road was busier outside of Colburn. Nearby farmers and homesteaders took advantage of the break in the weather to travel into town. Families squished together on carts and wagons piled high with food and livestock to sell at the market. Ean prodded his horse to move closer to the group. More people meant more threats, and his life was tied to the Prince’s.

  Leo abruptly stopped his horse. Ean immediately reined in, head swiveling for danger, but there wasn’t any. There was just a small cart in the middle of the road. It was stuck; its wheels sunk halfway into the mud. A farmer pushed at the back. His wife, a tiny slip of a woman, was at their pony’s head, urging her to pull harder. Ean watched, baffled, as the Prince swung off his horse and joined the man at the back. The farmer’s jaw dropped open in surprise. Well-dressed traveling parties weren’t known to be generous with their help. Once the Prince started pushing, Chadwick jumped down as well and they had the cart free in a matter of minutes. The farmer and his wife were profuse in their thanks. The woman grabbed a jar of honey from the cart and urged Leo take it. The Prince accepted with a deep bow, wished them well, and then swung back onto his horse.

  He was filthy now, his hands and tunic mud-stained, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed ridiculously pleased with himself; so pleased in fact, that they only traveled another hundred paces before he stopped to help pull a donkey from a mud pit. And then a cart full of hay that had lost a wheel.

  “Leo, if we keep stopping, we’ll never get anywhere,” Asali said, voice faintly reproving.

  The Prince shrugged and regained his mount. “They needed help.”

  It was an honorable sentiment, Ean supposed, but it was hardly an effective use of their time. He checked the position of the sun and sighed. At this rate, they’d be gone two years, not two months.

  They rode a scant two hundred paces before coming across another cart in distress. It had been completely overturned; vegetables spilled out over the muddy road. A wagon full of bleating goats was stopped beside it and several large men, herders by the look of them, were gathered around. Ean had one moment of relief. Surely the Prince wouldn’t stop when there was already plenty of assistance. But then he noticed the posture of the herders. Their shoulders were squared, chests puffed. One leveled his crook at the owner of the vegetable cart. These men hadn’t stopped to help. There was a fight brewing—and the Prince was riding into the thick of it.

  Ean kicked his horse faster, hoping to intercept, but Leo was already dismounting. Chadwick followed. The five herders had partially surrounded the farmer. Ean wasn’t surprised when the Prince stepped to his side.

  “It seems you could use some help with your cart,” Leo announced loudly. “If your friends are too busy, mine can assist.” He gestured at the rest of the group.

  It was a skilled diplomatic move: the Prince had offered his aid to the victim while displaying his strength to the aggressors. Ean would have been more impressed if he’d ignored the conflict altogether. Citizens of remote towns didn’t appreciate outsiders butting into their business, especially outsiders as well-to-do as they looked.

  The herders glared. Some of them shifted their grip on their crooks. Ean could see knives at their belts, no swords among them, but they’d do enough damage without. Leo had a sword at his hip, but it didn’t seem to cow them. Ean dismounted as the lead herder stepped towards Leo.

  “Best that you leave this man to us,” he said, gesturing at the farmer. “He all but ran our wagon off the road.”

  The herder was lying. The farmer’s small cart wouldn’t be capable of running a chicken off the road.

  The Prince had the good sense not to argue that detail though. “It’s his cart in distress now,” he said simply.

  “That’s one of the consequences of poor driving.”

  Ean handed his reins to Roarke. The general’s eyes flicked between the two parties, but he didn’t seem inclined to intervene.

  “One consequence is enough,” Leo said. “Feel free to be on your way.”

  Ean winced. Leo had just dismissed the herders, a statement that stank of nobility. It went down as well as he thought it would. One called out a curse, a few others began muttering. Their leader took another step forward, crossing his arms.

  Ean wasn’t worried about the leader. He looked willing to talk or, at the very least, trade insults. Trouble, if it came, would come from the youngster in the back. He was tall, but with gangly limbs that said it was a new growth. A few straggly hairs sprouted from his upper lip, the only signs of facial hair on him. His eyes were bright at the prospect of a fight. His hand rested on the knife tucked into his belt. Ean doubted he’d ever seen a real fight before. He’d never seen an ill-timed blow cause a permanent injury; never seen a man accidentally killed in what was supposed to be barnyard brawl.

  Ean circled the group, keeping his steps slow and smooth, passing behind the wagon and coming up behind the herders. They didn’t notice. They were too focused on the argument. Leo came off pretentious, his words too formal and placating, and the farmer, now that he’d found himself with backup, grew emboldened, insisting that the herders pay for the damages to his cart.

  The lead herder stepped towards the farmer.

  Leo moved between them, arms outstretched. “We’re all friends here.”

  “Get on your fancy horse and fuck off,” another herder said, shoving his crook towards the Prince.

  Chadwick shoved the crook back.

  It happened quickly, like Ean knew it would. The man swung a fist at Chadwick, who dodged and returned the blow. The herder jabbed with his staff, catching him in the gut.

  Ean didn’t care about that—he had his eyes on the youngster. As soon as the boy saw his friend swing, he lunged forward, drawing his knife.