"Don't expect this bastard to treat you with respect," Decus told Wildas as they walked up the castle steps. "Your father has been dealing with him all your life."

Wildas nodded. "Shelton told me as much."

"He knew this was a fool's mission. Waste of time and resources, and too damn dangerous in my opinion."

"I requested this," Wildas declared, giving his uncle a sharp look. "I told you it was the only option to get me away from the dignified lords and ladies parading their sons and daughters in front of me like horses instead of people."

"Not more of this," the older man grumbled. "There isn't a single person you would even consider? Do you truly have no friends at home?"

He looked around for a guard as he answered, "No one wants to know me for who I am. All of them have the goal to seduce me and get me to marry them. It's rather annoying." He narrowed his eyes at Decus. "And last I heard you weren't married."

"I'm the Guard General. It's easier this way. I wouldn't want to leave someone behind every time I had to go escort you somewhere. I'd better get a warning to Rohan, though. If you die without an heir, he's next in line."

Wildas knew the last thing his closest brother wanted was to become Grand King. Rohan was happy knowing he was the heir to the Guard General post.

"No one said I had to be married to have an heir."

Decus snorted. "The court would love that."

That was the moment a guard chose to appear. "You're the king's man?" the burly man questioned, looking at Decus.

"I'm here to speak to Lord Varin," Wildas clarified, stepping forward.

"You?" the guard laughed. "Have you even grown whiskers yet, boy? Lord Varin doesn't need to be wasting his time with a little pup like you."

"That's your future Grand King you disrespectful scum," Decus spat, a hand on his sword as he stepped in front of Wildas again.

Wildas put his hand on his uncle's shoulder. "I'd like to speak to Varin now," he said, directing his words and his gaze to the guard.

The guard removed his hand from his own sword and opened the door. "As you wish." His voice was sarcastic.

Wildas noted how different the castle was to the one he called home. As he walked, he took note of how bare most of the walls were. Very few tapestries filled the space, and those that did showed the very castle he was in, depicted on what had once been brilliant backgrounds.

They were led to an audience chamber, where Varin sat on what was clearly a throne. Varin wasn't really sitting as much as he was lounging, though; one leg was draped over the arm of the chair while he leaned his back against the other arm, toying with a gold ring. There were no other chairs in the room.

"Ah, the spoiled princeling," Varin said with the briefest glimpse at him. "Why are you here?"

"Grand King Deandre wishes to reach an agreement that would result in the city of Arren paying its taxes to the crown. He is willing to forgive the generations of unpaid taxes if you agree to pay beginning only with last year's due. You are also respectfully requested to erect at least one temple to the worship of the gods."

Varin laughed. "You truly are wasting your time. What do I get out of handing over my money to you?"

"Protection during war. Assistance from our sorcerers and engineers for defense and infrastructure improvements. Crown-sponsored healers to train your people to better care for each other. And you remain the Earl of Arren. As you know, anyone who controls a city must provide for its people. We know that you are failing in that duty."

Varin turned to face him then, slipping the ring onto a finger. Leaning back against the throne, he looked Wildas over for a long moment, almost as if he was truly considering the offer.

"Listen, princeling. I'll tell you exactly what I've told your father several times already. If I gave in to your demands, I would be shaming all my ancestors. My several-times-great grandfather was given a grave insult by your several-times-great grandfather, and vowed to never allow Arren to be manipulated by him or his spawn again. I can't give dishonor to my line by being the one to bend to your will. We always wondered if it would come to war, and someday I'm sure it will. So, I ask, what will you do to avoid a civil war? Will you turn your pretty spoiled arse around and go home to your selfish family? My suggestion is that you do, and that you leave before nightfall tonight."

"Is that a threat?"

Varin grinned wickedly. "It isn't an invitation to dinner."

*****

"We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Coulta crouched on the climbing spikes he'd installed below the inn's window when he heard the prince's voice. Dusk was beginning to set in, and he was forced to use magic to conceal himself from passersby. He'd been hoping to get into the prince's room before he and the captain returned from dinner. Then he would wait until the captain left for the night before –

Before what?

Tonight would be the night he put all of his remaining effort into trying to disobey Varin. If he failed and the prince died, he would end his own life before going back to Varin.

"Did it truly take all day to get in touch with Shelton?" the older man was asking.

"No, it took all day for him to make a decision. He doesn't want us running away and letting Varin think he's won. He wants us to leave in the morning. He claims Brother Pelles would have seen something if there was real danger."

There was a heavy sigh. "Always consulting the damn priests about these things. There is danger. You were threatened. I'll have to watch your door all night. I'll leave the men to take care of themselves. Shut and bolt that window first."

"Who would come in the window?" His voice came closer to Coulta as he spoke until he leaned out the window. He looked straight down at Coulta, who was hidden from sight by magic, and the same puzzled look from the day before crossed his face. Then he shook his head and leaned back into the room. "Someone would have to be part spider to get in this way."

"It would add a decade to my life if you would shut and bar it anyway."

The shutters were pulled closed and Coulta heard a bar being set into place.

With the window closed, Coulta's ability to hear the occupants was almost completely cut off. He inched up higher, settling his feet on the highest climbing pegs and grasping the windowsill with both hands. Leaning his head as close to the shutters as possible, he tried to make words from the murmured voices, but it was useless. He could sit there until dawn and never know if it was safe to enter the room.

*****

"Thank you. Get some rest so we can leave at first light. I'll be guarding the door if you need me."

Wildas waved him off. "I'll be fine. But thank you," he added, giving his uncle a smile.

"You're welcome," the Prince-General replied, smiling back, "spoiled princeling."

Wildas chuckled as his uncle left, but it didn't do much to end his discomfort. He knew Varin had assassins willing to kill him, but part of him still didn't want to leave the miserable city.

He might as well go to bed, he decided. Morning would come before he knew it, and it would be time to head home.

Just as he was beginning to unbuckle his sword belt, the door opened. Wildas looked up expecting to see his uncle, and was shocked to see a complete stranger. Who would Decus have let in, without even warning Wildas that he was to have a visitor?

The stranger was dressed in black, the hood of his cloak pulled up over dark hair. As he shut the door again he smiled at Wildas, an expression made sinister by the fresh scar on his left cheek.

"Hello there, troublesome boy," the man said, pushing back the hood.

"Who are you?" He didn't like the stranger's tone, or the way he was caressing the hilt of a sword at his side.

"I suppose the doomed should be allowed to know the name of the executioner. They call me Roane."

Wildas felt sudden fear clench his heart. That had to mean... "How did you get past my guard?"

"How do you think?" Roane answered with a silky laugh.

Anger boiled up inside Wildas, destroying his fear and forestalling the heartbreak. "You bastard!" he snarled, yanking his sword from his belt and lunging.

Roane blocked his initial attack easily. "Oh how I do love a duel to the death. Always makes my job more entertaining."

Wildas attacked again and was pressed back. To his surprise, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Looking down, he saw a gash in his shirt.

"Unfortunately for you," Roane laughed, a dagger flashing in his other hand, "I duel by my own rules."

Wildas felt his feet kicked out from under him and he fell backward onto the floor. His sword flew from his hand and slid under the nearby bed. Roane towered over him, a dark agent of death poised to deliver a final blow.

Then the shutters on the window exploded inward.

*****

Coulta lunged at Roane, shoving him away. "Why are you here?"

Roane smiled. "I didn't think you could do it, so I thought I'd beat you to the task before Varin had to give the job to me in the morning. And now I can kill you, too. I'll make it look like the rotten prince there did it."

Coulta brought his sword up just in time to stop a deadly attack from Roane, and sidestepped to just barely avoid a knife cut to the side. Magic leaked into his movements without him even trying to use it, allowing him to shove Roane back hard enough that Roane stumbled. Roane spread his arms as he fell back, and Coulta took advantage. He kicked out. Roane landed hard on his back and Coulta, still moving with the flow of his magic, straddled him by placing one foot on each of Roane's wrists. It was an unconventional and awkward move, but the magic was now guiding him instead of being guided by him.

And Coulta was pissed.

He stood looking down at Roane while Roane struggled to get his breath once more. Coulta guessed he would probably get a kick in the back if he didn't end this soon. That was when it finally occurred to him that this was the moment he had waited for for years, when he could finally do away with Roane and his cruel ways.

But that was what he'd thought just before putting the scar on Roane's sinister face.

Fueled by magic and anger, Coulta slammed his sword down with both hands into Roane's chest. He didn't have time to see Roane's face in that moment of death or even marvel at his ability to kill his rival without an ounce of guilt, because the magic decided to stop helping him then and he fell forward with the momentum of his attack. He stumbled gracelessly for several steps before finally catching his balance. Turning back, he grabbed his sword without a glance at the body, and found the prince on his feet again, staring Coulta down.

"And who are you?"

Coulta sheathed his sword and tried to look as unimposing as he could, which was probably impossible. "My name is Coulta. I'm not here to do any harm."

"You're dressed an awful lot like him," Wildas snapped, pointing at Roane's body.

"Yes, I was told to kill you. But I'm leaving the city." Something did seem to be drastically changing. "I know you don't trust me, but I just saved your life. It would have been easy for me to let Roane kill you."

Suddenly, a woman's shout came from the tavern room downstairs. "Poison! They've been poisoned!"

"We need to go," Coulta stated. "Those are your men that were poisoned."

"And he killed my uncle," Wildas added, glancing at the door. "I'm not sure I trust you."

"I swear that I will do everything I can to protect you," Coulta said, knowing that he'd be bound to obey if this could overpower his oath to Varin. "I swear that I will answer all of your questions when we've left and that I will get you safely back to your home. After that, you can tell me to leave if you want. If there is one thing I can do to redeem myself, let this be it."

Something undefinable flashed across the prince's face before he nodded and sheathed his sword. "I accept your promise."

He could hear the increasing panic downstairs and he moved to the door. "We need to go."

Wildas followed Coulta into the hallway. There Wildas paused to give respect to the dead man laying by the door, but only for a moment. They managed to slip out of the inn easily amid the chaos. The panic would ease once everyone realized that only the king's men were dead. Unless Roane had been brazen enough to kill more than that. 

"What am I supposed to call you?" Coulta asked.

"Just call me Wildas." The prince pulled the stable door open and they entered.

The stable had twenty stalls, all but two of which were occupied. Even late in the night the corridor was still lit from lanterns hanging in the rafters, encased in smooth glass to prevent fire. Wildas went immediately to what Coulta assumed was his horse, a gray with a stripe down his face who nickered at the prince as soon as he approached.

"All our horses are on this side. Choose whichever one you want."

"Thank you." Coulta moved down the corridor, looking at each horse as he went. He had ridden several times before, but he wasn't exactly a skilled horseman. He hoped he could find one that wouldn't throw him. Finally a black caught his eye. He had a spot of white on his nose and white markings that faded into black from his hooves to his knees.

"That was Uncle Decus's horse, Quiver," Wildas said. "He's a little hard to handle. You might want a calmer one."

But the stallion came up to rub his face on Coulta's shoulder, then nuzzle his chest.

"Or maybe he likes you. I think Uncle's spirit will rest easy knowing that his beloved steed was helping you to help me."

Coulta nodded. "I will honor his spirit."

"Thank you."

They saddled the horses and set out for the city gate, hoods pulled up. The gate was closed and the guards looked bored when they approached.

"What are you doing leaving the city at this hour?"

"I just received word that my mother is ill," Wildas answered, allowing some of the real anguish he felt seep into his voice. "My brother and I need to see her. Her farm is only a few hours from here."

The guards shrugged to each other. They asked no more questions as they opened the gate and let them out.

"I feel terrible leaving them there like that," Wildas said quietly. "They should have a funeral."

Coulta nodded in understanding. "There was nothing that could be done."

Wildas fell silent. When Coulta looked over at him, he saw Wildas holding the charm of a necklace he must have been wearing under his shirt earlier, and staring off into the distance.

Coulta finally let himself be relieved. They were out of the city. For the first time since he was a boy and his father had left him in Arren, Coulta was outside the city walls. Somehow, swearing to protect Wildas had gotten him free of Varin's control, and Coulta wasn't about to question it.

After a while, Wildas finally said, "There is a village a day's ride from here. We can get food and supplies there for the ride to Ryal. It will take us six more days from there to make the capital. Five if we don't stop to rest very often. Will Varin send men after us?"

Coulta shook his head tiredly. "I don't know."