King's Ride: Legends of Astarkand #2

Prologue

In spite of King Olaf Kinson’s vengeful maneuverings, Prince Bjorn Horsa has won the hearts and minds of Astarkand’s people. It’s almost fall, and wood for heating and cooking is short. A plague is running its deadly course in Muirre. Hearthing’s coffers are almost empty, and the kingdom is effectively bankrupt. Bjorn has a lot of work to do in order to save Astarkand from certain ruin.

Chapter 1

As Baron Robert Gayle read his wife’s letter, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unfriendly eyes watching him. No one lurked down the hall toward the stairs. No one in the other direction either. Trying to dismiss the creepy-crawlies making his neck hairs stand on end, he leaned against the rough stonework behind him.

He found his place in the closely written words and began to read again just as His Royal Highness, Prince Bjorn Horsa slipped out of Olaf of Astarkand’s chambers.

The prince yanked the door closed. Stop him. He’s trying to get away!

The demand startled Robert out of his idle slouch against the wall. Eh—what? He stuffed the letter away and drew his sword. As the blade hissed out of the leather, he hesitated. Who, Your Highness? The echoing passage remained empty, except for the two of them.

Olaf. Bjorn darted an anxious-seeming glance behind him at the door. His hand still lingered on the doorknob. He means to swim with the mermaids.

Faint, mocking laughter echoed in Gayle’s ears as the king’s door opened again. His Highness seemed very reluctant to let go of the knob, but he eased aside as His Majesty, Olaf of Astarkand stepped through.

The laughter troubled Gayle. Surely it was an echo from the floor below? He stuck a blunt-tipped finger in his ear and wiggled it as he met the prince’s desperate expression, begging him to do something. His kinsman, the king of Astarkand intended such madness? Surely His Highness jested.

At Gayle’s bemused look of inquiry, the king’s lips twitched into a bitter smile. He said, Say rather, I’ve seen sense. I’m abdicating and making way for a new king. A better man, as you have hinted a time or two, Gayle. You’re my witness that I do this of my own free will, he added.

Bjorn grabbed Gayle’s arm, urging him to follow as the king walked out the door into the courtyard in just his tunic, pants, and boots. Beyond the gatehouse, Olaf surprised Gayle further when he took off running for the beach. Never one to waste time, the young prince pelted after the king.

Gayle winced in sympathy at the ungainly bandage around Bjorn’s lower leg. The broken bone, however mended in the last month, had to hurt with every jolting step the prince took, though he didn’t sensibly slow his pace to favor it.

Regretting that he lacked the ability of the prince to ignore his pain, the baron puffed after the pair, favoring an achy knee and muttering under his breath about damp lake breezes.

Hah! he said to himself, slowing to a walk as he reached the last row of houses before the beach. My kinsman is having a jest at Dragonsbane’s expense. I’ll get there and he’ll be laughing his head off, and the prince— Will endure the king’s mockery stoic-faced, as he did so often at court, the baron reassured himself.

Will what? Come on, you oaf! Pick up your feet. The impatient annoyance in the unknown voice made Gayle glance over his shoulder in dismay. No one there.

Hello? He waited in chagrined silence for an answer. Had he really heard a voice? Was he going mad?

The breeze brought him the alarming sound of mermaids singing. Then again...

He’s right. I’ve got to stop the king before he does something foolish! Gayle limp-galloped around the corner of the last house, and down to the rocky beach. The feeling of being watched abruptly deserted him. He felt, more than heard, a faint disgusted hiss, and was tempted to look around again, but—

Olaf stood up from removing his boots. The king said something to the prince, but Gayle couldn’t make out his words above the noise of the wind, the singing, the cries of shore birds, and water hissing on the rocks.

Olaf met Gayle’s worried glance over Bjorn’s shoulder, jerked up his chin and turned hastily away. Gayle sucked in his breath, horrified, as the king hurried down into the gray waters of the Bleuet, apparently just because he, the king’s kinsman, had arrived.

The baron bit his lip and shook his head. No! Don’t do it, he shouted, but a gust of wind swallowed his words. Olaf! Kinsman! But the wind snatched the cries from his mouth and hurled them away, over the rooftops of Neith.

As Olaf forced himself forward into deeper waters, Gayle shivered in horrified empathy. The baron would never have put one toe in the frigid Bleuet, much less bathed in it!

The wind dropped a little and Gayle thought of calling out again.

A woman dressed all in white, with golden hair that fell to her ankles came down to the water’s edge and raised her arms. She lifted a song to the vault of heaven. Her singing drifted out over the water and held Gayle tongue-tied and frozen in place. He watched, helpless as the woman mesmerized the prince too, saw the way the young lord stiffened and turned an eager, enthralled look her way.

Gayle hoped the song would bring Olaf back to shore, but he pressed stubbornly on into deeper water. Gayle could do nothing but watch as a mermaid came and took his lord and king from him, her wet fishy embrace severing all their mutual oaths of allegiance and lordship. As his kinsman disappeared beneath the waves, hot, angry tears poured down the baron’s grizzled cheeks.

The mermaids stopped their tormenting song. He felt only relief when the woman also stopped singing and departed, taking her enchantments with her.

Released, he hurried forward thinking, My liege is gone! Impossible, unthinkable, and yet the inescapable truth. I have no lord—no. Dangerously untrue. The one to whom he must give allegiance stared in a most alarming fashion after the retreating woman, as if any moment he intended to sprint after her and leave Gayle alone, adrift in this distressfully liege-less state.

The baron had been too late to save Olaf, but now that he was here, he saw every needful reason to save Bjorn—and possibly himself—from an even worse situation.

He shivered as the hairs on his neck rose again. His unseen watcher had returned. Desperate to ignore him, Baron Gayle hastened forward across the skittering rocks, and cleared his throat.

Chapter 2

Bjorn stared, dumbfounded, at the corner where the woman with the beautiful voice had disappeared. Behind him, a boot scraped on stone.

He turned and watched, wary-hearted, as Baron Gayle approached. What will he do, now that his king is gone?

With a grim, tight-lipped look, Gayle drew his sword and laid it flat across his hands. Red suffused the baron’s face. Wet tear-tracks ran down his grizzled cheeks. His shoulders slumped as he knelt down at Bjorn’s boots on the rough, stony shore and held out the bared sword flat across his palms.

The proper form of the oath Gayle offered required words too, but Bjorn understood the baron’s turmoil and desperation. Astarkand must have a king and Gayle must have a liege-lord, yet Olaf had summarily abandoned both when he waded into the lake. Only God’s mercy sent the woman to sing and a mermaid to answer, to rescue the bitter, selfish king from his just deserts. All the same, Olaf should not have done it!

Bjorn’s anger flared, but not on his own behalf. How would the king’s men feel, when they realized Olaf had cavalierly thrown their devotion and fealty away as if it counted for less than nothing with him? They all took such pride in being known as the king’s men.

Bjorn looked down at the offered weapon, then back at Gayle’s weeping face and nodded. Gayle was right. Take their oaths quickly. Give them no time to find themselves adrift without a leader. Any other course would find their devotion shaken, pride humiliated, and fealty suspect. Definitely suspect, if they all sustained the shocking blow that Gayle had just taken. The baron should not have had to take the brunt of his kinsman’s selfish whim!

Bjorn touched the distraught man’s shoulder. I accept your sword, Baron Gayle.

Gayle nodded, put the sword away, and struggled to his feet. Bjorn would have helped him, but the baron waved him off. After an unsteady lunge upward, he achieved sounder footing.

Relieved that the baron’s dignity was intact, Bjorn started to turn away, his mind darting to the next few necessary tasks.

A moment more, Gayle choked, grasping his sleeve. He swiped at his eyes with his left hand.

Bjorn mustered his patience and waited. Olaf is gone. I am king, ran through his mind. Threaded through that refrain flitted, Trehan’s not going to like this. Who will believe Olaf did this? and, Summer’s nearly past. I’m running out of time! Behind all his other musings, hung one big question: Who was that woman?

He’s always insisted on having everything on his own terms. Gayle offered Bjorn a thin-lipped smile. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so surprised at the manner of his going, Your Highness.

Olaf isn’t dead, Bjorn said forcefully, gripping Gayle’s arm. You must believe me on that.

Well, I’ve not known you to lie yet, but— The baron met Bjorn’s measuring stare, drawing his brows together. Don’t tell his men that. He’s as good as dead, he tucked Olaf’s boots under his arm. Pulled beneath the waves by that—that—

Mermaid? Bjorn filled in.

Siren of the deep, the baron corrected, laughed shakily in spite of his obvious grief, then raised his eyebrows in apparent shock at his own levity. He added, Come to steal him from this life.

Bjorn shook his head as he let go of the baron’s arm. He’s well enough where he’s gone, I think. I hope he finds peace.

As they left the beach and headed up the cobbled street to the keep, the baron asked, What will you do now, Your Highness?

Break the news to my men after I secure Olaf’s regalia. Bjorn darted another measuring glance at the baron. He assessed his new liegeman in light of his behavior on the beach; the counsel Olaf credited him for; and Olaf’s apparent trust in him.

Or, I could break the news to my men while you secure the king’s possessions. Weinolf will want them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gayle’s mouth drop open. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. You aren’t going to claim the king’s regalia?

Bjorn shook his head, though he understood Gayle’s overturned expectations. Wearing Olaf’s coronet and signet ring would lend him greater legitimacy in certain quarters. The prince, however, had no intention of picking up where Olaf left off.

I am Eiathan’s Heir, he reminded Gayle. Not Olaf’s. I cannot claim the crown with any legitimacy otherwise.

Gayle frowned. He looked away, clearly thinking, then nodded. "But will—how will—folk know—"

Bjorn brought the hilt of his sword forward so the sapphire caught the sunlight and sparkled. A gust off the lake ruffled his weather-beaten blue cloak. I’ve a sword and a cloak bearing Eiathan’s colors. With the banner of Kandia, they will suffice.

The baron looked anything but reassured. I suppose.

Bjorn shrugged. He couldn’t help his present lack of pomp and circumstance, never mind the smudges and dirt on his breeches or the mud-stained creases in his boots. The king’s men would have to adjust.

Together, they approached the keep.

Gayle eyed the guardsmen and edged nearer to Bjorn. Under his breath, he demanded, But shouldn’t one of your own men take charge of the king’s regalia?

Bjorn lifted an eyebrow. You offered me your sword. Do you stand by your oath?

Shooting Bjorn an indignant look, Gayle inclined his head a dignified fraction of an inch.

Bjorn clapped the baron on the shoulder and smiled. "Then I count you as my man."

Ah. Gayle still looked amazed at the sudden turn of events as he bowed low and disappeared into the keep.

Bjorn broke into a trot, headed for the Inn of the Gurt Giant. Pain shot up his leg from the still-healing break. He gritted his teeth against it and slowed down, forced to walk the rest of the way.

The watcher smiled coldly as Bjorn arrived that the Inn of the Gurt Giant, and discovered his men, Trehan and Nathon playing dice in the taproom with a pair of merchants. He knew the merchants a little, although they’d never met him. He had arranged their current errand through intermediaries.

He couldn’t wait to see what the Upstart did when he realized their purpose.

The players didn’t seem to notice Bjorn’s arrival.

No, really, his second cousin, Nathon said, weighing the dice in his hand. I prefer tanned deer-hide for riding boots.

As you wish, my lord. The short, plump merchant’s lips stretched into a greasy smile. He added, But the cow-hide is thicker and better quality. Much superior—

Bjorn cleared his throat, startling the merchant. His face paled. You’ll have to buy boots later, he said over Trehan’s shoulder.

I wasn’t buying them, I was gambling for them. Nathon gave him a lopsided grin, but at Bjorn’s annoyed look, he put down the dice.

The merchants stood too, and bowed. Your Highness, the taller one murmured. Perhaps later? He took his fleshy companion’s arm and they turned away.

Whose idea was this? Bjorn asked. A low, sinister laugh broke the sudden quiet behind him. He looked, seeing no one.

Theirs.

Bjorn turned back in time to catch Nathon’s shrug.

They offered to entertain us and looked for a way to make the game worth our while.

They tried to bribe you, Bjorn said. Like Padraic bribed the guards on the South Gate scant months ago.

That wasn’t a bribe, Nathon said. How can a few games of dice be— Bjorn watched as comprehension dawned. Oh.

Bjorn turned to Trehan. His cousin puckered his lips in a sour frown. You didn’t see it either?

Trehan smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Oh, what a pair we are!

Bjorn grinned. No worse than most. He linked arms with them both as he headed for the stairs. Had either of you won anything from the gentle merchants?

Not yet. Nathon looked relieved as he met Bjorn’s glance. But that isn’t why you dragged us away, is it?

No. As they reached their rooms, the prince summoned Farman from his guard post against the nearby wall, and sent him to round up his other men. Quietly, he emphasized. No excuses, no fuss.

Farman slipped off to find the others.

Half an hour later, Bjorn’s men crowded into the long hall between their rooms. Twenty-one expectant faces turned his way.

Olaf has abdicated. Bjorn pitched his words to carry to Sven and Heribert at the far back, and hopefully, no further. Their eyes grew round with surprise before they started cheering.

Shh, Bjorn hissed, motioning for quiet.

Trehan’s incandescent smile faded. His eyes narrowed. What haven’t you told us?

He threw himself in the lake, Bjorn said bluntly. A mermaid rescued him. He’s somewhere at the bottom of Lake Bleuet by now, I expect.

Chapter 3

The watcher compressed his lips in deep displeasure. At the earliest moment, he intended to express his extreme displeasure in no uncertain terms to the mermaids. Nowhere in any of their agreements was there a stipulation allowing them to rescue petulant, power-hungry ex-kings from their deserved fates.

Meanwhile, the Upstart had gained his fated goal. The watcher gave a cold nod. Let him enjoy this moment. He wouldn’t keep his crown for long. He sent for his archivist and departed, leaving his attendant to watch for further developments.

So. Not drowned, but— Trehan executed a few stately dance steps.

Maybe even dancing for joy, Bjorn agreed. He’s certainly earned a respite from his duties as—

But then, you’re king, Christov pushed forward. We should be shouting the good news from the rooftops!

Bjorn’s expression must have given away his unease, because Christov’s delight disappeared as he added, Or not. Why not?

His men don’t know, except for Baron Gayle— Bjorn explained how the king’s abdication had come about.

After we secure the keep and ensure order, I’ll be happy to spread the news far and wide, he said. But we’ve got to move fast. His guardsmen saw Olaf leave, and saw me come back alone with Gayle. They can be counted on to hold their tongues a little while about the king’s sudden, unexplained absence, but not forever. Come on. Bjorn motioned for his men to follow him down the hall to the stairs.

Oh no. You won’t get away that fast, Trehan said, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a halt.

Bjorn turned back with a raised eyebrow. Trehan drew his sword and knelt, holding it out horizontally in the same manner as Baron Gayle had done.

Bjorn’s eyes widened. He shook his head. No! He threw his hands up in the air. Not here, not now. I beg you, Trehan. We have no time!

Then when? Trehan demanded, green eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the dimness of the hall. We’re your men first before all others. Will you put us off until Olaf’s men have all pledged to you as their king? What honor is there for us in that?

Bjorn sighed as he allowed his hands to drop. Trehan was right. He needed them to make a show of force at the keep, which they could not do if they were first in line to kneel before him. But the time it would take now, when he needed to immediately secure the keep! What if more eyes had witnessed Olaf’s swim in the lake than Gayle’s, the mystery woman’s, and Bjorn’s? He hadn’t seen anyone else about, but—

Right. Hurry, then, he ordered.

He swallowed hard as Trehan lifted his blade a little higher. Bjorn, my king, I offer you my heart’s loyalty and my sword. His face was painfully earnest.

I accept them both, not as my right, but as the Dreamsender’s steward to use them for His Glory, Bjorn choked around a throbbing ache in his chest as the moment got to him.

Rest assured I will never replace you in my affections with another. He wanted desperately to turn away, to hide his tears. He touched the hilt of Trehan’s sword in blessing and acknowledgment. Put it away please, cousin. God grant we need never raise our weapons to shed blood ever again.

Trehan rose and stood beside him as the rest of his men formed a ragged line. Bjorn gravely dealt with them. His emotions got the better of him a second time when Kyle knelt before him.

Kyle, best and dearest of mentors, you’ve led me to this moment. Bjorn wryly twisted his lips. I hope I find many reasons to thank you when all is said and done.

I expect you will. As he rose to step aside, Kyle’s expression was grave. Don’t forget you promised me a place beside your fire.

I do not forget, Bjorn affirmed.

Nathon knelt. Bjorn choked up a third time as he looked down into his companion’s troubled gray eyes. My friend, how greatly your fealty has cost you. It is a gift too great!

Not when you’re my best hope of recovering my brother, Nathon insisted. Nor will I ever blame you for his tardiness.

For my part I still hope to find Nicar is well in spite of his adventures, Christov said over Nathon’s shoulder. He’s a man after your own level of wit, Bjorn, able to stand on his own.

So he is. Bjorn tried to smile. Turning away, he swiped at his eyes.

Nathon still held out his sword. Don’t reject me because of what lies between us, he begged. Or I’ll be disgraced indeed.

No. How could I? Turning back, Bjorn touched Nathon’s sword. Then, he grasped his friend’s arm and raised him to his feet. You’ll be a duke, as will my other companions here, and be held in high honor throughout the land. I pray that Nicar is well. I need every friend’s help to put Astarkand in order.

As they left the keep, Bjorn encountered Master Merrilight in the passage. The prince bowed. Deeply.

Merrilight gave him a regal nod. Young king.

Bjorn laughed in surprise at the elf’s privileged knowledge before he remembered that the elf was a seer who spoke with the Dreamsender face to face.

Shall I return the greeting, old king?

Merrilight’s serene expression crinkled into laugh lines about his eyes. Your Majesty, he reproved.

Bjorn sobered as he dipped his head. "Your Majesty."

The elf’s laugh-lines smoothed away, and his brows twitched down into a look of concern. I’ll have your baggage sent over to the keep.

Have you a word of the Lord for me?

Merrilight shook his head. I have a few words of caution from me. He leaned closer and murmured, You’re being watched.

Bjorn looked around, but the passage was deserted except for his men. And Merrilight.

My broth—Vodan. He’s very good with a scrying bowl.

Bjorn didn’t know what to say. Was that why the hair on the back of his neck had been standing up? Is there any way to defeat his spying?

Merrilight shrugged. He can’t see you right now, because you’re with me, and where I am is the Presence of the Lord. He can’t see into the realm of the mermaids, or where they spread their influence, because the Presence is also with them. He can’t see you when you pray, because—

Bjorn finished for him, When I pray, the Presence is there with me. To clarify, if I wish to thwart Vodan’s spying, your best advice is to follow the injunction of Holy Scripture to pray without ceasing?

Merrilight nodded. Just so. He hesitated, then added, Are you certain this course you choose is wise?

Bjorn was taken aback. Acting as seer, Merrilight had anointed him to the kingship. Why would he question Bjorn’s course now?

Forcing Olaf’s men to bend the knee to you? Merrilight clarified. Some will vow with deceit in their hearts, if I know anything of men.

The elf had been there when men first washed up on shores of the Brentwood. Bjorn bared his teeth in a grimace at his own bitter self-knowledge.

Before he could answer, Trehan cleared his throat. Bjorn glanced at his men, waiting patiently for him to lead them on.

The prince turned back to the elf. The worst among Olaf’s men are dead. With whom can they conspire?

Merrilight shook his head. My heart warns me that you will face rebellion. Not bared swords, but a dagger in the back when you least expect it. He gripped Bjorn’s arm. You cannot be Eiathan’s Heir if you die untimely.

Bjorn nodded and set his jaw at a resolute angle. I’ll stay alert. So will my men. He looked back at them and jerked his chin toward the door.

Merrilight stepped aside, out of the middle of the passage and waited with Bjorn as they filed past.

Pray hard for me, Seer, Bjorn asked. It is no easy thing to be Eiathan’s Heir.

Merrilight’s lips quirked, but he nodded. You were never out of my prayers these past five hundred years. When I see Olaf, I’ll give him your wishes for his happiness. Pray without ceasing.

Pray without ceasing, Bjorn echoed, his heart relieved of one heavy burden. Merrilight wouldn’t expect to see the departed king again if Olaf was dead. He must, therefore, be alive. His reassurance of Gayle was the truth. He bowed again to the elf and hurried after his men.

Chapter 4

Bjorn was busy practicing praying without ceasing--under his breath--when he found Baron Gayle waiting at the keep gate.

You’re dismissed by order of the king, the baron told the guards on watch.

But— one of the guards protested as he took in the procession filing past them, Where’s our relief?

Bjorn stopped mumbling under his breath. He jerked his head at Sven and Dano. They can be your relief. We’ve matters of state to discuss. His men gave the two alarmed guards no time to consider any alternatives as they hustled them off into the keep.

The prince fell back to walk with the baron through the courtyard. He started praying again.

Gayle gave him a worried look.

What?

Nothing.

Bjorn laughed. I’m practicing praying without ceasing. It’s something the elven seer advised me to do. But he decided he’d better practice praying quietly instead.

Oh! I’ve secured the king’s rooms, Gayle patted a large key dangling from his belt, And assembled Olaf’s men. I told them the king wants to have a word with them. He grinned. They’re uneasy, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.

The prince acknowledged this