The Flight of the White Horse

All Rights Reserved © 2000 by Todd Scott Moffett

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-5420-8 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

To Tina and Madelynne

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

Prince Tomlin stood on the battlements of Theover Castle and gazed upon the valley below. A breeze rippled through the fields of spring wheat and across the stream wandering the length of the valley floor. On the opposite hillside, a blossoming apple orchard glowed ghostly and pale against the darker vegetation on the slopes around it. The breeze harvested the freshness of the growing plants, washed clean by the previous night’s rainfall, and carried it to Tomlin. It was a beautiful sight: a day for maying, a day for being alive. A floorboard creaked, and Tomlin turned to see his father, King Terel, lean close to their chief wizard, Rele. The wizard bent over a blue, hand-held box, open at the top, that bathed his face with a red glow.

Anything? said the king.

No magic I can trace, said Rele.

To Tomlin, the king looked like a mountain eagle guarding his aerie from a predator: he bobbed from foot to foot, ruffled his arms, and grimaced at the valley below; blue eyes blazed under pale gold hair. With every other step he flexed his massive shoulders and rolled his wrists. He could not stand to wait, Tomlin knew. Since the king had defeated the sea-roving Polidor Invaders five summers ago, the western shores of the country had known peace, but peace of a kind that had not required the king’s army to maintain. Court battles with the merchants and with the aristocratic families—a patient style of fighting that the king detested—had sagged his features, bulged his belly, and sharpened his temper.

The wizard, on the other hand, stood completely still. His raven black hair, his dark eyebrows, and his craggy face froze in the flickering light shining from the box. He, too, looked like a bird, his thin limbs and his back hunched as if ready to sprout feathers and fly. The three of them stood together above the castle gates, watching the procession wind up the road leading from the town nestled at the head of the valley.

But that doesn’t prove anything, Rele said. It could mean that he has no magic with him, or that he has enough power to resist my probe.

Terel heaved a sigh and stopped bobbing. I’ve known him for years, and he’s never been able to cast dice, let alone a spell. He gave a short laugh. He’s no magician.

Rele frowned as he straightened and closed the box. I’d still be cautious, he said. I think I should recheck the detectors I hid in his rooms.

Terel shrugged. If he still makes you uneasy.

Rele bowed and took his leave.

Father and son glanced at each other before returning their attention to the procession. In Tomlin’s eyes, the moving forms below looked like one great wound in the green mountainside. Everyone in the train wore dark clothing—brown cloaks tied with crimson sashes, helmets and beavers of unpolished iron—and all rode upon black palfreys. Two standard bearers carried the insignia of a dark Hawk clutching a crescent moon, the standard of the earl of Targrim, Lord Harra. The procession’s bleak manner disturbed Tomlin. The horses walked with their heads lowered; the riders drooped in their saddles and did not look at the scenery around them. Tomlin tried to distinguish the earl from the rest of his train, but no article of clothing or mark of behavior separated Lord Harra from his men.

Terel said, He’ll have no victory here, if that’s his goal.

Tomlin shook his head. Having never met Lord Harra personally, the prince knew nothing of the earl except for his name. But what a name. For the last two years, the news from the east had recounted nothing but the wars that this man had initiated—and won. The king had come halfway across the country to speak with the earl, discover the extent of his conquests, and, hopefully, end the wars.

Tomlin said, The reports you gave me weren’t very clear. What is this man like?

Sometimes I think I don’t know, said the king, sighing. We fought many a battle together against the Polidor, and I considered him a strong ally. But now— He broke off with a shrug.

Why did Rele look for magic? Tomlin said.

Rele thinks he used magic to win his battles, Terel said. He leaned against the edge of the battlements. The Seven Devils know how he could have gotten it.

The prince shrugged. Search him for talismans when he gets here.

Terel glanced at him. Bodily? That’d be a breach of etiquette. Rele’s detectors should be enough. He straightened and took a step toward the prince. Frankly, Son, I don’t think there’s anything magical about him. He’s just an incredibly good soldier and an incredibly lucky one.

I wouldn’t trust him, said Tomlin. A search may be humiliating, but it would be safer.

Terel’s voice grew heavy. Harra agreed to have Rele alone check for magic and guard against any mischief. That should be enough, Son.

Tomlin let his father’s words go. The king had been snapping at servants all week as a result of the stress that the preparations for this meeting had caused. Did Duke Samul finally leave this morning?

Oh, yes, yes, said the king. But not without his usual complaints—wanted our honor guard quartered in town instead of in the castle, wanted to stay to greet the earl and be present at the conference, warned the servants not to take any of the kitchenware. Gods Below, he’s an obsequious little pain. If I’d had one more argument about festooning the castle—

Earlier in the week, after making a great show of escorting the king about the valley’s farms, Duke Samul had tried to convince Terel of the need for lavish decorations to impress their guest. Samul had even nitpicked with Tomlin about how the prince had furnished his own chamber. And when the duke had stopped complaining, he had incessantly fawned for favors, promising extra shipments of grain from his stores and of cattle from his ranches. The king would not have come here at all except that Theover Castle, one of the duke’s minor holdings, lay exactly between the courts of the king and the earl, and so made an ideal site for this meeting. Apparently, the duke had found no favor with Lord Harra either: the earl had quickly supported the king’s decision that Samul would not attend the conference.

The tramping and the snorting of the procession’s horses rose from the roadway before the castle gates. One of the standard bearers lifted a horn and blew a long dull pitch. An answering note sounded from the courtyard behind the prince.

Well, he’s here, said the king. Remember: be calm, be direct, and be in control when we greet him. We’ve got to show him who rules this country.

The prince nodded. Together, he and his father descended the stairs leading from the battlements to the gates. Terel’s men stood at attention in the courtyard. Their armor glittered, and their helms sprouted dyed horsehair plumes, which rustled in the breeze. As Terel passed the men, they lifted their swords in a salute; then, when Terel and Tomlin took their places before the castle entry, the men stiffened to attention again, ranks stretching from the king to the gates. Another man marched to the head of the first rank, bearing the royal banner—the Rearing Horse upon a crimson field. Tomlin noticed that though the men stood rigidly, their eyes flitted to the gates and betrayed a curiosity for their visitor.

Tomlin stood at his father’s right hand as the gates opened and revealed fluttering, hovering forms—an illusion that died as the forms entered the gate and the castle walls blocked the wind. Underneath their cloaks, the earl’s men wore black armor. Their clothing absorbed the sunlight and sullenly hid it within tucks and folds. The earl’s guard dismounted and formed ranks stretching from the gates toward the waiting monarch, facing the king’s own men. Pages led the palfreys away. When the black guard settled into position, they stood as quietly as the king’s men. Tomlin felt their eyes upon him, although their beavers prevented him from seeing their faces.

A man strode through the space between the opposing ranks. Heart clenching, Tomlin watched him closely—the man had appeared suddenly at the gates, neither walking from the roadway nor stepping from the ranks of the guard. The prince expected a reaction of surprise from his father and from their men, but their expressions did not change. Had Tomlin missed something?

The new arrival dressed no differently than the others. He stopped three paces before the king, unfastened his beaver, and bowed. The closest of the black guard cried in a high-pitched voice, almost a shriek: Lord Harra, earl of Targrim.

At his naming, Lord Harra straightened, looked at the king, and smiled. Dark eyes glittered above swarthy cheeks, and a black bandanna bound his black hair. The earl, like the king, carried massive shoulders on his bulky frame, yet Lord Harra seemed infused with a spirit that the fair-haired monarch lacked. The earl’s darker coloring made him seem taller and more robust. Even his somber clothing held more life than Terel’s shining armor and red cape. A grudging respect for the earl’s appearance grew within Tomlin.

Terel’s face reddened. Who are you? You aren’t the earl of Tar-grim!

Tomlin snapped a glance at his father and then at the king’s men. They lowered their swords to a guard position, and the black guard answered by lowering theirs.

The man standing before them did not waver. My dear stepfather died of a sudden illness two autumns ago.

Terel took a step toward him, his hands clenched. Stepfather? He never had stepchildren. Lord Harra was happily married and had three sons of his own.

His family all died of the same malady, the imposter said with a shrug. I was the only one left to rule.

Terel sneered. I suppose you were the cause of this malady?

The other laughed. You have quite a sense of humor, my Liege! But let us not resort to name-calling. Suffice it to say that I control the earldom of Targrim and that I have no rivals.

Throwing his hands into the air, Terel said, But—who are you?

The stranger smiled. A man like you, my Liege—an incredibly good soldier and an incredibly lucky one. He turned toward Tomlin. This must be your son.

Tomlin blanched. No nobleman addressed the Crown Prince in such a familiar manner except by his leave. This imposter had presumed too much. I am Prince Tomlin, heir to my father. Normally, a greeting followed such an introduction, but because of the imposter’s rudeness, Tomlin did not offer this courtesy.

The stranger bowed to him in turn. Prince Tomlin, I am honored. I meant no disrespect by being informal.

Tomlin inclined his head in acceptance of the apology, which had been given correctly and without reservation. The imposter, he realized, had put him and his father off their guard, making fools of them with easy and deft strokes.

For several seconds, Terel stared at the man before him. The stranger stared back. To Tomlin, the glaring eyes and the clenching jaws of the two men betrayed a secret battle, a mental joust, a test of wills. Finally, Terel motioned for his soldiers to hold up their weapons. Lord Harra, if that is your true name, you may enter this castle.

CHAPTER 2

His stomach growling, Tomlin climbed the battlements and looked out over the valley, but the sight did not ease him. All day yesterday, his father had plied the stranger with questions about his past and had learned nothing. Breakfast this morning had been worse. He, his father, and Rele had eaten with the false earl, but undercurrents of distrust had cut short all talk, and they had eaten quickly. After the earl had excused himself, Rele had confided to Terel and Tomlin that the imposter, as of yet, had not revealed any magical potential, but then the wizard had retired with a troubled air.

There you are!

Tomlin turned to see his father ascending the stairs.

What are you doing here? said Terel. The conference starts soon.

I was thinking, Father.

Thinking, or woolgathering?

Tomlin sighed. If you must know, I was thinking about Harra—this man who calls himself Harra. Are you going to recognize his claim?

Terel spread his hands. I don’t know what else to do, Son. I don’t know who he is, but he apparently controls those armies.

Can’t you arrest him? Tomlin said. Then you can force the information from him.

I may have to. But for now, no. Before I can act further, I must find out for certain which duchies he’s taken, and ransom any prisoners he may have.

They turned and descended the stairs, crossed the courtyard, and entered the castle. Cold air hung in the hallways; the torches set in the walls guttered and gave little light. The prince shivered despite the ermine and the boots and the extra socks he wore. Walking generated little warmth. His father had dressed warmly as well, but the red fur lining his cape clashed with the hue of his cheeks. Tomlin wondered why he would notice something like that; clothing generally did not concern him. Ah, yes—the earl. Tomlin could not help but notice how the earl’s clothing benefited his appearance. At breakfast, the earl had worn a dark green tunic and a wine-colored cape that had again favored his dark features.

Tomlin, did you reread those reports?

No. They dealt with the old earl, so I didn’t think there was any need to go through them again.

Terel’s face clouded. "You have been woolgathering."

Tomlin clenched his hands. I’m here just as an observer, Father. I’m not negotiating anything.

You should have read them anyway.

Tomlin halted. Father, don’t let this man bother you so much. You’ve been nervous ever since we arrived here. You’re the king, remember? You rule this country, not him.

Terel paused, then smiled slowly. You’re right. My advice to you yesterday, eh?

His own anger disappearing, Tomlin smiled in return.

You’re right, the king said as they started forward again. And I’ll tell you why I’m nervous. A scout came last night with the latest estimate of the earl’s manpower.

Does he have enough to start a rebellion?

He already had enough. But now we know he has an army almost the size of ours. It was all added to the reports. That’s why I wanted you to reread them.

Tomlin now saw the reason for his father’s temper. Anything new about magic?

Nothing. Our reports are always vague on this point. I know the old earl didn’t practice magic, but now— He shrugged.

Perhaps this Harra prevents such reports from reaching us.

Terel looked closely at Tomlin. That could be. That could very well be.

We need to send more spies.

Right, Terel said, nodding. And we need to come out of this conference with an advantage. If I can convince him to remain in whatever lands he’s taken, then his armies will lose momentum through inaction.

Tomlin nodded. They climbed a stairwell and passed through an open portal into a hallway leading to two large oak doors. At their right, a side door opened to reveal Rele, who stepped into the hallway with them, carrying the blue box he had used on the battlements the day before.

The detectors are all in place, said Rele as they approached the far doors.

Terel said, Good. We’re ready.

But Tomlin frowned when he noted Rele’s white knuckles gripping the box.

Guards before them opened the doors and fell into step behind the three as they entered the room, a circular chamber with parquet floors and wall paneling. A table surrounded by several chairs filled the room, and a window overlooking the main courtyard admitted a shaft of sunlight. Lord Harra, already sitting in the chair closest to the window, stood and bowed.

Terel stopped and glared at him. You were to wait until I summoned you here.

Harra said, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware this was to be the conference room. I came here only to collect my thoughts. I regret breaking any formalities.

Tomlin arched an eyebrow. Once more, Harra had given a proper apology and made the king look awkward.

Terel sat before allowing the others to sit.

Pay it no mind. I’m not much for formalities anyway. He signaled for the guards to leave the room and for Rele to take their place by the doors.

As he sat in the chair next to his father, Tomlin watched Harra resume his seat. Again, Harra’s presence, and the way his coloring and clothing added life to the barren room, struck Tomlin. Harra had changed clothes again: an emerald green cape, loosely tied at Harra’s neck, revealed a fashionably cut yet simple leather jerkin and leggings. He wore no jewelry or other adornments. His hair, unencumbered by a beaver or a bandanna, sprouted as shaggy as a bird’s nest. He smiled deeply, showing pearly teeth.

Tomlin’s skin prickled; Rele had set the truthspeak spell, designed to give an electric shock to anyone who knowingly told a lie.

To business, then, my Liege, said Harra. Doubtless, you would like to know what lands I’ve captured?

Terel nodded. Certainly.

Harra looked at them all closely before continuing. Besides the earldom of Targrim, I’ve captured three duchies and I’ve defeated the lords of two others. These last lords were Teleus and Hrothga.

‘Were’? Terel said.

Harra gave a small shrug. They died during the fighting, my Liege. Relatives of theirs negotiated treaties with me and hold their lands as fiefs from me.

The prince recognized the lords that Harra had named. Like the true earl of Targrim, they had fought with the king against the Polidor.

Continue, said Terel, a chill entering his voice.

Harra inclined his head. The three duchies I’ve captured are those flanking my earldom: Pargrin, Mabal, and Weston.

Tomlin raised his eyebrows. This man, after only two years, had gained control over nearly one-fourth of the country.

The king turned to Rele and glared at the box in the wizard’s hands, but Rele shook his head, his eyes affixed to the box’s red glow.

Terel turned back towards Harra. I presume you killed those lords as well?

Harra smiled. I took one prisoner, my Liege—the Lady Vera, daughter to the lord of Weston. The other heirs are dead.

Lady Vera. Tomlin’s mother had told him recently that his father had considered Vera a possible marriage partner for him. Knowing that had made clear some of his father’s actions. Once he had asked Tomlin to attend in his stead a feast held by Duke Samul, and at the meal, Tomlin had been seated beside Vera. She had worn a dark blue robe that had set off her fiery red hair and dazzling green eyes. Her heart-shaped face, open and friendly, had emboldened him to begin—timidly—a conversation with her. He complimented her robe; she laughed and told him that it was not a formal dress, but the apparel worn at all times by the apprentices of the School of Sorcery in Oestria. Like nightingales, her laugh. She had not made him feel embarrassed by his ignorance. Rather, she had told him something of her studies, explained to him the Seven Major Spells and the countless minor spells, and then tried to teach him one of the latter—an illusion to make his wine goblet seem to melt. She cast the spell herself, warping goblets up and down their table and entertaining the other guests, but Tomlin, not speaking the words accurately or waving his hand correctly, could not follow her example. But again, she had not made him feel uncomfortable about his failure. To escape the heat and the chaos of the feast, they had strolled along a balcony and gazed at the stars. She had shown him the constellation of the White Prince—the hero of ancient legend—before they had gone inside to join the dancing. And what a dancer! Light footed, easy in his hands through a waltz and a jig. He would have danced with her all night if custom had not limited them to two dances.

They had met at that feast almost three years ago, before Harra, before these eastern wars. And now she was captured, a nightingale in a cage, trapped. But how could Harra have captured her? She was a sorceress, and a good one, judging by what he had seen of her skill.

And could she be rescued? This thought soon excluded all others. Perhaps Harra was holding her in order to marry her himself and give substance to his claims.

Then that’s settled, said Terel.

Tomlin saw that his father and Harra were standing. He hurriedly joined them.

We’ll begin negotiations tomorrow, the king continued. The guards will escort you to your rooms, or to the kitchens if you’re hungry.

They moved to the doorway. Rele closed the lid of his box, breaking the truthspeak spell, and stood out of their way. Harra bowed to them all and left with the guards.

When the earl departed through the doors at the far end of the hallway, Rele sighed. "Nothing through the whole meeting. No magic, no resistance to the truthspeak,