HUNTED
CHAPTER 2
The courtiers, Ardagh noted wryly, were taking to the excitement of preparing for a royal hunt with all the fervor of long-lived folk too familiar with boredom. They were laughing and calling to each other with all the glee of children, the air about them sparkling with Power as they altered elegant robes to more practical riding gear, had their shining Faerie steeds brought to them, and summoned this bit of armor or that favorite weapon. Ardagh barely managed to do his own summoning of hunting armor from his estate without having his conjuration spell interrupted by all the furor. He glanced about at the wild confusion and gave up any hope of finding a servant to help him.
Ah well, impractical armor it would be if I couldn’t don it all by myself.
Fighting his way out of a sea of people, the prince worked his way into a quiet little alcove.
Not so quiet at that. As he finished fastening the leather cuirass, muttering to himself at the idiots who’d designed the thing with clasps at the back, the prince looked up and fell silent, raising a wry brow at the small group of nobles who’d so suddenly joined him.
“My lord Iliach. Ah, and lords Teretal and Sestailan as well. And with such wary looks on your faces! Dare I ask what this is about?”
Iliach glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “We have only a few moments of privacy before anyone starts suspecting,” he murmured.
“Have we?”
“Prince Ardagh, all at court saw your quarrel. All know how your royal brother feels towards you.”
“Do you, now?”
“None would blame you if you—”
“If I what?” Ardagh interrupted coldly.
“Why, made a move towards—”
“Treason?”
“So strong a word!”
“So accurate a word.” Ardagh glared at them without trying to disguise his contempt. “Have you finally grown tired of masked allusions, or are we going to dance delicately about the subject one more time? For the last time, my lords,” he continued before they could protest, “I am not interested in betraying my brother. I have, whether you like the fact or not,” or, a cynical part of his mind added silently, whether I like the fact or not, “sworn my vow of fealty to him. None of you, singly or together, can make any offer strong enough to turn me into an oathbreaker. Ah, you flinch at that word! Yet that is exactly what you’d make me, my lords!”
They started to disagree, then fell awkwardly silent, unable even now to utter falsehoods. Ardagh grinned at them like a wolf. “One thing more, my lords, I will not be anyone’s puppet! Is that understood?”
One by one, reluctantly, they bowed their heads in submission. But a little prickle of worry cut through Ardagh’s contempt as he watched. Even the smallest scavengers may bring down a dragon if there are enough of them. And he’d just declared himself a threat to these scavengers, particularly now that they’d as good as announced treason against their ruler. They dared not risk letting him speak to Eirithan.
Oh, you idiot! For all that his heart was suddenly racing, Ardagh kept his voice regally cold and level. “Don’t fear, my lords. I shall say nothing to my brother—as long as you do nothing against him.”
The Sidhe were capable of incredibly devious actions, but no matter what plans they might think he was fomenting, the scavengers had to believe he meant what he’d said. And that, in turn, Ardagh told himself, would have to serve as the best security he could find for now.
Defiantly turning his back on the nobles, the prince rejoined the safer swirl of Sidhe and horse and hounds, all the while half-expecting an assassin’s spell. He could feel the plotters’ hatred burning at him even as he swung into the saddle of the arched-necked Faerie steed a servant brought for him. Grimly ignoring his uneasiness, Ardagh took the handful of light, silver-tipped javelins offered him, settling all but one into the sheath set in the saddle for that purpose, thoughtfully hefting that one in his hand, approving of its balance, musing that it would work as well against a Sidhe as a wyvern, should it come to that.
But with a clear blare of horns wild enough to set the blood racing the hunt was away, and there was no more time for worry. Bent low over the neck of his silvery horse, Ardagh felt its smooth muscles working easily beneath him, building up greater and greater speed as it ran with eager delight till the wind fairly shrieked in his ears. The prince buried his head in the long, silky mane, grinning. Ahead, the royal hounds coursed like sleek arrows, low to the ground, their hides burning white, their ears blazing red. Silent hunters, these, till the prey was roused; their very silence made them all the more chilling.
Finally, the blast of a horn—a tangle of confusion and baying of hounds—the wyvern burst from concealment, rearing up on its powerful hind legs, short, ridiculous forelegs clutched at its chest. Something seemed wrong with the viciously fanged mouth, and after a moment Ardagh realized what it was, and knew why the beast had turned from its natural prey to easier kills: one side of the long, narrow jaw hung askew, broken by accident or by some hunter too fearful to finish what he’d begun. Ardagh rose in the stirrups, javelin raised—
But too many branches were between him and the wyvern, and he settled back with an angry sigh. Let the hounds do their work and flush the beast totally out of hiding.
The wyvern roared its pain and rage as one of the hounds nipped it on the flank. The long, poison-tipped tail came lashing savagely about, but the hounds were too battle-wise to be so easily stabbed. One dog, not quite as quick as the rest, yipped as the weight of the wyvern’s tail caught it broadside and hurled it aside, but the others darted in to harry the wyvern, biting at flank or legs.
“Be wary!” someone yelled. “It’s going to charge!”
Ardagh’s hand tightened about the javelin. Steadying his nervous horse with knee pressure, he told the wyvern silently, Come, give me just one clear shot.
Without warning, the wyvern rushed from cover. Ardagh grinned fiercely, javelin raised. Just another moment… But another horse jostled his own, and the prince glanced sideways—Eirithan, fierce-eyed and angry, wanting the kill for his own.
Sorry, brother, the honor is mine!
Ardagh raised his javelin again, but Eirithan’s horse was charging forward, blocking his aim. And the prince—
—all at once could not lower the javelin, could not drop it, could not do anything but feel the pressure on him from five other minds. Damn them, damn them, how could he have been so stupid? A trap, it was all a trap, even the wyvern; its jaw had been deliberately broken, he didn’t doubt it now, though which of the traitors had actually—
—the traitors led by Lord Iliach—
—the traitors who were using him as their royal assassin, forcing his arm back for the throw—
They will not! Ardagh thought fiercely. I… will… not… do this thing!
But he had no choice. Heart pounding, breath coming in gasps, the prince realized that though he might be stronger magically than any one of the traitors, he couldn’t overwhelm all five. His arm continued preparing the throw no matter how much he fought, the javelin aimed straight at Eirithan’s heart—
Damn you, no!
As the javelin left his hand, Ardagh hurled every bit of will not against the traitors but at the javelin itself. Powers, there wasn’t enough time, it wasn’t going to work, it would never—
But the weapon merely grazed Eirithan’s face, whirring on to strike the wyvern cleanly. The beast roared its pain, staggering back, off-balance. The hounds lunged, dragging it down, and a dozen flashing javelins made an end of it. And Ardagh, suddenly released, struck out at the traitors with all the raw Power in him, hearing someone cry out in pain, feeling someone fall.
In the next moment, magic seized him from all sides. Held helpless by the sudden flood of Power, the prince tried to cry out to the courtiers to let him go, that it wasn’t he who was the traitor, but he could barely drag enough air into his lungs to breathe. They had all seen him hurl the javelin; they weren’t about to release a would-be assassin.
But I’m not, damn you, I’m not!
Eirithan, hand to bleeding face, was staring at Ardagh, eyes wide with shock. “Traitor!” he gasped at last.
Ardagh managed to choke out a defiant “No!” but could get no further.
Eirithan kneed his horse to the prince’s side, still staring. “I always knew you were not to be trusted, even when you were a boy, I knew it.”
Oh, nonsense! You knew no such thing!
“But I never dreamed you would go this far,” Eirithan continued. “I never dreamed you would actually try to kill me.”
The effort to speak nearly strangled Ardagh. “I didn’t!” he gasped.
“Silence, liar, oathbreaker!” Terror blazed from Eirithan, the terror of someone seeing his long-held fears proven true.
“No! You must—”
The magical bonds clamped down ever more severely. Sagging in the saddle, barely able to cling to consciousness, Ardagh could no longer utter any sound at all, and Eirithan continued sharply, to all the others, “We are returning, now! This traitor must be punished!”
###
It could not have been called a fair or honest trial by any standards, Ardagh thought bitterly, not with everyone’s magical bonds still holding him so tightly he couldn’t say a word in his defense. No one else was saying anything in his defense, either.
Of course not. No one’s going to be impolitic enough to challenge Eirithan. Especially since everyone saw me cast that cursed spear.
At least the bonds had been loosened enough so the prince could breathe and stand without aid. But cursed if he was going to let anyone see the helpless horror he felt! The prince stood as proudly as the bonds would let him, forcing his face into a cold mask that revealed nothing at all as Eirithan accused him of crime after crime. Almost worse than listening to the litany was seeing the true traitors (the remaining traitors; he saw with a flash of fierce satisfaction that his last, desperate attack had eliminated Teretal) standing to one side in sanctimonious sadness. A good many layers of these cursed magical bonds were their sendings.
Don’t you feel their falseness? he screamed silently at Eirithan. Don’t you realize that they’re the real peril?
No, Eirithan plainly realized nothing of the sort. He seemed to be coming to the end of his accusations now, and Ardagh braced himself, more afraid now than he would have wanted to admit: the Sidhe were not a gentle people when it came to punishment, and death would almost certainly be the least terrible part of a traitor’s fate.
But Eirithan hesitated, then waved his counsellors to him. They conferred for so long Ardagh wanted to shout at them to make up their minds, no matter how terrible the decision, just make up their minds and end the suspense. He could see the word “death” on many lips.
All at once Eirithan turned back to Ardagh, and the prince was surprised to see a hint of… could it possibly be concern mixed in with the fear and rage? “I should condemn you to death, Ardagh,” he said hesitantly. “That is a traitor’s fate, after all. But you and I are the last of our blood. I… I will not take my brother’s life.”
Then let me go, damn you. Let me show you the real traitors!
“No,” Eirithan continued more resolutely, “I shall not take your life. Instead, my false, false brother, I shall exile you.” His face suddenly devoid of all emotion, voice ringing out as cold and clear as a hunting horn, Eirithan cried, “Hear my words, my people! I hereby declare that he who was known as Ardagh Lithanial is of Lithanial blood no longer, prince no longer. He is a traitor, a nameless, clanless oathbreaker, and as such can no longer be allowed to live within our Realm.
“And so I hereby declare this nameless one shall be cast into exile! He shall be banished forever to the one Realm that will harbor such an oathbreaker, the one Realm I have found in which falsehood is no sin and the folk are as treacherous as he.
“This nameless one is hereby cast out to live whatever miserable life he can achieve not amid the lordly Sidhe but amid the lowly humankind. And never shall he return!”
No, oh no, Ardagh thought in panic, I am Sidhe, still Sidhe no matter what you claim! I cannot survive in that barbaric world! Eirithan, no!
But, helpless in his bonds, he could say nothing. Half-choking on rage and despair, the prince watched Eirithan and his sages, with an extravagant waste of magic, cast open a shimmering Portal.
That’s my spell, curse you, the one I taught you when I first told you about humanity!
A spell that was about to be used on him. Ardagh fought his bonds savagely, uselessly, as two servants caught him by the arms.
No! I shall not be tossed away like some shameful slave!
Something of his despair and desperate pride must have torn free to touch Eirithan’s mind, for at a commanding wave of his hand, the courtiers (murmuring in disapproval) dissolved their magical bonds. But Ardagh, poised on the very edge of the Portal, saw the coldness in their eyes and knew it was already too late for him. The slightest wrong move or word on his part would mean the hurling of a storm of spears. He must step through the Portal into wrongful exile, or die here and now.
I will not let you slay me, curse you! Ardagh thought. And at least I can take this much vengeance. He shouted with all the helpless fury in him, “Look to your back, Eirithan! The traitors still live—”
The spears were thrown. Before they could strike, he leaped boldly through the Portal to meet his fate.