Too Many Princes (17 page)

“
What, you—frightened?
”
Lottres mocked.

It was Brastigan's turn to glare at him.
“
Iamnotscared!
”

Pikarus considered the two of them.
“
I, too, dislike being followed,
”
he offered tactfully,
“
and it's been my experience that a man should trust his instincts at times like these. If Prince Brastigan doesn't object to turning north...
”

“
I've slept outdoors before,
”
Brastigan assured him.

Pikarus nodded and continued.
“
Also, I hesitated to suggest it, knowing how you feel
—
”
he glanced apologetically at Brastigan
—
”
but perhaps we should consult the falcon.
”

Lottres's face lit up.
“
I forgot about that! It must have flown to Harburg from Hawkwing House. Maybe it saw things on the ground.
”

Brastigan grimaced sourly, but then shrugged in deference to his brother.
“
I don't have to be there, do I?
”
he asked hopefully.

* * *

They were up at cock-crow the next day. Lottres made good and sure of that. He sprang out of bed and had the drapes open at first light, then bustled around the room packing. Brastigan couldn't have slept long if he wanted to.

The morning meal passed in silence, but that was busy with glances darting across the boards. From Lottres to Pikarus they flashed, and from Pikarus to Javes, a kind of wordless swordplay. Brastigan, watching sardonically, had to wonder how much the men had been told. Yet that was a petty concern when the real problem, Wulfram, sat just a few seats down, chewing his eggs and bread. They had all gone back to pretending they didn't see him. Wulfram drained his morning ale and shouldered his pack. Many watchful eyes followed as he tramped out the door.

The words they had been holding in broke loose the moment their backsides touched the saddle. Brastigan heard low rumbles of talk along the line as the horses clattered down a cobbled lane between shops and houses. He and Lottres took the head of the column, with Pikarus and Javes close behind. The squad followed in what seemed a much tighter line than the day before. Since they all rode so near, it was easy to talk. That they did.

The plan that emerged was simple: they would change mounts at Caulteit and head north before sunrise. Later in the morning, a party of soldiers from the fort would ride out with their steeds. If luck held, these would lure Wulfram on after them.

Lottres was much pleased by the acceptance of his ploy, and eager to consult the falcon at their first rest. As if he needed some excuse for that, Brastigan thought sourly. He strolled around, stretching saddle-stiff legs, and left his brother to it.

Brastigan hadn't bothered to keep track of the falcon's whereabouts. It hunted for itself and that contented him. Now he watched with veiled amusement as Lottres waved and shouted up to the sky. After much exercise, he succeeded in catching the falcon's attention. It streaked downward on folded wings. Brastigan could faintly hear his brother explaining their intent, and see the tawny head jerk in what served as its nod. No other approached that council. From their expressions, Javes and the other men shared Brastigan's misgivings.

Yet there was a thought he had, one that wouldn't leave his mind. He didn't like it, but this was his command. Even Brastigan knew better than to put selfish feelings before safety. He kicked his way through the grass toward Lottres.

The falcon's beaky face snapped around as Brastigan approached, but he didn't speak to it. Instead, he told Lottres,
“
Ask it if it can follow Wulf tomorrow.
”

“
Why?
”
came his brother's wary demand. Lottres turned away, as if shielding something precious.

The falcon regarded Brastigan over Lottres's head. Dark lids ran down and up over its pale eyes, but it said nothing.

“
Wulf's not stupid,
”
he snapped, unnerved by that feral regard.
“
The bird's been with us all the way so far. If it doesn't follow the decoys, he'll know it's a trick.
”

The falcon cocked its head, blinked again. Then came the strange voice:
“
That is well thought of.
”

“
I didn't ask you,
”
Brastigan snarled.

“
But we'll need him!
”
Lottres protested as if they were boys again, and some bigger child was about to pry a wonderful new toy from his hands.

“
It can fly,
”
Brastigan reminded his brother with patient sarcasm,
“
and it can see long distances. Let it keep high enough to be out of bowshot, and stay long enough to see if Wulf follows them.
”

“
We shouldn't get separated,
”
Lottres insisted.

“
I agree with Brastigan,
”
the falcon said. Brastigan clenched his teeth at the sound of his name coming from such a source.
“
It is the wiser course.
”

“
But...
”

“
Pup, the bird flies faster than we can ride.
”
Brastigan linked his thumbs and made flapping motions on the air.
“
As long as we stay on the road, it will find us.
”

“
It is even so.
”
The falcon dipped its curved beak toward Brastigan.
“
Tomorrow, then.
”

It launched from Lottres's shoulder, barred wings beating swiftly upward. Brastigan watched it away and Lottres watched him, and both of them were scowling. The younger prince rubbed his shoulder and muttered rebelliously.

Brastigan was in no mood for dissent now.
“
What was that?
”

“
I said,
”
Lottres answered, speaking as slowly as Brastigan had a moment ago,
“
why am I always the one who gets scratched? You're the one who can't be polite.
”

“
Sorry,
”
Brastigan shrugged. Manners were irrelevant as far as that witch-thing was concerned.
“
If you don't like it, don't let it sit on you. You're not a tree, you know.
”

“
You...
”

Brastigan looked around sharply. He scarcely recognized his brother's voice, but his hackles were still up from the parley with that cursed bird. Their glances caught like crossed swords.

“
You just want to get rid of it!
”
Lottres burst out, eyes blazing and fists clenched white at his sides.

“
Oh, do you think so?
”
Brastigan widened his eyes with feigned astonishment. Then,
“
Of course I do! It's unnatural!
”

His brother stepped back from him, as if the words were blows, and his face above the curly beard was ashen.

“
You don't even know
—
.
”
Lottres began hotly.

Then Javes's loud whistle cut between them, summoning the riders back to the saddle. Brastigan didn't move, didn't blink, but Lottres let an angry breath hiss between his teeth and stalked off to join the others.

There was little talk thereafter. Lottres rode fuming, and Brastigan rode aloof, determined to ignore his brother's temper. He had nothing to apologize for. A commander had to make decisions sometimes, that was all.

Still, he found himself chewing on the problem as the column trotted between pastures and fields. It irked him that Lottres set such a great store by the falcon. As if it were an honor to be perched on by a creature that might bloody him at any moment. Brastigan glanced aside, taking in his brother's frowning profile. Lottres was such a sensible lad, normally. How could he be so smitten with the romance of wizardry? Worse, how could Brastigan save him if he willingly ran after danger?

For the moment, Brastigan let Lottres keep his silence. At last the waning day showed them the blunt gray towers of Caulteit Keep. A goodly town clustered near the fortress. Behind them all the mountains of Carthell loomed closer now than not. As the convoy approached the castle walls, Brastigan hoped tomorrow's exploits would cure whatever ailed his brother.