Too Many Princes (50 page)

“
You cannot,
”
Yriatt answered decisively.

“
This is my task.
”
Ymell's tone was softer, yet more terrible.
“
I have confronted Ysislaw many times, always to no avail. I would like this to be the last time I must duel with him.
”

“
I shall aid you,
”
said Yriatt. Something in her voice said she expected this request to be denied.

“
Only if I fall,
”
her father answered sternly.
“
The risk is too great, my daughter. To you most of all.
”

The two dragons traded eye-darts, ignoring the mere humans who sat around them. Yriatt bowed her head at last, but her lips were set in a thin line of anger.

Brastigan's mind had cleared as he ate, but his stomach churned as he listened to the worthless debate. Fighting a dragon didn't interest him. He wanted to get away from the ones he was already with. Yriatt had destroyed any reason he had to linger in her company.

Javes cleared his throat.
“
Do we pursue the invaders, then?
”

“
You're forgetting something.
”
Brastigan answered before Ymell could.
“
Our duty was to serve her
—
”
he jerked his spoon at Yriatt
“
—
to her satisfaction. Her goal was to free her father. Well, he's free now.
”
Brastigan looked to Yriatt.
“
Are you satisfied? Because if you are, we have a duty to our king and homeland, and they're in Harburg.
”

The witch gave him a long stare.
“
Perhaps that would be best.
”
Her voice was taut, as if he had insulted her for no reason at all.

“
We can't leave now!
”
Lottres protested.

“
Why not?
”
Brastigan snapped back.
“
Let the dragons deal with their own. The rest of us would just get in their way.
”

“
But...
”
Lottres choked.

Ymell considered the two brothers.
“
Perhaps both ends can be served by dividing our forces,
”
he suggested.
“
Those who wish to return to Crutham may accompany Brastigan. The others come with me.
”

“
I go with
Maess,
”
Lottres announced petulantly. As if there had been any doubt.

There was a moment's silence, heavy with the discomfort of choosing between the two princes. Maybe no one would follow him, Brastigan thought. He couldn't let it stop him. His desire to be away from Yriatt was so strong now, he could hardly breathe around it. Every time he looked at her he felt his loss again, sharp as Victory's blade.

Slowly, carefully, Pikarus said,
“
Our orders are to protect both princes, not just one. However, we are soldiers. As Prince Brastigan says, our king is in Harburg. We have fought the bone men and know how to defeat them. This information will be vital to Prince Habrok.

“
Further,
”
Pikarus went on,
“
I agree with Lord Ymell that the four of you will be able to move more quickly without having to watch over us.
”
And, though he tactfully didn't say it, the troop's morale would improve without the constant arguing of the two princes. Pikarus concluded,
“
I believe Prince Lottres will be safe with Lord Ymell and Lady Yriatt. Or as safe as a man can be, in wartime. If we do divide forces, our squad will follow Prince Brastigan.
”

Yriatt and Ymell regarded each other silently, and Brastigan knew some kind of communication was passing between them. Lottres stared at Brastigan, his features lined with guilt and relief, triumph and accusation. The dark prince said nothing.

“
Even if we all agree to that, the Silletsians have a long start on us,
”
Javes pointed out.
“
How will we get to Harburg before them?
”

“
There is a way,
”
Ymell answered quietly.
“
You can be in Harburg by noon, if that is what you want.
”

Brastigan glanced along the lines of soldiers, already fewer by two than when they started. As Pikarus had reminded him, these men depended on Brastigan for leadership. Whatever Ymell's way was, it was worth it if it got them all back to Harburg and something like a normal life.

“
Yes, it's what we want,
”
Brastigan said.

“
Then,
”
Ymell said, his voice betraying no emotion,
“
we wizards will go first to Carthell. Javes is correct—Carthell is within easy reach, and Ysislaw could indeed be hiding there. The possibility should be investigated.
”

“
Very well.
”
Brastigan gathered himself to rise.
“
Let's get packed and get moving.
”

Pikarus nodded.
“
Yes, your highness.
”

Returning to the improvised wall at the cave mouth, Brastigan located his duffel and yanked it out. Three others came down with it. Gritty dust billowed into his face as he poured sand out of the canvas bag. Then a soft breeze carried the dust away. Brastigan didn't bother asking who he had to thank for that.

Other men soon joined Brastigan. While they emptied the rest of the bags, he returned to his bedroll and began stuffing his things back where they had been. His right elbow no longer hurt, he noticed. Brastigan wondered if Ymell had healed it while they were talking. He hadn't asked for help.

Brastigan worked with renewed energy now that he had a goal more to his liking. Yet he felt no pleasure in it. Shame had joined the grief that weighed on his heart. Maybe he'd found a valid excuse, but he knew he was running away. Just like a dog, tail between his legs. Running home to daddy, and wasn't that a joke? With Crutham at war, it wasn't likely Unferth would have time to console his broken heart.

He punched down the last of his clothes and yanked on the drawstring with more than necessary force. From where Brastigan stood, there was only one thing he could salvage now. He left his duffel and stalked across the shelter, through the scurry of men packing and preparing to move. Javes was bringing the mules into line, but Brastigan continued on past them.

The Urulai horses raised their heads at his approach. The newest of the three, Shaelen's mare, regarded him warily. Then the gray mare, the girl's horse, stepped toward Brastigan. Gratefully, he took the reins. Maybe he deserved to be called Urulai and maybe he didn't, but he had never forgotten these magnificent animals. It felt like a morbid validation that the mare came forward to meet him.

“
Who's that?
”
Shaelen stepped from behind her own horse. When she saw Brastigan, she murmured,
“
Oh.
”

They traded stares, the two half-blooded Urulai, and a sarcastic retort died on Brastigan's lips. Shaelen had found time to comb and braid her hair. With a sick start he recognized the beads she had used to tame her fiery locks. Red beads, the same ones he'd given to the girl on that last morning.

Shaelen gazed at Brastigan silently. Her round face was so like the girl's, and her lips moved, as if she wanted to speak but didn't remember how. Brastigan wound the reins around and around his hand, pulling so tight the blood throbbed in his fist.

Shaelen blinked first.
“
I'm so sorry,
”
she faltered.

“
Save it,
”
Brastigan choked. He pivoted away, unable to face this dark reflection of his perfect lover.

A part of him raged that he should demand those beads back, tear them from her hair if she wouldn't give them freely. He didn't have the heart, not when she looked at him like that. Anyway, it didn't matter. He could never wear them himself. Brastigan forced himself to walk slowly, leading Shadow—well, what else could he call her?—back to his bedroll.

Of course, the problem with Urulai horses was they were broken to a light blanket, not the heavier Cruthan saddle. Shadow's blanket had a horn of carved antler, and he could hang Victory from that, but there was no place to tie baggage on. He'd have to think of something. Brastigan knelt with his knee on his blankets to roll them into a tight coil, an outlet for his frustration and grief.

As he worked, he heard footsteps approaching over the sand behind him. Brastigan turned, expecting Pikarus had come to tell him the troop could move out. It wasn't Pikarus. Brastigan turned away, shoulders hunched.

Lottres knelt beside him and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.
“
How do you feel?
”
he asked.

Feel? Brastigan closed his lips against the withering rejoinders that came to mind.

“
Don't ask me that now,
”
Brastigan grunted.

For once, Lottres didn't retreat. Leaning closer, he asked,
“
What's wrong with you, Bras?
”
Brastigan raised his head to glare at his brother. Lottres flushed.
“
Okay, wait. I know what it is
now
, but you haven't smiled since we left home. It isn't like you.
”

Brastigan stared down at the bedroll he was crushing beneath his knee. How to explain it? He'd hated Yriatt from the moment he heard her name, because her summons had turned his life topsy-turvy. He had never wondered if his feelings were justified. But Lottres was waiting for his answer.

“
Well, the falcon, to start with.
”
Brastigan felt his hackles rise, remembering the bird's thin little voice.
“
Showing up out of nowhere, acting like it knew us, and then just dragging us off. It would ruin anyone's sense of humor.
”

“
The falcon is dead,
”
Lottres said gently.

So was the girl, Brastigan thought bitterly. Of course, the falcon had been Lottres's talisman, a physical symbol of deep need, just as the shadow girl was to Brastigan.

“
Then you started acting that way,
”
Brastigan hurried on. He felt defensive, and didn't like it.
“
Your fire-gazing and all that. What was I supposed to think?
”

Brastigan expected Lottres to stammer, just like old times, but his voice held steady.

“
I was so excited when Eben said I could be a wizard, but I was afraid to tell you. I thought you would laugh.
”
Lottres's gaze wasn't on his brother now, but focused on something within himself. Then he smiled with a trace of sadness.
“
I just wanted to do something nobody else could. Not our brothers, and not even you.
”

“
You don't have to compete with me,
”
Brastigan scowled.

“
Easy for you to say,
”
Lottres parried without malice.
“
I was trying so hard to hear through the fire, the way Eben said I should. When I finally did, I was really happy. I wanted you to be as glad as I was, but you weren't.
”

Because, Brastigan recalled, the farther they got from Harburg, the more his fears grew. It seemed the quest would cost him the only person he could count on in the ferment of Crutham's royal household. But, after all, it wasn't Yriatt who did that. It was Brastigan's own stubbornness, his cruel words, that drove Lottres away.

He shrugged awkwardly.
“
I was a fool. I know it. We've always been friends, but all of a sudden you were changing. You weren't who I thought you were.
”
Brastigan gave a low, harsh laugh.
“
Neither am I. My mother wasn't even a human being.
”

“
Did Ymell answer some of your questions, at least?
”
Lottres asked tentatively.

“
He did,
”
Brastigan said. But knowing the story of Leithan's travails wouldn't bring his lost love back. Brastigan straightened and kicked his bedroll over beside his duffel. Sounds of the camp breaking up suddenly closed around them, and the moment of privacy evaporated like dew in the sun.

“
Then let me help another way,
”
Lottres offered.

Brastigan's gambeson lay where it had been set the night before. Lottres picked it up, and Brastigan could see the padded garment had dried as stiff as wood. Lottres shook it lightly and then gave it a vigorous snap. Shadow snorted uneasily. A cloud of fine particles drifted around Lottres, and the gambeson hung limp from his hands.

“
Shaelen showed me that,
”
Lottres reported with pride. He handed the gambeson back to Brastigan.

“
Thanks.
”
Brastigan took off his shirt and pulled the gambeson on over his head. While not exactly clean, it was certainly more pleasant to wear than it had been. Lottres bent down to retrieve the hauberk. He helped Brastigan into his harness, just as they had done so many times. It was strange to think they would be going in different directions now.

“
I'll tell Father where you are,
”
Brastigan said in a level tone.
“
He'll want to know.
”

“
Let him know
Maen
is going to Carthell,
”
Lottres added.
“
It might help him to plan.
”

Just as Brastigan stuffed the last of his clothing into his duffel, Javes approached. Brastigan gave the bag and his bedroll to Javes.