The Prince of Endless, pt. 8

Dirkennion and Marvella, on horseback, follow Mahkyel’s party through the darkening woods. From a distance, they watch the party signal and ride past a small stone structure.

“They have passed the eastern stronghold,” Dirkennion says.

“Even with a scout, they ride quickly for men who have left the safety of their own kingdom.”

“Exactly. This Uncle Mahkyel must control those eastern hills. This is rather suspect.” Dirkennion hurries on on foot.

~~~

Soon, Dirkennion and Marvella sit across from each other at a small campfire, eating beef jerky.

Marvella asks, “Are you certain we can catch them in the morning?”

Dirkennion nods. “Tracking with haste is part of my Muurizza training.”

“‘Muurizza?'”

He shrugs. “Elite warriors, you might say.”

“Oh.” She glances at his scythe resting against the log he sits on. “Tell me about your kind?”

“Hmm. Some say we are cursed. Bad spirits painted us with tiger stripes. Or that we are sent from Gerji itself to take over all of Verisye.” He scoffs.

Marvella smiles, shaking her head.

“I am glad to see you are a woman of reason.”

“You don’t appear very demonic to me. I have heard everything, I think. The stories…” She shakes her head. “So, Ehara hail from the southeast. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Vast tropical regions. Likely the cause for the striping and different colors. Effective hunters.”

“Is it pretty there?”

“Lovely. The Farrell trees have white bark and bear tangy purple fruit called kee-shra. Huge trees, forty times’ my height.”

“Wow. I should like to see that.”

“You are adventurous, to be sure. The journey takes years, however. Perhaps three thousand miles from here.”

Marvella frowns. “Did…did many of you leave your homeland?”

“We were called, you might say. The Sentinel Dragons, who keep watch over all, said we should share our altruism and skill with the rest of Verisye. That is why I am still in service in Green Hump.”

“Service? I don’t understand.”

“Ah, three years of labor. No pay, no possessions. But…friendship and education. It is a thorough way to learn about those I will protect as a constable myself.”

“Oh yes,” Marvella says. “The world of law-keeping shall welcome you.”

“I will be in Sealth.” Noting her reaction, he adds, “Where I will certainly be needed.” He pauses. “It was my father’s wish before he died.”

“Oh. From illness?”

“No, no,” Dirkennion says, smiling bittersweet. “He perished with his brother at Arsys. Along with everyone else.”

“Arsys,” Marvella breathes. “The Battle for Our Time. Against Kalimoraith.”

“My brother, Polannion, is a scholar of history. He can tell you anything you want to know about Arsys. How the demon’s sorcerers and their black rocks drove everyone mad. The absolute slaughter of that day.”

“Many thousands died that day.” Marvella shrugs, looking troubled. “Beyond that, all I know is that, thirty years later, there are still many villages without grown men from that day.”

“Perhaps it was only luck that the demon chose to march his exhausted army on to Dunhaven, where he was stopped and imprisoned.”

“And killed, right?” she asks. “At Joorveez Prison?”

Dirkennion nudges a log with his boot. “I suspect not. Great power was on his side. My brother is plagued by such thoughts. Obsessed, one might say.”

“Then the Knight Wars happened.”

Statues of a black knight with a mace and a sword-wielding white knight from the Harry Potter museum outside London.

“And everyone blamed the Ehara. We, who have no use for power or property, had to wrest it from six orders of knights. Grand estates became orphanages and farms. The chance to rebuild after Arsys. And yet…my face is still that of the enemy to many people in the west. An error.”

“Yes it is.” Marvella thinks about something. “Do you believe…this child-napping is about a power grab? This uncle? I-I have only heard of such things.”

“That is the most likely reason. Quick paths and cowardice often serve rotten purposes.” Dirkennion stands and looks about. “You should rest. I will take the first watch.”

 

To be continued…

 

 

The Prince of Endless, pt. 7

In a regal antechamber off the royal Great Hall, the King of and Queen of Endruskenlessinia are milling about with some of the Prince’s playthings. Attendants stand by in silence. The Queen, silently weeping, is pregnant. Mahkyel (the perpetrator) enters with a guard, casually eating an apple.

The King asks, “Who could do this?” without looking up.

The Queen sniffs quietly.

Mahkyel hands the fruit to his cohort and approaches the King. “We will find him, my brother. Do not worry.”

After a three quick knocks on the floor (by an outside attendant) NEET the royal advisor enters. He is followed by Dirkennion and Marvella, flanked by four guards. Neet says, “My King, these two constables have come to offer their service.”

King looks at Neet, then at the visitors. Mahkyel leers at them. Queen makes a small sound of surprise. King glances at her, then returns to his son’s play figurine. “An Ehara, and a woman. I think not.”

Mahkyel betrays a sneer, a hand on his sword-belt.

“Good King,” Dirkennion says, bowing. “May I be allowed to speak?”

King glances at Queen again, then shakes his head curtly. The guards look ready for action. Marvella glances at Dirkennion in question.

While the King’s back is turned, Neet and Queen meet eyes for a second.

Neet says, “Very well, my King. Come!” he says to the visitors. He leads Dirkennion and Marvella and the guards away.

Mahkyel steps close to his brother. “I will find our Prince, my King. We have some clues to follow.”

King nods with sorrow, handling the figurine.

Sky-painted ceiling in Hartlaxton Manor, UK~~~

Outside the Royal Hall, Neet leads the party to a guard house and dismisses the men posted there. He tells one guard to stay and the rest to go on. Dirkennion looks at him, curious.

“You are Ehara, ever honorable. Is this not so?”

“It is so,” Dirkennion replies. Marvella doesn’t understand what is happening.
Neet pulls a bejeweled bracelet from a cloth in his pocket. “The Queen has two of these. Its match is missing.”

Dirkennion holds the bracelet up to study it.

“That must be worth a fortune,” Marvella says.

“Correct, Lady Constable.”

Dirkennion returns it. “You believe the match was payment?”

“It is my strong guess. Prince Juno’s schedule is kept within an inner circle as tight as the Queen’s jewelry. And I would surely be a fool to ignore how often the King’s brother Mahkyel scowls in the Prince’s direction.”

Marvella reacts. “Ah, that would explain a number of things.”

On the far side of the courtyard, Mahkyel and eight torch-bearing riders emerge from the royal stables and speed toward the main gate. Dirkennion watches them cautiously, staying hidden in the guard house.

“Mister Ehara,” Neet says, to get his attention.

“Dirkennion. This is Marvella,” he adds, introducing her.

“The King must save face, even among his inner circle. If word got out of his weakness in a time of crisis…”

“It would be a boon to his enemies.”

“And the Queen?” Marvella asks.

Neet swallows. “She is desperate. As a mother, she fears the worst.”

“What happens to an advisor who is found to have gone against the King’s wishes?” Dirkennion says.

Neet shrugs sadly. “Unknown. The Prince is a good child, just a kind soul. He is all that matters,” Neet adds.

Dirkennion glances at Marvella. “Very well,” he says to Neet. “You have our word–we will do what we can to rescue the Prince.”

“With much gratitude, Mister Dirkennion,” Neet says, bowing respectfully.

He leaves and the impressed guard escorts them to the other guardhouse to retrieve their weapons and packs and Marvella’s horse.

Dirkennion asks him, “You will not speak of this?”

“Agreed,” the guard returns.

As Dirkennion and Marvella collect their things, she says, “I notice you did not promise a safe return of the child.”

Dirkennion nods. “To do so would be foolish. We do not know his condition, now.”

“I hope it’s not too late,” she says, mounting her horse.

to be continued…

 

 

The Prince of Endless, pt. 5

Elsewhere, on a forest path toward seaside ruins, MAHKYEL, the Prince’s scoundrel uncle rides with two guards and his weakling aspiring sorcerer cousin BOORYEL. Both are Eastern (Asian) and are dressed well from royal ties and ride with confidence. Booryel sneezes as they approach the ruins.

When they dismount, they are met by the chief kidnapper, HEDDAHNTON. He is a very fit man in warrior’s armor and has the look of a successful mercenary. Some of his thugs and captured women mill about the ruins, now a makeshift base.

Mahkyel approaches Heddahnton with caution. “Well done, Heddahnton. I trust the little rat is safe?”

“He is, Your Highness.”

Mahkyel wags a finger at him. “Not yet. There will be a time when others call me king, but I expect no such respect from a mercenary.”

Heddahnton leers. “Guilty. Like all men of deeds, I respect sword and coin.”

“Understood,” Mahkyel says, strolling through the camp. “A bonus. Booryel?”

The weakling cousin strolls up, pulling an amethyst necklace from a robe pocket. He holds it out for Heddahnton.

“Did you charm this?”

“Nay,” Booryel says, disappointed. “Simple stones from the queen’s closet. No magical potential.”

“Nonetheless,” Heddahnton says, snapping a finger. A thug comes up and looks at his boss. Warily, he takes the necklace in his gloved hand.

Mahkyel smiles. “I’m the kind of liar you can trust, Heddahnton. There’s more riches to come.”

“What about your giant?” Booryel asks.

“Charmu?” Heddahnton wears a satisfied expression. “Like me, he does his job. My men fulfill his craving for mares.” He looks at Booryel. “And what of your craving for magic? If I remove your hand, could you regrow a new one?”

Booryel swallows hard, taking a step back. “I…uh…”

Heddahnton laughs as Mahkyel intercedes, annoyed. “Save your charms for the ladies, High Warrior.” He takes Booryel by the sleeve and they head for their mounts.

Blurry hand holding knife over stone floor

Nearby, there are cliffs above the sea. Several individual jail cells have been built into the cliffs, 50 feet above a rocky beach. Most of the cells are occupied only by skeletons in rags.

In one, along with an ancient skeleton, sits THE PRINCE OF ENDLESS. He is an Eastern (Asian) boy of ten dressed in simple if regal pajamas. Sitting on the rock floor, he is adjusting a dirty wool blanket around him to keep warm. At the bars are two buckets. One is dirty (for bathroom use) and the other contains stale bread. Sea breeze ruffles his hair, and he’s trying not to cry.

The ground shakes, accompanied by heavy splashing sounds, and dust falls from the rock ceiling. Beyond his cell door, slowly and malevolently, appears CHARMU.

Charmu is a 60-foot giant in simple clothes and with a braided beard. He peers into the cell, sneering. The prince scoots back, fearful.

“Prince,” Charmu scoffs. “Mighty prince.” He turns to go.

 

to be continued…

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The Prince of Endless, pt. 4

Dirkennion calmly walks up the road approaching the town gate to Dillingham. The gate is manned by twin brothers from a simple watch tower and walkway over the road. Upon seeing him, one lifts his crossbow while the other holds up a hand.

“Halt, Ehara.”

Dirkennion displays empty hands. “My name is Dirkennion Singh. I was requested by your constable, Marvella.”

The two brothers whisper to each other. One descends a ladder to get Marvella. The other says, “Would you kindly wait there?”

“Fine. Would you kindly put down your crossbow?”

Soon, Marvella approaches and a twin opens the gate for her. “Greetings,” she says, sizing him up. “You…you are…Dirkennion?”

“I am. Your letter spoke of an urgent matter.”

“You got here quickly.”

He looks back down the road he’s traveled. “I am accustomed to fast travel.”

She comes closer, tentatively.

“I do not bite,” he says.

She clears her throat. “I, uh, my apologies. I have never encountered your…kind before.”

“Ehara often have that effect. The urgent matter?”

“Yes, um, sorry. I have bad news.”

Human skull (fake) sitting among greenery

~~~

 

Dirkennion and Marvella are carefully walking down the old dock toward the body. The fog has thinned out. Dirkennion steps slowly with his boots on the most-supported parts. Marvella notes this. The dock creaks beneath them.

“How, may I ask, is your kin involved here?”

“Unknown,” Dirkennion says, coming to the corpse. “Behrattia.” He kneels and examines the body with care, but shows little emotion.

“He said, ‘They took the Prince of Endless.’ Do you know what…?”

Dirkennion stands up, focused. “Endless. Endruskenlessinia? The prince is but a boy, perhaps ten years of age.”

“A little boy?”

Dirkennion approaches the boat, looking it over. “This is a merchant vessel. It came from the east. The nearest port to here is Morondava.”

“Between here and Endless, right?”

“Correct.” Dirkennion glances at her. “Ehara do not meddle in small affairs. If you will permit a few moments of privacy, I will then be underway.”

“To find your cousin’s killers?”

“His path has ended. I go to rescue the prince.”

Marvella grows intrigued and excited by this. “Do–do you need help?”

“No.”

She glances back toward the town. “Would you accept help?”

He looks at her. “You are a town constable.”

She shrugs. “Ibix will be upset, but he can handle local pickpockets for a few days.”

“If you are are offering, then you will need a horse. And supplies.”

 

to be continued…

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The Prince of Endless, pt. 3

In Dillingham, a walled village a mile uphill from the boat dock, Marvella and Ibix enter the constable shack. A messenger is waiting for them, holding two sheets of parchment. Ibix, the boss, takes the parchment from the messenger, who calmly ducks out.

Ibix reads the first message while removing his sword belt. “Miss Tammy’s half-blind cat is stuck up the oak tree. Again.”

“Prepare the trumpets,” Marvella says.

Ibix hangs his sword belt with other weapons behind the simple desk. “And we have a pickpocket operating near the Black Dragon pub.”

“Probably the Simmons kid,” Marvella says. “I’ll go.”

At the door, she pauses. “What of this Prince of Endless business?”

“Endless is a hundred miles away. It’s not our affair.”

“Do you think they know?”

“If what that dying Ehara said is true, that must’ve happened last night. They certainly know.”

“And what of this Dirkennion fellow?”

Ibix, feeling tested, says, “Marvella, we can’t get involved. Later today, I’ll take some pubbies down to bury the Ehara. Okay? Now, go save that goddamned cat before Miss Tammy’s heart gives out!”

Marvella lifts her hands, conceding defeat.

Outside, she pauses, looking at pink flowers near the footpath. With a wry grin, she moves on.

A lone pink azalea bloom in October

~~~

Later, far uphill, Marvella comes to a stand set in a clearing. The wooden stand has a large, peculiar horn set on one post. Two brothers are playing catch near the stand. With a bare finger, Marvella’s touching a fresh claw mark on her cheek. In her hand, she holds muffins wrapped in a large, clean leaf.

A boy says, “Constable.” They both come over.

“Young squires,” she says. “I am in need of a griffin. Do you know of anyone brave enough to call for a loyal messenger, perhaps to be rewarded with a treat?”

The boys eye the muffins in her hand. “Aye, Ma’am. We can do it.”

“Very well.”

~~~

 

High above, soaring calmly below the Aviarinelle river, is a griffin. The creature turns its head at a shrill whistle, which is coming from Dillingham. It sounds a second time, and the griffin turns into a swooping descent.

~~~

 

In Greenhump, Dirkennion is helping to mend a fence. The workers pause when a griffin announces itself with a bark. It calmly lands in the field beside them. Dirkennion looks at it and says, “Misha, would you please see if the butcher has anything for our visitor?”

The man named Misha runs off. Dirkennion approaches the creature with calm movements. Attached to its front right leg is a leather thong with a rolled-up parchment. Dirkennion gently goes to the thong, unties the note and takes it. Misha returns with a chunk of meat, and sets it on the fence post while Dirkennion reads. The griffin barks and eats the meat.

“An urgent matter in Dillingham,” Dirkennion says.

 

to be continued…

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