Chapter Three

“Where is Tira?” Selene asked Marge as she scuffled by with a few loaves of bread.

Marge stopped and looked around cautiously. “She was visited by that man, the Butcher, last night, tis why old Grest is in a foul mood this morning. He is out a serving girl. Mopped her up from the floor is what I heard, though it seems near impossible to be true,” Marge said with a shrug.

She left Selene standing there, fear trembling through her body. It should have been me, she thought. It was true that she had not cared much for Tira, but she never wished for her to endure something like that. No one deserved the gracious company of the Butcher. Selene spent the rest of the morning trying to be invisible. She had yet to see Sir Veran, but it was possible he had not moved on down the long road. He had a large host riding with him and the stables were still full. So, as the day went on, she decided that the less visible she was the better.

The day moved by at a ponderous rate, making the mundane tasks seem even more so. In everything she did she found her eyes wandering, all the while praying that she did not see his face or those evil black eyes. It was nearly halfday when she finally saw him, and it felt as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest. The Butcher rode in from the east with a party of eight, deer and other smaller mammals hanging from the back of their mounts. If there was one thing the knights loved to do more than drink, it was hunt. But what prey did they enjoy the most? Selene knew that it was not always the animals of the forest.

She shrunk behind a barrel and watched as the knight dismounted and barked orders to his squires. He had removed his leather gloves and was yelling for wine when a young squire of another knight—whose name she could not remember—ran to him and immediately went to a knee. Sir Veran looked down at the squire, who was no more than a boy, and motioned for him to rise. The boy rose and began telling the Butcher a great something. It seemed most important because once he was done talking, Sir Veran bellowed towards the stable. He jumped back onto his horse and succeeded in rousing most of the village. Horses were brought, knights gathered, and the inn was vacated before Selene even knew what happened.

The stable hand, Kritt, was shoveling straw thick with manure out of the stable as she walked up. “What happened? Why did they all leave?”

Kritt looked up and smiled timidly. He had always liked her, she knew. “Something about him, the Prince, they sent out raiding parties to track him down.”

Stories of mystery and wonder filled her head at the mention of the Lost Prince. It was said that many years ago the Silent King had wed the most beautiful lady in the continent, Queen Somara of Panthos, in order to unite the two great kingdoms. Panthos was always an unruly nation of mixed religions and questionable laws. The Silent King meant for the people of the realm to believe that the marriage would bring peace, but the people knew the truth. There was thought to be no warriors more fierce than those from Panthos, and the Vint would do anything to avoid open war on Panthosi terms. The King tricked the Panthosi Queen and brought his host of thousands of men into the great city of Lilanth in the middle of the night. They slew countless thousands in the sleeping city. It took only a day for the Silent King to proclaim victory over the City of the Moon. The rest of his army had waited outside of the borders, and once the attack commenced, he raided every town in the small kingdom, killing and burning everything and everyone.

King Maras’ reason for hating Panthos was never truly known, though it is said that the fighting people had betrayed him at one time and cut out his tongue. Hence his nickname, but to most that is simply a rumor. It is known that even hinting that the King is without voice carried a penalty of death. Regardless, he slaughtered the southern kingdom without mercy. It was said that his beautiful wife was with child, and because she and her unborn child were of Panthosi blood, they were to die along with the rest of her people. But, despite his efforts, she escaped his grasp and birthed her child in some unknown location, outside of his reach.

The Lost Prince went by many names. He was the Night Terror, the Prince of Blades, and the Whispering Prince. He was the Dreamslayer, the Moon Prince, and the Shadowdancer. By his birth he was Kareth, a name only whispered throughout the realm. The tales of his adventures had reached every inch of the empire. Even the Trypt and the Isles knew the stories, or so she had heard. The word had been that he was slain by one of the Vint Enforcers some ten years past, though everyone thought it a grave lie. Death could not visit the great Kareth, it was thought, for the Children of the Shadows were ever elusive. Nonetheless, no new stories of the famous prince had been heard in near a decade. The empire knew not what to think of his untimely exit. However, the last few weeks had been very interesting as news of his return was met with increasing excitement.

“They think that the Lost Prince is near?” It was the best news she had ever heard. The prospect of catching a glimpse of the prince was beyond anything she ever thought possible.

Kritt only shrugged. “They do not tell poor Kritt much, but by the commotion, he can’t be far, that’s for certain.”

“Then the story may just be true about Sir Fenley…” It only made sense that it would have been the Lost Prince himself to slay the King’s Hand of Justice. If the stories were true, Sir Fenley was the best swordsman in the Vint, but Selene knew that no one alive was a match for Kareth. Butterflies filled her belly as she went about her morning duties. There was not much to be done due to the raiding party’s absence, so Grest released her early.

The small town was not much to look at, but she got out about as much as she ate chocolate, so she welcomed the freedom. Despite the absence of the knights and their men, the town was active. Midsupper had just ended and those that did not have fields to tend were starting their afternoon duties. It took her only a few minutes to walk past the smiths and then to old man Pallor’s barn. She continued out into the flowered trees lacking flowers that separated the forest and the small village. It was quiet in the trees, and if there was one thing she missed more than anything, it was quiet. She walked slowly through the thicket of trees, savoring the wind as it kissed her face and ruffled her hair.

Her serenity was not meant to be, for it faded as quickly as it had come when she heard the shouts. By the time she made it back to the inn, chaos had taken over. Horses bayed and men bellowed as squires and hands alike pulled the wounded and dead to the ground. Selene looked on in horror at the scene in front of her. There were a few knights that she recognized riding in, and many she did not, but the only knight she was worried about was not among them—at least not yet. After a moment she saw Kritt running around towing horses to the stable. He saw her almost at once. “Safer in the inn if you asked Kritt, yes yes.”

“What has happened?” She moved out of the way of a braying horse and dodged a wounded knight as he raced into the small opening. “Has the Lost Prince attacked the raiding parties?”

“Not the prince I think, but a battle nonetheless. Run along, Kritt knows that old Grest will be in a foul mood, yes yes.”

Selene hurried into the old inn and made her way through the throngs of people and to the kitchen where Grest was barking orders at the servers and squires alike. He noticed her a moment after she walked in, his face flushed red and his eyes bloodshot. “Wench, grab a pale of water and go tend to the wounded.”

The pale was heavy, but she grabbed a ladle and went to each man one by one and gave them a swallow. Those that could, drank graciously. The feelings she felt towards these knights were unusual, for they were the men that she had despised her whole life, but as they wept and gargled, spewed blood and moaned in agony, they were something different. She felt a weird sense of compassion, though she knew that it would be short lived. The second they were fit and able they would rape and murder her with the rest of the peasants, and smile while they did it. These suits of trust would soon be replaced with those of power, and then she would be expected to bend the knee once again.