Mercy's Prince (8 page)

“Who is leader among you?” asked King Orland.

The tallest of them, although not the eldest,
stepped forward.

“I am called Gabriel, Your Majesty.” Though his
voice was quiet, the man showed no fear in his face or posture.

“Answer now, Gabriel, why your village has
refused to take up arms in the defense of Levathia. I have received your
letter, but I wish to hear it from your own lips.” The king leaned forward to
hear the man’s answer.

Gabriel did not cower, as most would, as
Valerian himself would have. Where did this man find such courage?

“Your Majesty, we are the Brethren. We have
pledged our lives to peace with a solemn, irrevocable oath to the Most High
God. We cannot fight, not even if it means forfeiting our own lives.”

King Orland did not move or even speak. In the
tense silence, Valerian studied Gabriel’s peaceful face, and their eyes met. In
that instant Valerian realized Gabriel was a Seer, too. He
Saw
the
absolute confidence in the man and knew when Gabriel
Saw
his utter lack.
Valerian averted his gaze and clenched his fists to still their trembling.
Finally the king spoke, and the fury in his voice made Valerian cringe.

“Do you realize I have the power of life and
death over you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” If Gabriel had any fear he
did not show it.

“And yet you are unmoved by the plight of your
countrymen?”

Gabriel paused before replying, but Valerian
knew what his answer would be. He’d
Seen
the man’s unassailable
convictions.

“We are moved, Your Majesty, and yet must
remain unmoved in order to serve a Higher Power.”

Beside him, Valerian sensed the king’s
simmering rage. He could understand it, for this man’s willingness to defy the
king’s decree when the land desperately needed fighting men forced the king
into a corner. If King Orland was lenient, it would set a bad precedent and
weaken the law. But Valerian knew his father well enough to know he would find
no pleasure in ordering the execution of peaceful men.

Personally Valerian sympathized with the
Brethren’s choice. When Waryn was alive, Valerian had chosen to live the
peaceful life of a monk. But desperate times dictated that a man put aside his
personal desires and sacrifice for the greater need. That was the duty he’d
been taught by his grandfather and his father.

“Prince Valerian,” King Orland said through
gritted teeth.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Valerian’s stomach
clenched. Was the king angry at him?

“As
our heir to the throne,” the king continued, “we desire that you decree a
suitable punishment for these men, the Brethren, who refuse to fight with us
according to the dictates of their conscience.”

If
the king had slapped him, it could not have been a greater surprise than this
request. These men had to die for their disobedience, for wasn’t their refusal
to fight treason? But the king must have commanded Valerian to decree the
punishment so he would not have to put these men to death, for didn’t the king
alone have that power?

Again
Valerian regarded Gabriel, who measured him calmly, without fear. Then Valerian
studied the faces of the others, some of whom appeared resigned to their fate,
but more than one showed alarm, especially the younger ones.

“Your
Majesty, these men should be imprisoned here until I have made my decision.” It
was probably not what his father wanted to hear, but he was not about to make a
decree of such magnitude without searching for precedent in Levathia’s laws and
history.

King
Orland stood. He glowered down at Valerian before speaking to the guards.

“Take
them to the dungeon.”

Before
Gabriel turned to leave, he caught Valerian’s eye and smiled. Valerian looked
away, unsettled. But he could not stop staring at the braids of each of the
men. Most hung to their waists, a few even longer. How it would feel to wear
that constant reminder of a solemn oath?

As
soon as the doors closed behind the last man, King Orland dismissed the
assembly. Caelis lingered, but then he glared at Valerian and strode after the
others. Valerian started to leave also, but the king put a hand on his
shoulder.

“A
word with you, Valerian.”

“Yes,
sir?” He turned to face his father.

“Don’t
take too long to make your decision regarding their punishment. It is good not
to be hasty in your judgments, but too much time breeds indecision.”

“I
understand, sir.”

“It
would be such a waste to execute those men.” King Orland frowned. “I would
rather find a way to convince them to fight.” He turned on his heel and exited
through the hidden door behind the throne that led directly to his chambers
above.

Valerian
clenched his teeth. He didn’t see how anyone could change their minds,
especially not Gabriel’s. That man, he was sure, would die a terrible martyr’s
death before he would ever consider altering his convictions. It was a trait to
be admired or at least respected. With a sigh Valerian hurried to the Keep’s library.
He had a lot of reading to do.

***

As he strode toward his room, Caelis laughed.
It echoed in the narrow hall sounding maniacal, even to him. King Orland had
ordered Prince Valerian to enact a punishment upon the Brethren that fit their
crime of refusing to fight. No doubt the hapless prince would order the
pacifists to pay in sheep or hand-crafted wooden boxes, or whatever they were
known for.

“Bah!” He spat on the floor. He’d grown up with
a healthy disgust for the pacifists, and seeing them now in the throne room
merely solidified his contempt. How dare they refuse to come to Levathia’s
defense! Only parasites would refuse to defend the land that gave them life.
The king should have ordered them executed, not deferred the decree to his son.

Caelis stood before the door to his room, glowering
at the unadorned wood. Waryn’s door was carved with dragons and intricate
scrolling. How far Caelis had fallen in such a short time, and all because of
that miserable princeling. Until today, Caelis believed Valerian to be an
unfortunate accident of birth, and that Waryn had inherited the kingly
qualities of his father. Orland’s reluctance to carry out the sentence for
obvious treason demonstrated a weakness Caelis had never seen before. Was it
possible the younger son, and not the elder, took after the father?

He smashed his fist against the door and
whirled away, heading for the armory. Only there did his bitterness fade. The
master armorer welcomed Caelis’ ideas and even now was implementing his design
for a grappling hook. The new bow still needed work, but Caelis knew it was
achievable. Even the armorer admitted to Caelis’ talent for weapon design.

Smiling, Caelis took the steps down to the
armory two at a time. Let the king and his son wrestle with punishment and
mercy; Caelis would devote his time to saving the land from the Horde and so
make King Orland permanently indebted to him. He laughed as he approached the
door of the armory, startling a page who ran past him. More than the king would
be in his debt; Caelis would be a
hero
to all in the land, and Orland
would be a
fool
not to name Caelis his heir.

Caelis opened the door to the armory and
inhaled the scents of leather and oils and metal. There was much work to be
done, and no more time for grief.

Mercy
knew she should return to the village right away, but her heart was so heavy
she didn’t feel prepared to deal with Aunt Prudence’s questions. Since she had
two buckets on her carry yoke, she decided to look for wildflowers before the
weather turned. One bucket of water would be sufficient for her and Rafael
until tomorrow.

She
took one bucket off the yoke and wandered alongside the river half-heartedly
looking for flowers. How could Serene give up everything and everyone she’d
ever known for a feeling? Wasn’t love supposed to grow from the head as well as
the heart? Mercy would not have chosen to marry Gabriel, but now that the
choice had been made for her, it was her duty to learn to love him and honor
him as her future husband. Was there not happiness, or at least satisfaction in
doing one’s duty?

Tears
came again, blurring her vision. She glimpsed a patch of blue in the grass and
wiped her eyes. Though she still could not see them clearly, she knew they had
to be balmflowers. She set down the carry yoke and cupped the flowers in her
hands. At that lightest touch, she
Saw
the certain knowledge of the
plant’s power to dull pain. She gasped at the clarity of it.

Eagerly
Mercy scanned her surroundings and found a thistle. She touched the flower,
then the leaves, and finally the prickly stalk. At each touch, she
Saw
what each part would do to heal. It was as if the plants were speaking to her!

It
wasn’t long before Mercy’s bucket was crammed full of flowers, stems, and
leaves. She’d collected not only balmflower and thistle, but feverfew,
goldenrod, and willowherb. She even discovered a new medicinal plant that she’d
always considered a dangerous weed, but upon touching the dragonwort’s flower
petals, she
Saw
that it would cause drowsiness. Only the stem and leaves
were poisonous. Perhaps, the dragonwort would help someone with insomnia.

After
collecting several of the flowers, Mercy spied another plant, bloodroot, which
Papa had always told her to avoid as poisonous. She cautiously cupped her hands
around the pale flower with its frayed petals and
Saw
in the plant an
urgent warning of danger. The same warning persisted with the stem and leaves.
At an inner urging, Mercy dug up one of the plants to expose its fat, reddish
root. As soon as she closed her fingers around the root, she was given the
knowledge of its power to clot blood. Could this have helped Faith yesterday at
the childbirth? Even if it were only effective on external wounds, what a
blessing to have its help. Mercy dug up half the plants to collect the roots,
leaving the rest to grow as Papa had instructed her.

The
light grew noticeably dimmer when the sun dipped below the tree line, and Mercy
gasped. She’d been out for hours. She grabbed her overflowing bucket and ran
back to the river to retrieve her water bucket and carry yoke. After filling
the empty bucket with water, she headed up the path to the village. Water
sloshed out of the bucket, splashing her skirt and feet, but she didn’t slow
her pace.

Aunt
Prudence opened the gate just before Mercy could knock.

“Where
have you been, Niece?” Prudence only called her that when she was angry.

“I’ve
been out gathering medicinal plants.” Mercy swung the bucket closer to the
older woman so she could better see in the dimming light.

“And
what about your friend, Serene? Don’t tell me she’s still out there picking
flowers.”

“No.”
Mercy choked on the word and had to clear her throat. “She is lost to us.”

“Lost?”
Her aunt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She
has run away with a man from the outside.” Mercy turned away before Aunt
Prudence could see her tears. “I must get home to Rafael now.”

Mercy
walked slowly toward her cottage, leaving her aunt in stunned silence.

***

When Valerian entered the quiet library and
scriptorium, peace settled over him. This was his favorite place in the entire
Keep. Father Preston, the priest in charge, saw him and approached.

“How may we assist you, Your Highness?” The
older man’s voice was not much above a whisper.

Valerian kept his voice quiet as well.

“I must see the books of judgment recorded
during the last war.”

Father Preston frowned thoughtfully.

“That would be during the reign of your
grandfather, King Theodoric, I believe.”

“Yes, Father Preston.” Valerian’s grandfather
had told him about that war. Only with great effort and loss of life had
Levathia prevailed over a much larger force of men that had invaded by sea. Now
the pressing question was whether any Levathians had refused to fight, and if
so, how they had been punished.

Several monks worked silently at nearby tables,
most copying with black ink, but one used gold paint on an illumination. A pang
of grief stabbed Valerian’s heart. He would never join them now.

“Brother Alban,” said the priest. “Fetch the
books of judgment from the reign of King Theodoric for His Highness.”

The scribe disappeared among the rows of
shelves and returned carrying three bound leather volumes, which he set on an
empty table.

Valerian thanked Brother Alban and moved a
stool to the table. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the sheets of
parchment, inhaling the familiar scents of ink and leather. Out of habit he
admired the even script and the small illumination on the first page, but his
urgent search pushed lesser matters aside.

He scanned the pages one by one. There was
nothing helpful in the first tome, and he’d almost reached the end of the
second when he found one reference to a Devlin Birk who refused to fight and
was hanged. But the entry implied that Birk was sympathetic to the enemy, not
that he refused to fight for reasons of conscience.

The third volume also covered the time after
the war, so Valerian didn’t read any more after that. As he closed the book he
realized how stiff his neck and shoulders had become and he slowly stretched to
relieve the pressure. When he stood, he saw that all but one of the monks had
left. It was Brother Alban.

“Do you need any other assistance, Your
Highness?” The monk stepped forward to retrieve the books.

“No, thank you. It must be later than I
thought.” Valerian realized he was very thirsty.

“Yes, Your Highness. The others have just left
for Vespers.”

“Vespers?” No wonder his neck had become stiff.
It had grown so late he’d missed his evening meal. “Thank you, Brother Alban.”

He went straight to his room and found Kieran
placing Valerian’s personal items in a trunk.

“What are you doing?” He realized his few
possessions were missing.

“If I’d known where ye were, Sire, I would have
told you.” The squire pulled a sealed message from inside his tunic. “The king
has ordered you to move into the crown prince’s rooms, so I thought tae save
you time and trouble by making all things ready.”

Now? Live in Waryn’s rooms? To be sure, he and
Kieran would have larger living quarters. But how could Valerian ever sleep
comfortably in his brother’s bed?

“Thank you, Kieran. I’m sorry I didn’t think to
send word to you. I’ve been in the library for most of the day, and it appears
I’ve missed the evening meal.”

Kieran shook his head.

“I dinna understand how you could read when
there was food to be eaten, but I’ll be happy tae go to the kitchen and find
something for you.”

While the squire went off to forage, Valerian
tucked the unread message into his tunic and lifted the top layer of clothing
in the trunk to see what Kieran had put inside. He was startled by a knock at
the door and the sudden appearance of a young boy with curly brown hair. When
Valerian stood, the page bowed.

“What is your will, Your Highness?”

Valerian couldn’t help smiling at the
high-pitched but courtly voice.

“Hello, Gannon. What do you here?”

“Why, sir, the king has sent me to be your page
now that Prince Waryn is—gone.” He went down on one knee, pressed his palms
together and offered them as a token of submission.

Valerian wondered why his father had sent a
message rather than tell him directly about the room and the page he’d
inherited from Waryn. Perhaps it was how the king dealt with his grief.
Valerian swallowed his own pang of sorrow and cleared his throat.

“Very well, Gannon.” He took the boy’s joined
hands between his own. “I accept your service.”

Kieran returned with a trencher piled high with
meat and bread, and swallowed the bite he’d been chewing.

“I hope this will be enough, Sire.” He set the
food on an empty table and turned to the boy. “Who is this?”

“My lord,” said Gannon, “I am the prince’s
page.” He bowed to Kieran.

Kieran laughed and bade the boy rise.

“No need to call me ‘lord,’ as I am a mere
squire to Prince Valerian.”

“There is nothing ‘mere’ about you, Kieran,”
Valerian said. “This is Gannon, formerly page to my brother.”

Kieran sent Valerian a sympathetic gaze, and
Valerian
Saw
his genuine concern that this move would be difficult
enough without having a constant reminder of Waryn through the boy. Valerian
averted his gaze to break the contact.

“It will be all right, Kieran. But come, you
and Gannon must help me eat this mountain of food so we can settle ourselves in
our new rooms.”

After eating, Kieran and Gannon carried
Valerian’s possessions, mostly books and parchments and clothing, to the crown
prince’s apartment next door to the king’s chamber. Kieran then had Gannon show
him the best places to store his and Valerian’s things.

While they were occupied, Valerian explored the
rooms with new eyes. He had not been here often, and those rare occasions were
full of painful memories. The solar’s large fireplace reminded him of the time
Waryn and Caelis had threatened to throw him in the roaring flames if he told
anyone they were responsible for a prank on the Keep’s stable master. The heavy
trunk by the window seat had been his temporary prison more than once.

The bedchamber felt cold to him, and not
because no fire burned on the hearth. His own bed was smaller but safe and
comfortable. Valerian did not think he would sleep peacefully in this massive
bed.

Kieran and Gannon were setting up their cots
when Valerian stepped back into the living room.

“Are you going to change the bedding?” Valerian
indicated the dark bedchamber.

“Yes, Sire.” Kieran nodded at Gannon. “The lad
has already taken care of that.”

“It was one of my duties for Prince Waryn,”
Gannon said with a bow. “I even brought the pillows from your old bed, Your
Highness.”

Valerian went down on one knee so the boy could
better see him.

“Thank you, Gannon. You are a conscientious
page.”

Gannon smiled and looked directly into his
eyes. Valerian
Saw
Gannon’s strong desire to please. For this boy’s
sake, Valerian would make the effort to accept this change with his mind and
his heart.

The evening grew late by the time Valerian’s
possessions were put in his brother’s presses. After Kieran and Gannon helped
Valerian get ready for bed, they shut the door to the bedchamber, leaving
Valerian alone. The small fire now burning cast flickering shadows of the bed
posts and canopy. The single candle beside the bed was a feeble light to repel
the darkness. He picked up the king’s message and broke the royal seal.

“
Valerian
,” it read, “
the time has
come for you to move into Waryn’s rooms. I have assigned Gannon to be your
page. This is a painful adjustment for us all
.” There was no signature,
just the royal seal.

Valerian tossed the missive into the fire. He
hadn’t expected more from his father; they had never been close. King Orland
had invested all his time and energy in Waryn, the heir, the perfect prince.
Valerian had always known he was the “spare” and that no one expected he would
ever have to step into his brother’s role. He snuffed out the candle’s flame
and climbed into the bed, but he left the curtains open.

He lay back on his own pillows, thankful to
Gannon for bringing them. It was the only comfort here. Valerian thought of
asking Kieran to move his and Gannon’s cots into the bedchamber, but he didn’t
want them to think him a coward. So he buried his face in his pillow and willed
himself to sleep. Tomorrow he would need all his wits about him.

***

Caelis
stood outside the door to the king’s suite holding a spear with the new
grappling hook attached. He raised his hand to knock but paused to study the
carvings on the door. The dragon rampant, the emblem of the ruling house, was
prominent of course, but the rest of the door’s panels contained scenes carved
with meticulous detail: a knight battling a dragon, two jousting knights, two
others fighting with battle-axes, a king on his throne accepting homage from a
kneeling knight. Caelis glanced toward Waryn’s door just down the hall. As
ornate as that door was, it was nothing compared to the king’s.