Chapter 17
Tynan
Ahalf-league away from the castle, we’re greeted by a group of armed men on horseback.
“Halt, in the name of the King of the Light,” the one in the center calls out. I’m not sure of his rank, because where he’d normally wear his military insignia, he has the emblem of Othrix.
I scan the group, hoping to find at least one soldier or knyght I recognize.
“Stand aside.” I take a strong stance. “I am Prince Tynan of Khotor.”
“Prince Tynan is dead.” The head knyght draws his sword. “For making this claim, you will lose your head.”
“Sir,” one of the soldiers says. “I recognize the prince.”
I nod toward the man, wishing that I recognized him, and he grins back as if we’ve shared many flagons of ale together. Perhaps we have.
“What is your business here?” the knyght in charge asks.
“Do I require business to visit my childhood home?” I stare up at the man, wishing I too had a horse, and a sword. I don’t see why my purpose is any of his business, but there’s too much at risk to let these men stop us. “I am returning home to seek an audience with the King.”
The knyght turns toward the soldier who stood up for me. “You are certain this is the prince?”
“Completely certain.”
“Fine.” The knyght shifts, and his horse stamps the ground in irritation. “I will send a carriage for you and your servants.”
Xendus grunts.
“That isn’t necessary,” I tell him, but immediately question why I turned down a ride.
“My friends and I are happy to continue on foot. They are much enjoying the sights of the Khotori countryside.” And it will give us more time to rehearse our stories and make plans.
And the less direct exposure Surath and Xendus have to others, the easier it will be to hide their identities.
“I will alert the castle guard.” The knyght jerks his reins, and his horse neighs and huffs against his bit as they turn. Then the entire group gallops toward the castle.
“Was that confrontation expected?” Xendus asks.
I shake my head. “Visitors, especially those on foot, are typically challenged only when they reach the gates.”
“Troubling.” Xendus frowns.
Surath takes his hand. “And even more troubling that those men were wearing that manticore symbol.”
We start walking again and I move next to Surath. “What do you mean by manticore symbol?”
“That emblem representing the religion’s deity. It’s clearly a manticore.”
Xendus grunts his agreement.
“What’s a manticore?” The word is familiar, but I’m not certain why. I pick a pink daisy that reminds me of Rosomon.
“Manticores are extinct,” Surath says. “They were winged creatures with the face of a man, the body of a lion, and a tail that stings like a scorpion.”
I nod. That does sound like the images of Othrix.
The castle comes into crisper view ahead of us, and I frown.
Where there should be our family’s banners flying, there are banners paying tribute to Othrix.
Has the klericy taken over my grandfather’s kingdom?
Did they take over all the Seven Kingdoms?
Is that why Roule and the others said, Kingdom of Light in the singular?
I have so many questions, but I must be careful in asking them. Nothing since we crossed back through the veil has felt right, but if anyone knows how to tiptoe carefully through a sticky situation, it’s me.
As we get closer to the castle, several rows of guards take formation, blocking the gate. If they know it’s me coming, why are there so many guards?
“When we arrive,” I tell Surath and Xendus, “let me do all the talking. In fact, say nothing to anyone. And I need to meet with the King alone.”
“So, we’re to be left in the dark,” Surath snaps.
I turn toward her and offer a commiserating smile. “I’ll ensure the three of us have time alone to converse.”
When we’re about twenty handspans away from the wall of guards, a man I recognize steps through them. Percyval has been my father’s valet for as long as I can remember, and I’m puzzled as to why he was the one sent to greet me.
“Your Highness,” he says. “Three moon cycles ago, we received word from the dragon camp that you were dead.”
“I trust that you’re happy to learn that I’m not.” I wink.
His face remains expressionless. “The King will be happy. We will request the audience you seek, but first, I must arrange accommodations for you and your—friends? The female will be housed—”
“Thank you, Percyval.” I cut him off. “My friends, Xander and Sarah, are married and require a single bed chamber.” I know this request might sound strange.
Few married couples share a bed outside performing their marital duties.
But if they have a private room together, it will be easier for the three of us to parlay there.
My chambers will no doubt have more servants and security.
Percyval’s eyebrows rise, but he says, “Of course, Your Highness.”
As we cross the courtyard, I take note of many more changes since I was last here. There are many new shrines to Othrix, some in place of ancestral statues that had been there for centuries, and groups of klericks are milling about the courtyard, eyeing us and whispering to each other.
One of them strides toward Percyval. “These men reek of Darkness,” he says. “They must not be allowed in the castle.”
“This is Prince Tynan.” Percyval glances over his shoulder toward me, a mixture of fear and suspicion in his eyes.
I stride confidently forward. “Is there a problem?”
The klerick’s eyes narrow. “You and your companions reek of the Darkness.”
I shrug as if his accusation is nothing.
“My friend Xander and I are dragon riders, and dragons are known to have Darkness.” I glare at him as if annoyed.
I consider adding that we were recently on the other side of the veil.
If word of my disappearance and presumed death traveled here, perhaps he already knows that.
But if not, I don’t want to share more than I need to.
The klerick takes a step back. “We will be watching you.”
Anger bubbles inside me at his insolence, but I keep it trapped in my chest. Until I can better assess the situation, it’s best to err on the side of caution. “As a prince, I am often observed.”
The klerick frowns, but I quickly turn away as if he’s of no consequence. Surath and Xendus come up behind me.
Percyval goes ahead of us, and as we finish crossing the main courtyard, he turns toward a group of footmen who are following him like newly hatched ducklings chasing their mother. He murmurs a few words I don’t hear, and several of them scatter, running toward various entrances into the castle.
“Come,” Percyval says. “I’ll see that you and your guests are bathed and properly attired for dinner.”