Alaine shook his head and scratched his thick beard. “I last saw troop movements two days ago now, and they were spreading westwards and south towards Ruen. As far as I know the forest is clear.” He glanced at Vorstus, then at the back of the sleeping prince. A grin split his beard. “You’ve had the gods’ own luck, Vorstus, to avoid patrols in the open country before the forest.”
“Well,” Garth said quietly, staring at the gathering dusk outside the window, “Maximilian has finally earned some luck, methinks.”
Alaine sobered. He had been deeply affected by Maximilian’s story. “People will be glad to hear of his return.”
“Do you think so, Alaine?” Vorstus asked sharply. “Cavor has been a good king by and large.”
“Ah,” said Ravenna softly to one side, the dusk gathering about her like a loving mist, “but Maximilian was a beloved prince.”
Alaine nodded. “You be right, m’Lady,” and Ravenna smiled a little at the title. “As a boy Maximilian walked in the gods’ own sunshine, and I think many will want to see that brightness about Escator again.” He turned to Vorstus. “Will he claim, Brother?”
Vorstus nodded. “He will prepare himself tonight, and will claim on the morrow.”
“Brother,” Alaine hesitated. “You have not said outright, but I am no fool. I have watched Cavor pull northern Escator apart in search of Maximilian. It was Cavor, was it not, who schemed to make away with the young prince?”
Vorstus indicated the other three, all watching the woodsman carefully now. “It is what we think, Alaine, although we have no proof.”
“The proof is in Cavor’s over-reaction to the escape of a lone prisoner,” Alaine said dryly. Then he made up his mind. “The prince will need friends. Friends who will be prepared to step forth once he makes his claim public.”
“We will stand forth!” Garth exclaimed, miffed.
Alaine nodded, and touched Garth briefly on his knee. “I know you will, young man. But Maximilian will need more than the four of you in this room. Vorstus,” Alaine kept turning to him as the natural leader of the small group now that Maximilian was asleep, “let me prepare the way for you. Let me begin to spread word.”
Vorstus was uncertain. “Premature action could harm rather than aid.”
“Once his claim is made then he must needs act quickly; Cavor will not let the matter rest. Maximilian will need friends, more than are held in this room, and fast.”
Vorstus made up his mind. “Very well. Here,” he reached for a small piece of paper from a pack and scribbled some names. “Start with these men. They are members of the Order of Persimius. Tell them what has happened. They will help you. Already we have a substantial network waiting only for this day.”
“Good.” Alaine scanned the list then hid it in the pocket that until recently had harboured the Persimius ring. He looked one last time at Maximilian, then without another word he rose to his feet and strode to the ruined door, sliding his axe into his belt as he went. He paused, tipped a finger to his forehead in brief salute, then was gone.
Once night had fallen, Vorstus woke Maximilian. The prince refused the drink and meal Ravenna offered, spoke briefly but quietly with Vorstus for a few minutes, then slipped out the door.
Garth watched him go with concern. “Vorstus? What does he do? Will he be all right?”
“Peace, boy.” Vorstus sat down beside Garth and Ravenna. “He will be well.”
“He goes to prepare for the claim,” Joseph said, his eyes dark and reflective. “And for that he needs a night alone for meditation and prayer.”
“Oh,” Ravenna said, understanding his refusal of food. “He needs to fast. He will make his claim cleansed both spiritually and physically.”
Vorstus looked gently at her. “Yes, child. Yet despite all he has endured, I think Maximilian’s soul is already pure and sweet, sweeter by far than that of the man he would supplant.”
When Garth woke in the morning, Maximilian was back, sitting in a shaft of sunlight that fell through the window. His face was calm, his eyes still, and Garth thought he had never seen a man more at peace with himself and the world about him.
The Manteceros on his arm seemed to leap and twist in the morning sunshine.
“When?” Vorstus asked as he rose from his bedding.
“Soon,” Maximilian replied. “But you have time to breakfast.”
Again the prince refused food, although he took a sip or two of clear water, and the others ate quickly and silently. The air was tense with expectation, and Garth wondered that Maximilian showed none of the excitement that so evidently gripped everyone else. Even Ravenna, normally so composed, dropped a plate and several forks, muttering her apologies even as her cheeks stained with embarrassment.
The prince’s mouth twitched, and he watched her as she moved about the room, but he said nothing.
Finally all was ready. “What do we do now?” Garth asked Vorstus under his breath as they threw cold dirt on the fire and spread the few remaining coals out to die on the hearth.
“Now? Now we wait, boy, for today will be in Maximilian’s hands.” Vorstus turned to one side and lifted a small pack from a cupboard.
As if he had heard him, Maximilian stood up from his stool. “It is time,” he said, and stepped out the door.
“Every heir is taught how to claim almost before he can walk,” Vorstus explained quietly as they followed Maximilian down a gently sloping forest path away from the ravine. “The procedure becomes instinctive.”
“And the verse that the Manteceros taught me?”
“It was a cryptic reference to the procedure used to claim, boy. Every heir knows it, and its meaning.”
Garth eyed the small pack that Vorstus had seized from a cupboard as he’d left the hut. A sword stuck inelegantly out of one corner, but whatever else the pack held remained a mystery. “Vorstus?” Garth inclined his head at the pack.
Vorstus shrugged Garth’s curiosity aside. “Be quiet, boy. This is a reverent moment, and likely one you will see only once in your lifetime.”
Maximilian led them down a path towards the heart of the forest, his pace brisk but not overly fast. He still wore only a simple pair of breeches and some boots, and Garth wondered that he would not dress more formally for such an important day.
They walked for over three hours, Maximilian never hesitating at a fork in the path or even when the trail disappeared completely. Garth glanced back several times to where his father and Ravenna followed, but they only nodded at his glance, their faces as calm and unquestioning as Vorstus’.
Finally, when Garth was wondering if all the claim consisted of was a hike through the forest, Maximilian came to an abrupt halt.
He tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes blazing. “Do you hear it?” he asked, and for the first time that day Garth could detect a trace of tension in the prince’s voice.
“Yes,” Vorstus replied gently. “I hear it, Maximilian Persimius.”
Garth strained for a moment, then heard a soft roar above the normal sounds of the forest.
But Maximilian did not wait to answer the question that sprang to Garth’s lips. Without another word he turned back to the trail and strode forth, his pace noticeably hurried now.
The others hastened after him.
Within half an hour Maximilian led them to a great waterfall, a green lake spreading out from its misty base. Jewel-like lilies, their velvet pads so broad and thick it seemed a man could use them as stepping stones, spread over the calmer sections of the lake, while fish flashed just beneath the lake’s surface.
But Maximilian had no eye for any of this beauty. He stared at the waterfall, then he turned to Joseph. “Will you witness?” he asked tersely.
“Assuredly, Maximilian Persimius,” Joseph said without hesitation.
Maximilian jerked his head in thanks, then he turned to where Garth and Ravenna stood. “Will you name me?” he asked, his voice softer now.
Garth opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Ravenna answered for the both of them. “Certainly, Maximilian Persimius.”
Maximilian relaxed enough for a small smile. “Then I thank you.”
Finally he turned to Vorstus. “Are you ready?”
“I am, Maximilian Persimius.”
Maximilian took a deep breath. “Already seventeen years have been wasted. I have no taste for lingering.”
And with movements swift and smooth he stripped himself of his clothes and stepped to the side of the lake.
“In crystal do drown me,” Vorstus said low, but very clearly. Garth glanced sharply at the monk. Vorstus had assumed an air of utmost authority and gravity, and Garth realised that this was not Brother Vorstus who stood before them, but the Grand Abbot of the Order of Persimius.