“If something doesn’t get us first,” teased Bane, round-eyed with excitement.
“Most amusing, Your Highness.”
“We’re still too close to the road. Get moving,” commanded Hugh.
“Yes, sir,” muttered the chamberlain.
They reached the path in less than an hour, but it was hard going nonetheless. Though brown and lifeless in the winter, the bramble bushes were like the hands of the undead, reaching out with their sharp nails to tear flesh and rend clothing. This deep in the forest, the three could hear quite plainly the faint crystalline hum caused by the wind rubbing against the hargast branches. It was much like someone running a wet finger over a crystal glass, and had the effect of setting the teeth on edge.
“No one in his right mind would come in this accursed place!” grumbled Alfred, glancing up at the trees with a shudder.
“Exactly,” said Hugh, and continued to beat a path through the brush.
Alfred walked ahead of the prince and held back the thorny branches so that Bane could pass through them safely. The brambles were so thick, however, that this was often not possible. Bane endured scratched cheeks and torn hands without complaint, sucking his wounds to alleviate the pain.
How bravely will he face the pain of dying?
Hugh hadn’t meant to ask himself the question, and he forced himself to answer it. As bravely as other kids I’ve seen. Better to die young, after all, as the Kir monks say. Why should a child’s life be considered more precious than a man’s? Logically, it should be less so, for a man contributes to society and a child is a parasite. It’s instinctive, Hugh supposed. Our animal-like need to perpetuate our own kind. This is just another job. The fact that he’s a child shouldn’t, won’t matter!
The bramble bushes gave way eventually, with a suddenness for which Alfred was evidently unprepared. By the time Hugh reached him, the chamberlain was lying sprawled facefirst on a narrow space of cleared ground.
“Which direction? That’s it, isn’t it?” cried Bane, dancing around Alfred in excitement. The path led only one direction. Deducing that it must lead to the ship, the prince bolted down it before Hugh could answer his question.
Hugh opened his mouth to command him to come back, then shut it abruptly.
“Oh, sir, shouldn’t we stop him?” queried Alfred anxiously as Hugh waited for the chamberlain to drag himself to his feet.
The wind whipped around them, shrieking and moaning, driving h’ne bits of stinging coralite and hargast bark into their faces. Leaves swirled at their feet and the crystalline tree branches swayed above their heads. Hugh stared through the fine dust to see the boy running headlong down the path.
“He’ll be all right. The ship’s not far from here. He can’t mistake the trail.”
“But . . . assassins?”
The child’s fleeing his one true danger, Hugh said silently. Let him go. “There’s no one in these woods. I would’ve seen the signs.”
“If you don’t mind, sir, His Highness is my responsibility.” Alfred was edging his way down the path. “I’ll just hurry after-”
“Go ahead.” Hugh waved his hand.
Alfred, smiling and bobbing his head in servile thanks, broke into a run. The Hand half-expected to see the chamberlain break his head at the same time, but Alfred managed to keep his feet under him and pointed the same direction as his nose. His long arms swinging, hands flapping at his sides, he loped down the path after the prince.
Hugh lagged behind, deliberately slowing his steps, pausing, waiting for something uncertain and unknown. He’d felt the same when a storm was approaching-a tension, a prickling of the skin. Yet there was no rain smell in the air, no acrid whiff of lightning. The winds always blew high along the coast-
The sound of the crack splitting the air was so loud that Hugh’s first thought was of an explosion, his next that elves had discovered his ship. But the subsequent crash and the shrill, agonized scream, cut off abruptly, informed Hugh of what had really happened.
He felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
“Help, Sir Hugh! Help!” Alfred’s voice, blown apart by the wind, was barely heard. “A tree! A tree . . . fallen . . . my prince!”