The young man who was helping the older woman was in the room at the bottom of the stairs, and he moved between the Prince and the door.
“Good,” the Prince said, “this saves me the trouble of calling for you. Retrieve my armor—it’s black officer’s issue—and find me a new tunic if you have one.”
The Prince turned to a pot of cold stew and realized he was ravenously hungry. He grabbed a hunk of bread, tore it in half, and began to spoon the stew out of the pot and into his mouth at a quick pace. He caught sight of the young man moving off to find his armor. The Prince smiled grimly; it was somethinghe’d observed Tiffenal do many a time to the other Children: act as though you deserve obedience, and people will unconsciously give it to you.
“And where do you think you are going?” the woman demanded.
The Prince ignored her. He needed to eat quickly and couldn’t spare any time for talk. He didn’t have much time before they renewed their attack, and he knew he could help in the defense if only he were able to find Leah and Tomaz.
“Do not ignore me you young fool, I’m warning you!”
The Prince rolled his eyes, stuffing the last of the bread and stew into his mouth and washing it down with a long draught of water from a clay pitcher next to the pot, before turning to face her as the young man returned with his sword and armor.
“I don’t have time for you,” the Prince said abruptly. The woman’s entire demeanor was starting to infuriate him, as if she expected his obedience. As he thought this, he realized the irony and laughed to himself. He motioned for the armor, and the man helped him into it as quickly as he could. The woman just stared at him, mouth open and working like a fish that had just realized it was no longer in water. She recovered quickly, though.
“If you leave now that wound will reopen,” she said, her voice telling him that she hoped it would.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said once the armor was in place. He walked out the doorway into the waiting night, his side giving a nasty twinge as if sparked by the woman’s parting comment.
The street was a mess of people running here and there, belongings scattered across the broad boulevard that ran around the mountain up to the keep. Men and women were hauling children after them, doing their best to keep their families together, yelling and screaming to each other over a general cacophonous din that pounded in the Prince’s ears. Soldiers in the silver-and-green were doing their best to keep the crowd of people moving, some of themwith carts and carriages that told the Prince they were from Vale and the surrounding countryside, and others just as clearly from the Stand carrying their belongings on their own backs.
“Make your way to the keep! There is room for everyone there! Hurry but do not panic!”
The Prince heard the bullish voice over the din of the crowd and turned to see a captain with a green cape and green-marked armor directing the Kindred up the mountain. He quickly made his way over.
“Captain!”
The man turned and looked him over once, noticed the black armor and cape, and his eyes widened, in surprise or anger the Prince couldn’t tell, for both emotions seemed plausible on his squashed face. But then suddenly the captain snapped a salute, fist to his chest.
“What can I do for you, major?”
Major?the Prince thought.That’s an interesting development.
“Where are the Rogues being deployed?” the Prince said, seeing no reason to correct the man’s innocent mistake.
“Sir?”
The man obviously thought this a strange question for a major to be asking a captain. His brows pulled together in suspicion.
“I’ve been wounded, captain,” the Prince said, “and that’s no concern of yours. Now tell me where the Rogues have been deployed.”
The man tensed, the Prince’s manner apparently enough to convince him of his own inferiority in this situation.
“Down at the second gate, sir, they’re going to be used as shock troops.”
“Against the Daemons?” the Prince asked in surprise.
“Yes, sir,” the man said with a quick nod.
“As you were,” the Prince responded with a quick salute, turning before the captain had time to answer.
“Who the hell was that?” the Prince heard a second man ask the captain.
“I have no bloody idea,” was the bewildered response.
The Prince moved off quickly before they could ask him to identify himself. His mind was racing, and he was doing his best to walk normally even though the healing wound in his side was making it hard to take full strides.
Rogues and Rangers fighting against the Daemons? The Prince supposed there was a chance, particularly if any of them had valerium weapons like Davydd and Lorna. But five Earth Daemons at once? The Prince shook his head. No, they’d never be able to get close enough without one of the other Daemons smashing them to a pulp. The Rogues were good, but what they were fighting against were supernatural beings, the power of the earth itself given form and malicious intent.
