“Sam,” he said gently, making her jump. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I just am not in the mood for watching the celebrations right now. It reminds me too much of Selene’s wedding.”

  “Ahh. I see,” Hawk responded. “You are remembering dancing with Brin and wish he were here.”

  Tears began to flow down her pale face as she nodded her head. Hawk rushed over to her and cradled her gently in his arms.”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “It is alright. I will stay with you as long as you need.”

  True to his word, he remained where he was, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. Even after her breathing had slowed and he knew she was asleep, he did not leave. Only when Ria entered the room did he lay her down and cover her with a blanket. Ria took in the situation and assured Hawk that Sam would be fine when she awoke. Without another word, he flew from the window and went hunting, hoping Ria was right.

  Chapter 26

  The darkness was becoming oppressive as Brodin slowly descended. He glanced down and, seeing light begin to appear below him, silently thanked Tor for getting a torch lit so quickly. “This is going to be pleasant,” he said sarcastically as he reached the bottom and looked around him.

  “Would you prefer to remain in the city for another two weeks?” Cirren asked. “No, I did not think so,” he continued when he thought he saw Brodin shake his head.

  Thankfully, they were at the end of the tunnel so there was no risk of moving the wrong way. With only the one torch lit, and Modo leading, they headed off. Nobody spoke as they slowly made their way down the dimly lit tunnel and no sounds could be heard other than their own footsteps. The tunnel floor was uneven, having been roughly carved through the rocky ground above which Linket had been built, and they stumbled often. As a result, their pace was slow and tedious. There was no sense of time in the darkness and they called a halt whenever one of them felt tired or hungry. The air was thick and stale and the smell that wafted up their nostrils on occasion suggested that they were not the first people who had been forced to relieve themselves where they stood.

  They turned corners, both left and right, and one moment the floor was sloping gently downwards, the next it was ascending as whoever had made the tunnel had been forced to go around a more dense and solid piece of rock. They lost all sense of direction and had no idea how far they had come, making all speculation as to where they would eventually end up pointless.

  “I need to get some sleep,” Cirren announced after what felt like days. By silent agreement, they each selected the least uncomfortable section of floor they could find and shut their eyes for a while. No guard was posted as it was unlikely there would be anyone else down there.

  They awoke a while later, though for how long they had slept they had no idea. They had each lain the same way, their heads facing the direction in which they needed to continue, so as not to get themselves turned around while they slept. Food was not a worry, nor was water, thanks to Fuzzle, but the air was becoming a problem. Their breathing became laboured, slowing their pace even further.

  “I can see something up ahead,” Modo called out, breaking the oppressive silence that had descended. “It looks like daylight.” He ran forward, stumbling on the uneven ground. Looking up, he found a metal grill, through which sunlight was pouring. It was out of his reach, so as soon as Tor arrived, he asked to be held upwards so he could take a look around. Sliding one hand through the small gap, he opened the eyes at the end of his fingers, blinking in the bright light. He peered in all directions, but could see nothing but green fields. There was absolutely nothing to indicate where they were.

  “Grasslands as far as the eye can see,” he announced. “I will try to move this grill.” He pushed with all of his might, but the grill held firm. Tor, Cirren and Brodin each made attempts, but could not get it to move even a fraction.

  “It must just be an air vent,” Tor suggested and nobody disagreed with him. They decided to take a break, enjoying the natural light and fresh air for a while, before heading off down the tunnel once more. They had no idea how far they had come, or how much further they had to go, and their legs were beginning to ache. It felt like the walls of the tunnel were closing in around them and it was with great reluctance that they dragged themselves away from the sunlight.

  “I have been thinking,” Cirren said, a few hours later when they were taking another short rest.

  “There is a first time for everything,” Tor said, smiling fondly at his younger brother.

  Cirren ignored him. “If we ever get out of here, when this quest is finally over, I am going back to that inn we stayed in before heading to Tibia’s palace in Auxland and plan to ask the innkeeper’s daughter to marry me.”

  “The one whose father chased you out of the village?” Tor asked. Cirren nodded.

  “What is this?” Brodin enquired. He had not been told the story of Cirren seducing the girl and her father catching them. Cirren told his version of the story, then Tor told the truth, filling Brodin in on a few facts that Cirren had missed out; the girl being more interested in Patrick and only taking any notice of Cirren when she was assured he really was a Prince being the main ones.

  Brodin burst out laughing and slapped Cirren on the back. “You never change. Tell me, whatever happened to that girl you were sweet on that decided to follow you around on your quest?”

  Instantly the atmosphere changed. The merriment disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of sadness. “She died,” Cirren said in a quiet voice. Brodin was oblivious of the events in the maze, where Cirren lost all of his companions, and nearly his life, and Tor regretted not letting him know earlier, while Cirren was not around.

  “I am sorry,” Brodin said solemnly. Nobody spoke again until Modo suggested it was time to move on. They passed two more air vents before reaching the end of the tunnel. Finding their path blocked, Modo held his torch high and saw rungs above his head, just out of reach. With Tor’s help, he managed to grab hold of a rung and pull himself up until his feet were on the bottom one. He slowly climbed upwards, ascending into darkness as he left the torchlight below. He stopped when his head came into contact with something solid and swore loudly.

  “What is wrong?” Tor called up to him.

  “I hit my head,” he shouted down, rubbing his scalp. “Hopefully we are not currently standing under a house. I will try to find out.” He felt around and his fingers found the edges of a perfectly square rock. He pushed with all of his might, but try as he may he could not get it to move. He eventually gave up and climbed back down.

  “The top is blocked by a stone slab. It is perfectly even so it is definitely man made. I cannot get it to move though.”

  “I will try,” Brodin volunteered and, taking a run up, jumped high enough to grab the bottom rung. With much grunting and groaning, much to the amusement of his watching brothers, he pulled himself up and climbed the rungs. He went slowly, unsure as to how far Modo had gone before encountering the obstruction, but still managed to hit it, stifling his grunt of pain so those below would not know. A few moments later, his voice rang out cheerfully.

  “I appear to be in the middle of a wood,” he shouted. “Come on up.”

  “How did you get it open?” Modo enquired as he stepped out into the gloomy evening.

  “Simple,” Brodin replied. “I tried pulling instead of pushing.”

  As it was too dark to see anything clearly, they had no idea which direction to take, so they decided to remain where they were until the morning. They still had plenty of food and water, but no cooking implements, so they could not make a hot meal. They made do with strips of dried pork, some cheese and bread, followed by apples, then took a vote on who would take first watch.

  The night passed uneventfully and at first light Modo climbed a tree. It turned out they were not in a forest, but in a small copse and a short walk in any direction would lead them out. Using the sun to guide them, they headed east until they came to a road, then walked along it in a southerly direction. By midday they entered a village, where they purchased a hot meal and found out their location. They were still in Janton, not far from the Kinfen mountains.

  “Remeny is a long way south,” Cirren observed. “Maybe we should skip visiting home.”

  “It is not optional,” Tor said. “Besides, I cannot speak for you two, but my purse is getting low and it will be good to refill it. I hate handing over credit notes to merchants.”

  They enquired about horses at the local smithy and were directed to a nearby farmer who bred them. As luck would have it, the owner dealt regularly with the royal household and, as soon as Tor handed over a promissory note that Fuzzle had provided, was more than happy to supply them with four horses.

  It was a long and tiresome journey across Janton then Emvale and the four travellers soon grew tired of each others’ company. They did not rest until the horses required it and only entered populated areas when they could not be avoided, or provisions needed to be purchased. The one exception was when they drew close to Willem, where Brodin had sent the rest of his team. He and Modo took a slight detour to give some of them instructions to make their way towards Shelton Island. Modo opted to travel with them instead of accompanying the Princes to visit their mother. Eventually they crossed the border and Cirren was not the only one to breathe a sigh of relief. “We should reach home before nightfall,” he said, looking at the position of the sun in the sky.

  His prediction was not far wrong and the market traders of Durston were just packing up their stalls when the three Princes made their way through the streets towards the palace. Some of the populace they passed recognised the brothers and called out greetings to them. Cirren noticed one young lad run off in the direction of the palace and groaned.

  “What is wrong?” Tor asked.

  “I was hoping our arrival would take mother by surprise, but it looks like she is going to be forewarned,” he said, pointing towards the boys’ departing back.

  “Welcome back your Highnesses,” the guard at the palace gates said, saluting. Stable boys rushed forward to take their horses and they walked up to the doors of the palace, which opened as they approached.

  “Albian is waiting for you in the green room,” a plump woman informed them, smiling affectionately at the three men in front of her.

  “Thank you Mrs Pronly,” Brodin said, bending down to kiss the housekeeper on the cheek. “We have missed you.”

  Tor and Cirren followed suit, hugging the grey haired lady tightly before entering the palace. They found Albian in the official meeting room, where all important visitors met informally with the ruling family. Refreshments had been laid out and Tor poured himself a cup of chilled wine.

  “Any news we should know?” Brodin asked Albian, selecting a sweet pastry from the tray.

  “Nothing pressing,” the bald man said, rubbing his palm across his shaved head. “Your mother has been doing a good job of running the country in your absence. How goes the quest?”

  “Not well,” Brodin replied, grimacing. “Our brothers are dying.”

  “Yes,” the royal advisor replied. “I had heard the rumours. I had hoped they were not true. Accidents I suppose.”

  “Not exactly. I would prefer to discuss the matter with family first.” Brodin had always found the tall thin man to be overly nosey in other people’s affairs and made it a policy to tell him as little as possible. He regarded the man coldly. His dark brown eyes appeared sunken inwards, giving him a sinister look. His pale skin and the dark red birthmark that almost entirely covered the left side of his face did nothing to dispel the image. The lack of eyebrows didn’t help either.

  “I understand. Your mother will be with you shortly,” Albian informed them before bowing and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Tor pulled at his collar. “I always feel uncomfortable in this room,” he complained. “Why could we not go to one of the family rooms?”

  “You know mother,” Brodin said in a resigned tone. “She always likes to make an entrance.”

  Moments later there was a knock at the door and Albian entered once more. “Queen Reena,” he announced formally before stepping out of the doorway, making room for the person following him.

  The lady who entered the room was dressed elegantly in a plain grey dress with lace around the collar and cuffs. She was tall and thin, with pale skin and a gaze full of steel. Her grey hair was tied neatly in a bun at the back of her head; not a strand was out of place. She regarded her sons coolly.

  All three stood and respectfully bowed.

  “Mother,” Tor said formally.

  “So you have decided to come and visit me at last,” she said sarcastically. “I am deeply honoured.”

  “Do not be like that mother,” Cirren said in a whiney voice. Being the youngest, he had always been spoilt and experience had taught him that the right tone of voice usually got him what he wanted. “You know we have been busy.”

  For once, Queen Reena ignored him. “How many are left?”

  Tor and Cirren winced and looked away, unable to meet their mother’s glare. Only Brodin was brave enough to answer. “Petro may still be alive, the others are all dead.” There was no gentle way to break the news, so he made no attempt to try to soften the blow.

  None of the brothers expected her to react so badly. She breathed in sharply, clutching her fist to her chest as though she was suffering a heart attack, then fainted. She hit the ground before any of them could reach her. Tor was closest and lifted her arm, kneeling on the floor beside her. He felt her pulse, which was strong, though a little fast.

  “She is alright,” he announced. “Somebody get some smelling salts.”

  Cirren ran out of the room, in search of the nearest servant.

  “That was a little overdramatic,” Brodin commented, taking a seat near his mothers’ unconscious body.

  “Be nice,” Tor said, but not in an unfriendly way.

  Cirren soon returned and sat beside his mother, waving a small bottle under her nose. It did not take long for her to regain consciousness and soon they were almost chatting as a proper family; all formality was thrown out of the window. The brothers took it in turns to describe their adventures, attempting to play down the risks they had taken and glossing over the losses wherever possible. Reena did her best to appear attentive, but only Cirren was oblivious to her furtive glances towards the door. When a servant announced that baths have been prepared for the Princes, her sigh was almost audible.

  “You must wish to bathe and change clothes,” she said, in a tone that suggested she was doing them a favour. “I will see you at dinner.”

  “Is she pleased to get away from us or is she saying we smell?” Tor wondered out loud once she had left the room.

  Cirren mimed sniffing the air. “I seem to be alright, but you are definitely ripe.”

  Much to Tor’s disgust, dinner was served in the formal dining room instead of the family one. Other than the Queen and her three sons, only Albian was present. Tor was not the only one to notice how comfortable he looked sitting beside their mother. “At least he is only sitting on her left,” he whispered to Brodin as they took their seats. Remeny tradition dictated that the King should always be seated on the Queen’s right for formal functions and, though this did not really count as a royal function, the fact that they were in the formal dining room meant tradition had to be upheld.

  Cirren had arrived early and was busy telling Reena, in a highly exaggerated manner, some of his exploits that he had not mentioned earlier. Tor had to hide his face behind his hand and pretend to be coughing when Cirren started explaining how he solved some of the more difficult clues. Brodin raised an eyebrow at him.

  “He had a spy in my camp who kept feeding him the answers,” he whispered, making Brodin choke on his wine as he tried not to laugh. Reena shot him an angry glance. Being the youngest, Cirren had always been her favourite and she found it easier to pretend to be interested in his adventures than those of his older brothers.

  “Why are we eating in here mother?” Tor asked her when she eventually acknowledged his and Brodin’s presence.

  “Roast peacock always tastes better when eaten in the correct manner,” she replied crisply.

  Tor shook his head. “It tastes the same whether eaten in a palace, an inn or in the middle of a forest, having been roasted over a camp fire,” he pointlessly objected. As predicted, he was completely ignored.

  During the meal, conversation inevitably turned to their dead brothers and the circumstances surrounding their suicides.

  “How did you figure out that it was the will that was causing your brothers to kill themselves?” Albian asked, intrigued.

  “Actually it was one of my party,” Tor informed him. “As soon as I mentioned that someone had called the will a tontine, she realised what was happening.” He went on to explain how Sam had joined his group and the events that led up to the brothers working together.

  “A very clever young lady,” Albian said when Tor finished speaking. “It sounds like you all owe her your lives. So how exactly does this plan to work together beat the spell on the will?”

  Tor explained how all of the brothers would take hold of the next clue simultaneously, thus all meeting the requirements while leaving enough clues for any Princes still left alive.

  “Intriguing.” Albian was listening with rapt attention. “So what happens if Petro gets to the next clue first?”

  Without hesitation, Tor responded. “We all die.” Reena, shocked by the abruptness of his manner when making this statement, paled. For some reason, Tor found this satisfying.

  “What is the latest clue you need to solve?” Albian asked, noticing the Queen’s distress and wishing to steer the conversation away from death. Talk resumed and Reena continued with her meal, lost in her own thoughts.

  “Who decides who will become King?” Reena asked, finally taking notice of what was being said. “The quest was designed to have a winner. You are avoiding that. How do you propose to resolve the situation?”

 

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