Heiress of Dark Waters: Chapter One

Heiress of Dark Waters: Chapter One

Regent Fenris Alfrn-Wyd rode several paces ahead of the men lent him by his charge, the young Tertius Gaelin, Prince of Eucharia—soon to become King. Fenris felt resentment boil off the men whenever he was among them, though their faces showed not a trace of it. Protocol of an age long before their births would place them in such a position and they were not to allow their faces to betray any feelings of bitterness.

Guarding a sorcerer, especially one whose manner in rising to power drew constant whispers throughout the Court, was not an honorable service. There would be no accolades for these men, no ribbons and metals won for service to their King in war. Only a thankless span of duty to look forward to: uneventful and unremarkable. Fenris noted with a touch of irony that perhaps the ones which might seek to assassinate him could be counted among the men riding with him.

Fenris knew also of the even deeper distrust of him: he knew of rumors spread that he had beguiled his way to the role of Regent. He smiled to himself. His accusers were in a conundrum: for as they charged him secretly of magical duplicity, they feared to expose him, lest he strike at them with sorcery.

And there was the matter of the young Prince himself.

The direct heir to the throne of all Eucharia, Tertius had been made ruler at the tender age of ten when an arrow felled his father. Fenris had served as Seneschal to King Alrid but had not ridden with his King on the day of his death. The ambush, directed by men of the Outer Lands, was not of his doing—though their actions did give him a new opportunity within the Court. His not accompanying the King on that day was merely coincidence, nothing more.

The Outer Lands. Fenris sniffed. He would have nothing to do with a land which had no name, nor any set ruler, only one warlord after another seeking to usurp the one nearest him. Only those with a truly barbarous nature could survive in such a place, and Fenris counted not himself among that rank. And because barbarians tended to be both superstitious and fearful of magic, the Court had turned to Fenris himself to guard the throne from the men who had killed their King.

It was not an offer jubilantly given and so Fenris presided over a Court which both feared and resented his presence in their midst. But it had become a choice between the terror of brutal slaughter by savages, or being at the mercy of a sorcerer’s questionable largesse. It was a decision for which the Court had little hesitation.

But young Prince Tertius, now nearly eighteen, always looked eagerly to his Regent’s counsel, not caring that Fenris might cast a spell upon him. But Fenris was wise enough to know that such devotion was not born of admiration, but of dependence. The young Prince was not the least interested in governing his people, rather he preferred to amuse himself with whatever diversion was presented to him. A Regent was a luxury and a convenience for the boy-Prince, and it mattered nothing to him the aspect of his counselor.

But the boy was now becoming a man, and with such maturity the Prince would no longer have need of a Regent. Fenris’s rank would drop once more to that of Seneschal: little more than a servant with some influence. As Regent, Fenris ruled nearly as a monarch in his own right. He would not give this up. If he could not wear the crown, he would by the gods at least have the ear and guide the hand of the one wearing it. Always. In perpetuity. And for an immortal such as he, that meant forever.

If he wished to remain Regent beyond his charge’s eighteenth birthday, he would have Prince Tertius replaced before such came to pass. But before he would conjure a fatal accident for the boy, he would have him married and siring an heir. Tertius’s younger brother, Prince Perryn—recently given the title of Duke of Hahnbym—would then serve as Prince until Tertius’s own son were old enough to assume the throne. For Fenris intended to dispatch Perryn in the same manner, but he did not care whether or not the younger brother would wed and produce an heir of his own. With Perryn gone, Fenris would have time enough to find a suitable consort for Tertius’s son when there came a need for it.

Such would guarantee a long reign for Fenris, even suspicion would not touch him. And any in the Court harboring suspicion would be reluctant to give voice to accusations of treachery by a sorcerer-Regent. In time, perhaps, they might accept that the Court of Gaelin was so cursed: that each Prince of Eucharia would never rule without a Regent. Fenris smiled slowly. Was this not the way in which most myths were born?

There was only one thing hindering his plan: that Tertius was unwilling to accept just any maiden as his bride. Fenris had broached the subject often enough, only to be rebuffed by the young Prince. And such was why Regent Fenris Alfrn-Wyd found himself trudging from village to village in search of one who might so enchant the fussy Prince into marriage. Fenris wanted none from any other lands, especially nobles who might bring eyes brave with scrutiny into the Court of Gaelin.

No one, of course, knew the true purpose of this mission, and his own men knew well not to ask. Their duty was to follow him in whatever assignment he gave himself—nor did any one at Court deign to question the Regent. He simply gathered his men together and left Hahnbym to fan across all of Eucharia.

At each village Fenris did pretend to be interested in the crops yielded for the Crown before asking to see each girl of marriageable age. But his dismay increased as he looked upon the face of each young girl and finding nothing upon it, nor in the dull unblinking eyes, which might serve to enchant a young, discerning Prince. None seemed touched by magic, nor did they seemed to own any special charm which might take the place of a bewitched mien.

And so tread on they must, Fenris’s guards becoming the more restless, no doubt wondering just what the Regent was searching for. But on he would search, and if need be, release his men back to Hahnbym without him. He was certain there’d be no dissent in their eyes, nor in the set of their mouths.

Suddenly made impatient by his thoughts, Fenris spurred his mount to a faster trot. In a few hours they would begin to lose the remaining light and the tents would have to come up, for they would not reach the next village in time. But he would have them ride for at least an hour more, though he knew his Captain might suggest otherwise.

From the corner of his eye Fenris saw the brush at his right side shake violently as if something were moving through it. He thought perhaps a heavy grouse might be behind it and he slowed his mount. He heard the hooves behind him grow silent as his men halted their own mounts. Fenris turned to them, grinning, as he drew his bow and nocked it quietly. "Fresh fowl for supper this night, if the bird cooperates and is clumsy enough."

One guardsman urged his horse toward the still quivering brush, his lance ready to drive the bird from cover. When Fenris had his bow trained at an angle a little above the top of the brush, the Regent nodded to the guardsman. The guardsman, nodding in acknowledgement, stabbed the blunt end of the lance deeply into the brush, moving the spear back and forth.

But no bird flew into the air, nor did anything scurry from beneath the brush. Only a sound came from it: high-pitched and...human.

Suddenly a small form dashed from the brush, back bent and cowering. Fenris reached down and caught at a flailing arm, hauling the urchin upright and pressed against the flank of his horse. The dirty creature tilted its face toward him, eyes brimming with fright, breath coming in gulps. A child—a savage one, Fenris thought as he looked down upon the dirt-smudged face.

Still holding the child, Fenris slid from his saddle so he could handle the child more firmly. His eyes widened a little when he realized he had a girl within his grip. She wore a shift which she must have fashioned together with bits of leaves and bark, having woven it into a piece of fabric which barely covered her. The flesh exposed was sheathed thickly with filth and a dark, foul smell came off her. Fenris desired to release her so that he would be away from the stench, but he fought down that urge.

The girl had long black hair, and there was so much dirt in it Fenris wondered if it were truly that color. But the eyes: the pale grey of them shifting like light moving behind mullioned glass, searching his own for something more than mercy. Curiosity, perhaps?

"Can you speak?" Fenris asked of the girl, not knowing, of course, if she knew any language at all.

The girl nodded slowly, her nearly translucent eyes steady upon him. She opened her mouth to speak and tried to form words with her lips. A sound like fingertips moving over wet glass came from her. She clamped her mouth shut for a moment, then parted her lips once more. "Yes," she finally answered, the word trailing, sibilant. "It...has...been...a...a...long time...since..."

"Since you have spoken words at all," Fenris finished for her.

She nodded. "Will...you...be kind...to me?"

Fenris smiled at her. With a good cleaning and some decent garb this one might be comely enough, he thought as he gazed into her eyes. "And so are you used to otherwise?" Surely this one was beguiling even he who seemed immune to any such feminine artifice. "How did you come to live in the forest? And have you a name?"

"My name is..." she hesitated, her eyes looking beyond him a moment, "...is...Zir...ana. And I was put into the forest because I...was not...wanted." She kept her eyes upon him with a beseeching intensity.

"And what was the village which put you out?"

"Far, very far upriver. They put me in a lake and hoped that I would drown, but I did not, and they do not know this." The girl’s eyes grew wide as she made her confession.

It was now clear to Fenris the manner of this child’s exile: she had the taint of sorcery on her and her village feared it. Fenris’s mouth twisted in a wry smile.

This one had been saved for him, for his purposes.