her, and you’ll be free forever.
It seemed that the voice came from the darkness beneath the briar’s coils. It spoke under the crunching of hooves in the dry leaf-fall.
Kill her. An ancient voice, desiccated, untouched by mercy. For a moment I saw Katherine, blood welling over her white teeth, her eyes round with surprise. I could feel the knife in my hand, hilt against her stomach, hot blood running over my fingers.
Poison would be quieter. A distant touch.
That last voice – it could have been mine, or the briar, they started to sound the same.
Strength requires sacrifice. All weakness carries its cost. Now that was me. We’d left the briar behind and the day had grown cold.
The Forest Watch found us quick enough, I’d have been worried if they hadn’t. A six-man patrol, all in blacks and greens, came out of the trees and bade us state our business on the King’s road.
I didn’t let Coddin introduce me. ‘I’ve come to see the Watch Master,’ I said.
The watchmen exchanged glances. I’m sure we seemed a ragged bunch, only Makin with any courtly touch about him, having polished up to see Father Dear. I had my old road plate on, and Elban and the Nuban, well their looks would earn them a bandit’s noose without the tedium of a trial.
Coddin spoke up then. ‘This is Jorg, Prince of Ancrath, heir to the throne.’
His words, hard to swallow as they might be, had the weight of a uniform behind them. The watchmen looked dumbfounded.
‘He’s come to see the Watch Master,’ Coddin said, by way of a prompt.
That got them moving and they led us into the deep forest along a series of deer-paths. We followed in single-file, riding until I got tired of being slapped in the face by every other branch, and dismounted. The watchmen kept up a stiff pace, showing little regard for royalty or heavy armour.
‘Who is the Watch Master anyhow?’ I asked, short of breath and clanking along loud enough to keep the bears from hibernation.
One of the watchmen glanced back, an old fellow, gnarled as the trees. ‘Lord Vincent de Gren.’ He spat into the bushes to show his regard for the man.
‘Your father appointed him this spring,’ Captain Coddin said from behind me. ‘I gather it was a punishment of some sort.’
The Forest Watch made its headquarters by Rulow’s Fall on the plain where the River Temus meandered before gathering its courage for the leap down a two-hundred-foot step in the bedrock. A dozen large cabins, wood-shingled and log-built, nestled among the trees. An abandoned mill house served as the Watch Master’s keep, fashioned from granite blocks and perched at the head of the fall.
A few dozen watchmen came out to watch our column wind up to the keep. Not much entertainment in these parts I guessed.
The old watchman went in to announce us while we tied our steeds. He didn’t hurry out, so we waited. A cold wind blew up, stirring the fallen leaves. The watchmen stood with us, black-green cloaks flapping. Most of the watch held shortbows. A longbow will get tangled in the trees and you’ll never need great range in the forest. No Robin of Hood here, the watchmen weren’t merry, and they were apt to kill you if you stepped out of line.
‘Prince Jorg.’ The keep door opened and a man clad in ermine stepped out, his fingers hooked in a belt of gold plates.
‘Lord Vincent de Gren, I’m guessing.’ I gave him my most insincere smile.
‘So you’re here to tell us we’re all going to die over some stupid promise a boy made to impress his father!’ he said, loud enough for the whole clearing to hear.
I had to hand it to Lord Vincent, he certainly cut straight to the chase. And I like that in a man, I really do, but I didn’t like the way he said it. He had a screwed-up sort of face did Lord Vincent, as if the world tasted sour in his mouth, which was odd, because he had the sort of butterball shape that takes some serious eating to acquire and a few dozen extra stoats to cover in ermine. I took him to be about thirty, but it’s hard to tell with fat people: they’ve no skin spare for wrinkles.
‘News travels fast, I see.’ I wondered if my father wanted me to fail even more than he wanted the Castle Red. In a way it would be a compliment, implying he felt I had a chance. But no, this had a woman’s touch, maybe the touch of a woman still smarting over ‘Scorron whore’. A woman used to teasing out post-coital secrets. A woman who might send riders to Rennat Forest. Even to Gelleth.
I strode across to the man. ‘I wonder my Lord de Gren, would your men follow you to the death? I’m impressed that you’ve won their respect so rapidly. I hear that the Forest Watch are a hard lot, tougher than nails.’ I put an arm around his shoulders. He didn’t like it, but you can do things like that when you’re a prince. ‘Walk with me.’
I didn’t give him a choice. I steered him downstream toward the glistening line where the River Temus vanished, replaced by a faint haze of mist. ‘Follow on,’ I shouted. ‘This isn’t a private meeting.’
So we came to stand on a shelf of wet stone, fifty yards down from the mill house, where the waters leapt white over the rocks, gathering for their plunge over Rulow’s Fall.
‘Prince Jorg, I don’t …’ Lord Vincent began.
‘You, come here!’ I took my arm from de Gren and pointed to the old watchman who’d spat out the Watch Master’s name earlier. I had to shout above the voice of the river.
The old fellow came to join us by the edge.
‘And who’s this proud example of the watch, Watch Master?’ I asked.
Fat people’s faces are wonderful for emotion. Or at least Lord Vincent’s was. I could see his thoughts twitching across his brow, quivering in his jowls, twisting in the rolls around his neck. ‘I…’
‘There’s two hundred of the buggers. You can’t be expected to know them all,’ I said, all sympathy. ‘What’s your name, watchman?’
‘Keppen, yer highness,’ he said. He looked as if he’d rather be somewhere else, had his eyes open, looking for the out.
‘Order him to jump, Watch Master,’ I said.
‘W— what?’ Lord Vincent went very pale very quickly.
‘Jump,’ I said. ‘Order him to jump over the fall.’
‘What?’ Lord Vincent seemed to be having difficulty hearing over the roar.
Keppen had his hand on his dagger-hilt. Sensible fellow.
‘If your men are all going to die over some stupid promise a boy made his father, well, it’s only sensible for the boy to make sure they’ll follow your orders when it means certain death,’ I said. ‘And if you say “what” again, I’m going to have to slice you open here and now.’
‘W— But, my prince … Prince Jorg …’ He tried to laugh.
‘Order him to jump, now!’ I barked
