The Stagsblood Prince: Book One of the Stagsblood Trilogy by Gideon E. Wood

Author:Gideon E. Wood [Wood, Gideon E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ex Asperis, LLC
Published: 2021-02-06T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty and One

Tel and Vared took advantage of a warm morning and mounted Pony and Kelseigh while the sun still sat low and bashful behind a thin veil of haze. They made a long, unrushed walk-and-trot from the castle. Tel wanted Vared to see his favorite place on the world. For most of the route, the prince listened while the songmaker recounted his harrowing youth, his eventual adoption by a nasty and influential merchant, and his days in Queen Cessa’s service. Tel found himself several times on the edge of tears, both because Vared was granting access to his unvarnished story and because he had suffered so.

“We tie them here,” Tel said when they had gone as far into the forest as the horses could manage. “We will travel the rest of the way on foot.”

“It will be steamy today,” said Vared, petting Kelseigh’s neck after securing her.

“The forest will shield us from the worst of it. And the water will be cold.”

They slipped deeper into the woods. A comfortable stroll soon became a challenging hike, each step upward. The floor of the wilderness was littered with stones and boulders of pale feldspar and glassy quartz.

“We are climbing the mountain.” Exertion dampened Vared’s hair.

“Only a hill, young one.” Tel’s laugh was gently taunting. “And do not worry, we will not be climbing to the top.”

“I’ve been tricked. You invited me for a ride and a little walk.”

“We Feighans are so big and powerful, all things seem little to us.”

Vared scoffed.

“You may kill me, but there is a much easier, gradual path. The horses can travel almost the whole way. It is the route my father took in recent years. But that is no fun.”

Vared narrowed his eyes and emitted a low growl. He turned his head. “That’s—I hear water.”

“Just wait.”

They walked in silence for a while. Tel’s spirits were buoyed by the physical effort. The feeling was something akin to drunkenness but without the dull murk. Each of his senses sang. The pleasure of exertion even masked the now constant buzzing of the stagsblood and its strange pull westward. He led the way through the growth, which was thick despite not yet reaching the density of late summer and early autumn.

“The trees are different here,” said Vared. “So large. Like Feigh is older than Omela, somehow. And all these wildflowers.”

“I am told you have similar forest in the north of your queendom. Perhaps one day we can see it.”

“Together?”

A tingling dizziness slowed Tel for a few beats. “If you would like.”

“I would.”

They soon reached a rocky downward slope. At the bottom was a stream. “This empties into the river. Everything empties into the river here. Be careful. I have slipped on these rocks more times than I can count. I have the scar to prove the worst of them.”

“On your shin and calf,” said Vared.

“Yes.”

Discovering the loose rocks along the way, they eased down the slope. Vared was surefooted and relaxed. When they reached the stream, Tel held his waterskin in the flow.

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