O.C. Writers

 // Chapter One 

Khael squinted impatiently toward the head of the motionless gate queue. His hopes for some relief after his strenuous journey so far, perhaps an extended break from the string of assassination attempts, dimmed. In all his travels, only once before had he needed to wait to enter Cambridge. His steed, Molniya, shifted under him, hoofing his own vexation on the stone roadway.

The guards at the gate needed nothing more than to inspect incoming travelers visually for signs of suspicious activity. They might converse with familiar travelers, but the process should be simple and reasonably quick. Suspects could be escorted behind the guard shack for more detailed searches.

Unable to see any obvious cause for the delay, Khael closed his eyes to scan the life energies in the area. No danger showed amongst the travelers on the road. He shifted his focus to the front of the queue. One of the City Patrol rangers at the gate blatantly groped a peasant woman, right beside her husband, while another ranger held out his hand for—a bribe?

Outraged, Khael stiffened out of his relaxed bearing. Had those guards no sense of decency? These people might be commoners, but even peasants deserved more respectful treatment. He prodded Molniya’s flanks with his heels.

The great gongyangma snorted as he walked around Grant’s gongey, Phantom, to pass the line of merchants, tradesmen and herders.

“We’re jumping the queue?” Heidi’s strawberry blonde head poked up from the other side of Phantom.

Khael looked at her. At his change in posture, Molniya stopped beside their two friends. Next to Molniya and Phantom, Heidi’s charger resembled a large pony.

Khael strained to keep his fury quiet. “The Patrols extort fees from these travelers and grope the women going in.”

“They never learn.” Grant’s cavernous bass rumble carried only a short distance.

Khael glared up at his best friend. Though Grant slouched down to minimize his bulk, he still towered over everyone in the queue. His dusty cloak and hood hid his polished armor, Legion surcote, and oversized weapons.

A year ago, Khael and Grant had exposed an extortion scheme by a few corrupt guards at the city’s northern gate. Those guards had been convicted and imprisoned. These seemed destined for a similar dishonorable fate.

“I’m with you, but is this safe for you?” Heidi asked, her fierce voice quiet.

Khael pursed his lips. A decent question, typical of Heidi’s leadership qualities. He wanted to avoid revealing his true rank if possible. “I will attempt to remind them of their duties with minimal exposure. We will manage any consequences.”

Molniya snorted and shook his unbridled head, eager for action. Khael patted his mane and nodded. Sensing this, the jet-black gnu-horse hybrid whinnied and strutted down the center of the road. Grant and Heidi fell in close behind.

People in the queue huddled away to the grassy edge of the broad stone highway, grumbling. No one wanted to tangle with the large, horned, fearsome riding beasts. On the other side of the wide road, a steady stream of traffic passed unhindered through the exit arch of the lofty city gates. Of course, no one leaving the city would be stopped, questioned, or harassed beyond a quick check for export permits. Unlike them, the shepherd couple held at the guard shack radiated palpable waves of helpless fear.

A dozen rangers in the black chainmail and crimson tunics of the City Patrol lounged around a wooden shack beside the looming entry arch. They pointedly ignored the abuse right under their noses. At Khael’s approach, two rangers armed with pikes marched out to block his path.

“Halt,” the burlier, bearded guard said. “Wait your turn in queue, like everyone else.”

Khael wanted to smack this red-shirt blow-hard and berate them all for their incompetence. Or was it ignorance? With minimal effort from extensive training and practice from his upbringing to inhibit such reactions, he adopted a diplomatic tone. “Perhaps you can explain why this queue barely moves at all.”

The shorter one, a corporal, stepped forward. “Don’t interfere, just get back in line.” He brandished his pike much too close to Molniya’s nose.

Before Khael could even blink, let alone warn the foolish guard, Molniya lowered his horns and batted the long, heavy weapon to the ground like a mere toothpick. The corporal staggered back in shock, shaking his stinging hands.

More of the Patrols near the shack jumped to the alert and advanced toward them, crossbows cocked and swords unsheathed. Half a dozen guards along the high white wall over the gate brought drawn bows to bear.

Khael squinted at the lethal arsenal bearing down on him. His neck prickled. If the guards ignored all their protocols, would they dare to shoot an unannounced noble in public? Families in the crowd hunkered together to protect their young. Had he endangered them all? Determined to pursue a rational approach and not get anyone injured, or killed, he spread out his empty hands. “I bear no weapons.”

A paunchy, older sergeant, an arrogant curl on his lips, swaggered out of the guard shack, one hand firm on his sword hilt. He stopped between the burly guard and the corporal, who nervously retrieved his pike. “What’s the problem here?”

Khael flattened his features to mild disdain. “These citizens wish to enter their kingdom’s capital.”

The sergeant sneered. “We’ll process them as they’re due. You can wait like everyone else.”

“Wait for your men to collect bribes and fondle defenseless women? I recall no Cambridge law allowing such abuses for admittance.” It came out calm and smooth, even more effective as an insult.

The sergeant bristled as if slapped. “Back off, stranger. We don’t answer to you.”

“Public servants must answer to everyone, especially their citizens.”

Flushing bright red, the raging sergeant jabbed a finger toward Khael. “You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace and interfering—”

“Unwise to threaten prince.” Grant’s voice rumbled like an angry bee.

Khael’s insides constricted. Fog! So much for keeping his rank covert.

To his surprise, half the guards laughed. Two more with nocked arrows emerged from the shack, sniggering.

“Prince of what, the wild?” The sergeant harrumphed and waved his hand. “Enough of this dung. Get back in the queue. Or else.”

Grant sat up tall and threw back his hood and cloak. Waves of anger rolled off his angry features. “Officer Granton Finnleigh, Royal Legion. You think we guard just anyone?”

The laughter faltered into nervous silence.

His shoulders down, the sergeant rubbed his chin. “We have a royal mandate. I command here, not you, or the Legion.”

Grant tightened his grip on his sword.

Khael gestured for him to sit fast. “Easy, Grant.” As high as he rode, he now presented a wide-open target for any nearby assassins. Time to end this. He took a deep breath. “I am mystic Khael Stratton, Prince of Shielin.”

That should settle the matter. As much as he despised the inherent inequities in their social caste system, there were occasional uses for it. All the arms would be lowered and the doers of misdeeds would apologize and rectify their behavior. Or so he hoped.

The sergeant stared, his eyes narrowing in doubt. None of the guards moved.

Khael stared back. For what were they waiting? Then he realized his travel-worn guise might have made him difficult to recognize though not hard enough to hamper the Chelevkori assassins’ efforts to kill him.

 

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Mystic Prince was released in June. You can learn more about this epic fantasy novel at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0976LY21P.