Prin reviewed all she knew of Peermont, which were snippets she remembered from the teachings of her mother and half-heard comments from cooks. But in Gallium, she had found history books in Maude’s house, and because one referenced Wren, she had picked it up and started reading.
The book spoke of both kingdoms as one, which seemed more than a little odd and held her attention. One valley was temperate, the other near-desert, but close to each other. Some said an archer could climb to the sharp peaks of the Razors and send an arrow to the adjacent kingdom, but there were no mountain passes. The book mentioned a distant king had ordered a survey to use manpower to make such a pass to accommodate his rule of both, but the cost was too great.
That had grabbed Prin’s attention. A single king had ruled both valleys long ago. Her mother was royalty but had been born in the capital city of Calverton. She was of the Peermont royal family, and marriage between the two kingdoms were still reasonably common, and the two families had been the same generations ago.
The book had piqued her interest, and she had found others on the subject. One, recently written, detailed the extensive war Peermont was fighting with the Ansel tribes of the drylands who constantly wanted to invade and live on the river and its fertile banks. That war had continued to one degree or another for over two hundred years.
Prin marched steadily as she allowed the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place. Twice, in the distant past, Wren had sent troops to help Peermont because the King of Wren believed if the nomads from the dry lands were successful in their invasion of Peermont, they would eye Wren next.
Brice called, “Slow down. I need a rest.”
She turned to find him more than a hundred paces behind. A small oak with withered leaves struggled to survive at the edge of the path, and she sat in the meager shade and waited.
“You’re in a hurry,” Brice panted.
“Always. Sorry about leaving you, but I was thinking.”
“About Peermont?”
“My mother came from there, you know.”
“I thought she was a royal from Wren.”
“No, she was a stranger that came to marry my father, and that’s part of why I became a fire starter when she died. Nobody but my father and a few others knew of their marriage or that she was a royal from Peermont.”
“That makes you eligible to be Queen? Peermont is another kingdom.”
“Both were once ruled by one family. We share blood, and both kingdoms recognize the royalty of the other.”
Brice had fallen to his knees and drew deep breaths to recover. “So, you think you may hold status there too? You may be Queen of both kingdoms?”
“Now, that would be interesting, since you mention it,” Prin mused. “I didn’t know I was in the Royal Line of Succession for Wren until my father rescued me, but I don’t know if I’m in the Line for Peermont. I suppose I must be, at some level.”
He snapped his fingers. “I thought I’d figured out your plan.”
“You’re not far off. What do you know, or have you heard of Peermont?”
Brice admitted he didn’t know much, but as he began talking, he recalled more than he initially thought. He was still talking when they stood and continued walking, her asking questions and for clarification, him telling everything he’d heard. All that he told her confirmed what she already knew or suspected, along with several new items, none revealing significant information, but Prin gathered all Brice said and stored it with her own knowledge. There was no telling what she would need to know in the coming days.
The ground grew barren and rocky, turning a harsh shade of light brown in the heat. The air warmed, and while Prin wanted to begin shedding clothing, she refrained in favor of keeping her skin covered to protect from sunburn. In the late afternoon, they approached a small farm sitting on the banks of the first stream they’d seen all afternoon.
The wide path wound past rocky outcrops in front of the cabin. Three crude barns stood behind, and goats clustered together on the low roofs. Sheep grazed close to the stream, and an irrigation ditch carried water to patches of green grass.
Smoke rose from the chimney and Prin had visions of a warm meal and a place to sleep in one of the barns. However, two dogs caught their scent and raced to investigate, barking and charging. Both were large guard dogs, and they intended to protect their farm.
Prin paused, hoping a friendly farmer would call them off. Instead, the dogs continued circling them and barking.
Brice pulled his said, “Stand back.”
Prin glanced at the bared teeth of the aggressive dogs again and she found the short knife from her waist already in her hand. Her eyes flicked to the farm again, searching for the owner. She thought there was a flicker of movement in one cabin window, but the dogs were circling, snarling, and looked ready to attack at any opening.
She said, “People have a right to walk by.”
“Tell that to the dogs.”
The lead dog ran around them, trying to get behind as they turned. Brice took two steps closer and shouted at the dogs to ‘go home’ and similar phrases, but neither obeyed. The leader was large, brown and black, its lips pulled back, and it charged, leaping at Brice’s neck from several steps away.
Brice crouched rock still, knees bent, arms held wide, knife held in one hand. He waited. The dog’s leap carried it high, and Brice dropped lower as he sidestepped, allowing the dog to fly past, but as he turned and dropped, his hand with the knife raised and the belly of the dog slid along the sharp edge of the knife.
Brice spun and faced the second dog, but his foot slipped on the loose soil and bare rock. He fell.
In an instant, Prin saw the second dog would reach Brice before he recovered or she could reach him. A sharp image of flame formed in her mind and she mentally cast it at the thick fur of the smaller dog. It burst into flame and forgot all ideas of attack, as it howled in pain and stumbled, tail tucked between its legs.
The first dog lay in a bloody mass of internal organs while the second managed a few steps and quivered as it lay near the first, its fur burned off. Prin rushed to Brice, who was holding his ankle.
“My dogs! You’ll pay for that.”
She raised her eyes from Brice’s ankle to find a man wielding an axe headed their way. Behind him ran another man, a younger version, probably his son. The son carried a scythe and tried to catch up.
Prin stood. “I’ll handle this.”
She waited until they were closer and held up her palm as if ordering them to stop. The older farmer swung his axe despite being twenty paces away. Prin triggered a flame from her fingers, letting it grow to the size of a torch, then extinguishing it when the man stumbled to a confused stop.
He shouted, “You can’t kill a man’s dog without paying, and those were expensive dogs, not to mention the cost of training them.”
The second man skidded to a stop beside his father, his mouth hanging open while he panted for breath, so he looked similar to the dogs.
Prin said, “We were just passing by.”
“You owe me,” the man shouted, shaking the ax in the air.
Prin felt the anger rising and beat it down. In a calm voice, she said, “You’re right. I owe you.”
“Three coppers for each dog, I’ll not take a shim less.”
Her voice softened, “Oh, I’m going to pay you, but not with coins. We were just passing by, and you had no right to allow your dogs to attack us. As a result, my brother is hurt, not to mention the two dogs I killed. I love dogs, and that makes me sick,” her finger pointed to the dying animals.
Prin reached into one of the purses she carried and fingered an orb. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed one at their feet. It shattered. A faint purple smoke rose. Both men inhaled and their features relaxed. The younger one smiled, then grinned as he sat and examined his bare toes. The older one also sat, his gaze fixed on the ground where he seemed fascinated with a small reddish rock.