Garinor couldn’t take the strain, and admitting to the prince that he wasn’t cut out for this type of life was more than he wanted to deal with. He walked away from the arguers and when he was able to, he slipped away from the camp.
He made his way noiselessly toward the north, intending to seek out the scepter and to keep ahead of the prince’s army. There were places to hide in the brush, but the prince hadn’t sent any scouts, so he didn’t think he would be followed until they realized he was missing. Still, he moved quickly and checked over his shoulder often for pursuit.
Eventually he crested a hill and found himself stumbling headlong into another camp. He stopped himself and dove off the road before he was seen. There were men and women there, some tending to wounds from a previous battle, others setting about typical camp activities. As he skulked around, he drew closer to them, wondering if he would be able to work his way into their camp without being harmed.
“Hold it right there, boy,” said a woman nearby.
He was an arm’s length away from her but hadn’t even seen her. She was crouched in some shrubbery with broken bits of leaf and twig threaded through her hair, helping to keep her hidden.
“What business have you here?” she demanded, a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Well, I—” he hesitated, not thinking it would be wise to admit he had fled from the prince’s camp. He didn’t think these people were part of the prince’s forces, but he wasn’t sure.
A low rumble sounded from the hillside and the woman turned away from him. Fear lined her face. She landed a fist on Garinor’s cheek, knocking him down, “Blasted scout!” She turned and yelled to the rest of the camp, “To arms! To arms!”
Garinor swept his leg out and tripped her, then he scrambled away before she could catch him. Toward the hill he ran and there he saw, rising over the top, the prince and his army. They were apparently aware of the camp down below, for their swords were drawn and they marched with purpose.
The prince spotted Garinor and waved him over. “Oh, thank goodness you’re well! You went missing this morning and we worried what had happened to you! Come now, take your rightful place and lead us into battle.”
Color drained from Garinor’s face and he shook his head. “I was wrong. I can’t do it. You have to be the king. I’m not meant for it. You have to say you’ll do it!”
The prince’s face crinkled in thought and then he nodded sharply. “Very well then, I will accept. Now, run to the back of the line and keep yourself safe at all costs!”
As he did so, Garinor heard the prince call out commands to those around him. The army broke off into four main forces. One group headed east. Two went north to meet the warriors in the camp and one remained behind with the supplies. It was there that Garinor waited.
The battle was joined in earnest moments later. Swords clashed around him and he felt foolish standing there like a coward. His first chance to do something important and he had shied away from it. And now with a battle in the air, he again would sit aside and let someone else take over.
His jaw stung from the punch he had received, but he decided to act. He would not be king, but he would not be idle either. He reached into a supply wagon and found himself a sword he could wield, and then he raced down the hill and into the fray.
It was a dangerous battle. Combatants fought bitterly and swords flew through the air with speed. One man saw Garinor’s approach and he decided he could handle the boy easily enough, so he attacked. Not knowing what to do, Garinor instinctively dropped under the swing and punched at the man’s knee with one hand, knocking him down.
Others saw the easy target and advanced on him. Garinor squeaked in panic and gripped the sword with all his might. He lashed out, swinging wildly, scoring hits here and there and he realized at some point that one of his attacks had killed a man. The resulting wail chilled Garinor to the bone, but he had no time to repent. More swords flew at him.
Surrounded, Garinor had only one option. He gave in to an inner rage and struck without mercy. He killed four others and didn’t even notice when he had been cut as well.
He remembered little after that except having his wounds tended some time later. There was a deep gash that would require an expert healer’s touch if he had any hope of keeping his arm. The bandage was laced with medicinal herbs and wrapped in thick bandages, but the pain was overwhelming.
The prince kept to his original bargain and he ensured that all Garinor’s needs were met. He was given large helpings of wine to dull the searing pain and he was a little drunk when the prince visited him later that night.
“You fought well,” the prince commended him. “You looked like you were possessed of a warrior’s spirit. You will make a great adventurer one day.”
Garinor managed a smile. “I had no idea what I was doing,” he admitted. “I honestly can’t believe I’m alive.”
Before the prince could respond, a messenger arrived and whispered something in the prince’s ear. His face when rigid and he nodded once in understanding. He turned to Garinor. “It seems that a few prisoners managed to escape after all. Even at the end of the day when all should be quiet, there are always more things to attend to. Pardon me.” He bowed himself out of the tent.
The words echoed in Garinor’s ears. He had indeed felt that way in his brief stint as heir apparent. Every time he turned around, there was some other issue to resolve. He was glad he had changed his mind and relinquished the fate of the kingdom to the prince. All that remained was the final declaration with the scepter.
Garinor drank another goblet of wine, determined to quiet his thoughts and deaden the pain in his arm. Exhausted and intoxicated, Garinor slept deeply.