The Third Prince and the Enemy's Daughter: Calliope, #2.5

By Alex McGilvery

Saving your people shouldn't mean them losing themselves.

Roger, Third Prince of Congu, has spent more than a year trying to bring what he learned in Anglia to his people. When he considers returning to Anglia, an old conversation inspires him to try one more time. He sets off a chain of events which results in a young woman building a steam engine like her father's, and Roger being sent as a herald to the Congu's traditional enemies.

Both the Sombi and the Congu are at risk of losing their countries to the Kershian Empire. When new enemies arrive, old enemies may be just what is needed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celticfrog Publishing
• Release date: Sep 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781989092286

Alex McGilvery

Alex has been writing stories almost as long as he's been reading them. He lives in Kamloops, BC and spends a great deal of time figuring out how to make his characters work hard at life. His two dogs, named after favourity scotch malts are a big reason he doesn't suffer as much as his characters.

Book preview

Chapter 1  Return from the Hunt.

Roger stomped away from his father’s Staal. The king had kicked him out before his brothers lost their tempers and beat him bloody. Roger didn’t know what was more infuriating, his father’s dismissal, or him protecting his youngest son. His brothers made no secret of their belief that his education in Anglia had made him soft.

You’ve been home for two years. Chiza leaned against the wall of Roger’s suite. Haven’t got very far.

Not you too, Roger waved a hand. Change is coming whether we want or not. The Empire is not going to ignore the wealth of our countries.

There is change, then there is change. Chiza shrugged. If your hunt is unsuccessful, you need to change your tactics.

Maybe I should go back to Anglia. Roger paced through the room. There isn’t a place for me here.

You may have forgotten, but there wasn’t much of a place for you in Anglia.

Maybe I should take a place on a steamship like Bundo. Roger grinned and pointed at Chiza. I could run the engine and you could shovel coal.

I expect you would find that captain harder on you than your father.

You saw the way Cal charmed everyone in the market.

Including you. Chiza crossed his arms. Running away will not bring a good end to your hunt.

Roger paced through the room. His degree hung on the wall, oddities from Anglia occupied spaces on shelves and tables. His books gathered dust. The words didn’t have the same power here at home.

He stared out the window, then closed his eyes. Maybe he should have left with her, assuming she would have let him. He’d worn that yellow suit, but she hadn’t rolled her eyes or sneered at him like the people here, or in Anglia. They’d talked like equals. She’d been sympathetic, what was the thing she’d said to him? Something about his people needing him, not his education.

Chiza, we’re going hunting. Roger threw his suit off and dug his hunting clothes out of the trunk.

Hunting? Chiza raised an eyebrow.

I need to do some thinking, and I can’t do it here. Roger picked up his spear from where it leaned, neglected in a corner.

They left the staal, the guard didn’t recognize Roger until she saw Chiza. Roger’s legs ached by the time they made it to the jungle surrounding the city. He was out of shape. Once under the shade of the trees, he pushed everything out of his mind but the need to be aware of the animals around him.

They walked until the light faded, then ate what Chiza had brought. Roger had been in too much of a rush to think of food. Am I truly a fool?

Chiza nudged Roger away with a foot and they continued through the paths. Roger’s feet remembered how to walk, and his ears began to pick up the sounds of life around him. I should have done this sooner. The only reason Roger could come up with why he didn’t was he hadn’t hunted in Anglia, at least not like this. His side ached and he rubbed an old scar.

The trail of a deer crossed their path and he followed it. The smell of water tickled his nostrils, so Roger curved around to come to the water from a different direction. When they’d arrived at the pool, Roger placed himself where he could see the trail down to the water and waited.

The daylight dimmed as they stood still as the trees. A deer hesitantly crept toward the water. Once it lowered its head to drink, Roger threw his spear and brought the animal down without it being able to do more than twitch.

You haven’t forgotten everything. Chiza punched his shoulder before striding over to the deer. He tossed Roger’s spear back to him, then pulled out a knife to clean their kill.

The slight creak of a branch was the only warning Roger had of the leopard’s attack. As the big cat leaped toward Chiza’s back, Roger charged forward his spear pierced the cat’s heart, pinning it to the ground. Chiza stood and checked the leopard.

Clean strike. He frowned and started cleaning the second kill. We should have known it was there.

The hunt takes us in unexpected directions. Roger dabbed at the scratches on his chest. We’re Congu.

THEY WALKED INTO THE staal, Chiza carrying the deer, Roger the leopard. The guard saluted them as they passed. The old huntmaster waved his approval when they left their catch with him.

The king wished to see you when you returned.

Roger nodded and headed for his rooms. After donning the tunic and skirt of a Congu warrior, Roger allowed Chiza to lead him toward the King’s Staal. As before, his father lounged on his seat, posture not hiding the deadliness of his gaze or abilities. Scars covered his gleaming dark body to attest to the battles he’d survived. Part of Roger’s problem in this room was his lack of battle and hunting scars. His brothers stood like statues on either side of their father.

They each carried almost as many scars as his father. Neither of them so much as glanced at him. But his father smiled briefly. The scratches on Roger’s chest itched.

I see you begin to return to your people. It is good to see. Bring a stool and sit. I would speak with you.

Yes, my king. Chiza handed him a folding stool which Roger set at the foot of the stairs up to the dais. He sat and bowed his head.

What shall you do now that you have returned to the Congu? The King’s voice rumbled through the room, but the angry edge of their last conversation had vanished.

My name is Roger Hrona Xanichi. Roger took a deep breath. Your country needs who you are. Cal’s words rang in his head. I have returned from my hunt; will you hear my tale?

The Second Prince snickered, but it was cut off by a casual slap from the King which sent him staggering. He dropped to his knee.

Forgive me, my King.

King Xanichi nodded very slightly and the Second Prince returned to his place.

Speak.

As you wish, Roger let out a careful sigh. You sent me far across land and sea to learn of people who may prove enemies as quickly as friends. I lived among them and hunted their intentions. As with your Staal, there is disagreement. They have a law against conquering foreign lands, though many would have no problem setting it aside. You have heard stories of their strength and prowess, seen their ships sail our waters. Few of them are warriors as we would count warriors, but it would be a mistake to think them weak. We hunt the lion strength to strength, but how do we deal with a nest of volcano ants?

You think they are but ants? The First Prince tilted his head.

Yes and no, my brother. Roger chose his words carefully. Like ants they are individually weak, I met no warrior who might challenge me, and you know I am not the strongest of my family. He smiled slightly. Yet with their inventions and engines, they could be dangerous. An enemy who doesn’t understand the hunt will be hard to face as we will know nothing of their intentions.

All this I know, the King rumbled and shifted slightly. Roger was going to lose him. He had to risk everything on one throw of the bones.

You wisely sent a scout to learn of them. Roger lifted his head and met his father’s eyes. Will you not hear my words and discern their value? He dropped his head. I admit I returned filled with pride not suiting my station. Forgive me and use me.

Very well, my son. What is the single thing which threatens us the most?

Be patient, father, my answer may be a roundabout trail.

The King nodded.

The Anglians trade with nations across the world. Even the people across the ocean who drove the Anglian ancestors from their shores. Their goods are like the cotus flower. A taste is only a taste, but the more one eats, the more one wants until it consumes all desires. You saw how hard it was for me to turn away.

The First Prince nodded at Roger. Encouragement from his eldest brother was a rare thing.

Yet they sell their goods here and in other places. Some deal deliberately in ensnarement, but many are all unknowing. They don’t know the taste of their own bloom.

Like the red monkeys who guard cotus flowers. His middle brother spoke thoughtfully. None of Roger’s family were fools, except perhaps him.

Yes, but imagine if red monkeys were to trade for their flowers? Roger stumbled over his words. Slow down, you don’t need to rush this hunt."

Are you saying we shouldn’t trade with them? The King’s hand brushed against a steel knife which had been a gift from an Anglian trader who’d asked to set up shop in their land.

I think the time for closing our borders has long passed. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t think of brewing our antidote to their drug.

Antidote? The King raised his eyebrow slightly.

There is nothing they sell us which we can’t build ourselves. Don’t mistake, they may seem like wizards with their engines and machines, but anyone can build them if they have the knowledge.

Where would we get such knowledge? The King sat up and leaned toward Roger. I came close to losing my son to their wiles, shall I send more warriors to be entangled?

My King, Roger kept his hands still on his knees, though he wanted desperately to wipe his palms dry. I believe we already have much of this knowledge. Many of our people have sailed with the Anglians or their allies, or their enemies the Kershian Empire. Those people may not know it themselves, but they are our answer. The answer to Anglian machines is not to pretend they don’t exist, but to have Congu machines to match them.

In the silence which followed, Roger thought he’d pushed too far, too fast. Then the King laughed and jumped up from his seat. Roger stood quickly enough to send his stool skittering across the floor.

Our ancestors had seats of learning. Warriors from across the world came to learn. Knowledge was as valued as spear. The King paced through the room waving his hands. It is time once again.

Father... Roger choked on his words.

What need do we have for machines? The Second Prince spoke from the top of the dais.

Imagine we do not build these engines, but the Sombi do. The First Prince spoke quietly. Or worse they get addicted to the toys of the Locosians and these peddlers gain a foothold on the border of our land?

Worse than the engines are their guns. Roger said. I know you have seen them. Rich Anglians brag of visiting Congu and hunting, though they troop through the jungle like so many baboons. They kill lions and elephants from great distances.

They are cowards. The Second Prince snarled the words.

They value the hunt differently from us. Roger winced at the glare his brother sent him.

Roger is right. The King turned to face all three of his sons. If these guns can kill a lion, they can kill a warrior. Yes, they may be cowards, but that only makes them more dangerous. If the Sombi arm their warriors with guns how long would we last?

Even the Sombi... The First Prince trailed off. They do a lot of trading with the Kershians. Word is they are building a railway into the interior of their land to make it easier for these pale folk to ravage the jungle and hills.

Roger, find these people you speak of. Introduce them to Bhansin. Your brother will oversee the work, he will ask for your aid as he needs it. Whatever we can learn, but I want an answer to the Locosian’s guns. I will not send warriors to die needlessly.

And I? The Second Prince frowned.

You love our traditions; you have a passion for our people. You will work to be sure we don’t lose ourselves in the dreams of the cotus flower.

ROGER WALKED THROUGH the market with Chiza behind him. He’d said there would be Congu who had served on Anglian ships. He recalled Bundo, kneeling on the deck of the Kestrel. If only...

There. Chiza brushed Roger’s shoulder with his fingers. A man sat under a canopy. He wore clothes more like Roger’s Anglian suits than traditional Congu garb. Roger wandered over to look at the man’s wares. They were an odd mix of knives of all sizes, then toothy circles of steel and other bits and pieces.

How may I serve my Prince? The man pushed himself to his feet, no, foot. His right leg ended just below his knee.

Please sit. Roger sat smoothly on the stone while Chiza frowned at those who crowded close out of curiosity.

I’m Bh’ob, the man said, Of the Hcazo tribe.

Well met Bh’ob. Roger smiled trying to set the man at ease. My mother was Hcazo.

The man handed Roger a knife.

I’ve been trying to make my own blades as fine as the ones the Anglians bring. Had some shore leave and spent it touring their factories. A shipmate had a brother who worked in one.

Roger tested the edge with his thumb. It didn’t have the gleam of his father’s blade, but had a rough beauty of its own.

Chiza, what do you think?

His bodyguard took the knife and examined it closely, using it to cut his forearm slightly. He nodded and passed the blade back to Roger.

Chiza is impressed. Roger hefted the knife. What did you use for the handle?

It is bone, my Prince. He picked up another knife. A friend keeps them for me from the cattle he sells. The knife glinted slightly in his hand. This one’s shavo root. He passed it over. Roger examined it closely.

"What else besides knives do you build? He reluctantly put the knives back on the blanket.

These are engine parts I’m playing with. Bh’ob put two together and showed how they fit.

Could you build a whole engine? Roger’s heart skipped a beat.

Not sure if I could, Bh’ob put the gears down. But there’s a fellow down in the lower town who built one. He uses it to cut lumber.

Would you introduce me? Roger leaned forward eagerly. But not before you let me buy four of your knives. If you were to present one to the King, which would you choose?

This one. Bh’ob unwrapped a long thin shape. It isn’t pretty, the blade is more spear than knife. It was my first, but the handle is made from a lion’s shoulder blade, from my first hunt.

Roger put his hand up and Chiza dropped a tiny bag into it.

I will buy it and three others. Roger picked up the bone handled knife, the shavo root, and another