Thorn's Princess: Book One of the Breaking World Chronicles

By D. N. Bruce

The people of the Forest Kingdom of Ferinatia are alive with excitement and delight as Princess Ranee of Ebrinatia arrives with her family and nobility for the first meeting with her betrothed, Crown Prince Jarel Whitethorn, the Summer Prince and future king of Ferinatia. Hawthorn, the servant to the royal healer, is neither excited nor delighted and his apprehension grows when he meets his future queen, and his fears are then compounded when unknown men attack him in their attempt to kidnap the crown prince. Then when the princess disappears and the alliance between the kingdoms is threatened, Thorn heads out in pursuit, unprepared for the journey he has begun through strange and perilous lands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528963008

D. N. Bruce

D. N. Bruce lives and works on the south coast of New South Wales, Australia. He splits his free time between Christian activities, time with friends and family, occasional computer games and movies, and writing.

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Chapter 1

The leaves of the ancient trees blew in the dawn wind as the young man flew through the forest. One of his soft booted feet pressed against the thin branch to alter his flight as he flew smoothly between the leaves and branches. His other foot touched a thicker branch of an ancient tree and angled his flight as he rose up through the tall trees. Thorn flew smoothly between the trees as he touched a branch and rose up turned and stretched out one hand and a long green ribbon stretched from within his wrist towards a higher branch of the next tree. It wrapped around the branch for just a moment and pulled taut before it released and retracted instantly into his wrist again and provided enough lift and momentum to fly him gracefully onwards, his rapid gait and agile reflexes flew him through the forest faster than the swiftest horse or forest animal.

The soft green and brown patterned leather armour he wore over tailored black silk clothing created a blur as he swept rapidly through the forest. Green, brown, black and red markings of the hunter covered his face, and he had a silver line above his right eye, with an ornate leather helmet with a three-leaf plume stuck out the top, the uniform helmet of the Forest Flyer, the honoured noble guardians of the forest kingdom of Ferinatia.

The trees widened out and he angled towards a branch, and struck it with more force and shot into a spin and saw several other flyers in pursuit through the forest far behind him. He came around into sight of a series of targets, each target painted like three leaves with the stems that met in the centre. As he spun through the air, his hands came down and a wooden shaft sprung from his left lower leg scabbard in the grasp of another green prehensile ribbon, the feltar, as it was called, was a short flat shaft of wood, no longer than his forearm that was bound in leather and laminated leaves. His hand closed around it and bow arms instantly sprung from either end of the feltar, connected by an elastic bowstring that stretched between them and produced a very small short bow that due to its complex construction was as powerful as any long bow.

In the same moment, a short arrow sprung out from his right leg quiver, no longer than his forearm and held by another green prehensile ribbon. In the one move, the ribbons from his wrists spiralled along his arms and added their strength, as he knocked and drew back as the arrow telescoped out and lengthened to three times its length, light green fletching fanned out of its end and the arrow tip sharpened into a target tip. He aimed for barely a moment and fired, and in barely a heartbeat sent four arrows towards the leaf targets in quick succession. The first arrow hit its target perfectly and contracted to its original length to create a hammer effect that drove the point even deeper into the target’s wooden backing. Before the other arrows struck their targets, Thorn swept around and released his feltar as it drew back into its leg sheath on an ankle ribbon. He shot onwards through the trees and picked up his pace, as a coloured silk ribbon flew towards him in the grasp of the other ankle ribbon.

He accelerated up towards the canopy rapidly until the trees were a blur of green and brown as they raced past on either side of him. Thorn flew through the forest, up out through the canopy and at the last moment sent all four ribbons towards branches ahead of him, and shot forwards through the leaves into the bright early morning light above the canopy. He rose up into the sky like a fired arrow and arched over as silk gliding flaps sprung out between his arms and legs, and he angled his flight path round towards a taller rise of trees ahead of him. Below him, the wide-open outer flyway that ran around the tree city of Ferin was full of people who had gathered to cheer the flyers, and he heard shouts and cheers as he shot through the sky over them. He focused on the city rise and the enormous trees that rose up in the centre, the balconies and buildings of the tree city barely visible through the leaves that shaded them.

His silk gliding flaps snapped back into his flight armour and he stretched out to decrease wind resistance as he sped across the outer city and slowly arched over towards the inner-city trees. He focused on a distant tree and his wrist ribbons shot from his wrists towards the canopy ahead of him, stretched to their limit, and wrapped around one of the upper branches of a tree. Instantly they went taut and he held on as they drew him through the air even faster, and the ribbons vibrated with the strain as they contracted and then drew into his wrists as he sped towards the tree.

Thorn burst through the inner-city canopy rapidly and spun around the trees in a rapid flight as all four ribbons shot from his wrists and ankles to alter his trajectory through the balconies and homes built into the trees around him. He shot down through the very tall forest city, changed into a rapid spiral, decreased his momentum, dropped into a spin, and struck the ground in a combat landing, in the exact centre of a large circle of people.

The Ferinatian forest folk around the circle gasped and cried out at his sudden arrival and glanced at each other, and towards the timing water clock built into the crystal wood statue of the First True King of Ferinatia. He stood up and gazed around the crowd and beyond them to the tall polished wood statues of the greatest heroes of the Kingdom, many of whom were his own ancestors. He casually stepped forwards and retrieved a coloured silk ribbon from a post. He walked towards the displeased looking man at one side who wore a gold embroidered mantle. The King of the forest kingdom of Ferinatia gazed down on the sixteen-year-old boy in frustration and shook his head in annoyance. Thorn dropped to one knee before the King and bowed his head, then casually pulled eight other coloured silk ribbons from within his armour and draped them across one arm to display them.

Several other young people including one without a helmet dropped down through the trees and landed in the circle, all of them looked at Thorn with frustrated annoyance or outright anger, especially the one without the helmet. A moment later, a group of six adult flyers dropped down and landed behind the youths and moved around them and approached the King, and lined up with patterned arrows in one hand, and each of the six men raised the other hand to display four light green leaf fletched arrows.

‘So, Hawthorn wins the Championship,’ High Lord Whindeles said with an amused grin as he stepped forwards through the crowd, ‘again.’

Another young man dropped down through the trees and walked forwards to stand beside the young flyers.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ the young man called Penias said as he stepped through the crowd with some wound up silk rope in his hand and met the displeased gaze of the King and bowed his head, and then the gaze of Lord Tillan who controlled the contest, ‘he tied me up and left me hanging.’

‘Once again Hawthorn disrupts the championship,’ Lord Tillan said as he stepped forwards towards the King in annoyance, ‘Majesty, I must protest.’

‘Prince Jarel, could you not obey this one order,’ the King said and then turned to look at Penias and at the rope in annoyance, and then stepped forwards and pulled the helmet from atop Thorn’s head, and tossed it to the youth who didn’t have one. The King glanced at Penias who looked about to make an excuse, and then sighed, then waved a hand to dismiss him.

Thorn met the King’s gaze and brushed a hand through his ruffled hair. He adjusted the position of the single green leaf that was tied in there to mark his sixteen years, not yet an adult but no longer a child, his face and hair coated in the painstakingly prepared war paint of a forest hunter, something he had put extra effort into getting right today, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He glanced from the King to the two young princes beside him. The nine-year-old twins, Prince Iril and Prince Aril of Ferinatia grinned broadly as they met his gaze, and their younger sister little Princess Sireen smiled from where she stood before the Queen in her mother’s hands.

‘You are not properly dressed,’ the King said in annoyance.

Thorn met the King’s gaze, pulled out a soft padded forest inhabitant helmet of an unimportant peasant boy, slipped on the plain brown and green marked helmet, met the King’s gaze, and watched him frown in frustration.

‘He is just like his father and grandfather were at his age, Majesty,’ an older man said in amusement from nearby, ‘it’s practically a tradition now.’

The King glanced up and met the old man’s gaze for a moment, and his expression softened slightly and then he nodded sadly.

‘The flyer championship is only for the sons of the noble forest lords who have just joined the flyers,’ Lord Tillan said as he frowned at the old man who had spoken, then stepped forwards and met Thorn’s gaze, ‘and you are neither the son of a Lord nor serving within the ranks of the flyers. The new flyers are trying to prove that they deserve their positions, Thorn. Your interference is disheartening them. Is that what you want?’ he said, ‘as amusing and entertaining as your pranks may seem to be, you will have to start considering the consequences.’

‘Doesn’t your Master have duties for you, Thorn?’ the King asked in annoyance.

‘I’ve already completed them,’ Thorn said in frustration, ‘I wish I was a Forest Flyer.’

‘You can’t change your birth, my little Hawthorn,’ the Queen said stepping forwards and placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘your Ancestors were all great heroes of the kingdom in times of war and strife. They served loyally since the First True King founded Ferinatia ten thousand years ago,’ she said with a gesture towards the tall wood carved statues that overshadowed the small parade ground, ‘they would be proud to see the young man you have become, as we are,’ she said, ‘but would not be proud of these endless pranks. You have the duty of being the servant of the Royal Physician. In that task you must satisfy yourself.’

‘You’ve been born in a time of peace, Thorn,’ the King said and calmed slightly, ‘and as such you are restricted to the duties and obligations of your birth, as you well know,’ he said and frowned, ‘would you wish us to be at war, just to alleviate your boredom?’

‘No,’ Thorn said sadly, ‘not as such. I only want to be a Forest Flyer. The next King could take the throne and I could be in his honour guard, and perhaps one-day rise to be his High Lord. Is that not permitted?’

‘You know better than to ask,’ the King said in annoyance and then sighed, ‘you were not born to be a Forest Flyer, Hawthorn, nor High Lord. Now be off with you, while I repair the damage you’ve caused to these young forest lord’s confidence,’ he added and suppressed a smile, turned as a flyer dropped down out of the trees and took a step forwards and bowed gracefully in respect to the King and Queen.

‘Majesty’s,’ the flyer said glancing at Thorn for a moment, clearly curious about what trouble Thorn had caused this time, ‘the spring war-band from the mountain tribes finally reached our borders this morning and have entered near Three Tree Path. We have sent a flight to drive them back. Also,’ he said with a glance at Thorn, ‘the Ebrinatian royal party have nearly reached the outer city limits. We expect that they will be at the city proper by midday,’ he said and drew his attention back to the King. ‘The King and Queen are accompanied by their children including their beautiful daughter, Princess Ranee,’ he said and paused to glance at Thorn with a slight smile. He then paused as though just realising that something was wrong, then looked back to see the green fletched arrows clutched in the target keeper’s hands, and the ribbons held in the hand of the King, and then up to the timing clock and his eyes opened in astonishment, and then glanced towards Thorn in apparent wonder, and smiled.

‘Very good,’ the King said and shook his head at the distracted Forest Lord.

The King turned his attention back to Thorn and gave a slight gesture to indicate that Thorn should have already departed. Thorn reached out a hand towards the target keepers, used his ribbon to snatch his arrows from their grasp, slapped them together to make them ready for use, and slipped them down into his quiver in one smooth move. He met the gaze of the Queen with an annoyed expression, then the Princess beside her who frowned as a mirror of her mother, and then returned his attention to the King of the forest Kingdom.

The sixteen-year-old boy took a step back and gave a formal bow, in the fashion given by a peasant to a noble. Then as he rose up, he leaped, summersaulted backwards over the other teenagers and landed gently on the shoulders of the youth he had taken the helmet from, and then shot into the air, with the youth’s helmet flying after him gripped in a ribbon from his ankle. He rose up through the city like a fired arrow and as he swept through the air, he casually replaced the poor peasant helmet for the young forest lord’s helmet, then angled around and flew off across the forest.

***

Thorn flew through the trees rapidly from branch to limb and turned out towards the western border. He flew for a while and as he neared the edge, he could see the mountains rise up before him, and heard the sounds of combat. As he flew through the air, Thorn glanced between the trunks and branches he used for flight and the small battle he could hear in the distance. He reached a high up branch, drew his feltar, and fired towards a distant hide covered figure who fought against another Forest Flyer. His lethally accurate arrow struck the mountain invader’s sword arm at a glance and then his shoulder and cut through his hide armour as he swung back and the force of the arrow sent him back, and he tumbled back across the ground and clutched his arm and left his sword where it lay and fled back through the forest.

Two more arrows struck the rough hide armoured invaders and set them into flight from battle before his speed took him beyond the battle and he touched his foot against a branch, and fired a ribbon from his wrist around a trunk and used it to bring him right around and back towards the battle. He fired three more times as he flew towards the ground, slowing his speed against the trunks of trees and as he touched the soft forest floor, he spun his feltar around, the bow arms retracted into the short shaft and a long crystal-wood blades sprung out to replace them.

One more step and he was into the battle, slicing through the ranks of attackers and as he neared centre, he kicked a mountain man who did not quite have the impression he should flee. He swept passed them fluidly, and dropped to a roll and snapped his feltar around as the blades slid back in and were replaced by long shafts that turned it into a staff like weapon. He swung around bruising the rough mountain men painfully, and then tossed the weapon through the air to strike the leader’s face as he closed on the new forest attacker. Thorn dropped to a roll below another mountain man’s sword swing and as he came up, he leaped and over the blinded leader’s wild attack. He tumbled up and over and as his feet rose up, he launched an ankle ribbon towards a high branch as another mountain man swung towards him, and Thorn shot up out of reach. Other mountain men came to the large leader’s aid, while his ribbon brought his feltar back to his grasp as he tumbled up through the branches and pushed off a branch above him, and swept into a rapid flight and came around for another attack.

After only a few moments of fighting, the battle was over and the mountain men were in full flight back towards their mountain paths, each one alive though many of them had injuries that would prevent battle for another year at least. Thorn flew through the air, came in, and landed at a crouch on the soft forest ground in the midst of the Forest Flyers. He snapped his feltar down and the green ribbon shot up and pulled it down into its sheath as he met the disapproving scowl of the Forest Lord who led this flight, as he held out the green fletched arrows that they had taken from among the other black fletched Forest Flyer arrows of the border patrol flight. The Forest Lord gazed down upon him with frustration as he shook his head disapprovingly.

‘Where did you steal the helmet from, Hawthorn?’ the man asked, and pulled the forest flyer helmet from Thorn’s head, and examined it for a moment, then folded it up and pushed it into his armour and then turning to gaze around the weapon strewn ground.

Thorn crouched down and retrieved a metal dagger and its sheath that had fallen from some invader’s belt during battle. He examined the weapon curiously and saw the image of a horned helmeted man formed into the steel at the crosspiece. He lifted his gaze to the Forest Lord who nodded to the unasked question, and Thorn pulled open a seam in the back of his armour and pushed the dagger and sheath in and resealed the pocket, and then helped the men pick up the discarded weapons, bundles and occasional pieces of clothing and armour.

‘You are not a Forest Flyer, Thorn,’ the Forest Lord said and met the youth’s gaze after Thorn worked for a few moments, ‘you’re the fastest and most agile tree runner I’ve known, and you’ve more than proven your skill with the feltar. Even so, you are no Forest Flyer, and you never will be. You know that don’t you?’

Thorn met his gaze in frustrated disappointment and nodded, and passed the large sword he had retrieved to a forest flyer and stood up.

‘Crown Prince Jarel, the Summer Prince and future King of our realm is meeting Princess Ranee of Ebrinatia, his betrothed and our future Queen tonight,’ the leader of the Forest Flyers said, ‘the King of Ebrinatia and his family should have nearly reached the outer city flyway. High Lord Whindeles will already be on his way with the honour guard to welcome them. The entire palace is busy with preparations for the celebration and honour parades. You have duties also, Hawthorn. Isn’t there somewhere you should be?’

The young teenage tree runner glanced off through the forest as a slight fear raised his heartbeat. He stood there for a moment and then glanced down and nodded, an idea occurred to him and a slight smile forming on his mouth as he lifted his gaze to the older Forest Flyer.

‘Oh no,’ the man said in knowing recognition that some mischief was being considered. His hand reached for the boy and closed on empty air as the youth flew up through the trees, and quickly disappeared off through the forest.

***

The Forest Flyer honour guard led by High Lord Whindeles flew through the trees, and passed in and out of sight of each other as they headed for the city’s edge and the Ebrinatian royal party who rode their fine white mounts along the forest road slowly towards the Ferinatian capital, the Emerald City of Ferin. The High Lord leaped from branch to branch and flew through the air with great agility, his gaze flicking between his flight and the bright white party of riders as they came into sight, the gift of a woven wreath of decorative leaves, flowers and vines draped around his shoulders in preparation.

As he closed on the party, High Lord Whindeles suddenly felt an impact on his back and another on his head as his helmet and the wreath lifted up and away. The High Lord watched in surprise as he slowed in his flight and then began flying backwards towards a large opening flower as Thorn flew onwards towards the party while sliding the High Lord’s helmet onto his head and draping the wreath around his shoulders.

Forest Flyers flew through the air and landed at the head of the path before the party of riders, and Thorn flew in and landed at their lead, ignoring the other Flyers who glanced at each other in surprise at their unexpectedly shorter High Lord.

‘Welcome to Ferin, greatest city in the world,’ Thorn said and gave an exaggerated bow.

‘Thank you, young Forest Lord,’ the Ebrinatian King said as he rode forwards and then frowned slightly as he gazed down upon the seemingly young speaker. He gestured for others ride forwards into a line, the Queen of Ebrinatia reached his side and the fair skinned girls and boys took up positions on either side of them dressed, like the King and Queen, in fine white travelling clothing, all of them flanked by their knights and nobles.

‘Is the city far?’ the oldest of the girls asked as she rode forwards, ‘this journey wearies me.’

‘Is it far?’ Thorn replied in amusement tilting his head, ‘I suppose for one as slow as you it is quite a distance, travelling as slowly as you are.’

‘Answer Princess Ranee’s question boy,’ an Ebrinatian Knight said as he rode forwards, his ornate polished white armour and fine steed overshadowing Thorn as he stood there.

Thorn glanced from him to the King, and then turned his attention back to the Princess, his expression becoming more serious as he met her gaze, as the intended future Queen of Ferinatia gazed down upon him with a self-important and aloof expression.

‘It-it is about half a day through the city to the Palace of Ferin, Princess,’ Thorn said and glanced at the Knight who had ordered him and then to the King and Queen who rode in the middle.

‘Half a day,’ the girl complained, lifting her gaze, ‘how far to the nearest Inn or house. I’ve been riding all morning and I’m tired.’

‘The Inns are near the palace, Princess,’ Thorn said with a frown of confusion, ‘and the nearest home is before you, though it would be quite a climb for one who cannot fly.’

‘Climb,’ the girl said, ‘I don’t see any stairs.’

‘Stairs are for the enfeebled or paralytic, Princess,’ Thorn said with a frown of confusion, ‘surely you don’t suffer from such problems,’ he added then glanced across to Ambassador Nycanti, the Ferinatian Ambassador to the Royal Court of Ebrinatia.

‘You mean actually climb the trees,’ the girl said in horror, ‘what about your palace, must I climb that too. What kind of primitives are you? Just look at you, you look like a dirt covered filthy beggar.’

‘The honoured war paint is not dirt, Princess,’ Thorn said in growing anger, ‘it is a symbol of our hunting prowess and our ability to traverse our vast forests as one with the plants and animals around us.’

‘Our armies could turn this forest into a burned wasteland in a year, muck boy,’ the Princess said angrily, ‘and neither your Prince Jarel nor your highly prized flying soldiers could stop them.’

Thorn stared up at her and gritted his teeth, then lowered his gaze and took a deep breath to calm himself.

‘Thorn,’ the Ambassador said and dismounted from the horse and with a measured pace, walked around to where Thorn stood at the head of the Forest Flyers, ‘where is High Lord Whindeles,’ he asked, and pulled the high Lord’s helmet from Thorn’s head and tossed it to one of the other Forest Flyers.

‘He flew too close to a Julip flower,’ Thorn said and held back his smile as long as he could before he grinned in amusement.

‘With your help I’m sure,’ Ambassador Nycanti said in annoyance, ‘don’t you have duties to attend to?’

Thorn met his gaze and then turned his attention back to the Princess.

‘We bring this gift of welcome,’ Thorn said and covertly reached into a pocket on the front of his armour and slid out a small wooden vial. He stepped closer to her and draped the wreath around her shoulders, and dropped his hand down across the horse’s mane and covertly poured the white liquid from the vial over his pure white mane, ‘Welcome to Ferin, Princess Ranee. And may the Almighty have mercy on your betrothed,’ he said and then stepped back as he covertly slid the vial back into his armour, then glanced towards the Ambassador who closed his eyes in despair.

‘How dare you,’ the armoured man said, and reached for his sword.

Before his hand closed on the grip Thorn leaped up high above him and summersaulted backwards into the air and landed upon the shoulders of a Forest Flyer, then leaped up, and his ribbons caught hold of upper branches and shot him up into the trees, and off away from them before the Knight finished drawing his weapon.

***

The wind blew through Thorn’s hair as he flew from branch to branch, and reached out and sent his ribbon like tendril towards a high up branch and flew up to where a small light green bird was perched. His hand closed on the bird and snapped its neck in one move, then pushed it into a pocket in the side of his armour and flew onwards. He came around a large tree and descended towards the forest floor gradually, leaped off a branch, readied his feltar bow, drew and fired one arrow before he altered his direction and held the next branch with his ribbon and flew around in a loop, and dropped down towards the forest floor as the ribbons retracted once again. Thorn dropped down, slowing his descent against branches and the trunk of a large tree before he leaped down to a roll on the soft earth with his feltar drawn and held it as a long spear blade extended from one end. A small adult boar burst through the trees ahead of him and struck the spear full on, and impaled itself on the long spear point, Thorn’s green fletched arrow visible in its back.

With quick practiced moves, Thorn cleaned the spear tip and then in an instant, the spear shafts shot down into the short feltar and a thicker shorter digging and chopping blade spring out and he cut the turf open to create a cavity. He lay the soil and grass aside and then pulled a flat silk rope from a pocket in the armour and quickly tied the boar’s rear legs, tossing the rope up to an overhanging branch and pulled the small boar from the ground suspended over the hole. He slid a small hunting knife from the side of his quiver and cut the boar’s neck open in two places, and the creature’s blood drained down into the pit, followed a few moments later by the unwanted organs. Thorn carefully butchered the animal and stored the edible and reusable organs and products in the creature’s stomach cavity while he cleaned away the unwanted material into the hole he had dug.

Once the boar was prepared and bleeding, his green ribbon spiralled up his arm, around a small hose secured into the lining of his armour, and angled it out as he put pressure on the water bladders built into the sides of his armour. A stream of water poured from the hose onto his hands so he could wash the blood and gore off and into the hole, and cleaned and replaced the fine hunting knife. He relaxed onto the grass and pulled out the dead bird and plucked the feathers, and butchered the small bird down to its usable components and stored them in a pocket on his back and deposited the rest into the hole with the dead boar’s blood and waste.

He retrieved a small leather pouch from a back pocket of his armour, placed the flesh of the dead bird within the pouch, and then dug up a small tuber plant that grew nearby, cleaned and cut up the white bulbous roots, and added the leaves from some herbs that grew against the trunk of the large tree beside him. Then lifted his gaze and reached up, and the ribbon like tendril shot from his wrist up into the tree and pulled off a large ripe apple. He caught it, and quickly cut it up and added it to the small pouch with the rest of the food. He tied it up, and then pulled out another pouch lined with fungus, and dropped some liquid from a vial into it, and then pushed the first pouch into it, and sealed them. He slid them down into the back of his armour, as the outer pouch grew warm through its outer insulation, while most the heat cooked the contents of the inner pouch of meat, vegetables, and fruit for a midday meal.

Thorn gazed around the small dell he had stopped in, then pulled a large silk cloth bag from within a pocket built into the small of his back, then several more smaller silk bags of different forest colours and gradually filled them with herbs, mushrooms and berries. He retrieved some silk cloth from a pocket, dug up some small herbs, and carefully wrapped their roots and earth. He packed them within the bag, and covered over the hole with dried leaves and foliage so the weather did not harm the roots of the plants he had left behind. Then he searched around for a few moments and found a patch of small red fungus growing on a fallen branch. With a glance at the boar, he leaped and flew up towards the upper branches and followed the fungus patches, as they steadily grew larger until he reached the main outcropping, cut sections off and fill one of the small silk bags. He dropped back down to the bleeding boar and placed the filled silk bags with the others. He glanced down to his hands and saw the signs of hard work and his forest life.

Thorn approached the small creek that bubbled along the middle of the small dell he was in, knelt at its edge and gazed into the cool forest water. He stared into his reflection and saw the hunters face paint that had covered his face and hair since he was a young boy, a symbol of honour among the woodland people but clearly just a mark of indignity among the clean white-clothed Ebrinatians and their Princess, the girl who would one day be Queen of his Kingdom.

‘Filthy beggar,’ Thorn said aloud in frustration.

He stood up and loosened his gloves and pulled them off, then loosened thongs tied at his wrists and shoulders, and all the way from under his arms down to his short boots, which he loosened and removed. He stretched then pulled his one-piece armour open and slid it off in one go, followed by the two-piece black silk clothing he wore beneath it. He reached into a pouch in his armour and retrieved some soap as he climbed into the deep pool and washed. He scrubbed off the painstakingly applied face paint and hair colour, and removed the results of the morning’s activities, the face paint and hair colour dissolved away with the help of the special soap and turned his appearance into that of a blonde fair-skinned sixteen-year-old boy. Once he had washed, he lay there in the cool water for a while, and then washed the silken undergarments and armour carefully to remove the faint marks and taints of combat and his forest travel.

‘Muck boy is it?’ he said as he scrubbed the outside of his armour, then hung up his silk lining and armour to dry in the warm sunlight that filtered down between the leaves of the high forest canopy, ‘well it’s better to have a mucky outside than a mucky personality. You can’t wash that off can you, muck girl,’ he said in frustration, and sat on the side of the creek for a few moments and then grunted in annoyance, ‘it doesn’t matter anyway. You will be my Queen whether I like it or not.’

Thorn sat there for a few moments and then retrieved his face paint with its small silver backed crystal mirror, and hair colouring equipment from within his armour and began repainting. He applied the brown to indicate he was a skilled tree runner. He added the light green to indicate he was a skilled hunter, the black to indicate he had proven himself in night flight, and red to indicate he had proven himself in battle, both during combat training and while defending the borders against the occasional incursions from the waywards invaders to the east and mountain folk to the west. He finished off with a silver line across the top of his right eyebrow, checked his face markings, and then sighed as he replaced the kit in his armour pocket. He lay down in the sun to dry, drying both his body after the wash and helping the face paint and hair dye soak into his skin and hair properly.

***

The sound of wind howling through the trees woke him from a light doze and Thorn lay there for a moment and then opened his eyes and gazed towards the unmoving trees. He stared around for a moment, rose up, and froze when he heard a loud cry like a very deep voiced bird he did not recognise. He roll to a ready position and moved slowly and rose up and his eyes widened as he saw a huge whirling vortex of light and wind, with a wide open bottom that drew in loose foliage, and the vortex tapered all the way up to a point high up in the tops of the trees. In its midst flew a huge hawk like bird as large as a horse, that slowly descended against the wind that rushed up passed it into the vortex. A man in Ebrinatian Knight Armour mounted upon the creatures back and held on as the bird carefully angled against the wind to avoid falling out suddenly, and he saw the man gaze out through the wind and foliage as though searching for something, while he carefully guided his mount down against the strong upwards wind.

Thorn quickly gathered up his armour and clothing, pulled the damp silk clothing on quickly and then the armour and ensured everything was in place, and then crawled through the undergrowth to where the boar hung. With careful movements, he untied the rope and placed the boar into the large silk bag and twisted the long top of the silken bag to secure the small boar, and slung it onto his back. He then did the same for the other smaller silken bags, and carefully pulled the square of cut earth back over the pool of offal and blood. He brushed his hand across the ground to hide any sign of his work. He moved around to the side of the tree, slowly pulled the flat silk rope with him so a tree concealed most of it and gave it a quick snap and pulled it in, wiped it down and rolled it up carefully and stowed it in its pocket.

The huge hawk cried again, a second cry answered it, and Thorn moved around the tree, adjusted his slightly damp clothing as he saw a second hawk glide down through the vortex above the first. The Ebrinatian Knight’s clothing and armour appeared to be identical to the first, though as he gazed towards them, he noticed the design looked similar but not quite right. He noticed that instead of the metal buckles, it had ties and the sword that hung from the man’s waist appeared to be much plainer in its ornamentation. He also recognised that the feathers on the Knight’s helmet looked like they had come from a low land goose or large chicken rather than the large coastal osprey usually used by the coastal kingdom’s Knights.

The upper bird rider shouted something in another language, and the lower bird rider glanced up to him.

‘Remember our orders,’ the lower bird rider said, ‘use their words.’

‘I don’t see the point,’ the upper bird rider shouted in frustration, ‘the Seer’s missed his mark again, let’s hope it can find Mugworth.’

‘Capture Prince Jarel and get him to the rift,’ the lower bird rider shouted, ‘no extra witnesses this time. You know the orders.’

The upper Ebrinatian Knight nodded and cried out in an attempt to urge his tired bird against the wind as the lower one broke free and flew down out of the vortex and then out and up through the canopy. Thorn lowered his gaze from the departing Knight and then as he considered what they said, he dropped his gaze to the other one and discovered that he had already escaped the vortex and disappeared into the forest somewhere. The tall cone of swirling light and wind slowed and then dissipated. The sound of beating wings became audible after the loud wind faded. Thorn turned to see the bird mounted Knight fly around a distant tree, his gaze fixed upon Thorn and a strange weapon in his hand that looked like a type of very large crossbow with four arrows and a large net fixed between them.

Thorn’s eyes widened as he watched the Knight pull the trigger, time seemed to slow as the adrenaline rushed through his veins while he watched the crossbow string release. The arms sprung forwards and sent the four arrows towards him and apart to stretch out the barbed net that glistened with unknown poison. Thorn watched for what seemed like an age as his slow limbs bunched up and he leaped, and flew up as the four arrows struck the tree behind him. He flew up towards the upper branches as the Knight watched as he shot off across the forest and spun around mid-flight to see the Knight and his huge hawk in close pursuit, the man dropped low in the saddle while he struggled to rearm the bow with a hand winder.

Thorn flew, branch to trunk, he ran. He raced as fast as he could with Ebrinatian Knight and bird mount close behind him, slowed only by the branches and trees. He flew up and over the ridge and sped down into the next valley, turned down the long river valley and entered the long wide treeless flyway, one of the many flight paths through the kingdom that were spaced and grown with wide curves and plenty of limbs to allow high speed flight for the tree runners.

The white water raced by below and as he picked up speed along the flyway, he heard the cry of the great hawk again and heard an answering cry in the distance. Thorn flew around and then leaped, and twisted in his flight and drew his bow, knocked an arrow and fired. He spun around and replaced the bow before the arrow hit, leaped up again and spun around with the bow drawn and arrow knocked to see to his surprise that the bird was riderless. The huge predator continued its pursuit with the reins flying loose, its lost rider gave speed to its flight as it closed in with its lethal claws and beak ready to catch and consume its prey. Thorn loosed the arrow, struck the bird’s feathered neck, and lodged there harmlessly in the bird’s thick feathers. He barely managed to replace his bow in time for the next stride, angled his flight and dove into the thicker forest, leaped through the trees rapidly in the hope that he could outdistance the huge bird.

Thorn leaped this way and that, and rose up as he heard the cry of the huge predator right behind him, as its beak snapped at him as he barely kept out of its reach. A wider gap approached in his rapid flight and Thorn leaped, spun around as he drew his weapon. A long flat spear extended from one end and a shaft from the other, Thorn thrust backwards towards the huge bird with both hands, and saw the bird dive to one side, and bounced off a tree as Thorn retracted the spear and replaced it in time for his next stride.

A loud cry sounded once again and Thorn spun around to see the bird had already made up the lost distance. Thorn cried out in frustration and then saw the thicker tree ahead and risked his feet to a hungry beak. He stretched out flat, and flew between the narrow close-set branches he would normally navigate around and heard a loud cry of alarm as the bird spread its wings in a futile attempt at arresting its flight. The loud crash behind him informed Thorn of its failure and the teenage tree runner deflected off another branch and angled up through the canopy.

He broke out into the sunlight and flying through the slender upper branches and leaves. He flew up and over in longer faster leaps as he pushed off the slender branches and trunks at the tree tops. He finally dropped down into the foliage and through the canopy, the dimmer shadows obscured his vision as he slowed to his normal rapid gait, and angled around towards the distant city.

Suddenly he heard a loud cry from one side and saw to his alarm that the huge bird flew rapidly towards him, aided by its greater vision and hearing. Thorn cried out in frustration as he pushed off a branch just in time to avoid the bird’s sharp talons. He flew up and saw another gap he hoped he could wedge the bird into, then another far riskier idea formed as he flew towards the tree and spun around. He fired one ribbon up to a higher branch and spread his arms as wide silk gliding flaps sprung into place between his arms and legs and arresting his speed for a moment before they retracted. Thorn summersaulted and fired one arm ribbon at the creatures back as it passed, and struck the saddle painfully and drew his weapon, the sword sprung from one end and sliced through the feathers and hide, impaled the huge bird’s heart, though the blade broke off as the bird’s huge wing muscles thrust against it.

Thorn immediately leaped and continued his flight while he replaced his weapon. The huge dying bird tumbled through the thicker upper branches and ploughed into the soft foliage at the forest floor. Thorn came around and descended, sliding off a couple of trees and landing with his sword ready as he approached the bird, finally cleaned and retracted it as he stood there and gasped for air. Whistles sounded around him and Thorn kept his gaze on the bird as three groups of Forest Flyers sped through the trees and spiralled down towards him, landing about the clearing gracefully, the nearer ones taking a combat position with their weapons ready.

‘It’s dead,’ one of the three Forest Flyer leaders said after a few moments, ‘whatever it is.’

‘Thorn?’ one of the other Forest Flyer leaders asked, ‘what in the Almighty’s name are you hunting.’

‘Ebrinatian Knights,’ Thorn replied, as he cleaned and examined the broken blade of his weapon and retracted it.

‘Heaven help you if you are, Thorn,’ the third Forest Flyer leader said approaching.

‘Sir,’ the flyer who had examined the beast said, and pulled out a cloak from a saddle bag at the back of the huge creature’s saddle, the large group of flyers glanced from the Ebrinatian symbol emblazoned upon the cloak and glanced at each other and then at the boy who had killed it.

‘There were two of them,’ Thorn said meeting the gaze of the Flyer leaders, ‘they appeared to be Ebrinatian Knights, though there was something strange about their armour. It may have been fake,’ he said and approached the bird and retrieved his arrow and pulled out a broken feather that was twice as large as his hand, ‘I shot the rider while in flight over Trem river rush. The other Knight and his bird flew off across the canopy before this one spotted me, never flown so fast in my life.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ the senior-ranked Forest Flyer leader said, as he looked across the huge bird, ‘where did you first see it.’

‘I was in the dell at the far end of the valley near cleft ridge,’ Thorn said thoughtfully, ‘a strange whirlwind of light and wind formed near where I was washing, and they flew out of the top. The other one relayed orders from their King before he flew off. He said,’ Thorn said raising his gaze to the Flyer leader, ‘he said, Find Prince Jarel and get to the rift, which I assume was the whirlwind they flew out of.’

‘Right,’ the Flyer Leader said, ‘not a word to anyone about this. That goes for you also, Thorn. Rell’s flight will build a litter and carry this thing back to the city covered by your sleeping kit so no one sees it. Gerem’s flight will search for the fallen Knight and bring him to the palace without anyone seeing him and my flight will escort Thorn back to the palace. This will have to be reported to High Lord Whindeles and the King as soon as we can.’

‘Ah, High Lord Whindeles,’ Thorn said and frowned, ‘that’ll be unpleasant.’

***

White Ebrinatian tents lined the broad paved trade road that ran beneath the centre of the elevated inner city of Ferin, far below the residences and community platforms of the inner city and at the same height as the large market plaza that surrounded the Ferin Palace Tree that marked the centre of the city. Thorn flew with the Forest Flyers through the lower levels, and then rose up to the upper levels of the palace and landed on a balcony, headed inside quickly and reached a large spacious foyer with the other flyers, while the Forest Flyer leader continued into the palace complex to give a report. He stood there patiently and glanced to the side as two forest flyers leaped out of the doors and glanced in his direction, and then even before they were half way across the foyer, took flight and shot out through the entrance.

‘Thorn,’ an elderly man said as he nearly run from a side chamber with the Flyer leader close behind, ‘are you unharmed?’

‘I am fine, Councillor Nellius,’ Thorn replied.

‘Very well,’ the Councillor said, ‘this is disturbing news. I will consult with the High Lord when he returns. The King is in conference with King Ebin, and we have advised non-verbally of the attack and your safety. We will inform him of events more fully as soon as we can arrange to speak to him privately. Thorn, I’d suggest you stay in the city for the time being.’

‘Yes, Councillor,’ Thorn said, ‘I have duties to attend to.’

‘A greater hawk, no less,’ the Councillor said in thought, ‘you’ve bagged quite a prize young man. This may prove useful. We have been trying to find a way for the Prince to gain the Princess’ admiration. And such a trophy may be just what we are looking for.’

‘I wish I’d only stunned it,’ Thorn said, ‘perhaps then we could feed her to it.’

‘You don’t like the match, I gather,’ the Councillor asked, nodding when he saw Thorns pained expression, ‘well fortunately we aren’t asking your approval. Be off with you boy, and no more trouble. High Lord Whindeles has spent half the morning washing off Julip pollen.’

‘Would you prefer he was there when Princess Ranee threatened to turn our forest into a burned wasteland?’ Thorn asked.

The councillor met his gaze for a moment and then shook his head.

‘It is fortunate you took his place, Thorn,’ the old man said, ‘though you cannot claim honour now. We both know you didn’t know she would be so…’

‘Monstrous,’ Thorn suggested.

‘Undiplomatic,’ the old councillor said with a frown, ‘you should go. I am sure you have plenty of duties to attend to,’ and glanced past him to see Penias and two older forest flyers who had been sent to collect him land at the entrance of the foyer and approach, ‘Ah good, Penias. As the Summer Prince, you need to dress in the royal armour and mantle. The Ebrinatians are already in the upper city.’

‘Thorn, what’s happening?’ Penias asked in a serious and worried tone, glancing between Thorn, the Councillor and then the Flight leader.

‘There has been an attack in the forest, Penias,’ the Flight leader explained, ‘someone dressed like an Ebrinatian Knight tried to kill Thorn.’

‘The Knight and his great hawk mount have been defeated already, but there was another who disappeared into the forest,’ the Councillor explained, ‘and by what we know at the moment, they have orders to capture you.’

‘Me,’ Penias said, glancing at Thorn for a moment, ‘are you alright Thorn?’

‘It was only an Ebrinatian Knight, my Prince,’ Thorn said in amusement, ‘it was his huge bird mount that nearly got me.’

‘Indeed,’ the Councillor said, ‘hopefully when we inform the Princess that Prince Jarel has defeated this great beast in her honour, it may curb her tongue.’

‘I’m not sure lying is the best way to go,’ Thorn said thoughtfully, ‘and we don’t know if the Ebrinatians are behind it. They may have been fake Knights I saw.’

‘This is getting complicated,’ Penias said with a frown, ‘have you spoken to my father about this?’

‘No,’ the Councillor said, ‘I am going to discuss the matter with your father now. Penias, you should accompany me,’ the Councillor said glancing towards the entrance, ‘the King may have instructions for you.’

‘Yes of course,’ Penias said glancing Thorn up and down, ‘I’d better make myself look like I’ve been in a battle.’

‘Just tell them you’ve had a wash,’ Thorn said with a smile of amusement.

‘Oh,’ Penias said glancing at Thorn, ‘I suppose I could go wash in my royal chambers to make it look right. The outdoor pool would be very nice.’

‘Alone,’ the Councillor said firmly, ‘I do not want to hear that the Prince has been seen bathing with the local girls on his betrothal day.’

‘I agree,’ Thorn said firmly and met his gaze, ‘we’ve got enough trouble with the Princess, and whatever else is going on. You should behave yourself, Penias.’

‘Are you giving me an order, Thorn?’ Penias asked with a frown.

‘Yes,’ Thorn said with a smile, ‘my Prince.’

‘The Prince of Ferinatia ordered around by a common servant,’ Penias said as he shook his head.

‘Congratulation on your victory, Thorn,’ the Councillor said and drew the discussion to a close as he gestured for Penias to follow, ‘this is the first greater hawk trophy in at least a hundred years. I am sure the King will be impressed. Especially when I tell him you did it with what looks like a whole boar on your back.’

‘Yes,’ Thorn said and reached behind him to check the damp silk bag, ‘and it didn’t finish bleeding, so I’d better get it to Master Tollin’s larder before it drips blood down on the Ebrinatians. You know how much they hate it when we drop things on them.’

‘Yes, I do,’ the Councillor said, ‘we’ve already received complaints. I expect you to set a good example, Thorn. You know how the other boys look up to you.’

‘It’s the ones who look up to him who have the most trouble,’ Penias said in amusement as they all headed for the exit, ‘they’re the ones who get dropped on,’ he added and leaped, his two companions followed him and then the flight leader a moment later.

‘Stay near the city, Thorn,’ the Councillor said in a serious tone, ‘you may still be in danger.’

Thorn met the Councillor’s gaze for a moment and waited as the older man leaped and flew up after Penias and the Flight Leader, and Thorn sighed and then took a few strides and then leaped and shot out over the balcony, and then flew down.

***

The citizens of Ferinatia walked along the suspended walkways or flew between the balconies, platforms and outer buildings, many of them greeted or waved to Thorn as he flew passed. He descended through the upper levels and then down to the middle levels of the huge palace complex. Large and small pots hung suspended above the opening in the roof of a large single floor round building that sat atop a wide branch of the huge spreading Ferin palace tree. Nearby a broad suspended walkway reached across from other buildings and platforms in the forest city palace to the round building. Thorn noticed a flight of Forest Flyers perched atop the thatched roof, and noticed that they did not move to interrupt his flight as he caught a large suspended rope that ran along above the large roof opening.

Thorn swept up and over, and fell with the assistance of his ribbons down through the opening and landed gently upon the broad wooden floor. He gazed around the small party of Ebrinatian people, including several Ebrinatian Knights, and the Princess who sat on a stool tended to by Master Tollin, the court physician and herbalist whose workshop this was.

One of the Knights took a step towards him and placed a hand on his sword to draw it.

‘Did you find any Ikleth fungus like I asked?’ the old man asked as he kept his focus on the girl’s face where he was dabbing a cream onto the Princess’ red insect bites that were visible in her pale complexion.

‘Yes, Master,’ Thorn replied simply, and walked towards a nearby table and removed the bags and lay them out.

He pulled across some bowls and began unpacking them carefully into their different types, separating out the organs. He shot his ribbon across to a rope coiled neatly on the floor with other ropes beneath a long row of levers, hit the rope half way along with his usual accuracy, and drew it back to his grasp. He fired another ribbon to a lever that released the rope and let it slide through his hand slowly and lower a large drying rack down to the table level.

Thorn began hanging the herbs and laying out the fungus to dry in large trays, then said distractedly, ‘I found a large patch of Ikleth, and the other plants you were looking for. I even found a couple of trephel herbs,’ he added as he retrieved some small clay pots and unwrapped the silk bound plants, potted them carefully with soil from a nearby drum, and watered them with a small watering jug.

‘Did you see any veleran in your wanderings?’ the old Master asked, ‘when I’m finished here, I’ll have to make up some more salve to replace the supply the Princess will take with her.’

‘I saw some in Whiles valley the other day,’ he said as he worked.

He carefully washed the boars’ organs and hung it up in the larder. He cut up a couple of the softer organs into a bowl and carried them across to a shelf where a small white snake lay coiled upon a soft cushion. He placed the bowl before him and met the snake’s gaze for a moment. The serpent tilted his head slightly and met his gaze, then turned his gaze back to the Princess as Thorn stepped away.

‘I’ll fly passed that way tomorrow if I have a chance,’ Thorn said and returned to the plants and fungus.

‘It’ll have to wait then,’ the old man said, ‘I’m sure you’ll be busy with the parade and everything.’

Thorn sighed and glanced towards the Princess whom he noticed was watching him, though her eyes darted away the moment he met her gaze.

‘I have put a boar in your larder, Master,’ Thorn said, ‘so you two have something for supper tonight.’

‘I’ll be eating at the King’s banquet tonight,’ Master Tollin said, ‘I suspect that even you have a place at the King’s banquet tonight, Hawthorn. All the Lords and Ladies of the forest will be there to celebrate the betrothal of Prince Jarel to Princess Ranee and I’m sure you’ll be missed if you decide not to go.’

‘I’ve nothing to celebrate,’ Thorn said and glanced towards the Princess, ‘and I’ve had an exhausting day dealing with monsters.’

‘Him?’ the Princess said in annoyance, ‘what’s he doing at the King’s banquet? When I am Queen, there will be none of that kind of thing. The peasants should stay where they are down in the dirt. Especially filthy disrespectful peasants like him.’

‘There are no filthy disrespectful peasants like him, Princess,’ the old healer said, ‘Hawthorn is unique, much to his father’s distress.’

‘You made good time, Princess,’ Thorn said and turned his gaze towards her.

‘Yes, she did, Thorn,’ the old man said in annoyance, ‘possibly because she was chased by a swarm of Tilli flies and had to gallop all the way here. She could have fallen from her horse and died.’

‘I’m sure someone would have caught her,’ Thorn said in frustration, ‘that reminds me. I seem to be out of hags juice,’ he said as he pulled the drying rack back up to the ceiling and fired one ribbon at the bottom half of the lever to hold the rope tight, then wound up the rope and casually tossed it over to where it was coiled on the floor beneath the lever.

‘Hags juice,’ the old man said and glanced up and met Thorn’s gaze in annoyance, then sighed deeply and waved towards the shelves of sealed pots and jugs that lined one section of the wall.

Thorn finished tidying away the things he had gathered and carried his silk bags over to a wash tub and poured water on them, gave them a thorough wash and then hung them up over a drying rack, and twisted a leaver that poured oil into a long fire fungus filled tube. He then turned to a large stone wheel at the side and gripped a handle as his tree leech fired out and