“People have considered me a prince, at least since my father took the throne. But if I’m recognized as a prince, then I’d be his current heir. So he’s decided I’m not.”
“Does this make any sense? To anyone?” Alianor shakes her head. “The guy wants a son, right? So he doesn’t have to worry about being overthrown?”
“He wants an heir, but he wants one that no one can question, and they can question me because he wasn’t married to my mom. Also, he’s not a very popular king, and no one really likes his wife, so there was talk about putting me on the throne, which is crazy, but…” He looks at me. “Politics, right? It’s all crazy. Or at least it is in Dorwynne.”
I say, “So your father—the king—sent away his brothers and you, until he has what he considers a proper heir.”
“Exactly.”
“I can understand that if you ended up in another country, with a royal family. But you were with traders. Black-market traders.”
“Right?” He throws up his hands. “Politics. It’s weird.”
“Oh, I’m not sure it’s the politics,” Dain mutters.
“Hey, I brought back your dropbear. Anyway, I’m not supposed to be living with a bunch of illegal monster-pet traders in the forest. I’m supposed to be in Tamarel, being fostered—is that the word?—by Queen Mariela, alongside her two children.”
“Uh…” I say. “No. Even if you never made it to Tamarel, I’d have heard of the arrangement. We have almost no trade—or contact—with Dorwynne.”
“Which is why my father chose it. Or maybe it was his wife. Probably his wife. Anyway, they told my mom that I was going to Tamarel, and she’s heard lovely things about your kingdom, once you get past the monsters. Me? I’d only heard about the monsters, which sounded awesome, so I was happy to go. Except there apparently was no arrangement with your mother. I was brought into the forest and handed over to those people, and I’ve been living with them for over a year.”
“Without shoes.”
“I ran away a few times. Which wasn’t the best idea. There are a lot of monsters out there, and most of them can kill you. So I started behaving better and pulling my weight around the village, hoping they’d relax. Meanwhile, I was putting together a stash. Weapons, supplies and, yes, boots. But when I had the chance to run last night, I could either grab my pack or the dropbear.”
Dain nods and mumbles a thank-you.
“That is the weirdest story I’ve ever heard,” Alianor says. “So you really are a prince.”
“Kind of. Depends on who you ask.” He looks at me. “But you are definitely a princess. A princess who carries a huge sword, and hunts monsters, and has a pet—sorry, companion—jackalope and warg. That’s way cooler than a kinda, sorta prince with no boots.” He grins and then peers into the distance. “So, can I ask where we’re going, and what we’re doing out here?”
It’s midday, and we’re walking along the dry riverbed, between huge canyon walls. We can see Mount Gaetal ahead. That’s where the Michty River started, according to Clan Hadleigh. To be honest, though, it’s more legend than verified fact. We’re at the edge of the mountains, heading in to the most dangerous part in our world. I’ve heard of people in other countries going on expeditions just to explore their mountain ranges, but people don’t do that here. Or, if they do, they don’t live to share their discoveries with the world.
People do pass through the mountains, obviously, but they take specific routes and they get through as quickly as they can. That’s what allows someone like Geraint to take over a settlement, pay no taxes to Tamarel and poach monsters. Even when we know outsiders live in the forest—like Cedany—we don’t levy taxes. Paying taxes means you receive services, like schools and sheriffs and roads. Cedany doesn’t need schools and roads. She also can’t call the sheriff if her cottage is broken into—or filled with dropbears—because we cannot reasonably expect anyone to venture into the forest to help. And we cannot reasonably be expected to send patrols to hunt for bandits or illegal traders. It’s just too dangerous.
The lack of exploration means that no one has ever confirmed the Michty River began at Mount Gaetal. People said it did, and that seemed reasonable, and there was no reason to risk lives answering an idle question.
When the Michty River dried up, it was no longer an idle question. Members of Clan Hadleigh investigated and yet…well, there is a limit to what anyone can be expected to do when the investigation takes you into a region infested with monsters. Also, there’s a limit to what one hopes to accomplish beyond satisfying curiosity. The death of the Michty River was devastating to my father’s clan, and it affected Tamarel overall. But it wasn’t a small stream, where you could find a beaver dam blocking it and fix the problem. We didn’t know why the river had dried up, and we couldn’t foresee a way of “fixing” that even if we did know. So it remained a mystery.
As we walk along the riverbed, I think about this. Then I catch up to Wilmot and say, “Do you think the death of the river has anything to do with the migration?”
“I’ve considered that,” he says. “It would have been catastrophic for the monsters who lived there. But…” He shrugs. “It’s been five years. Why would we start seeing problems now? And the monsters affected aren’t all river-dwellers.”
I nod. “I remember when it happened. Jannah did need to deal with new monster problems. She called them displaced populations—the river was gone, so the monsters that lived there moved elsewhere and that caused trouble. Like ceffyl-dwrs and encantados being seen in smaller rivers.”
“Yes. There were also creatures who took advantage of this.” He waves around the canyon walls. “Mountain goats and bighorn sheep and others moving from the mountains
