Free Royal Quarry by Charlotte Rahn-Lee Page A

foot. Startled, Albert jumped back and lost his balance, his arms flailing. He hadn’t heard the man come back to his side of the tree, his stealth frightening and unnatural-seeming. Albert’s reeling arm hit the man in the chest only halfway by accident, but the recipient of the blow didn’t seem to feel it. Albert fought to keep some princely dignity as he toppled back into his father’s servant, no longer able to stand.
    Off balance, helpless, and suddenly tired, Albert gave in to his condition, his back against the man’s broad chest, letting him work to free his boot. He could hear the man’s steady breath near his ear and feel the shifting muscles of the man’s arm against his shoulder. It was strangely calming and made Albert want to sleep. He smelled the man’s smell: sweat, straw, leather, wool. That would be the uniform , thought Albert. He rode up and down on the gentle swell of the man’s breath. It was almost a pity when his foot was freed and he was required to stand on his own.
    “What was your name again?” Albert asked when they were both safely over the tree trunk. The man had told him before, but Albert hadn’t paid attention.
    “John Manning,” said the man. His wide face was calm, strong, and somber. I have yet to see one of my father’s guard smile , thought Albert.
    “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on royalty?” Albert asked him.
    “I am sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “It is customary to ask permission before approaching me,” said Albert in the most imperious voice he could muster. He watched the muscles in Manning’s jaw tighten. Was it contrition? Embarrassment? Fear? Anger? The man had experience being scolded by royalty: he stood quietly, eyes downcast, waiting for instruction or punishment. Albert suddenly felt a little silly.
    “But we thank you for freeing our person,” he continued. God, the royal we . He only used that when he was feeling particularly insecure. To break the strange tension, Albert set off through the woods, with little idea of where he was going, letting the man follow him for a change.
     
     
    T HEY camped shortly thereafter at the top of a slight rise, where the ground would be drier. At least, that was what Manning had said. Albert wouldn’t have noticed the higher ground if Manning hadn’t pointed it out, nor would he have known what to do with it. Albert sat with his back against a tree. It felt good to be divested of his equipment: his bag, his bow and quiver, the large, twisted hunting horn he was supposed to blow if he ever did manage to shoot anything. He watched Manning build a fire. The man’s movements were simple and sure, and Albert found them strangely soothing.
    He needed to figure out what he was doing. He shouldn’t have wasted so much of the day sulking. He should have been looking for signs of his quarry, as he’d been taught. The problem was that Albert was terrible at it. Three weeks of preparation had gone into this hunting trip, in addition to all the instruction he’d received before, but the forest was just as mysterious to him now as it had ever been. He marveled at the ability of his teachers, his father, and his cousin to find signs in the earth, in the plants, in the air, even, like so many forest necromancers. To Albert one tree still looked exactly like any other tree, and try as he might, he never could manage to take note of the direction of the sun, a pattern of broken twigs, or imprints in the ground.
    The only way I’ll ever catch a deer is if it comes up and taps me on the shoulder , thought Albert, and even then I doubt I’d be able to kill it . Unless he wanted to return to the castle empty handed, a prospect that, given his father’s temperament, he didn’t cherish, he was going to have to ask for Manning’s help.
    But how far can I trust him? wondered Albert. As he watched Manning easily swing a heavy log onto his shoulder, Albert thought that it would be temptingly easy