Garinor moved around the hillside and managed to follow the beaten soldiers as they worked their way into the campsite. He could hear a complete symphony of shouts among the people. Some were joyous of those who returned, others were cautious as they examined wounds, and others still were mournful at those who were lost.
He was grateful for all the commotion of the returning soldiers, for he was able to slink down into the camp without being noticed. He dodged off to the right side and hunkered down behind one of the tents, trying to peer out at what was taking place.
He noticed that one horseman was present, and he had been traveling slightly detached from the pack. Upon the horse rode a man sitting so erect he looked almost like a tree casting scorn down on those below. An ivory horn lay in his lap, and he must have signaled the end of the battle for the day. His clothes were finely made and had a shimmery effect to them.
Garinor realized he was the prince and he was in charge of this entire operation. The prince sprang lightly off the horse as if he had ridden one since the day he was born. He tossed the reins to one person and the horn to another. From there, he strode around the camp and checked briefly on the wounded. Garinor had the impression the prince was just taking inventory and not really seeing how people were doing, but he didn’t know if that was only his own prejudice creeping into what he was seeing.
At last, the prince completed his circuit and then something else happened. From a road on the southern side of the camp, directly across from where Garinor was perched, a wagon rolled in, drawn by a horse and manned by nine more hunters. Mild cheers went up at their arrival and one man broke off from the others, apparently to report in, while everyone else started digging through the materials on the wagon, preparing to set up with the rest of the camp.
People were talking, but Garinor couldn’t make out their words because he was too far away. Some of the wounded were moved into the tent behind which he was perched and he had the feeling he had better move soon before someone walked around and saw him.
Creeping low to the ground, Garinor moved from one tent to another. He thought he would be able to reach the prince’s tent and there confront him about the hunters and all the horrible things that had been happening under his command. The prince’s tent was on the western side of the camp. It wasn’t far away now.
As he went, one of the injured men cried out in pain from within one of the tents. A healer scurried in to tend to his wounds, but they were much too severe for simple treatment. His agony boiled through him like rage and he grabbed the poor woman and sent her flying through the air. She crashed into the side of the tent, pulling everything down, right on top of Garinor.
The boy struggled to free himself from the canvas and the woman who had landed on top of him, but it was no use. He was trapped. Others came rushing over to help free the woman and to subdue the injured man, and in the process of pulling everything aside, Garinor was seen at last.
“Ho there, what have we here?” sneered a vicious-looking woman in riding leathers. She grabbed Garinor by his tunic and dragged him toward the center of the camp to better see him, now ignoring the others who were still struggling to settle the fallen tent. “A spy, is it? And a boy, no less!”
A few of the others saw her with him and dropped what they were doing to join in the fun. One young man removed the short sword from Garinor’s waist. “Boys shouldn’t play with swords. Could get cut, you know.”
They taunted him, prodding him with fingers and deciding how best to treat this intruder. They opted to hold his face into the fire, but a stern voice called out above their jeers and stopped them cold.
“Halt! Unhand that boy.”
The displeasure on the woman’s face was clear as she turned Garinor away from the blaze and faced him to his rescuer.
It was the prince himself!
“He will not be harmed. Not by any one of you.”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said in what must have been her most respectful tone, though it still seemed to carry a heavy sneer.
Some of the other hunters gasped in shock, “But, sire, weren’t we hired to—”
“His highness has spoken,” interrupted someone standing next to the prince. “Return to your doings and his majesty will deal with this visitor.”
Garinor was released and shoved, rather harshly, toward the prince and his chamberlain. The prince was more than a head taller than him and his face seemed stern and cold, but a charming smile warmed his complexion completely. He reached a companionable arm around Garinor and guided him toward the shimmery tent.
Inside, the prince bade him to wait there until his return, to eat the food that would be brought to him, and to sleep if the need came over him. Garinor was thoroughly confused. Here was the man he had come to stop, staring right at him, and he was being treated like the finest guest he had ever entertained. The prince bowed his way out of his own tent and left Garinor to his thoughts while food and drink were later brought in for him.
The night wore on and Garinor’s confusion never eased.