Split Heirs by Esther Friesner, Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

Blessing. ’ ” The queen made a wry face. “Well, I finally did get blessed by good old Vimple, goddess of Alarums, Diversions, and Minor Shocks to the System, so all those athletics couldn’t keep it away forever. Oh, how I wish they could!”
    Mungli about to utter a fresh string of questioning noises when there came a tremendous clash and clatter from the stairway without the queen’s apartments. Artemisia heard one of her Gorgorian guards bawl, “Halt! Who goes — ? Aiiieee!” and a punctuating crash at the end followed by the second guard’s sheepish, “Oh, it’s you, Prince Arbol. Go right on in, Your Highness.”
    â€œYou bet I will!” came the gaily shouted response. The door to the queen’s apartments boomed as a booted foot assaulted the delicate woodwork. Three hearty stomps and the portal flew wide. Hands on hips, resplendent in the full barbaric glory of Royal Gorgorian battle dress, Prince Arbol did not so much enter the queen’s chamber as conquer it.
    â€œHello, Mom!” the prince said, grinning broadly. “Sorry I had to throw another of your guards down the stairs, but he was stupid.”
    â€œDear heart, they’re Gorgorians; stupid is what they do best,” the queen chided gently. “It’s not the guards I mind so much as the doors. Doors cost money. Hasn’t your Deportment tutor been able to teach you anything about knocking?”
    â€œHe tried, but it sounded stupid, so I threw him down the stairs too. It’s all right, Mom; he landed on a guard.”
    â€œOh, you naughty boy.” Artemisia could not quite hide a proud smile. She stretched out her hands to the prince. “Now come here and let me look at you.”
    Prince Arbol did as bidden. From head to foot the young royal was all any Gorgorian monarch could desire in an heir. Well grown in height, broad in the chest, legs powerfully muscled and slightly bowed by long hours in the saddle, arms able to wield a handy assortment of small- to medium-sized weapons with grace, skill, and bloodlust, the prince was one of a kind.
    Indeed.
    Queen Artemisia attempted to remove Arbol’s helmet and ruffle her child’s curly golden hair, but the prince was having none of it. “Aw, Mommmm! Come on, don’t do that. If any of my Companions found out, they’d tease the breeches off me and then I’d have to kill them and half of the bastards owe me money!”
    â€œArbol, really! ” The queen was shocked. “Such language. Have I taught you nothing? When you leave my chambers do you revert to being a…a… Gorgorian? ”
    The prince was nonplussed. “But I am a Gorgorian.”
    â€œAnd an Old Hydrangean, too! Never forget that.”
    Arbol looked down and scuffed a battered riding boot over the queen’s best carpet. “’Kay,” came the sullen mutter.
    â€œI suppose you came here to do more than sulk,” the queen said drily.
    The prince’s head came up, all mopes burned away in the glory of a brilliant smile. “Oh, yes! I almost forgot, and it’s the best news I ever heard in my entire life!”
    â€œYour father’s dead?” the queen asked eagerly.
    Arbol made the your-oxen-have-escaped sign at her, then said, “No, I finally managed to wound my Dirty Combat tutor. Not mortally or anything, just your basic hamstringing and some superficial abdominal slashes, but I did him good enough for Dad to say it was about time I moved out of the schoolroom and into the world.”
    The queen felt her fingers knotting in on themselves. “What?” she rasped.
    â€œHe’s taking me with him on campaign, Mom!” the prince exclaimed, nearly bouncing out of her riding boots. “We leave tomorrow to ravage the western flank of the Hypoglycemian Republic. Isn’t that swell? ”
    â€œMungli,” said the queen, “leave us.”
    No sooner had