Prince Marco

  I leaned forward, my fingers interlocked. Damn it all to the hells. I kept going over what had happened numerous times in my head. That murdering bastard. I was sitting at the head of a long wooden table, sheltered inside a wide canvas tent. It had been a hard run through the lands surrounding the capital, for the grand duke was still loyal to my brother…excuse me, to my half-brother. When I publicly accused Ramon of murdering our mother and my father, of course he accused me right back and sent his ill-gotten goons after me. I saw you, you lying snake - I saw your face as you fled the scene like a coward and there was no mistaking it. Who did I have on my side?

  I gazed upon the beleaguered faces of the good men loyal to me, the true and rightful ruler of Galin, and they in turn looked to me. These brave souls looked to me for guidance, for leadership…I wasn’t ready to offer them either, but what choice did I have? As the sole living true-born son of the king, it fell to me to lead the cause against that treacherous dog and liberate my home from his weak-wristed grasp.

  “How many do we have?” I said, at length.

  Count Bruno, whose lands we presently gathered, said, “We have some 20,000 troops at our disposal. In terms of numbers we match Prince Ramon but he has far more cavalry than we do.”

  Prince. Ramon is no prince. He is the spawn of a man who dared lay his hands on a queen. Caught for a petty crime, this man claimed to have lain with my mother and cuckolded my father. The rumors of Ramon’s true parentage started to spread throughout the capital. Father attempted to suppress it, brutally, but censorship and outright denial only made matters worse. Of course a cuckolded man would deny it, and often the stronger the denial of a rumor the deeper the conviction of those who believed it ran.

  Under intense interrogation, the scoundrel revealed details about my mother that only someone who had seen her unfrocked would have known. Before he could be questioned further, he took his own life in his cell. I didn’t believe the rumors. Not at first. Surely he must have wormed information out of the royal chirurgeon or one of mother’s ladies-in-waiting. But then…

  I flashed back to that horrible night. It had been raining hard. The castle was dark, for few torches were lit and no light came from outside. The clouds were so thick that neither the gentle glow of Azune, nor the fiery radiance of Topazune shone through. I thought I heard ravens or crows in the distance. Hm. What fool birds were flying in this weather, I remembered thinking. Suddenly I saw Ramon, sprinting down the hall; I wondered why he was in such a hurry. At the time I didn’t think anything of it; but just when I thought I might have a good night’s sleep I heard a blood-curdling scream. I raced to the source of the sound; the door of my father’s bedroom. Ramon arrived at the same time I did.

  Head maid Roberta was already there, looking pale and fraught; she’d dropped the tray she’d been carrying and was staring into the room. My heart sank. I looked through the doorway and my eyes beheld a horror that put all of my years of warring against our neighbors to shame. There they were, lying in a pool of blood…both of my parents. The king and queen were dead. I was shocked, overcome by grief I fell to my knees and wailed like a babe…so did Ramon, the disingenuous fuck. I was too upset to realize the implications of what I saw an hour or so before, at the time, but given a night to think about it…

  Count Aurelian Half-Elven said, “If we can offer battle somewhere that horses will have trouble, his cavalry advantage will vanish.”

  I nodded, “Do you think you can find a suitable location?”

  Aurellian nodded, “Of course.”

  I smiled. I trusted Aurelian’s strategies; he was something of a genius when it came to troop movement. I recalled a time when he and I engaged with the forces of Harrowind away north when they tried to invade us; it was his men who found a way to outflank the enemy and force them into our pincer attack. But as far as personal valor, my most powerful warrior was the taciturn Illorio; best duelist in the kingdom, in my opinion…sigh…in my kingdom. Damn it all, I am not ready to be king. Father was still spry and hale before he was murdered…murdered by the man he had raised as his own son.

  At the scene of the crime there was chaos, and of course it didn’t take long for the entire kingdom to be in an uproar. Political assassinations weren’t uncommon, but for a royal couple to be slaughtered in the comfort of their own bedroom? That was completely unheard of, at least in Galin. Neither of them had defensive wounds, but oddly mother’s hairpin had blood on it; she’d tried to stab her killer. The next morning I retraced my steps from the previous night. That is when I noticed a trail of blood where I had seen my brother running the night before…that’s when the full horrible realization hit.

  Murdering bastard. False king. Oh certainly you bear no wounds now; a magic potion would have healed you and not even left a scar. You claim that the templars cleared you of suspicion, but that begs the question: did they actually use their ability to discern lie from truth, or did you in sooth only speak to lay priests and knights? We only had your word that you spoke to an actual priest of St. Luca, ordained by the divines. Some bought it, the grand duke included…but not me. I’d been a damned fool to dismiss the rumors; the death of my parents only proves their validity: my so-called brother is a fraud. That vagabond really had scandalized my mother with his filth…the heir apparent of the throne had no right to succeed.

  “I denounce you, Ramon! You murdered my father, King Antonio, because you knew you were about to be exposed as a bastard!”

  He threw the accusation right back at me, claiming that he had seen me fleeing the scene of the king’s death. That lying son of a whoreson! It was he who was fleeing, not I! I saw him! The trail of blood too! Battle lines were soon drawn, for there were still those among my father’s bannermen who would not serve one who didn’t have a shred of father’s blood in his veins. They rallied to my side, once they realized I’d made my escape; a daring ride upon a stolen horse, I pray only that St. Luca forgives my sin of theft. Still. Ramon had formidable warriors; none among the holy knights, thankfully, for they never fight any war that isn’t against true evil. Gah, regicidal bastards not evil enough for you sanctimonious fools?

  “Illorio,” I said, “The task of felling Ramon’s champion, Sir Roy, may fall to you.”

  Illorio saluted, “I am at your service, my king.”

  My king. I’m no king. Not yet. Nor did I ever wish to be one. I’m the third prince of Galin, and I had been content with playing the role of general. I wished only to serve my country, to participate in her defense. I am not cut out to be a king, or a leader, and yet here I am about to stain my hands with the blood of my countrymen. Damn it all. Why did this happen? All was quiet for a moment, and then someone ran in - ah, one of our scouts. He knelt before me. Sigh. he was waiting for me, wasn’t he? I wasn’t used to this at all.

  “Report,” I said.

  The scout said “Prince Ramon’s forces are on the move. I estimate it will take them six days to reach our position.”

  “Thank you. Well. There you have it.”

  Unless there was some sort of miracle, in six days we would be in for the bloodiest battle of our lives…

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Victor

  I looked at Hanzo from across the table; he wore a grave and serious expression, even more intense than the one he wore the first time we met. Nenewyn had teleported him straight to the Adventurer’s Guild in Caer Caradon and was also standing by; no one else came with them, so I guessed that they’d come as soon as I gave them a location. Illiana was still with Juliette, but I made sure to let her know that something was going on; I told her I was handling things, and she gave me that same resolute look I’d come to adore. I met the two of them and we soon settled into one of the meeting rooms typically used by adventurers charting a course through the wilderness.

  “All right, Hanzo, lay it on me.” I said.

  Hanzo brought out a map and spread it on the table. It was of an area I’d never seen before.

  “The Green Reach…has been a war-torn land full of ruins for over a thousand years. Unlike the Former Capital Region, where we stand, it never truly stabilized in the centuries following the fall of the Gaian Empire. Recently by elvish standards, one kingdom grew large enough to provide some semblance of regional cohesion: Galin was its name.

  Her king took over all the harbors and monopolized sea trade before taking many strategically important locations throughout the region. There are still many kingdoms with ambitious rulers who wish to make war, but all have come to fear the power of Galin and none dared to cross the borders of their neighbors. They even signed a treaty with King Antonio, the present monarch, vowing not to.”

  “Wait, if this area is so far away how do you know?”

  “Yearly reports, naturally. Weeks out of date by the time they reach my desk, of course, but useful all the same. There are three Shadar’Kethal operating in the Green Reach at any given time. I wouldn’t expect a regular report to arrive for a few months still since the last set of reports arrived in early spring.”

  “Right about whenever I showed up. What about emergencies?”

  He nodded. “There are protocols for sending emergency missives but the distance makes rapid communication somewhat difficult. Even if what I suspect is occurring right now is true, it will be many long days before we hear from my agents. Which is why I must needs once again avail myself of your superlative velocity.”

  I nodded, “That makes sense” I took a moment to examine the map. “Yeah I see that it’s on the Narrow Sea but it’s easily as far west as Calvernia was if not further out.”

  The coast was sort of hand shaped, with three harbors between the fingers. There were also a lot of islands of various sizes. Galin took up a large chunk of the map, including those harbors; it seemed like any country that wanted to invade another one would need to risk infringing on Galin’s territory in some way. Maybe some of these border lords might try and seek independence from Galin; it ain’t out of the question given human nature. South of another mountain range, between two rivers, there was a narrow strip of coastline labeled with a skull and cross-bones; Deathwaste Coast, huh? I’d ask about that later.

  I said, “What’s the Black Order got planned?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but the balance of probability points to crippling Galin with a civil war in order to plunge the Green Reach into chaos.”

  “All right, why don’t you walk me through your deduction then.”

  Hanzorian brought out some papers and handed them to me. “We don’t have the actual plans for the Green Reach formulated by The Mastermind. All we know for certain is that the Mastermind read every last one of these documents; the lack of a packet such as this,” he brought out a large leather bundle sealed with wax, “leads me to believe that the plan had already been disseminated to its intended recipient. But what’s worse…pray, regard these.”

  Hanzo brought out another piece of paper, one with a single red mark, and laid it down next to one of the documents with two marks. “The one on the left speaks of the possibility of using ogres from the Avonian Wilderland in an effort to crush Avonia. The one on the right is about Galin’s strict emphasis on paternal lineage. What do you notice?”

  I examined them, cradling my chin, then I saw it. “They’re written by the same hand, and the dates are pretty far apart.”

  I had only just recently learned the calendar of this world. There were the same amount of days here as on Earth, and the same number of months. They didn’t have any special names for their months, just numbers, so if I slip up and call the current month December pretend I said the twelfth month. Anyways, the fourth through the eighth months which I would have called April to August, had thirty-one days while the rest had thirty. The logic was to give spring and summer five extra days which I rather liked actually. Moving on.

  Hanzo nodded, “Based on the documentation you brought me, I found that there is a strict progression. No one member of the Circle of 13 starts gathering information for a new plan until the old plan has been implemented.”

  I said, “Which means that whatever means they intended to use to induce a civil war has already been set into motion, because this, er,” I saw that it was signed Mohlda, Fourth Seat, “Mohlda dude was already gathering information up north.”

  “Precisely the conclusion that Andres and I came to. Reading the dossiers on the royal family, I came to believe that the best way to start a war would be to throw the parentage of the royal heir into question…and murder the current monarch.”

  “Christ preserve…yeah, that sounds like the Black Order all right. A little assassination here, a little misinformation there, start a war and create despair. We got some way of finding out if the king is dead yet? Transmission, for instance?”

  Hanzo frowned, “Nenewyn tried to contact my agent in the capitol but was unsuccessful."

  Nenewyn said, “I need to be somewhat familiar with the target in order for it to work. I’ve never met Hanzorian’s distant field agents nor could I contact my counterpart in Galin, nor either of the princes for their dossiers only have a general description of how they look.”

  “That’s pretty limiting. Damn.”

  “I am partially to blame, for until recently I always insisted the Shadar’Kethal remain masked at all times and not interact with the court. Regardless,” said Hanzo, “It is difficult to communicate anything important in twenty-five words or fewer.”

  I nodded, turning to Nenewyn, “Reckon I’ll need to talk to you and Sylfie about the magical theory behind that limitation. There’s something I’ve been thinkin’ about lately, by way of magic communication, and I’d like to run some things by y’all.”

  Nenewyn pressed her specs, “I’ll be looking forward to it, and so will Sylfie I’m sure.”

  “So,” I said, “Based on what you told me, we need to get our asses out there as soon as possible, and prove to these two brothers that they are brothers for real before they kill each other. They may be at the heads of a pair of large armies, so…all right. I’ve got it.”

  The solution was so obvious.

  “You’ve got what?” Asked Nenewyn

  “I’ve got an idea for what we’ve gotta do,” I said. “A couple ideas, actually.”

  “Hmm,” said Hanzo, “As expected.”

  I scratched the back of my head; well I mean, it wasn’t like I had the entire thing worked out, but…

  “Nenewyn, can you get everyone and bring them here?”

  “Naturally,” said Nenewyn.

  “Excellent, please get Mal, Rayna, Guy, Sylfie..”

  Hanzo and I had privately speculated that the Mastermind’s algorithmic understanding of human behavior, that ability that allowed him to somewhat predict how specific persons would act, was the product of some ancient form of pattern magic. There was no record of any creature like him in any of the books in the Anaura library that he or Nenewyn could find, so his creators remained a mystery. But pattern magic ain’t beating its overpowered allegations any time soon, so, in that spirit, it seemed only fitting that we get the drop on the Black Order with our own pattern mage: and brother, when she patterns, she patterns.

  “...And Meli.”