by AC Cobble
He spied a table filled with decanters of wine and spirits. They’d been set out recently with care by highly trained staff, but in other corners of the room, he saw dust and grime that never would have been allowed had it been a room the prince regularly occupied. The ranger frowned. He was becoming certain that this room was not one in which Valchon entertained, which meant… He wasn’t sure what that meant.
Rew turned to question the valet, but the man had slipped as quietly as a shadow back out of the door. So instead, Rew drew himself up and then strode toward the drinks. Carefully, he did not look at Anne or give her time to chide him. He poured a glass full of wine and leaned back against the table. It was quite good wine, probably. He was more of an ale man, but there wasn’t any ale, and one did what one had to do. They’d been in the palace mere minutes, and already, he was surprised and off balance. He needed something to steady his nerves before he had to face the prince. All of their fates hung on that meeting.
Anne glared at him and his drink, but the others went to join him, helping themselves to Prince Valchon’s largesse. The nameless woman began shamelessly sniffing at the necks of the various decanters, speculating about the vintages and the terroirs, giving lie to her earlier claims about how little she appreciated wine.
“I don’t believe Prince Valchon regularly uses this room,” said Rew quietly but loud enough they could all hear him. “He could be meeting us here because he doesn’t want us noticed, though there are plenty of other rooms scattered throughout the palace that regularly serve that purpose. If he really wanted to hide our presence, he would have sent us away then found us in the city later for a more clandestine meeting, or, since he evidently knew we were coming, he could have intercepted us before we even reached the gate. Since we’ve already walked through his halls… I don’t know. I don’t know why he wouldn’t make use of the dozens of spaces set aside. It makes me nervous.”
“We should be prepared, then,” muttered Raif, reaching up to touch the hilt of his greatsword, reassuring himself the giant blade was still there.
“Have no worries, my friends, because it is not Prince Valchon who had you brought here,” drawled a honeyed voice.
“Ah, King’s Sake, it’s you,” muttered Rew, setting down his glass and drawing his longsword.
20
“Cousin!” cried Alsayer, holding up his hands. “You do not need that. Not yet. Not for me.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Alsayer,” growled Rew, stalking toward the spellcaster.
Alsayer lowered one hand and began tugging on his goatee with the other. “Is this about what happened atop the tower in Spinesend? Or, ah, no, about the throne room in Falvar? Of course you are upset about, ah, those events. I apologize, Rew. I really do. I knew you weren’t going to be killed by a wraith, and I had to slow you down. Cousin, you weren’t going to listen to me, so I had to do it.”
Rew got to the spellcaster and grabbed a fistful of the man’s black robes. He shook Alsayer, raising his longsword menacingly.
“Rew, be civilized,” demanded Alsayer. The spellcaster made no move to attack.
Rew’s hand trembled. Desire to bury his steel in the man’s arrogant face was consuming him. Alsayer deserved a sudden, brutal death, but Rew had questions that only Alsayer could answer. There were so many mysteries, and the spellcaster was near the heart of all of them. Rew gritted his teeth, and instead of stabbing his longsword through his cousin’s throat, he shook him again.
“We’re not enemies,” snapped Alsayer, cutting off Rew before he could speak. The man’s voice was tight with forced calm.
Rew flung the spellcaster across the room, and Alsayer tumbled, crashing into a bookshelf and wailing as the volumes rained down upon him. Rew was on him in a breath and yanked the man to his feet before he could react. He threw Alsayer again, smashing the man into the shelves, splintering wood. Rew reared back with his sword while Alsayer was looking down, spitting blood onto the pile of books at his feet. Growling, barely able to restrain his fury, Rew smashed his fist down, clipping Alsayer on the ear with the hilt of the longsword. The spellcaster fell to his knees, but he still did not defend himself.
“He’s mine,” said Raif calmly from behind Rew.
The ranger glanced back and asked, “Are you certain?”
“He killed my mother and kidnapped my father. He made my sister kill… He’s the reason for all of it, Ranger. Singlehandedly, he brought our family down. The spellcaster is mine.”
Stepping out of the way, Rew reminded the big fighter, “We need answers, Raif. Only he can tell you where Kallie is. Only he can tell us what all of this is about.”
Snarling, Raif stepped forward. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to kill him, yet.”
Wiping blood from his mouth, Alsayer growled, “I came to talk to you, Rew, not to fight with you. Stop this foolishness.”
Raif raised his enchanted greatsword and strode forward.
Alsayer flung out a hand, and a fist of solid sound whomped into Raif’s chest, flinging the fighter backward. Rew charged, but a terrible reverberation began, and he staggered. If felt like he was a gong, a heartbeat after being struck by a mallet. Stunned, he barely got his arms up in time to interrupt the wall of sound that crashed into him, but as it did, he felt it didn’t have the fury of the last one Alsayer had cast his way. This one forced him back several paces and then vanished. Alsayer was speaking, but all Rew could hear was a ringing drone in his ears. He raised his longsword, all thoughts of questioning the spellcaster vanishing. Alsayer was too dangerous to interrogate. He shouldn’t have let Raif approach the man. Whatever answers they would get, they would have to get after Alsayer was dead.
“Rew, I’m here to talk! Blessed Mother, don’t you want to know what all of this is about, why I came here to meet you? King’s Sake, Cousin, if I was going to attack you, I wouldn’t have brought you here and announced myself. You want answers? Then stop and listen!”
The ranger paused, seething.
Alsayer eyed him cautiously.
“Well, talk then,” snapped Rew. He adjusted his grip on his longsword, thinking of how he could distract Alsayer and pull one of his throwing knives from his boot. The man would be difficult to get close to for a killing blow, but if he wasn’t expecting it, a thrown blade might do the trick.
But Alsayer was right. The spellcaster had the answers. As much as it pained Rew, as much as it screamed against his every instinct, they needed those answers.
The spellcaster stood and straightened his robes. He turned his eyes, looking over the group in the room. “The Fedgley children, of course. I knew I could trust you to care for them, Rew. Well done. The thief, I should not be surprised. The innkeeper, ah yes, but so much more, aren’t you? I learned of what you’re capable of, but I never learned how Rew found you. Be careful, will you, because if I’ve learned of what you can do, so will have the other players of this grand game. The necromancer… Where is he? I know he entered the city with you. Pfah, the man was better off not showing his face here, but we cannot leave loose ends, Rew. He knows too much about you, so we’re going to have to snip his thread. I don’t have time now, but soon. And you, miss, who are you?”
Alsayer was looking at the nameless woman, and she was returning the look, stunned.
Raif struggled to his feet, cursing. With his free hand, he touched the throbbing bruises Alsayer’s magic had left on his body. From his face, Rew could see that the boy was surprised it wasn’t worse and that nothing had been broken. Alsayer, for whatever reason, had pulled his punches. He really did want to talk.
Everyone stared at the spellcaster, waiting.
“You always had such odd friends,” murmured Alsayer, turning back to Rew. “Who is she?”
“That’s not what you wanted to talk about,” responded Rew, raising his longsword. “Tell me what you want to say before I change my mind about listening.”
Alsayer touched a finger to his ear where Rew had cuffed him with
the hilt of the blade and then looked at the wet blood on his fingertips. His eyes rose toward Rew, and he said, “I want you to wait to kill Valchon.”
Rew shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to look behind him, toward the open door to the rest of Prince Valchon’s palace.
“Don’t worry,” said Alsayer, wiggling his bloody fingers. “I’ve sealed the room. No sound will escape.”
Rew looked skeptical.
“No guards have come to investigate the ruckus you caused. As long as I maintain my barriers, they will not come.”
Shrugging, Rew nodded, conceding that Alsayer had a good point. If the guards weren’t drawn by the booms of the magic the spellcaster had released, they weren’t going to be drawn.
“You’re aware of the Dark Kind mustering in the east?” asked Alsayer. “Surely you saw them on your way here. I think by now it is impossible to avoid the creatures in between the cities, not that I would deign to make that walk. The narjags are like mosquitos in summer. We need Valchon to deal with them, Rew. That is why I ask you to wait to kill the prince. It’s not the time, yet.”
Rew stared at the spellcaster, at a complete and utter loss for words.
Alsayer waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I know you have many questions, many accusations, but in moments you must go visit with dear Valchon. I cannot hide my presence here for long. When you see him, you need to encourage him to deal with Calb’s minions. There is no one else who can—or at least, no one who will. Rew, the alternative is to seek help from the king himself, and your guess is as good as mine how he would react. For my part, I think I’d rather legions of the Dark Kind than the king’s undead. And that’s if Morden doesn’t understand the import of your present company.”
“The import of my present company? What are—“
“We play a deep game, Cousin,” interrupted Alsayer. “I must go before Valchon realizes I’m here. Tell him, if you want, that I’m the one who wrecked his library. He can’t want to kill me any more than he already does. All I ask is that you hold off on your own plans until he’s dealt with the Dark Kind.” The spellcaster glanced at Cinda. “Valchon doesn’t know her capabilities. You cannot believe how difficult it was to lead both him and the king astray. I recommend you continue my charade. She’s safe as long as you keep her necromancy quiet. The moment either of them understands what she’s capable of… you know what will happen.”
Shaking his head, Rew didn’t know how to respond. He spluttered, “The king… you were the one who tricked him?”
“Of course. Rew, we will see each other again soon enough, but it is time for me to go.” Alsayer reached out and turned his hand, and the gold-swirled purple of a vortex began to form. “Wait to kill Valchon. Just wait. That’s all I’m asking of you. Think of the people in the east. Think of what the Dark Kind will do to them if you do not solicit Valchon’s help. Once he’s dealt with the narjags, as far as I’m concerned, the prince is yours. They all are.”
“Where is my sister?” bellowed Raif.
“She’s safe, lad,” claimed Alsayer, stepping toward his portal. “If you survive the next few days, you’ll see her again.”
“I don’t want her safe. I want her—“ Raif stopped when the spellcaster stepped through the swirl of purple and gold and let the opening shut behind him.
“Blessed Mother!” snapped Rew, punching a shattered bit of bookshelf beside him. “That man is infuriating.”
The valet eyed Rew skeptically then turned and let his gaze linger on the damage in the room. “A small disagreement?”
Rew nodded. “Gambling debts, you know?”
“I, ah, I’m not sure that I do.”
“We’ve got it sorted, now,” assured Rew, reaching over to slap Raif on the shoulder.
The valet stepped back out the doorway of the library. Rew guessed the man was thinking of the safest way he could call to the guards. He’d walked by the room on his way to somewhere else, had stopped after noticing the extensive damage, and was now clearly regretting it.
The ranger growled, “Take us to Valchon.”
“The prince will not—“
“He knows me well, and believe me,” said Rew, gesturing around the room, “this isn’t the strangest thing he’s heard of me doing.”
The valet coughed, glanced both ways down the corridor, and evidently saw no guards nearby to call for help. With a brisk spin, he started down the hallway toward wherever the prince was, or maybe he was leading them to the barracks or a coterie of spellcasters. Either way, there was nothing Rew and the others could do except follow.
Rew could feel the others behind him almost physically overflowing with questions about what Alsayer had said and how Prince Valchon could possibly know the ranger so well. There was no time to talk about it, though. The valet had arrived moments after Alsayer had disappeared, and even the nameless woman had kept her mouth shut in front of the mousy man.
The valet led them past a legion of armed men and spellcasters, gesturing curtly at Valchon’s people to fall in behind, before arriving in an expansive gallery. Evidently, he really was taking them to Valchon. One wall was open to a marble-tiled balcony that overlooked the sea, and the other walls were plain stone dotted with dark, wooden doorways. At each doorway was a pair of armed men, looking curiously at the new arrivals. There were more armed men out on the balcony. A group of spellcasters was sitting in a tight cluster, and they surveyed the party with suspicious looks as the valet led them past. Prince Valchon was at a Kings and Queens game board across from another man. Without looking up, he flicked his wrist, and the man stood and departed.
“You’ve redecorated,” drawled Rew, pausing twenty paces from the prince.
Valchon stood and stretched, still glancing down at the game board. They waited while he studied the positions of the pieces. Then, he glanced up and smiled a broad, wolf-like grin, showing no surprise at finding the ranger standing there in front of him. “I’ve been simplifying my life these last years, Rew. The musicians, the dancing girls, most of the scholars, they were a distraction that I did not need. I run a leaner court than when you were last here, and I’ve gotten rid of many of the accoutrements of my station as well. The tapestries, the golden bowls, I’ve had them taken from all of the rooms I frequent. What’s the point of them, Rew? As you know, after I left Mordenhold, I surrounded myself with the luxuries we were denied. The trappings of wealth, pleasure in all of its forms… but I found I no longer saw those fine things. They’d become invisible to me, and let us be honest, they were useless. Who eats from a golden bowl? Perhaps if we were a merchant family, and we wanted to show our success to the world by displaying the finest items our treasury could afford, but I could buy all of the golden bowls in the kingdom if I wanted to. Believe it or not, I began to feel the same way about women. Part of the allure of a beautiful vessel is how difficult it is to obtain. When I came to Carff, every woman in the kingdom would throw herself at me. The thrill of the chase was theirs, no longer mine. These days, I lead a simple life. I’m sure you, of all people, can appreciate that.”
Rew glanced at the guards and the cluster of spellcasters. “Simple?”
Prince Valchon laughed and reached up to brush his long, dark hair back from his face. “The cost of doing business, Rew. Come, your companions look cold and hungry. There is food and drink in the next room, and if it’s not already burning, we’ll start a fire on the hearth. In truth, there are some comforts I still enjoy. I’ve made sure to keep employing the best chefs and sommeliers in the kingdom. Please, join me.”
The prince loped across the room, looking like a predator trotting across the plains. He was tall, lithe, and brimming with energy. He wore a stark white shirt, unlaced at the neck. It was loose on his body but not so loose it hid the prince’s muscular frame. He wore snug trousers that hid very little at all. He had black leather boots on his feet, and a black leather belt clasped with a simple silver buckle. There were none of the other adornments a man of his station could a
fford, and Rew wondered if he really had simplified his life or whether it was all an act by a consummate actor.
Prince Valchon had always presented himself like the beaming master of ceremonies at one of Carff’s supper theaters, but Rew knew the prince had the blood-soaked soul of Vaisius Morden’s child. His appearance was part of his draw, how he gained allies. He was magnanimous, generous with those he called friends, but there was a price for his grace, and it was during the Investiture he would collect.
“You were never much of a player of games, were you, Rew?” Valchon asked over his shoulder as he led them into a long reception hall. “It was arms practice and forestry which interested you.”
“I’ve never liked people,” admitted Rew. “I decided to avoid them in the woods, and if I couldn’t…”
Valchon laughed as he led them to a table spread with delicacies: dates stuffed with minced ham and pungent cheese; a dazzling array of glazed pastries and confections; roast duck, chilled and glistening with fragrant sauce; crisp toast bracketed by jars of honey and marmalades; fresh fruits sliced and spread; and piles of exotic nuts, half of which Rew couldn’t identify. Behind him, Raif’s stomach grumbled audibly.
“A light repast. I hope it’s sufficient to tide us over until the chefs can prepare something more substantial. It’s too bad I did not know you were coming, Rew, or I would have put together a proper welcome. Ah, but you did not want that, did you? Sneaking in under my nose... It startled me, when I sensed you approaching, already within the bowels of my palace. Before your arrived, I meant to spend the evening at the game board, watching the sunset and drinking wine until my opponent could beat me.” Valchon waved to a table on the side of the room. “Please, lay down your gear and relax. I’ll send word to the kitchen, and supper will be ready soon enough.”