"What do you think about all this, Prince Berrit?" Lady Tore asked knowing he had not being paying attention.
Berrit lifted his head and knew his expression betrayed his lack of awareness. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had almost forgotten about the others around him.
"Yes, you have not made a single suggestion or comment this whole time Berrit, and we really would be interested in your opinion." Lady Angelina added.
"Well…" he started, kicking himself for not staying alert to the conversation but deciding to move forward with his plan regardless."Well, I believe we should send aid and quickly. They are in need and we have the resources to help. I still believe Lord Tundal made a horrible mistake by not sending more aid to Mandrake. Had he, it might not still be in the hands of the enemy and Dragons Cove might not be threatened now," he said with a hint of cruel intent toward Lady Tora. "It is apparent that the enemy has the means to take Dragons Cove with enough time if no outside force comes against them. If we lose two of Draco's strongholds, we will be forever weakened and may never win them back."
"Very insightful, Prince Berrit," Lady Tora replied with a bitter nip at his mention of her deceased husband.
"Do you think it wise to send our entire army to their aid, leaving us vulnerable?" Lady Angelina asked. "That would make us very easy pickings."
"I agree with Prince Berrit," Ethan, Lady Angelina's eldest son piped in. "We need to send aid and fast!"
"Yes… I second that," Keithen agreed, though he doubted anyone was listening to him. "Prince Berrit knows what he is talking about."
"That would leave us defenseless!" Thoron argued.
"They would come to our aid if we needed it!" Ethan shouted across the table.
"Enough, you two!" Tora barked to the two boys. "We have enough enemies. We do not need to be fighting among ourselves as well. If they take Dragon's Cove, it would only seem reasonable to assume they march for Drandor or Draco. We cannot be sure of which. My guess would be Drandor, since there has been very little enemy activity around these parts of late."
"They took Mandrake, it is just a matter of time before they take Dragon's Cove if they do not get help, whether its Drandor or us next, we are in trouble," Prince Berrit replied. "If we send half our army to Dragon's Cove and messengers are sent to Drandor informing them to do likewise, as long as Dragon's Cove can hold the enemy until help arrives, the three armies should be able to crush them or in the very least force them to retreat."
"Again that leaves the problem of both strongholds weakened for invasion," General Miller stated.
"If all we do is hide behind our walls we will be no better off than Mandrake and Dragon's Cove are now, it will only be a matter of time before we too are overwhelmed. If the enemy is not opposed by a suitable army, they will only grow in numbers, strength, and confidence, and all will be lost regardless," Berrit countered reasonably. He knew there was little hope for them now - the army that occupied Mandrake and the army that now laid siege against Dragon's Cove were in the tens of thousands. And with the Priestesses and Priests revealing themselves and taking part, the defenders were doomed.
"He is right," Angelina said, though everyone could tell it pained her to do so. "Prince Berrit is right. If we stand by and do nothing but hide in hopes to preserve our own lives, it will only be a matter of time before we too crumble against their sheer numbers. Not to mention our friends, loved ones and our countrymen need us, and here we have the audacity to even think of leaving them to fend for themselves." There was a shameful silence, as her words sunk in with the bitterness of truth.
"I do not get how this is all happening? How could they possibly be doing all this? How did they know we were weak and unprepared? How did they know?" Thoron asked, frustrated.
"Turn of luck in their favor or maybe Ursa and his whelp Meath were working with them, informing them every step of the way?" Berrit answered snidely.
"That is a filthy lie!" Lady Tora screamed rising to her feet peering over the polished table at Berrit. "Ursa would never work with them, ever!"
"Is it?" Berrit replied, raising an eyebrow. "Does it not strike you as odd that ever since Ursa kidnapped the Princess and escaped from the castle the enemy seems to have the upper hand? Master Ursa knows every castle's weaknesses and strengths - he also knows how many Wizards and what they are capable of doing," Berrit explained. "Do you really think those mindless savages are capable of doing what they have done without the aid of someone like that?"
Again the room was still with an awkward silence as the possibility of truth was digested from Berrit's troubling words.
"I cannot believe it," General Miller growled. "I will not believe it! You are a filthy whoreson Zandorian and the very same could be said of you. Ever since you stepped foot in these walls everything began happening…"
"General!" Lady Angelina snapped sternly stopping him in mild sentence. "Mind your tongue." General Miller inhaled back his rage and tried to compose himself with all the strength he could muster.
"Maybe it is best if you take leave for a moment to recompose yourself, General," Tora told him and he bitterly agreed, muttering curses as he went. "We do not want to believe any of it but we have to take into consideration the possibility of it being truth."
"I know you do not care to believe what I witnessed in King Borrack's bedchamber that dark night when he was murdered, but I saw what I saw," Berrit began. "Further proof, Ursa was tracked to Darnan and several of his belongings were found in a man's home who has known dealings with many shady people from around the world. Who is to say some of those dealings would not be with the savages themselves? So long as they get what they seek, do you think men like that care who they deal with? I know I am Zandorian and we have been enemies for countless years in the past. But in coming here, the purpose of marrying the fair Princess Nicolette was to unite our Kingdoms and set aside our many differences. Was it not? Foul times have befallen Draco Kingdom - worse than anything we could have ever imagined - but I am only trying to help where I see reason. You hold biases against me for who I am, and that I can understand, but you are also blind to what Ursa has clearly done. The facts are in front of you - you hold your country's fate in your hands."
"We have strayed from the real issue - we need to concentrate on what we must do now, with the troubles at hand. Past transgressions will not help us with what needs to be done now," Tora reminded them all, not wanting to go down this road yet again.
"First, we will need to put Draco Castle on alert and begin readying our defenses and offenses, so we will not be caught off guard like Mandrake and Dragon's Cove," General Miller interrupted as he made his way back to the table.
"Thank you, General, that is a good place to start, we will leave that in your capable hands," Lady Angelina replied, glad to see that he had come back.
"I might be able to go one step further," General Miller added. "Send out emissaries into the city to recruit all men of age who are willing to stand with the army. In return, they and their families will be accommodated for in the army camps outside the city limits. That will lessen the hordes of refugees that plague our city streets."
"I will have emissaries sent out this very day," Lady Tora answered. "We still have heard no word back on whether Lord Dagon has been found. I suggest we send out another group to find him."
"Prince Berrit, I wonder if you would be so kind to send word to your father - King Dante - on matters regarding our troubles." Lady Angelina asked. "Any aid he could provide us in our desperate time would be forever appreciated and would greatly strengthen our bonds of friendship."
"It shall be done." Berrit nodded. "It shames me to have not done so sooner - my apologies."
*****
Astaroth sat in a bath in his private quarters, irritation fuming from him like the steam from his bath. He cursed himself for not being able to make everything fall into place as he had originally planned. Ursa's interference, and then his escape, had forced se
rious alterations that were far from secure. He focused his Gift on the large brass tub he was submerged in; the water began heating up, reddening his skin to nearly an unbearable tint. He gasped in both pain and exhilaration until he could take no more, a minor alteration of thought and he cooled the water just as quickly.
He had his senses on full alert, knowing there was still another assassin out there waiting to strike. How he wanted that assassin to show himself now, so he could take his frustrations out. He hoped the assassin would follow him this night, when he went to make sure none of the messengers made it far. He hoped these would put up more of a fight than the last - how he did love it when people tried, only to fail against him. He sank down into the tub submerging his whole body, either way he would get some satisfaction out of this night.
Astaroth watched the messengers leave the city and down the eastern road toward Mandrake. He smiled wide - they were traveling together for the first part of the trip and would split in a few days when the road forked off toward Drandor. Of course, it was wise to do so - there was safety in numbers, but this night it would not serve them well.
He waited for them now in plain view on the road in the form of Prince Berrit. It would give him the element of surprise and throw his prey off until he revealed his true nature and intentions. Normally he would not be so daring as to toy with men he simply needed to kill, but this night he needed release - and how he loved to see the glistening of terror in his victim's eyes.
"Who goes there?" The lead rider called out as the group slowed their mounts. They neared the stranger and formed a semicircle across the road, their hands cautiously on their sword hilts.
"Prince Berrit, is that you?" another rider asked, walking his mount forward to get a better look.
"It is I," Berrit replied, keeping his head down.
"My Lord, what are you doing out here this late?" the lead rider asked, his voice riddled with confusion. "It is dangerous out here at night."
"There is a problem with your mission," Berrit answered, his tone hardening, "that I needed to inform you about."
"Really?" the second rider asked. "What might that be my Lord?"
Berrit lifted his head, his eyes locking with the lead rider's. "The problem is I cannot let you accomplish it!" he hissed as he revealed his true identity.
"Keeper's balls!" the lead rider cursed.
"It is a demon!" another cried out as they all drew their swords.
A sadistic smile grew on Astaroth's face as the first rider charged in, sword poised to strike. Astaroth stood perfectly calm as the rider closed the gap. Once the rider was steps away, a rocky spike shot up from the earth beneath the mount and tore into the beast's belly and back. It stopped the horse dead in its tracks, throwing its rider face first into the hard ground in front of Astaroth.
Astaroth knew he could not afford to let any of them escape now; with a mere thought, a wall of blistering flames erupted from behind the riders, blocking any thought of retreat. The rider on the ground pushed himself up to look at Astaroth just in time to witness an ice shard flying towards him, ending his life.
Three messengers dismounted and rushed Astaroth, their blades leading the way while two others fumbled, loading their crossbows. The final three riders were not so courageous and searched the flaming wall frantically for a way free.
Astaroth stepped in the fray of hastily swung blades, easily sidestepping and evading the terrified men's attacks. He danced through the wild swings and mad thrusts, methodically lining them up. Finally, one man rushed forward and stabbed for Astaroth's chest. Expecting the attack, Astaroth spun out of the way just in time to see the charging man impale one of his comrades. Shock stole the man's instinct to fight as he watched the life fade from his friend's eyes.
Astaroth turned back to see his plan had worked and grinned wickedly. A roar alerted him to the third attacker - he stepped into the man's high swing catching his arms before he could bring them down with any real force. Fire sprang to life in Astaroth's hands, searing and blistering the man's wrists, causing him to release his sword and cry out in anguish. Astaroth kneed the man viciously in the midsection doubling him over. He wished he could see the terror on the messenger's face as an earthen spear protruded in-between them. He forced the messenger down onto it, nearly severing his head clean off.
Astaroth's keen ears heard two clicks and he knew two bolts had been released. He spun himself sideways, the first bolt shot by, missing his chest by a finger's span - the second bolt tore into his cheek as it grazed by him. He stared at the wet blood that dripped into his hand and his angered flared almost uncontrollably, not because of the pain, but because they had made him bleed. He marched towards the two bowmen and stopped momentarily to snap the neck of the poor fool who had killed his comrade and nearly tore the man's head off with frightening strength. The two men threw down their crossbows, knowing they would not be able to reload in time, and drew their swords nervously.
The man on the right raised his sword and stepped forward as a thunderous blast of power ripped him from his feet and sent him sprawling to the earth in a bloody heap of gore and twisted limbs.
The man on the left turned to the three messengers, frantically trying to escape the wall of flames. "Come on, you cowards, to arms!" He turned back to face his enemy just as a blade ran across his throat, spilling his lifeblood onto the already crimson earth.
Two of the messengers, knowing their fate if they tried to fight their way clear, risked the Wizard's fire. Their horrific screams of agony from the other side stopped the final man from making a similar mistake. He turned to see Astaroth glaring coldly at him. He unstrapped his battle-axe from his side and tossed it to the ground knowing it would not help him - he was no fighter.
"How pathetic, you will suffer most of all!" Astaroth hissed, stepping forward, his hands alive with Wizards' fire. Before he could take another step, the ground shuddered and a rift tore open right beneath his feet - had he been any slower, he would have been swallowed up in the crevice. He scrambled, frantically digging his fingers into the edge desperately.
He pulled himself out just in time to see the messenger disappear into the growth of the jungle. He rolled to his feet and made to follow when a current of air smashed into him, throwing him end over end until he came to rest a dozen paces away.
The racing beat of horses' hooves grew closer and Astaroth knew he could not defeat the newcomers on these terms. He cursed in defeat as he darted into the growth after the messenger.
Astaroth sat in his chambers, frustrated and angry with himself as he drained a cup of wine in a single gulp. He had not found the escaped messenger and he wondered if the man would return to the castle to reveal his secret. He would have to be fully alert of everyone now.
His powers were weakened - he had used a lot of strength this night dispatching the messengers, and keeping the wall of Wizard's fire up the entire time had taken more out of him than he would have liked to admit. He hated knowing his limits and could not wait until he had none.
Astaroth fidgeted with the gold ring on his hand - he had to preserve what strength he had left in case he had to alter his features into the Prince again this night. He marveled at the enchanted ring on his finger, what a magnificent item he had acquired, even if it did have its limitations. When the ring knew the blood of someone, it allowed its Gifted wearer to alter their features into that person for as long as they had the energy to maintain the enchantment. The ring's only flaw was it could only hold the image of two at a time.
"Bastard, rogue Wizards!" Astaroth muttered, pouring himself another cup of the wine when a knock at his door interrupted his contemplations. His heart raced at the thought of who might be at his door. Had the messenger come back and exposed him? Were there a score of armed guards waiting on the other side of his chamber door? The thought unnerved him - had he not been in such a weakened state he might have enjoyed such a fight, but not now.
"Who is it?" he called out, his form altering
to that of Berrit.
"It is Keithen, your Highness," a voice replied nervously.
Berrit opened the door slowly - almost expecting it to be a ruse. "What do you want?" he asked the young Wizard bitterly.
"I am sorry to disturb you, but I was sent to inform you that your presence is requested," Keithen stuttered sheepishly.
Berrit frowned in annoyance. "Why? What is it now?" he questioned. "I am sure whatever it is can wait until morning." He began to shut the door.
"Two Wizards have shown up to the castle and they say they have important news."
Berrit's eyes lit up, pulling the door open again. "I will be down in a moment."
*****
"I am glad you could join us, Prince Berrit, and I am sorry it is such a late hour," Lady Tora said once Berrit was in his seat.
"Yes, well, I wanted to see them for myself, so I know who to watch out for," Berrit muttered, playing his Zandorian part, but really he was there to see how much they knew.
"Their names are Master Samul and Master Mervyn!" Lady Angelina snapped angrily at him.
"Yes, and they have some very interesting and could be important information," Tora cut in, not wanting the two to cause a scene in front of their newly arrived guests.
Berrit rolled his eyes, "And what is that?"
"On our way here to help at the beckon of Lord Tundal, we ran across a powerful Wizard massacring your messengers not far from the city, this very night," one of the Wizards answered.
Berrit glared over at the very tall man as if annoyed that he spoke. He knew these two were going to hinder his plans a lot more than what they already had. "I see, well, did you kill this Wizard and save our poor messengers?" Berrit asked snidely.
"He got away from us, unfortunately, and as far as we know he killed all of the messengers. We did not get there until the end and had no idea what was going on until it was too late," the other shorter and plumper Wizard put in.
"If the two of you could not even save a few simple messengers, how do you plan on helping a whole kingdom that is slipping into a chaotic war?" Berrit mocked. He was beginning to feel faint and nauseated as his powers weakened from keeping the façade of the Prince.
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 46