“Who is that?” Kain asked Tooles, but the old man merely waved at the new comer who nodded his head affirmatively.
“Good, good,” whispered Tooles. “We are finally ready.”
Tooles stepped out from the passage they had been waiting in. Kain felt more afraid than he had in all their battles combined, but followed his councilor into the room.
The Council Chamber fell silent. Tooles strode to the space between the King’s throne-like chair and the queen’s daintier version, both of which were empty, and spoke.
“I believe your information is incomplete, Lord Derrick,” he rasped.
Kain, doing as Tooles had instructed, came forward and sat in the king’s chair. Fairan stood behind him, flanked on his right by Gorton, on his left by Devlyn and the man in armor.
“There is an heir to the throne of Belanda: Elkain, son of Belhain, Third Prince of Belanda. I do not think he will support your proposition,” Tooles said the last word with disdain, “nor give his consent to your marriage of his sister.”
The room was utter pandemonium now. Each noble, seated at a U shaped table, had at least one knight behind him, and many had servants. They were all talking, everyone looking from their peers to Kain. Some had stood and were shaking their fists at one another or at Tooles. Finally, after a few moments had passed, Tooles raised his hand, and Gorton slammed the butt of his battle axe onto the floor three times and roared, “Quiet!”
Derrick ignored the giant horseman and spoke out, “What is this treachery, Vespin Tooles? We all know Sarahain is the last remaining member of the Royal family. You cannot fool us with your sorcery and double talk. This man disgraces us all by sitting in the King’s chair.”
“You are wrong, and I shall prove it,” Tooles said, waving a hand at Devlyn, who quietly slipped out of the room, past all the nobles and their entourages. “The same night Princess Sarahain was born, she was preceded in birth by her older twin brother. This brother was sent secretly to live with the monks at the Monastery of the One God, at Aquista. His birth kept secret at the decree of his father, King Belhain.”
“This is outrageous,” shouted Derrick, “do you truly expect us to believe this fiction you have composed, as if we were children listening to fairytales?”
“I was there,” said Tooles, “that night at Graeson Tower, as was General Fairan-”
“Oh yes,” came the smooth voice of a balding man in priest’s robes, “the pagan councilor that the King sent away in disgrace, and his lackey who was conveniently absent when the King was attacked.”
Gorton had to hold Fairan back. The General’s face was red and shaking with rage.
“You are out of order, Vespin,” said the priest. “Only nobles and their chosen staff are allowed in the Council of Nobles.”
“I am here as the Prince’s advisor. You are the one, I believe, who has no right to be here. The church doesn’t rule our land. Or are you here serving Derrick of Westfold?”
“Ah, but now you are mistaken,” purred the priest. “You see, it was the wish of our late ruler to afford the church greater latitude in governing our people. I serve no man, but the God of all men. None of you would deny King Belhain’s devotion to our Lord, the One God,” he said, addressing the nobles.
“If I may,” rasped Tooles. “Are any here aware of changes implemented before Belhain’s murder?”
The room was silent again.
“Well, then, I must insist that we adhere to the rules set down in the Chronicles. I am afraid you will have to leave us, Hypok.”
Gorton moved forward to escort the priest from the room. His sheer size kept the others from protesting.
“Wait,” said Kain, “I have business with this man, and I call everyone present to witness it.” Kain stood and glared at the priest. “You have abused your office and lied publicly to the people you pretend to serve. It was never my father’s wish for Sarahain to marry Derrick.”
“How would you know!” sneered the priest. “You are not part of the royal family, only a bastard son, perhaps.”
Gorton struck before anyone knew what had happened. His fist smashed into the side of Hypok’s head and sent the priest flying across the room.
“Wait,” ordered Kain. “There is no need to defend me, Gorton. Help him to his feet.”
Hypok was crying and holding his head.
“Sarahain shall not marry Derrick of Westfold, and you, Hypok, false priest of the One True God, you are banished from this city.”
“You can’t do that,” cried Derrick. “Not even the King has authority over the church.”
“But he has authority over the land and over his city. And as Sarahain‘s oldest immediate family, he has the sole right to arrange her matrimony,” said Tooles sagely.
Gorton escorted the moaning priest out of the Chamber. At which time Devlyn entered with Sarahain holding the Royal Chronicles.
“You all know the Princess Sarahain,” said Tooles. “When Prince Elkain was born, his father feared that his presence in the castle would not be in the best interests of our land. His birth, it was decided, would be kept secret and only be recorded in the Royal Chronicles, which our Princess was thoughtful enough to bring to us. My Lady, would you please read to us the record of your birth?”
Sarahain opened the book and read in a loud and practiced voice, “The Royal Birth, Graeson Tower, 124 years after the death of ST. Onnasus, entry: Vespin Tooles, Chief Councilor. By order of Belhain, High King of Belanda, Realm of the West, I am recording this entry in the Royal Chronicles. All copies of this chronicle’s date shall read: Queen Mirahain, after a blessed labor, has given birth to a princess. Both Queen and Princess are in good health and spirits, and the Princess shall be christened, Sarahain, at the appropriate ceremony in Royal City. All copies shall omit the following: Queen Mirahain’s pregnancy was cut short due to twins, the first of which was a Third Prince.”
At these last words, the crowd burst out in a fervor of whispering. Sarahain waited patiently for the room to quiet again before continuing.
“High King Belhain’s instructions are that the Third Prince shall be christened Elkain. The baby bears a mark on his left breast and, by royal command, shall be taken to the Monastery at Aquista, where he shall live out his days in peace and reflection of the One God. No mention of his birth shall be made; no copies of this entry into the Chronicles of Belanda shall be made.”
Sarahain stepped forward and laid the book on the table between two of the nobles, who read it silently, then looked up and nodded at the others.
“How do we know that this man is Belhain’s son?” said Derrick, forgetting to refer to Kain’s father as King in his frustration.
“There is proof,” said Tooles, “irrefutable proof that he is King Belhain’s son and that he is the ruler of our realm chosen by the gods.”
There was a murmur at this announcement. Kain stood and began untying the sash.
“Prince Elkain was born with a mark. You may not believe the old ways, and what a mark portends, but once you see his, you will understand why his father could not let him stay at the castle while his brothers lived.”
Kain opened his shirt, revealing the falcon shaped birthmark. He walked slowly around the U shaped tables, allowing the nobles to see and touch it.
“That is no birth mark,” said Derrick, his once calm demeanor lost as surely as his dream of ruling.
“Touch it, it is real,” said Kain.
“I do not believe it,” shouted Derrick. “You could have fabricated all of this. The note in the chronicles was in your hand, the boy comes here with you. How do we know this isn’t some scheme you have worked up?”
“I have a further proof,” said Tooles calmly, as Kain adjusted his shirt and retied the sash. “There was another person at that birth, the young girl who was Elkain’s nurse. She was sent away to ensure her silence. But she is here today.”
The door to the chamber opened and in walked a short, thin woman with frazzled hair and a
sad expression.
“Question her,” said Tooles.
Derrick stepped toward her. “What is your name?”
“Leiah of Penamere, sir,” she said in a nervous voice.
“Why are you here?” asked another noble, a heavy man with gray hair.
“To testify of the third royal birth.”
“And how can you do that?” asked the noble again.
“I was there, learning the nursing craft. I was to care for the King’s baby, but they sent me away.”
“Why did they send you away?”
“They had to. The King spoke to me personally. He said I had a more important job, and he sent me to Aquista.”
“What did you do at the Monastery?”
“I nursed a baby boy, until he was weaned. Then the monks sent me away.”
“Who were you nursing?”
“I cannot say. I promised King Belhain that I would never say who baby Kain was.”
A lump formed in Kain’s throat as he listened to the woman’s story. Could it be true, he thought, that this woman had cared for him as an infant? There was obvious emotion in her voice, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Now that your King is dead, we need to know who the baby was,” said the gray haired noble again, his own voice full of compassion. “Surely he would not hold you to your oath now.”
The old woman looked around the room, her gaze resting on Tooles, who gave her an encouraging nod.
“It was the King’s son,” she said, beginning to sob. “He was such a little treasure, perfect and healthy. They sent him away to Aquista because he was marked. He deserved better.”
“What did the mark look like?” asked Tooles. “Describe it for us.”
“It was a perfect falcon, just like the King’s symbol, only standing, with its wings folded about its body.”
“And you swear to the One God that your testimony is true?” said the gray haired noble.
“I do. I swear it on my life.”
“This proves nothing,” shouted Derrick. His eyes were flashing with a crazed anger. “You have conspired to keep me from the throne.”
“It was you who conspired,” growled Fairan. “Your men have repeatedly attacked us as we have traveled from Aquista. You are the one who is dubiously seeking to take hold of the throne.”
“Lies,” cried another noble. “There is no proof that anything you say is true. And it is a high crime to accuse a noble of treason. Lord Derrick has held this Council and our land together during this tragic season. I refuse to take part in this mockery of our traditions.”
“Then you may leave, Fenmore,” the gray headed noble said with great authority. “This Council exists for times such as these. No man, none of us, has the right to raise himself to the throne. It is for us to lift up such a man.”
“This man cannot be King,” said Derrick suddenly. “He is neither wed, nor betrothed.”
“Again, you are misinformed,” said Tooles.
“Are you saying that this monk from the monastery in Aquista is married?” Derrick said.
“No, he is not married,” said Tooles, waving his hand at the knight Kain did not know.
The knight stepped forward and unrolled a parchment with a glossy blue seal. He cleared his throat and began to read, “From the Royal Court in Zanderis, on this twenty-first day of Summer, 389 A.V. I, King Relaris, Ruler of Zanderis, do offer my daughter, Sena, in marriage to Elkain, Third Prince of Belanda. To the Council of Nobles I do entreat that our two nations remain united in the bonds of brotherhood. I will honor all treaties and pacts made by Belhain through his rightful heir, Elkain, bearer of the Mark of Belanda. Signed, Relaris, King of Zanderis.”
“Lophan,” said a kind looking noble, “what is this message you have brought?”
“I have visited the royal court at Zanderis, on behalf of Prince Elkain, to seek Princess Sena for his bride.”
Kain didn’t take in what was being said at first. A bride? He couldn’t marry; none of the monks at Aquista were married. He had settled that issue long ago. He didn’t know what to do, only that now was not the time to question Tooles. He set his face, looking directly at his sister, who was smiling at him, for strength.
“By whose authority?” said the noble. He was a thin man; there were two older knights behind the noble, both looked furious.
“It was at my request, Raphan,” said Tooles. “I sent him on behalf of Elkain, when I first heard of Belhain’s murder. I regret that there was no time to inform you of our plans, but time was essential. As you can see, young Lophan has just arrived from that errand.”
The aging noble, Raphan, dropped back into his seat, a look of betrayal playing across his features.
“I think it only prudent to give this news time to sink in,” Tooles continued, speaking to the entire room. “Elkain shall be staying in the royal quarters, and I have here a list of times for each of you to meet individually with him. That being said, shall you vote on a time to reconvene and settle this matter?”
There was a general murmur of approval.
“Say, in three days time?” said Tooles.
One by one, nobles stood and said “Aye.”
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Wizard Rising Sample
Prologue
“I sense a blossom opening,” said the Wizard.
He wasn't talking about a flower.
“We have felt it,” said another Wizard. This man was younger, although still well along in years.
“The power is rare,” declared the first Wizard, whose face was hidden beneath the dark hood of his robe.
“Yes, much like your own.”
“We must begin our search,” said the first Wizard, who was obviously the master.
“The child was probably only just born,” said the younger Wizard.
“Yes, but it would be best to find this child before he discovers his power. We need to train him in his early years to ensure he will never betray us.”
“It could be a girl,” said the second Wizard.
“Yes, and if so we must destroy her.”
The second Wizard bowed his head. Wars had been fought over women, kingdoms brought to utter ruin. A woman with power could destroy the Torr, and so if this new sense of magic was found in a girl, she would be killed.
The first Wizard noticed his companion's hesitation and said, “Do not forget your own loyalty, Branock. The Torr must not be divided over senseless moral concerns.”
“Yes, Master.”
“In time we will rule the Five Kingdoms of Emporia and our power will be unstoppable.”
“You are right, of course,” said Branock.
“Now, begin your search. This new one must be found and dealt with or we may have to wait another lifetime to secure our hold on Emporia.”
The Wizard Branock bowed and left the room. The first Wizard moved to the window and looked out over the city far below. He could see the King’s palace and the garrison which represented the kingdom’s power. Osla was the largest and most influential of the Five Kingdoms. The Wizard looking down from the Torr stronghold could have reached out and destroyed the garrison. He controlled such power and could have caused the roof to cave in or the walls to topple, but such a feat would turn the populace against him. He had spent years convincing the people that the Wizards of the Torr served to protect the Five Kingdoms. In reality, he had merely consolidated his power and destroyed any Wizard who would oppose him. And he knew that the people scurrying about their lives like ants in the dust below needed their illusions of power, so if he destroyed their army they would have no security and the other kingdoms would turn against him. He could defeat them, he was confident of that. His power, along with the power of the other three Wizards of the Torr, could destroy the combined might of the Five Kingdom
s, but he had no wish to rule over a land of anarchy. When he took his place as High King of Emporia, he wanted peace and stability. And now, when they were so close, the only thing that stood on the horizon between him and his destiny was the strange bloom of power.
Wizards could sense the magic in other people. If the person was close enough, they could isolate that power, feel it approach or move away. When the members of the Torr were together their power overlapped and allowed them to sense magic at great distances. This new spark of magic was rare in its brightness. The Wizards couldn’t locate the bloom of power, but they could feel it, as if the clouds had parted, and although they couldn't see the sun, the light would shine through. At first that warmth and brightness was pleasant, even exciting, but the Master Wizard knew that before long, just like the sunlight, that feeling would turn to discomfort and eventually to pain. The Master knew that if this powerful person, whoever it was, continued to grow in strength, he or she could eventually challenge the power of the Torr. He would not let that happen. On the other hand, if this new bloom of magic, this flower in a field of grass, could be added to the Torr, then the Master would have his executioner, a Wizard loyal only to him with the power to keep the other Wizards in line and perhaps even allow the Torr to extend their power.
The Master Wizard turned from the window and sat down at the desk which occupied the center of the room. The walls were lined with thick books on everything from anatomy to astronomy. There were treasures from each of the Five Kingdoms and from across the oceans. Some of the books were so old that only the Master’s magic held them together. They represented his power which was vast, and as he looked at them, he saw his dream, his destiny, to line up the people of the Five Kingdoms around him like the books, all in their proper place, all serving him, the Master of the Torr.
Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Page 17