Mark of the Banished

by Salandra Wolfe

  “Our poor prince lost his father, and I’m afraid it’s made him a bit . . .” Ryland stopped, then shook his head. There was no nice way to say it. “Insane.” The people started murmuring again, but Ryland put his hand up for silence. “You do not want that kind of man for your king, I know, which is why I, Ryland Lyke, do hereby lay a claim to the throne as one of royal blood and the next in line after my father, who has declined his right as heir. With the people’s permission, I will take over the kingdom and rule as king.”

  Immediately the chatter started up again, and Ryland knew nothing could calm them down now. “The voice of the people will decide who shall be king and no one else,” he pronounced. “In three months’ time, the lords will meet to cast their votes. The citizens of their precincts will inform the lords of their choice, and the lords will act accordingly.”

  He turned and walked through the balcony doors into the castle, relying on the guards in the courtyard to funnel the people back out into the streets. His cloak fluttered after him quite impressively. Maybe his mother and Fayre had been right.

  On his way out, he passed the prince, who was sitting on a plush armchair, staring sightlessly ahead. The guards who had brought him off the balcony stood on either side of him. Ryland paused and faced the young man, wondering if he had heard his announcement.

  “Did you really mean it?” Caspian asked, looking up at Ryland suddenly.

  Ryland gave a sharp nod. “I will do whatever is best for the kingdom.”

  “The best for my kingdom,” Caspian muttered. He slouched back into his chair, relief, anger, disbelief, and a myriad of other emotions warring on his face. When it became clear the prince would say no more, Ryland exited, going back to his quarters.

  When he arrived, he surveyed the notes and charts decorating his walls. They all related to the murder and who the perpetrator might be. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. It was time to get back to work.

  Caspian stood in his dark quarters, surveying the room. Everything seemed empty and lifeless. He took a deep breath, feeling a moment of clarity that was rare for him. He sat down shakily on the bed, thinking over Ryland’s announcement.

  Ryland was going to take the throne if Caspian didn’t shape up.

  The prince leaned back, his brow softening in relief. Ryland, from what he had seen, was a good man with a lot of experience. If anyone could rule the kingdom as his father had, it was Ryland. He’d take care of the people.

  But the thought felt like a betrayal, and even as it came, another replaced it: “Don’t let anyone else do what you can do better.” The words came as if from the grave, words Caspian’s father had said to him a long time ago.

  The prince let out a huff of frustration and rested his back on his bed, his eyes fluttering closed. But he couldn’t rule the kingdom as well as Ryland could! Caspian had tried so hard to talk to the people, to assure them he could take the throne, but he had failed. He had failed so miserably that his own guards had been forced to drag him off the balcony. After that display, his people would have no choice but to prefer Ryland over him.

  Caspian’s eyes snapped open. But does that mean Ryland is better for the kingdom? he thought. Ryland had gone to the nobleman school in eastern Algar, but they didn’t teach how to rule a kingdom. They taught estate management, and while the concepts were similar, they weren’t quite the same. Maybe Ryland had a formal education, but Caspian had trained every bit as hard in the castle with private tutors, and he had been training at his father’s side ever since he could walk. He had learned border protection, diplomacy, weaponry, leadership, and economics. He had been prepared extensively for the time when he would become King of Algar.

  I really could rule better, he thought, his eyes wide. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, a thought niggling at the back of his brain. What about the prophecy? At the thought, his mother’s face flashed before him, and he blinked, his mind going back in time to when his mother had sat him down and read an ancient prophecy to him, a prophecy kept and read only by the royal family.

  The prophecy had been written down thousands of years before by Algris, the first King of Algar, whose name was now Caspian’s surname. The king, a powerful wizard, had done many great things, two of which involved the prophecy and the creation of Mepherius, a magical sword they had long since lost.

  Caspian stood and rang the bell for his valet. Almost immediately, the man came into the room and bowed. Caspian looked at him, realizing the servant had been waiting only feet away from the door, ready to assist him. Did they really think he needed that much tending to?

  Shaking his head in annoyance, he inclined his head toward the servant. “Retrieve the Algris prophecy from the library for me, please.” The servant looked confused, but he nodded and hurried away.

  Caspian sat on his bed, his hand on his chin. King Algris had made the prophecy to assist future generations in ruling the kingdom. The only problem was, it didn’t make any sense. They knew it was in chronological order, and because of that, they had managed to match certain parts of the prophecy to historical events, but when it came to interpreting the future, the prophecy was utterly useless.

  Except for the line he remembered his mother showing him.

  The door opened, and his valet put the ornate metal box holding the prophecy on the prince’s desk. Caspian nodded at the servant, dismissing him. Taking the key to the box from his pocket where he had stored it for safekeeping, he opened the case and removed the scroll containing the prophecy. Though it was aged, the spell-preserved document appeared new. Caspian hurriedly scanned the document, searching for the relevant passage.

  The kingdom when out of direct royal bloodline rule, chaos and evil will soon come through.

  Caspian leaned back, remembering his mother’s words to him so long ago: “You must never let someone out of the direct royal bloodline take the throne, do you understand? Very bad things will happen if you do.”

  Caspian sat heavily on his bed, his mind clearer than it had been in ages. Ryland was related to the royal bloodline, but it was a distant relation. According to the prophecy, Ryland could not rule, or else chaos and evil would reign with him.

  Perhaps I can do this, he thought, almost wonderingly. Maybe I have to.

  Caspian clenched his jaw. I will fight this, Father, Mother, he told them. He surprised himself by believing it. I cannot let chaos and evil come to my kingdom.

  He went to the door and opened it, not surprised to see his valet waiting there. The servant jumped guiltily.

  “Summon the knights of the realm to the meeting room. We have much to discuss about their lands and harvest,” Caspian ordered.

  The man looked surprised, but he nodded and hastened away.

  Caspian closed the door and leaned against it, his breathing heavy. The darkness that had shrouded him since his father’s death reached its icy fingers toward him, but he pushed it back. He had to stay alert and focused. For his mother. For his father.

  For Algar.

  Chapter Five

  Ryland felt like beating his head on the table over and over and over again. “We have found absolutely nothing!” he told his father through gritted teeth. “Whoever the killer was, they were good because we don’t have the slightest inkling who it was.” They were sitting in Ryland’s quarters at the palace, talking about the progress, or lack of it, in the investigation of King Richard’s murder. It had been a whole month since Ryland had declared to the people that he would find the killer, over five weeks after the king’s death, and yet he’d found absolutely no leads. It was infuriating.

  Ryland’s father shook his head. “I know, Son. And as each day goes by, the kingdom gets more and more fearful of an unknown enemy who managed to kill the king in his own palace and not get caught.”

  Ryland shook so hard his chair rattled. He hadn’t needed his father to tell him that. Ryland was acutely aware of how pressing it was that he catch the culprit, but hearing it spoken out loud made him afrai
d. Very afraid. He placed his arms on the table that stood between the two men and buried his face in them. He felt like remaining in that position for yet another month. Maybe then his brain would be able to figure out who would kill the king, and why.

  The why was the most puzzling factor. Ryland couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to kill the king. The only reason he could think of was to take over the throne, but no one except Ryland had made a claim, so it didn’t make any sense.

  “How goes the fight for the kingship, Son?” his father asked gently.

  Ryland stiffened, and his head shot up. “It’s not a fight!” His shaking increased. The look on his father’s face showed he knew something Ryland didn’t, and whatever he knew, it was not good news.

  Ryland’s father ducked his head down before meeting his son’s eyes. “The people don’t know which of you should be king. You are more qualified, some say, but others say it is the prince’s right to take the throne and that with time, his abilities will improve. And the fact that you haven’t caught the killer yet makes people suspicious.”

  Ryland blinked, shocked. “They think I killed the king?” That was preposterous! Though hadn’t he just thought that the only reason to kill the king would be to get the kingship, and no one but himself had rivaled the prince’s claim to the throne? His stomach sank to his toes, and he tasted something bad in his mouth.

  Ryland’s father didn’t answer his question. He didn’t have to. Ryland already knew the answer.

  “People are so divided about who should rule that there have been fights. Some big, some small, but a few people have died.” Maddox ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, avoiding his son’s gaze.

  Ryland closed his eyes, pain swelling in his heart. “Perhaps trying to take over the kingship wasn’t a good idea.”

  Ryland’s father opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.

  “Enter,” Ryland said, turning to view the page who entered the room and bowed deeply.

  “Lord Ryland, you are needed in the late king’s quarters right away!” the page told him.

  “Be right there!” Ryland stood, nodding to his father. “I will go deal with this, and we can talk later.”

  His father bowed to him and smiled. “I will be waiting at the house for your arrival.”

  Ryland almost laughed at his father’s display of humor. “Don’t bow to me, Dad, I’m not higher than you . . . yet.”

  Ryland’s father laughed and moved to leave, but Ryland grabbed his shoulder, turning him around again. “Tell Mom I love her, okay?”

  His father nodded, opening the door and disappearing down the hall.

  Ryland watched him leave before collecting himself by taking a deep breath. Feeling slightly better, he hurried out the door, glancing both ways down the hall. The man who had knocked on his door had already left, and there was no one else in sight. He turned to the king’s quarters, wondering who would be there to meet him and what had happened that was so urgent.

  As he entered the room, he was surprised to see Caspian standing there, seeming more alert than ever. Since the day Ryland had declared his intention to take the throne, Caspian had made himself scarce. Ryland wasn’t quite sure what the prince had been doing, but he had seen lords and members of the high council coming in and out of meeting rooms with the prince. He himself had given the prince updates on his progress, but with nothing much to report, the meetings had been short, with hardly any conversation between them. But Ryland had never seen Caspian here, in the room where his father died.

  One of the investigators, Tarin, who was working with Ryland on the case of the king’s murder, hurried over to Ryland. “Ryland, we found the most exciting and interesting thing!”

  Ryland nodded to Tarin, who was slightly shorter than himself and always enthusiastic about every topic he discussed. Being around him was a bit exhausting. Because of this, Ryland wasn’t sure if the news was really that important, and he wondered if he could have stayed in his room and talked to his father some more. It would have been more enjoyable than being here, trying to bend his brain thinking about the senseless murder.

  “We found—” Tarin cut off, gesturing excitedly with his hands. “Oh, you must come and see!” He grabbed Ryland’s arm and pulled him toward the wall on the right side of the bed. Ryland glanced at the bed, shuddering when he thought of the night the king had died.

  Tarin drew his attention back to the wall when he pressed lightly on the stone in a specific place. For a moment, nothing happened, and Ryland could see nothing special about the area he had touched on the wall, or the stone surrounding it. He was about to say so when a flash of light lit up in a rectangle of white around the spot Tarin had touched. The lines glowed in place for a moment before fading to black, and the wall swung open without a sound.

  Shocked, Ryland peered into the space behind the wall, seeing a long tunnel that was swallowed in darkness before it ended. How long had this tunnel been here? Was this how the killer had managed to get into the king’s rooms?

  “Looks like we finally found a lead.” Ryland turned around, surprised to find Caspian speaking. The prince hadn’t contributed anything to the investigation before today.

  Ryland nodded at the prince, speechless. His mind churned. Who had built this passageway? Were there more? If so, the palace was unsafe, very unsafe.

  An awkward pause filled the room, and Ryland blinked, looking around at the faces of guards and investigators staring at him, waiting for him to make an order. He opened his mouth, but Caspian beat him to it.

  “I want those tunnels searched right away.” He turned to Ryland. “Take a few men and search the tunnels. All findings are to be reported back to me.”

  Ryland nodded, pleasantly surprised at how Caspian was taking over. Perhaps he had recovered from his insanity and was fit to rule after all.

  “You there.” The prince pointed to one of the guards. “Go get some extra torches.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard bowed and ran out of the room.

  “I would love to stay and help you explore,” Prince Caspian said, “but I have a meeting.” Ryland pursed his lips. Since when did the prince care about meetings?

  Caspian caught Ryland’s eye. “I’m sure this is how the killer managed to get into my father’s rooms. If we can find where they entered the tunnel, we might be able to catch whoever it is.”

  Ryland nodded. “I won’t let you down, sire.” He bowed low, surprising himself, the prince, and all others present. He felt a growing respect for the boy—no, the man—in front of him. It seemed that Caspian had grown up in the month since his disastrous speech on the balcony.

  The prince smiled at him. “I know you won’t.” He swept from the room.

  Ryland stood there for a moment, trying to pull himself together. There had been too many shocks this evening, and all in such a short amount of time. Some were bad, but most of them were good. He couldn’t stop a smile from blossoming on his face. They finally had a lead on the killer!

  The guard who had gone to get the torches came back into the room, and Ryland nodded his thanks to the man. He took one and ignited it with one of the already lit torches lining the room. He pointed out a few people to go into the tunnel with him, and they too grabbed torches.

  “The rest of you, wait here. We will report back soon with our findings,” Ryland told the people he hadn’t picked, including the guard who still had a few extra torches. Ryland waited until they each nodded before turning to the tunnel with those he had chosen.

  “This is so exciting, like finding a buried treasure that has been under your nose the entire time!” Tarin exclaimed as he hurried into the tunnel after Ryland.

  Ryland rolled his eyes and held back a smile. He wouldn’t have chosen the man to come with him if he hadn’t known Tarin would’ve have been mortally disappointed not to be included.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Tarin asked, his cold fingers suddenly wrapp
ing themselves around Ryland’s bicep.

  He let go almost immediately, but the chill stayed with Ryland, and a shudder went through his body. What if the killer still used the tunnels? What if the murderer was in there right at this very moment, waiting for them to pass by?

  Ryland made a gesture that conveyed he wanted silence. Going into a dark, secret passageway that led who knows where was dangerous enough without the possibility of a murderer lurking in the darkness. They all needed to remain alert.

  They progressed down the passage for a while, and to Ryland it seemed to last forever, though he was certain it only took a few minutes. The passageway ended abruptly as it opened into a huge circular room. The ground was made of colored cobblestones that swirled from the very center of the room, a myriad of colors spiraling to the walls. On the outskirts of the room, a few tables were scattered here and there, and the dust hung in the air, though the tables were spotless. More tunnels branched off from the room, leading in several different directions.

  Ryland walked to a table and swiped his hand across it to confirm the presence of not one speck of dust. “Someone has been here recently.”

  “Maybe some of the servants know about this place and came to clean it.” Tarin’s voice sounded nervous. “Or maybe the tables are enchanted to always remain clean.”

  Ryland glanced up. “Enchanted? Magic hasn’t been in the kingdom for years.” Besides Devin, no others in the kingdom had the ability, and Devin kept his magic to himself. Hundreds of years ago, Algar had been home to many wizards, but they had all left at some point, though there was no record of when or why.

  “Look at the walls,” Tarin added. “They are way too smooth to have been made with tools.”

  Ryland glanced around, and what he saw confirmed what the man had already perceived. The walls were perfectly smooth, something no ordinary man with a tool could achieve.