“What news from the west?” Vilna asked her father-in-law. They sat in a small study near an eastern window as a blazing fire crackled in the hearth. Sharp rays of sunshine sliced through thick panes of glass.
“Good news,” King Rowan said with a smile after opening the first letter. “Rhiál has been victorious in her battle against the forces of Maranac. Drogin has been defeated.” He glanced up with subdued surprise after reading a few more lines, peering over the top edge of the parchment. “Permanently defeated. He will never again bother his fellow countrymen or their neighbors across the lake.”
“I will not shed a tear for him,” Vilna replied as she worked on a piece of embroidery during one of the few moments of relaxation she and the King had enjoyed since Caldurian’s invasion.
“And Prince Victor has been found alive! Princess Melinda, too,” he excitedly added as he read further. “They will rule their respective kingdoms on either side of Lake LaShear. Finally, there will be peace for our southern neighbors.”
“I suppose Caldurian knew of this during our captivity and kept it from us to stomp out any glimmer of hope,” Vilna said with a contemptible smirk.
“He’s paying the price now,” he replied, his expression growing sterner. “All is not good news though. There was an attack on the Blue Citadel by men from the Northern Isles. It happened on the same morning Prince Gregory and his forces arrived here.”
“The Citadel was breached?” Vilna asked, setting down her embroidery in stunned disbelief, her eyes filled with dread. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Yes. Several of the King’s men,” he sadly responded as he continued to scan the letter. “But the other side fared far worse. King Justin promises to provide more details at another war council he is calling near the end of this month.” The King looked up. “I shall definitely be attending,” he added with a determined glint in his eyes.
Vilna shook her head in dismay. “Vellan has grown strong indeed to boldly attack the Citadel with his Island puppets. But now that the Enâri have been defeated, he might think twice about disrupting the lives of so many throughout the region.”
“We can only hope, but I wouldn’t wager any coin on it,” he said as he set aside the first letter and broke the blue wax seal on the second one from Prince William. “Now I’m most eager to read the words of my grandson. It seems like years since he and Brendan escaped from here on that horrible night.”
“Tell me of my sons,” Vilna eagerly asked, again picking up her embroidery though she was too excited to concentrate on her stitches. “When will they return? And why didn’t Brendan pen a missive to us as well?”
“Perhaps he’s engaged in meetings with King Justin and his ministers,” King Rowan proudly replied as he glanced at the first few lines of William’s letter. “After all, Brendan is the highest ranking representative of Montavia at the Citadel. He probably appointed William as his corresponding secretary to keep his brother out of mischief,” he added with a chuckle as he continued reading. “And I’ve no doubt that they–”
The color suddenly faded from King Rowan’s face as he absorbed the words on the parchment. The note quivered in his unsteady hands as he slowly learned about the strange death of his grandson among the trees of the Ebrean. Vilna couldn’t help but notice the swift change in his demeanor and felt her chest tightening, expecting the worse.
“What’s troubling you, Father-in-law?” she hesitantly asked. “What ill news has William sent? Judging by your expression, the news could be nothing but ill.”
King Rowan looked up, slowly setting the letter down upon his lap, his eyes glassy with tears. “It is the most grievous news, my dear,” he said, his voice choked and his thoughts reeling. “It is about Brendan, I’m sorry to say.” He put a hand to his eyes as tears flowed down his face. “So sorry to say…”
The following day, four days after the Enâri troops had been destroyed, Prince Gregory and the bulk of his army departed Triana. He left a contingent of soldiers behind to help secure the kingdom and track down any stragglers from the Isles who were hiding out in the hills and about the countryside. King Rowan promised to attend the next war council especially in light of his grandson’s death.
“All the tragedy and misfortune of these dark days lead back to Vellan,” the King said, his face careworn and ashen as Prince Gregory prepared to depart. “I will help defeat that tyrant if I have to break into the fortress of Del Norác myself.”
“Pray that it doesn’t come to that,” he replied. He wished the King goodbye and good fortune. “And again, my condolences to you and Lady Vilna. It is both grievous and unfair that such tragedy has again struck your family. My heart goes out to you.”
King Rowan nodded, unable to speak for a moment as he wiped away a tear. “When my son was killed four years ago on that mountain survey, I blamed myself for giving him that assignment, vowing thereafter to protect his sons with my very life if required.” He sighed with an air of defeat. “But it seems that fate strikes when and where it pleases whatever our plans to the contrary, showing us who is truly in charge.” He took a deep breath to compose himself, nodding to the prince with a stern expression. “And it is most unfair.”
Tolapari accompanied Prince Gregory on the long road back under gray skies and intermittent snowfall. Caldurian rode with them under heavy guard to face his judgment at the Citadel, remaining silent and stony faced. Three soldiers rode in front of the wizard, three more behind him and one on either side. Despite the loss of his powers, Prince Gregory wanted to take no chances with Caldurian and considered him just as dangerous as he had always been.
The road was slow and uneventful with only a minor adjustment to their course. When they arrived north of Pigeon Lake, instead of taking the road south back to River Road, the army continued eastward, gradually veering south between the Wetwood and Cumberland Forests. The prince decided it would be wise to bypass the village of Kanesbury on the return trip, fearing reprisals from its citizens should they get word of Caldurian’s presence.
“I expect my father will pronounce the first judgment upon the wizard,” Prince Gregory guessed. “Or at least I hope so. He has had to deal with that scoundrel and his trail of chaos for far too many years. Others can stand in line to exact justice in due time.”
“It will be a very long line,” Tolapari said. “Though I suspect your decision has been influenced by the fact that Caldurian arranged for the kidnapping of your infant daughter twenty years ago.”
The prince looked askance at Tolapari as their horses trotted along a dirt road. “I will not deny it. Caldurian deserves whatever punishment comes his way and will get no sympathy from me. And may Vellan’s fate be thrice as bad.”
“And soon,” he added as the eaves of the Wetwood stretched out in the near distance to their right, dusted with freshly fallen snow. A mournful wind whistled across the dry, grassy fields of central Arrondale as the army trudged onward.
After six days of traveling, they arrived in Morrenwood under a veil of early afternoon snow flurries. All were exhausted yet in high spirits. Prince Gregory greeted his daughter with a hug inside the Citadel, happy to see her again as Leo stood protectively at her side. The prince proudly shook his hand after speaking to his daughter.
“Well done, Leo!” he said, referring to the key. “You and Nicholas accomplished an amazing feat for the citizens of Laparia. I want to hear all the details.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back before you had left,” he replied. “We could have better coordinated your strike against Caldurian with the opening of the Spirit Box.”
“Regardless, he and his Island accomplices were given the surprise of their lives when the Enâri literally crumbled before their eyes.” Prince Gregory glanced about as many of his captains and other soldiers talked and wandered around the main hall. “Where is Nicholas? I want to offer him my congratulations as well.”
“That’s a story best told over a bowl of hot soup, Father.” Megan took his hand
and smiled. “If you can break away from here, I’ll arrange a quick supper for the three of us. No doubt you’ll be going over the details of your military campaign with Grandfather, Tolapari and others long into the night. We will not have a chance to speak today otherwise.”
Prince Gregory smiled and kissed his daughter. “You know me too well, Megan. I will set aside my duties for an hour or so and dine with both of you and learn the latest.” He signaled to Tolapari who was engaged in conversation nearby. “Tell the King I shall be detained for a short while by his lovely granddaughter. He will have no choice but to excuse my tardiness.” The wizard smiled and nodded as the trio disappeared through an archway.
Megan, Leo and Prince Gregory were soon enjoying bread and pumpkin soup in a small room by a roaring fire. Leo spoke of his and Nicholas’ adventures and of the key’s return. Prince Gregory was both heartbroken and fascinated by details of the Citadel invasion and of Leo’s ordeal after he had unlocked the Spirit Box.
“One of the physicians confined Leo to bed for three days,” Megan explained. “He was deathly pale when we found him on the floor in the upper turret.”
“I was beyond tired for several days,” Leo said. “Whatever emerged from the Spirit Box nearly killed me, or so I felt at the time. I thought I was going to suffocate. I’m better now. Healthy enough to go on a mapping mission with Hobin one of these days.”
“You’ll stay here until warmer weather arrives so you can fully recover,” Megan insisted with a smile. “I’m tired of seeing all the men in my life leave my side for weeks at a time. You can send a messenger to your parents to let them know that you’re well. I’d much prefer you spending your free hours in the Citadel library poring over maps of Arrondale rather than rushing off to climb more mountains with Hobin. At least for a few more months.”
“I promise not to leave your side until spring,” Leo replied, gently taking her hand in his before glancing at Megan’s father.
Though Leo planned to say nothing to Megan in the near future to keep her from worrying, he hoped to travel south with King Justin’s army on their expected march to Kargoth when winter passed. After his and Nicholas’ success in the Dunn Hills, Leo knew he could contribute more to the fight against Vellan even though he wasn’t a professional soldier. He had learned so much recently and felt both proud and obligated to help defend the kingdom in any way possible. But he also wanted to prove to Prince Gregory and King Justin that he was indeed worthy of Megan’s love. He hoped his motives were slanted more toward the honorable than the self-serving, yet he couldn’t deny either feeling as he squeezed Megan’s hand and smiled. He didn’t know how or when he would break the news to her, having plenty of time to think long and hard about it before the melting of the snow.
Later that day, Prince Gregory learned more about the Citadel invasion from his father. Commander Uta, Captain Burlu and most of the Island troops had been killed during the attack.
“Though damage had been extensive, the repairs were done quickly,” King Justin told him as they wandered through the back hallway and surveyed the new masonry near the breached entrance. “Several fine men of Arrondale were lost that terrible morning,” he sorrowfully added. “Yet we overwhelmed the enemy in the end. The few survivors are imprisoned in Graystone Garrison.”
“How did they get inside? Your letter was vague on details.”
“Carmella was camped outside when the attack commenced,” King Justin said. An oil lamp fluttered and cast uneasy shadows upon the wall. “She later told me how her cousin, Madeline, and the woman’s associate, Mune, assisted in the assault. Carmella said they have since fled to Kargoth.”
“Madeline?” Gregory sighed as he rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “Megan’s old nursemaid. It was she and that Mune fellow who tried to have her kidnapped in Plum Orchard before mistakenly nabbing Ivy.”
“Caldurian and his accomplices have been a plague on this household for two decades,” he replied as they wandered across the hallway and down an adjacent corridor.
“The wizard has been a plague upon Kanesbury for that long as well,” said his son, telling the King about Caldurian’s recent nine-day invasion of the village. “Len Harold gave me a description upon our recent chance meeting.”
King Justin sighed with disgust. “Caldurian is a walking storm cloud. But now that he is our guest, temporarily declawed, as it were, I’ll have a long talk with him if it will do any good.”
“He could still be dangerous, Father. Use extreme caution.”
“I’ll be careful, my son. After all, I survived an encounter with that horrific creature who assumed my form,” he said with a hint of bravado. “Caldurian doesn’t loom so large to me at the moment.”
“You could have been killed, Father.”
King Justin chuckled. “Oh, I hardly received a scratch.”
“Not according to Megan’s description.”
“Nonsense. Look.” King Justin stopped and rolled up the garment covering his upper right arm and showed his son. A fine, pale line ran across his skin, the only reminder of the once bloody wound. “That creature struck me nine days ago and this is all that’s left of his handiwork.”
“Exactly one week and it’s almost completely healed?” Prince Gregory furrowed his brow as he examined the marking. “How is that possible?”
“I’ll attribute it to honest living and the fresh pine air,” he replied before growing silent. Again, the sound of fluttering oil lamps filled the empty corridor. “Unfortunately, Prince Brendan was not so lucky. His was a grave wound from that same mercurial hand. His mother must have been devastated by the news of his death.”
“I saw the anguish in Vilna’s eyes when I spoke to her before I departed Red Lodge,” he replied. “But I cannot truly imagine her pain. I wonder how I would have felt if Megan had been–”
The King held up a hand to silence his son. “Times are bad enough. Let’s count ourselves lucky and not speculate on what ills might have been. I do not have the heart to do so.”
Prince Gregory smiled and wrapped an arm around the King’s shoulder as they continued down the corridor. “Wise words from a wise man, Father. As usual.”
King Justin met with Caldurian the following day, offering him lunch in one of his private chambers. As a precaution, two guards were stationed both inside and outside the room. Caldurian suspected that the King was simply trying to extract information by allowing him time outside his locked room in one of the upper levels. King Justin admitted as much with a sly grin, yet the two men enjoyed their lunch with cool civility.
“Vellan will expect you to launch an attack now that you’re overflowing with smugness from two victories,” Caldurian said, dipping a crust of bread into his stew. “I also expect that that is what you’ll do once the weather turns cooperative in the spring.”
“A pity you can’t be with him,” the King replied.
The wizard looked up, his gaze sharp. “What makes you think I’d want to?” The remark caught King Justin off guard. “Vellan has made many mistakes trying to achieve his goals. I’m no longer afraid to say that I grow weary of implementing his misguided plans. Even with his vast resources, he has taken on more than he can achieve.”
King Justin sat back in his chair, contemplating the wizard’s stunning words and wondering why he revealed such a thought. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Are you serious? Or is this some sort of deception?” Caldurian offered a faint smile in reply. “In either case, I shall keep a close watch on you. As to your previous point, I think you are correct that Vellan knows we will come after him. He may actually be worried for a change now that he doesn’t have the Enâri to protect him.”
“But he still has a substantial army,” the wizard reminded him. “Many of the locals are loyal to Vellan.”
“Most are under his spell.”
Caldurian raised an eyebrow. “Loyal nonetheless. Whether they were forced to drink from the Drusala River or consumed the water willingl
y or by accident matters not. Also, troops from the Northern Isles have been streaming in for some time. Don’t be convinced of victory yet. There is still a formidable force in Kargoth.”
“But one we can now beat,” the King replied. “All those years of weaving deadly plans like a pair of poisonous spiders are finally catching up to you and Vellan. You’re both tangled in your webs.” King Justin sipped from a mug of hot tea, glancing over the rim at his adversary. “I’ll bet you never expected us to remake the key to the Spirit Box or find the wizard Frist.” Caldurian appeared bewildered. “Oh, save your feigned puzzlement. I know you were aware that we possessed the medallion. I know all about your spy in the rafters.”
Caldurian’s eyes widened with surprise. But after a moment of contemplation, he decided that none of it mattered anymore. “My compliments to you, King Justin. How and when did you find out?”
“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he said. “Unless you’re willing to reciprocate.”
“In what way?”
“I want to know about that strange entity who was going to take my place. Surely, you must know something about him.”
“I know that he failed his mission.” The wizard sat back and pushed his empty bowl away. “I am talking to the real you, after all.”
“But he came so close,” King Justin commented with a hint of grudging admiration. “It was an ingenious plan. Vellan could have controlled the fate of Arrondale without releasing an arrow or raising a sword against my people. Diabolically ingenious.”
“But a failure nonetheless.” Caldurian gazed at the crackling fire across the room. He was genuinely saddened at Arileez’ demise, believing that his fellow wizard could have rivaled Vellan in power and influence if left to his own devices. “Arileez–that was his name–was a unique specimen. A rare mutation among the true wizards with special powers that set him apart from the others. Not surprisingly, he was both feared and shunned, isolated for most of his life.”
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