Lesser Prince (Guardians of Gaeland Book 1)

by Jamie McFarlane

  “Come in, Prince Tigerious," Gela called, standing up from the table. "Meet your uncle, Prince Thetius and your aunt, Princess Larissa.” She beckoned him with a friendly wave. Tack bowed slightly and turned on his heel, exiting. Tig felt uncomfortable and completely out of his element.

  Thetius, who was dressed in a dark green business suit sporting a lighter green tie, stood and offered his hand to Tig. “Very nice to meet you, Tigerious. We are always glad to welcome our family home.” Tig shook Thetius’s outstretched hand, hoping that the greeting wouldn’t end up in another embarrassing bow or something worse. To Tig's relief, Thetius accepted his hand and shook it firmly.

  “Thank you,” was all Tig could think to say to this greeting.

  Tig’s Aunt Larissa looked very much like Gela but had strawberry red hair that fell well past her shoulders. The younger woman had apparently waited as long as she could and bounded over to Tig, all but pushing Thetius out of the way. She wrapped her arms around him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Three days ago I had no idea that I even had a little nephew, and here you are, almost all grown up.”

  Gela laughed, clearing her throat, “And this is your aunt, the Princess Larissa, or Lari as we all call her. As you can see, she doesn’t stand on ceremony. Please have a seat Tig, lunch will be out shortly.” As he approached the chair Gela indicated, Princess Larissa moved to sit next to him.

  Once they were all seated, Gela continued, “Tig, you had quite an adventure after we left with your father. We have already heard Naminee’s report, but we would really like to hear it from your perspective. Would you mind?”

  Tig considered the request. Before he could start, however, Gela interjected, “Please don’t leave out details that you think are too unbelievable. We know you have some unusual abilities and we need to hear every detail. It’s very important.”

  He was both surprised and disturbed that Gela had pegged him so accurately. He'd been about to deliver the clean version of his adventure, leaving out details like how he could apparently heal and how he magically removed himself from the strange grasping roots the witch had conjured. He took a deep breath and recounted the entire story from start to finish, not leaving anything out.

  The table was quiet once he finished. It was quite a story and Tig fully expected disbelief from the group of adults who were staring at him.

  Thetius started the questioning, “So when the witch cast a rooting spell on your legs, you were able to remove it? Did you really have no idea what you were doing? Did you speak any words while you were doing this?”

  Tig looked at Thetius appraisingly. The man was dressed in an expensive suit and clearly very important, but here he sat talking to a boy about wolves and magic. It was a very weird situation, but Tig’s senses weren’t raising any warning signals. He felt no reason to withhold the truth. “No sir. I have no idea what came over me. I just knew I needed to escape. The wolves were going to get me if I stayed there. I reached down and the vines just fell off, well … after the greenish glow.”

  “Worgs,” Thetius corrected. “Those were not ordinary wolves, Tigerious. They were worgs and you were lucky to escape them, even with the help of the truck. Worgs are tremendously powerful Faerie beasts.”

  Tig swallowed hard, but didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what it meant to be a Faerie beast, but he did know how fast and deadly dangerous those worgs had appeared to be. Tig tensed, remembering the beasts’ ferocious eyes and their huge bodies pounding against the steel of the truck.

  Gela gently broke the tension. “Tig what did you feel when you were healing Laux? Could you see his wound in your mind?”

  Tig was surprised by her question. She was dead on. He had seen the damage as he focused on repairing the injuries. It wasn’t so much that he saw a picture of the damage, more a representation of that damage. He attempted to explain this to Gela.

  Gela responded quietly, “That is incredible, Tig. Your bond with Faerie is special. This type of healing has been lost to us until now.”

  It was Tig’s turn to ask a few questions. “Can’t all elves do magical things? I saw Naminee cast spells to cover our path and warm rocks.”

  Gela responded, “True. Most elves are able to cast a few simple spells. These spells definitely use Faerie, but are very limited. Certainly, very few of us have the ability to heal serious injuries or break a rooting spell. The witch who could cast such a spell on you must be quite powerful.”

  Thetius jumped in, “Tigerious, you aren't just any elf. You are in the direct line of the House of Parnassus, just behind Gelasius and your father. Even so, we assumed Faerie had all but abandoned us. Your story brings hope for our future. I’m sure we will have a chance to talk about this more. Right now, I must excuse myself, as I need to attend to some important business.” Thetius stood, nodded at Tig and walked from the room.

  Tig watched his uncle walk away while turmoil boiled within him. Thetius had just told a lie; he could feel it. He wasn’t sure which piece of it was a lie, but there was untruth in what was said. Tig could feel confirmation of this radiating off of Gela as well. There was something hidden, unsaid. “Princess Gela, I need to ask you a question. Do you mind?” Tig waited for her answer.

  “Certainly, Tig. We have no secrets here.” Gela said patiently.

  Tig fought the urge to raise his eyebrow at her statement. Oddly, however, she was sincere in her delivery. “Why would my father be upset about coming here?”

  “Oh, I see. That is a very complex conversation with a lot of nuances. To be truthful, only Chey knows all of the reasons. But the essence of the problem has to do with your mother, Celia.”

  At the mention of his mother, blood drained from Tig’s face. His father had only spoken about her a few times, mostly in response to Tig’s questions. The pain in his father’s eyes when he thought about her was more than Tig could take and he had long since decided not to bring up the subject.

  Gela studied the changes in Tig’s face. “As Laux explained to you, you are an elf. That is to say, we are all elves; people of Faerie. Your mother, Celia, was a beautiful and wonderful girl. She and your father met and fell in love a long time ago.” Gela gave Tig a moment to process.

  “Celia was not the same sort of elf as your father. She was a Wood Elf and he a High Elf. Wood Elves are also of Faerie but they are different. The two types of elves have always held themselves apart from each other. A marriage between these groups had never happened. King Galen, your grandfather, and Chey did not see eye-to-eye about such a marriage and harsh words were spoken. Your father left, vowing to never return. We had heard nothing from him for a very long time – until last week.”

  Tig was riveted by the conversation. “What happened last week?”

  “He contacted us, telling us of a new threat that he'd encountered. He’d been following up on some unusual reports in the Colorado Mountains and had run across something very disturbing. A local horse had been attacked by something not of this world. He must have been very concerned to have contacted us. We sent hunters out to help him, but were too late. By the time Laux and his party found Chey, he had been attacked and left for dead.”

  Tig’s eyes once again rimmed with tears as he pictured his father’s battered body in the woods. His mind jumped back to the conversation about his mother. “Wait, so what changed? Why refer to me as Prince if my mother is the wrong kind of elf? Doesn’t that make me the wrong kind of elf?”

  Princess Gelasius, hearing the rejection in Tig’s voice, reached out, placing her hand gently on his arm. “Tig, please. Those were dark times for our family. Things were said that shouldn’t have been said. You are as much Parnassus as any of us. If we can learn anything from the humans we live next to, it is that we can’t be separated by such ridiculous bigotry.” She was sincere and Tig chose to let it go. He had certainly felt the rejection of being different his entire life. He desperately hoped to fit in here.

  “Lunch is served.” Tack carried a tray of foo
d and was followed by two others also carrying trays. The room grew quiet as they enjoyed lunch.

  Dark Gathering

  Oregon

  The crone arrived at Blackhall Manor the next morning, having traveled all night. The front of the building looked like a fairly typical, old neglected mansion. Poorly manicured grounds surrounded the once-grand home, which suffered from a serious lack of maintenance. The crone realized the surroundings closely paralleled the fate of this once proud family. The saggy estate and its owners looked as if they had lost all desire to live. A family that had rivaled the mighty Parnassus was now reduced to a handful of ruffians.

  She pushed her way through the front door and strode through the dimly lit house, not bothering to look around, its dilapidated condition not her problem. She went through the faded foyer into the back hallway that led to an oversized kitchen.

  The hallway was better lit than the entry and the doors to the kitchen were stuck open. The old crone could remember a time when the house was home to the greatest of all Blackhall generations. She ruefully reminded herself that she would never have been allowed in the house during those glorious times. Her reputation had been too wild, her behavior too unpredictable back then. Just the thought caused her to laugh out loud. Where were they now, those great Blackhalls? It was a testament to the power of the old bloodline that they could even make this last stand.

  The kitchen was in considerably better shape than it had been during her visit several weeks before. It wasn’t that she cared about the condition, but it was the sort of thing that kept her alive, noticing details. Someone had attempted to straighten and clear the grime, especially in here. She pushed her senses out into the house, exploring the nearby rooms more thoroughly. Her reaction was completely instinctual. Decades, even centuries of survival had taught her to never let her guard down.

  There it was. Rather, there she was. An older female was about to enter the kitchen. The crone's instincts told her that this woman would be no threat, but the woman would enter before the crone could exit. Humans were so unpredictable. At a minimum, the woman would shriek.

  How annoying, she thought. Instead of hurrying away, she turned toward the door where the woman would enter, conjured a small blob and tossed it at the door. It wedged against the frame and overlapped the edge of the door. That should hold it, she thought.

  The door rattled and she heard the woman struggling against it, ranting a string of expletives about the general condition of the home. This brought a smile to the crone's face, “It is the little things in life,” she recited to herself.

  She pushed open the door to the King’s quarters. The triangle where the summoning had occurred was still drawn on the floor. Perhaps it was a tribute to his father’s sacrifice, although more likely a reminder of the Prince's newly found power. A metallic table had been constructed in the middle of the open area near a roaring fireplace. Leather high-backed chairs surrounded the table and one stately, hand-carved monstrosity perched at the head of it engulfed Finias' form. A throne, she mused to herself. Narcissism must be genetic.

  She walked down the wide curved staircase as if in no particular hurry. From this point forward everything was about positioning. Nothing could be given for free; good behavior rewarded and bad behavior punished. Prince Finias had company at the table, a female, her aura grey, brooding, shockingly elemental. Could this be a wood elf? Tattoos of power escaped the woman’s clothing, reaching up her neck, ending in points at her eyes. A wyrdling? She wondered. Maybe. Plenty of Faerie in that one.

  Next to the young woman was a male. This would be the older Blackhall brother, Prince Gregor. Interesting, he was being allowed to live, even though he was rightfully first in line to the House of Blackhall. Some kingdom! His only subject was probably the human woman upstairs scrubbing the door jamb the crone had so thoughtfully sullied on her way through the kitchen.

  She approached the table, ignoring the chairs. It was an old habit, but it was more difficult to surprise someone who was standing. Instead of talking to the Prince she merely stood looking at him, desiring to catch his eye and hold his gaze, a feral power struggle.

  “Do you really believe this is a good time for games, crone?” Finias’s voice was quiet and controlled, unperturbed even.

  She didn’t like being called out – treated like a schoolgirl. Petulant whelp! No, she couldn’t rise to the bait; she had grown up from her early wild years. She could not give him an advantage. Looking away at this point would be a sign of weakness, so she answered in an even tone, “I am confused by your positioning. Are you not the lesser? I would expect Gregor to be king. Is this not his court?” This would most likely enrage the young prince. It was a dance that she very much enjoyed.

  To her surprise, Finias did not respond. She felt the eyes of Gregor and the young tattooed female on her, but dared not divide her attention, the dance was not going as she would like. “Hmm, I see.” Finias looked up from what he had been concentrating on and met the old crone’s gaze.

  A shock shot through her system as she saw darkness within Finias that had not been there on their last meeting. A small wave of panic coursed through her, as she realized that she had underestimated the situation. How could this continue to keep happening? She lowered her gaze and bowed her head in supplication, spreading her palms toward the Prince, showing submission. “Please, I meant no harm. I have information about your enemies. I have rushed to you from such a long distance, please forgive …”

  Prince Finias cut her off sharply, his voice only slightly raised, “Enough, witch! Tell me what you have found.”

  “I located the heir of Parnassus.”

  “Yes, we know of him,” Finias interrupted again.

  “No, I don’t believe you do, my prince.” The crone’s voice regained its confidence.

  “How is that?”

  “I can see you believe that Princess Gela is the true heir. She is not, as is made obvious by her refusal to accept the title of Queen. She has a brother, an older brother, who I tracked into the mountains of Colorado. It was there that I nearly captured him. Had it not been for a party of elves, I would have brought him to you. As it is, however, I have poisoned him. Even the Parnassus healers will be unable to do more than keep him alive. You should know that he also has a son, a wizard who knows nothing of his own power.”

  “Interesting, what of the other house?”

  “You will enjoy the irony of it all, my young prince. While tracking the young Parnassus wizard, I ran across the male heir to the house of Elendahl. Sam, I believe is his name. He was walking the grounds of Helicon, apparently a visitor. Like the Parnassus child, this heir is a powerful, untrained wizard. Neither of these two should be underestimated.”

  “Well done, hunter. You’ve lived up to your name. If you continue as you have, you will no doubt earn a trip back to your world. I have only a few remaining tasks for you. Gregor, it is time for us to go to Helicon. Arrange for a flight first thing tomorrow. I wish to meet with Lyka Parnassus tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay, Fin.” Gregor replied. He paused and considered his next words. “You know the witch is right. Why haven’t you killed me? I’m in your way. If not for me, you would be King. You've already killed father. I'm certainly no match for you.” Gregor’s voice was downtrodden, beaten, as if his spirit had been crushed.

  “Gregor, every kingdom needs a king, and you shall have your kingdom. Father would have let the House of Blackhall slide into oblivion. No, my brother, we shall rule together, as brothers ... as kings!” Finias clearly enjoyed his speech. He stood up, clapped his seated brother on the back and proclaimed, “Now let’s see about getting your kingdom back. Long live King Gregor!”

  The young tattooed female stood and responded, “Long live King Gregor,” in her quiet almost sultry voice. It wasn't clear if she was serious or mocking.

  “My dear crone, tomorrow you will learn to travel as a human, for tomorrow we head to The Crux!”

  Family Tie
s

  Helicon, West Virginia

  Tig, Gela and Larissa had just started eating when the door to the solarium-styled dining room opened. Through the doors came an attractive, lanky, dark haired young man in his twenties.

  “Lyka!” Larissa jumped up from her position next to Tig and bounded over to greet him. Her embrace rocked him back and forth with her exuberance.

  To Tig’s surprise, instead of returning her embrace, the young man peeled her arms off with a slightly bemused look. “Lari, it's nice to see you too.” His voice was cool, almost icy.

  She grabbed his hand, her face alight with joy, dragging him to the table. “Ah, Lyka, don’t be like that. I missed you!” Lyka allowed himself to be pulled, resting his eyes on Tig’s face but not saying anything.

  “Prince Tigerious Parnassus, permit me the distinct pleasure of introducing to you Prince Lyka Parnassus.” She giggled slightly. Tig offered his hand, but Lyka allowed it to hang in mid-air like a dead fish.

  “Nice to meet you,” Tig offered, taken aback by Lyka’s rebuff. Tig returned to the table.

  “Play nice, Lyka.” Gelasius sounded mildly annoyed.

  “What’s for lunch, mother?” Lyka extracted himself from Larissa and moved to an open seat away from the group.

  “Let me grab Tack, he just brought it out. I am sure there’s plenty!” Larissa, seemingly unaffected by Lyka’s dark manner, cheerfully skipped to the doors where Tack had retreated nearly half an hour earlier.

  “I hear there’s been some excitement. I take it by his presence that my errant uncle is somewhere to be found, as well?” Lyka nodded sideways toward Tig.

  Gelasius studied her son with mild annoyance, her lips slightly pursed. Finally, having made a decision, she answered, “Yes, Chey is here, but he's been badly hurt. Why are you interested?”