The Lords of Valdeon

by C. R. Richards

  One ebony longboat lifted over the railing of the ship and sunk low to skim over the rough waves. These brutal barbarians from faraway shores held a strange fascination for Julian. They were very different than the spoiled soldiers of Valdeon or the bumbling fools who joined the United Realm Army. One would hope men gathered from all the nations of Andara could acquire better discipline. Instead , UR soldiers spent their service swilling drink and gambling their credits. Jackal warriors, in contrast, covered their body in hard chest armor, never taking it off again until death. Long braids, soaked in the blood of their enemies, fell in twisted strands down their backs. They were fearless and unwaveringly loyal to their commander. Soon he would have an entire army of these unstoppable warriors obeying his every word.

  Julian, however, well knew how dangerous it was to disappoint this new ally. His failure to capture the Lion Ring would not be well received. He kept his chin raised and arms still at his side. He was the Prince of Valdeon and the only viable heir to the throne. Justifying his actions to these barbarians was beneath him.

  The longboat hovered over the rocks to anchor itself upon the beach. No one moved. Were they expecting a Prince of Valdeon to wet his feet racing to hold the longboat? He folded his arms and planted his feet harder upon the muddy shore.

  A familiar blob of bald skin appeared over the bow of the boat. Whisper's impish grin widened across chubby, golden cheeks. Long fingers gripped the side and pulled his pot belly over the rim. Hovering a few feet above the rocks, the Akutarian Emissary approached Julian with excited waves.

  He had first met Whisper a few years before, when Leo had still held a stifling grip upon the throne. Julian had been wandering along the coast of Valdeon to escape his father's insufferable judgment when the little creature appeared to him in his tent. Whisper had brought him a very powerful gift. Julian stroked a fingertip over his ring fondly at the memory.

  "Greetings, great Prince of Valdeon." Whisper gave him a lavish bow and kissed Julian's Sarcion Ring. "I bring you gifts of welcome and friendship from my emperor."

  "I return his greetings and yours, Whisper. It still is a mystery to me how he knows when I wish to meet with his emissaries."

  Whisper shrugged its fat shoulders and slapped long fingers over where Julian guessed was its heart. "Think of me as my emperor's thought brought to life, Prince Julian. He created me to travel quickly across great distances to communicate his wishes."

  "Your emperor must be very powerful indeed. Will I meet him soon?"

  "My master cannot leave Akutar at this time, Prince, but he has sent you a gift." Whisper turned to the longboat and nodded. "He has sent you Akutar's greatest warrior to aid in your liberation of Valdeon."

  A man — or at least Julian hoped it was a man — rose slowly from the center of the boat. Covered in a deep plum hood and cloak, he towered above the barbarians groveling before him. Disembarking gracefully from the vessel, he moved across the stone and mud in effortless strides. Julian resisted the impulse to step backward away from the towering stranger as he approached them. Gloved hands threw back the folds of the hood. A sharp cry choked in Julian's throat as he faced the hideous, skull-shaped metal helmet covering the man's head. Bright blue eyes trapped behind steel mesh were the only bit of flesh visible.

  "You are Julian D’Antoiné, Andarian?" his gravel voice asked.

  "I am. And you are?"

  "I am called Lord Gorman, General of our Emperor's Army."

  He stretched out a Sarcion ring in the space between them. The depths of the black jewel swayed in chaotic waves as if to absorb the hazy light of a coastal sun. Great power lived within its stone. It hung about the man in a mantel of danger. Murderer was a brand Julian wore with no regrets. He accepted what he'd done as necessary. Being in Lord Gorman's presence made him feel like an innocent again. One killer knew another. This man had taken many lives. Death walked in his shadow. He was indeed dangerous, but it didn't excuse his use of the term “our emperor.” Julian was not a subject of Akutar. It very well may be within a season he would be the new emperor of Andara. The giant before him was a servant sent from Julian's ally. It was best to remind him of the fact at the start.

  "Welcome, Lord Gorman. Your emperor is most generous to send you and your men to aid me as I take my throne." Julian stepped back a pace when the steel mesh covering Gorman's eyes flash with anger

  "That is not the only reason I have come, Andarian. My emperor is concerned with your lack of progress in obtaining the Lion Ring. He fears your continued failure jeopardizes our conquest of Andara. I have come to guarantee our success." Lord Gorman lowered his metal face toward Julian. "Be warned, Andarian, I have no love of your homeland. If not for my orders, I would separate your head from your shoulders and invade with brutal force. Your overly complex plan does not inspire much confidence."

  "But you are under orders, so we'll be doing things my way." Julian stepped forward, coming inches away from the insufferable barbarian.

  Whisper came between them in a gust of frigid air. "Come now, my lords, we are here for a common goal. His imperial majesty wants the Andarian Northlands and he is generously offering his aid to our great ally in securing the south. We must clear the way for Akutar's armada. Valdeon must be destabilized before they arrive."

  "He's sent his forces? We agreed he would not move until I obtained the Lion Ring." Julian turned an angry glare upon the emissary. The Sarcion had assured him this Jackal Emperor would be a worthy ally, but it had failed to mention how hungry this foreign lord was for Andara's rich resources.

  "His hand was forced." Lord Gorman grunted a humorless laugh, guttural and ugly under the mask. "We can no longer wait for your clumsy attempts to find the Lion Ring. Valdeon must be taken by force."

  "That wasn't our agreement."

  Julian gripped at the handle of his sword, wanting nothing more than to thrust its tip deep into Gorman's heart. Low growls began to circle them. Crimson jackals painted upon chest plates moved in threatening waves. Sword hilts pounded on metal armor as Gorman's men circled around them.

  "You must listen to me." Julian slowly moved his hand away from his own weapon. "I know of another way to take the throne without Valdeonian bloodshed. Valdeon may be ruled by another if there is no lion upon the throne. The Regent Medallion gives its bearer the power of a king in the eyes of the people. When the court sees me wearing it, they must unconditionally support my ascension to the throne."

  Julian had devoured every word he could find about the legendary Altar of Providence. Despite his searching, little remained from the accounts of the Regent Medallion. Worn only once by a forgotten leader, its power remained a mystery. A single entry mentioned the Crown of Sorrows had allowed this regent to place it upon his brow. It was unclear whether or not Valdeon's throne had allowed the man to touch its golden surface once he obtained the medallion's magic. Julian may never be able to sit upon its golden seat. These jackal barbarians didn't need to know the uncertainties. They were best used and then eradicated from Andara.

  "Another fairy tale!"

  "You must trust me. I know where the medallion is right now," Julian told him. "Those loyal to me are securing it as we speak. I have absolute confidence that I will be the Regent of Valdeon before the week is out."

  Gorman's cold and unmoving metallic face managed to project his disbelief. Julian's confidence wasn't shaken. He knew exactly where this treasure rested. The Regent Medallion had gathered dust in the same cabinet for centuries. It wouldn't be missed right away. Most had forgotten its existence. He would enjoy making them remember, especially the troublesome Lords of Valdeon.

  What of the medallion's magic? Have you considered its power, Prince of Valdeon? The Sarcion whispered in his mind.

  It seemed more amused than concerned. Gorman snorted in agreement. The Akutarian lord had heard their exchange. A thread of mistrust began to worm its way through Julian's heart. He stifled his irritation at the teasing.

  "You warn me aga
inst tales designed to frightened children? I have no fear of ghost stories. You will see. I'll take the throne with the Regent Medallion around my neck. Valdeon will be mine, and I won't have to spill more blood to see it done."

  Gorman lifted his hand and motioned behind him. Two warriors brought a bag forward and dumped it upon the sand. Julian staggered back as a man’s head rolled by his feet. The face was Andarian, possibly from one of the southern counties of Valdeon. The man’s dead eyes were bulging wide in terror.

  "This man was taking a message to the playthings of the Jalora." Gorman pulled out a parchment from inside his cloak and handed it to Julian.

  He smoothed his thumb upon the seal of Edmund D'Antoiné. Loyal to the last, Leo had tried to send his legion a warning. It would never arrive. He nodded a reluctant thanks. They were very impressive, these barbarians from the north. They dared show their hatred for the Jalora. In fact, they seemed to bask in their blasphemy.

  "I want someone on the inside with you, Prince of Valdeon."

  Gorman turned as a cloaked figure came to stand beside him. Skinny grey fingers with dangerously long black nails threw back the cloak, exposing an inhuman face, sharp in feature and strangely pale. Cold black eyes blinked back at Julian as it grinned. The odd face blurred as it changed. Dark eyes and hair began to form until Leo's dead compatriot stood before them.

  "This changeling will be your new companion."

  "The rangers will know he…it is not human."

  How dare the brute! Did he imagine Julian would allow himself to be monitored like a common foot soldier? Gorman was supposed to be an ally, not his task master. The man was forgetting his place.

  "The Sarcion protects me." The changeling's accent was a perfect impression of a Valdeonian landowner. Educated, but not too formal.

  "See you don't make too much of yourself, Changeling. The Lords of Valdeon will not be easily fooled."

  "It will be as you say, Prince of Valdeon." The changeling bowed, an insolent grin upon its borrowed face. "I will stay in this body until I have need of a new one."

  A shimmer of malicious delight flashed in the creature's eyes. Julian turned away. His knowledge of changelings was limited, but one couldn't be too cautious with such creatures. He didn't want Lord Gorman having delusions he could replace Julian rather than uphold his emperor's contract. Perhaps it was time to remind these barbarians just how invaluable Julian was to their plans.

  "We have much planning to do," Julian told him. "The Lords of Valdeon are the Sacred Guard. They are powerful rangers whose duty it is to protect the Altar of Providence. They won't be easily defeated."

  "They are still human." Gorman shifted the steel mesh covering his eyes toward Julian. "I've faced many challenging foes in my conquests."

  "Don't underestimate them. They are servants of the Jalora. The overconfident fall easily under the sword of a ranger."

  "You fear them, Prince of Valdeon?" The changeling's black eyes sparkled with amusement.

  "Let us say, I respect their power. We must separate the Sacred Guard somehow. They are stronger together, but if we can divide them it is possible they could be defeated individually." He waved a hand at his own ship anchored well away from their meeting place. "Come, I have food and wine onboard my ship. Such things are best discussed over a meal."

  Lord Gorman turned bored eyes to Julian. "We must endure such trivialities for the sake of your ego, I suppose."

  He walked away, leaving Julian seething in the sand. The deal with the Akutar was balancing on Gorman's blade. He'd have to watch this new threat carefully. One wrong move and Valdeon would be taken from him. Julian swallowed his pride and painted on a statesman's false smile. He fell in step beside Whisper as they moved in the wake of Akutar's most infamous warrior.

  Chapter Eight

  Dark silence filled the Grand Atrium of the Palace of Kings. Starlight glistened within the glass panels of the three-story structure. Xavier the Wolf led the Lords of Valdeon along the dark wall of windows. Soon the pink of sunrise would paint the glass. Servants would begin their bustling as the palace woke to start the new day. For now, the only ones stirring within the massive building were the rangers and the being whose power beckoned them forward.

  Wolf paused before the golden doorway to calm his mind. They were about to set foot upon sacred ground. The throne room of the Palace of Kings was built upon the very spot the Jalora had created its Lion Ring. Standing in stark contrast to the ancient white stone in which it was based, the Altar of Providence stood in the glory of power and hope. The Jalora and its god-like servants, the Luminawni or Ancients as they were sometimes called, formed the Altar's cathedral with perfect white stone from their lands. Then they had forged the three parts making up the Altar of Providence — the throne, the crown, and the orb.

  The beauty and grandeur of the Palace of Kings paled in comparison to the throne room. White stone stretched beneath them circling toward a gigantic gold medallion. A crown sat upon the likeness of the orb which in turn rested upon a throne. Engraved deep within the medallion, the symbol of the Altar of Providence marked the absolute center of the room. Spiraling into a great sphere, the throne room had been lined with beautiful white marble pillars. Each had the symbol of the Altar of Providence chiseled within it. Chairs with rich, blood-red fabric resting upon a tiered platform lined the main aisle on either side, drawing every eye to the most magnificent treasure in the world.

  Housing the earthly energy of the land, Valdeon’s throne, known as the "Lion’s Seat," had been crafted from solid gold. Great paws made up the legs and arm rests. Its golden mane flowed to the diamond encrusted spiral ceiling. Massive lion jaws bared their teeth above the head of the king. Clasped tightly in the eternal jaw was the Crown of Sorrows. Worn upon the bearer of the Lion Ring's head, it was a brilliant band of magical energy. Now, as it rested within the gold, it looked like an unimpressive piece of lead. Many a lustful conqueror would attempt to take the crown from its resting place, but only the bearer of the Lion Ring could touch the Altar's surface. Any blasphemer foolish enough to try would meet with a painful end.

  Wolf had seen the Altar's punishment firsthand. As a boy eager to see the famed Altar, he'd attended the king's court at his father's side. A clumsy servant had accidently fallen against the throne as he tried to hand Leo a scroll. Even the Lion could not stop the Altar's punishment. Sometimes in his nightmares, Wolf still heard the man's screams of agony.

  His attention was drawn to the Orb of Valdeon next to the throne. The Altar's last piece tied the land and the ranger to the spiritual body of heaven. Its midnight color floated listlessly within the sphere. Once a bright purple pulsing in unison with Leo's energy, the Orb’s power had faded when the Lion Ring was separated from its human host. As they approached, the black within the orb exploded with a surge of angry red.

  Wolf kept his rangers at a steady, respectful pace. They were the Sacred Guard, defenders of the throne and keepers of the Altar of Providence. Despite best efforts and intentions, the Lords of Valdeon had failed in their duties. The Lion was dead, and his ring had been lost. Wolf's grief and guilt surged through him once more. They’d searched every location Leo had been rumored to hide and hadn’t found the ranger or his ring. His heart wanted to keep searching, but by Valdeonian law they must acknowledge the king to be dead. A Regent must be selected to rule until the rightful heir could be found. If one could be found.

  They kneeled at the back of the hall, waiting for the Altar to grant them permission to enter. The Altar's touch surrounded Wolf, probing his thoughts and heart. He remained motionless, letting the power course through him. Wolf was its servant, bound to follow its command or accept its punishment. The Jalora had remained silent about Wolf's encounter with Leo, but he suspected its wrath would come today considering what had happened as a result of their argument. He waited in complete submission for its judgment. The young rangers waiting behind him suddenly stood. They turned as one and marched out of the throne
room, leaving Wolf alone with the Altar.

  Destiny.

  The word filled his mind. It was the Altar who spoke to him now. Not in words or images, but by infusing his mind directly with its will. He lifted his head. A young man with curly chestnut hair and amber-flecked eyes stood before him. The Lion Ring pulsed with brilliant light upon his finger. In an instant the image was gone, and he was alone in the throne room. The Altar's power left him. Their brief meeting was over, and the punishment he had expected hadn’t come.

  Wolf rose slowly to his feet. A thousand questions ached to be asked, but no answer would be given this day. Keeping his eyes upon the Altar, he backed away slowly until his boot struck one of the golden throne-room doors. Wolf hurried into the Atrium. A mighty groan behind him shook the windows. The massive golden doors began to move. Hinges — unused for decades — forced the door closed by their own power. The chill of fate ran along his spine as the handles of the door dissolved into empty air. No one could reach the Altar of Providence now. The Jalora had sealed it away from all conquerors, but it had also closed itself to its guard. This boded ill for Valdeon and Andara.

  "What does it mean, Wolf?"

  Otter's young, impish face was a checkerboard of shadow and early morning sunbeams. He moved closer to his older cousin, Berto the Jaguar. Other young faces cast troubled gazes at the golden doors. He had no comfort to give them.

  "It means we must prepare ourselves for war." Wolf turned from the golden doors. Perhaps they would open again for the young man in his vision? Or had he been a mere memory from the Altar's past?

  "See to your duties. I go to speak with Chancellor Benito."

  Crushing silence ripped the warmth from Chancellor Benito’s eyes. His wrinkled face grew taut, washing away any complexion against the purple robes of state. The fabric rustled in hurried movements as he sought warmth from the cold fireplace standing empty in his chambers. Benito, stricken, clutched at the cold marble mantle with trembling fingers.