Warmth began to radiate from his skin where the Regent's Medallion had touched him. Jorge put his hand upon the spot. Nothing met his touch, only the skin he'd been born with. He smoothed at his side. The sensation was coming more often. Why now?
Suddenly, Armando's tray flew upward a few inches as if something had bumped it. Water and fruit spilled on the sleeve of his left arm. He set the tray down upon one of the chair seats and squeezed at the fabric of his sleeve. Armando was careful to pull the material back down over his arm, but Jorge had seen the skin beneath. Leo's Lion Friends were known by three deep claw marks slashing across the left forearm. Armando's were strangely absent. The Jalora's magic could not be faked. This imposter was pretending to be a lion friend. The why and the how of the pretender's performance was for Xavier the Wolf to uncover.
Jorge backed down the narrow ledge toward the edge of the tapestry. Cesar was standing, face red with fury, in the center of a handful of eastern prefects. One of them was the butcher De Costa. Julian had let his rabid pet off his leash. De Costa leaned against the table grinning insolently at Cesar. Alberto, Fausto, and the Lords of Valdeon stood beside the chancellor, speaking in low tones. They hadn't noticed their old friend had been surrounded by a dangerous crowd.
"How do we find what the Dragon cannot, My Lord Santiago? It would be as difficult as finding civilized conversation in the west." De Costa's insult drew a nervous laugh from Julian's other lackeys.
Cesar bristled at the young man’s rudeness. Jorge recognized the look upon his lord's face. His temper was up again. Rather than showing caution and remembering his advanced age, he would try to teach these young men manners.
"As I have said before, we must urge the Dragon to return to the Altar of Providence. He must bring all the bishops with him. Perhaps the combined strength of these rangers along with the Lords of Valdeon can ascertain the ring’s whereabouts."
Foreign interference of any sort wasn’t a popular idea among Julian's supporters. The legion's presence would squash Julian's lusts for the throne in short order. Emboldened by the bitter grumblings of his friends, one of the young men broke away from his circle and advanced upon Cesar.
"We don’t need foreign rangers on Valdeonian soil. Would you have rule over San Leonora handed over to them?"
"Don't be a blasphemous fool! The legion will protect the Altar for all of Andara’s sake. It is their duty in such times to follow the Lords of Valdeon. Do you not trust in the Sacred Guard? They are Valdeonian after all and follow the Jalora without question."
"That is a feeble old man’s wisdom."
"No, that is a sober man’s wisdom. Your mind is still awash with drink."
He turned to walk away. Jorge's tension eased until the young men crowded around Cesar to block his escape. De Costa took a step back, standing outside their circle. A sick smile of anticipation twitched upon his lips. What game was he playing?
"Tell me, old man, do you honestly think anyone will miss a relic like you?" The young man lifted up onto the table and sat down, dangling his legs.
Jorge pulled his hatchet and let it fly in one practiced movement. It split the table, stopping a few inches from the young man’s groin. Wetness spread across his britches. The dark spot grew as Jorge yowled the infamous Pacarro battle cry.
"How dare you, treacherous vermin! Do not speak ill of your betters when you spend your days looking for discarded scraps from Julian's table."
Jorge stormed into their numbers. He threw a few well-placed strikes into the others, sending them all to the floor. Turning slowly to face Julian, he lifted his chin. The bastard prince’s dark eyes were swimming with amusement. In that moment, Jorge understood he'd made a mistake. The prey hadn't been Cesar. Their performance was meant to flush out Wolf's spy.
Chancellor Benito pushed through the murmuring prefects. His purple robes ruffled when he took in Jorge standing in the center of the fallen men.
"Stop this. You're behaving like a savage. Leave us until you can conduct yourself like the nobleman you claim to be."
"Now, see here, Benito. De Costa goaded the fight."
"You'll not sway me this time, My Lord Santiago. Weapons and skirmishes in the Great Hall? These men have no respect. They are all banned until I say otherwise."
A familiar touch brushed across Jorge's consciousness. Lucio the Ferret stood at his shoulder. De Costa's face twitched with agitation as the young lord of San Lucida headed toward his group of followers. Lucio, never breaking eye contact with Julian's lackey, yanked the hatchet from the wood. He whispered something low to the young fool who'd insulted his father. Eyes wide with fear, the idiot cowered away. Lucio turned his back on him and joined Jorge. His bright eyes sparkled with amusement.
"You spared his life, Jorge." Lucio handed him the hatchet.
He grinned slowly and tucked the hatchet into his belt. "No, little buck tail. Time passes, and my arm has aged."
"You will never be too old to hunt, my friend."
Lucio gave him a nod and came to clutch at his father's arm. They moved through the crowd to join the Wolf. The Lords of Valdeon had not been idle. Two men Jorge didn't recognize were kneeled before them with hands raised over their heads. Jaguar and Raven held their confiscated bows and quivers of arrows. Jorge's suspicions were confirmed. A larger conspiracy had been at work this day.
He'd underestimated Julian's gifts for strategy and manipulation. Hoping to get Wolf's attention, Jorge looked over his shoulder as he was escorted out of the Great Hall. The Lords of Valdeon were occupied breaking up fights instigated by his brief encounter with De Costa. He lifted his chin and marched steadily away from his palace guard escorts. The western prefects offered encouraging words as he passed. Well, at least they weren't annoyed with him.
A shimmer of gold upon the horizon caught his eye through the atrium windows. The museum of San Leonora beckoned. Though he'd been to the city many times, duty always seemed to keep him from its treasures. Restless in his frustration, he headed down the stairs into the courtyard. A long walk in the city would cool his temper.
Stares of curiosity from San Leonora's citizens followed him as he left King’s Row to enter the cultural district. The Museum of San Leonora stood like a mighty, ancient temple. Its golden roof shimmered in the sun, a beacon for all the great art ever created in Andara.
Jorge took a deep breath and moved to the stairs. He was struck dumb by its magnificence. The hours flew by as he wandered along the marbled statues lining the halls. Paintings of past kings, historical events, and beautiful women with faraway looks captured his imagination. It was the most beautiful place he had ever been.
Stepping out of the museum, he found morning had passed into afternoon. He hurried to the next treasured building. This was a rare chance to see the most famous library in all of Andara. A sudden warmth along his side made him pause at the door. Then the sensation left him to be replaced by another. Prickles along the back of his neck told him he was being watched. He casually pulled open the door and twisted his face briefly to scan the street behind him. Nothing.
Inside the library's marble foyer, his attention was pulled into the aisles. Each shelf was lovingly loaded with leather-bound books and parchments. Three stories of precious information, which could not be found anywhere else on Andara, awaited his hungry mind. Where to start? His fingers lightly touched the leather as he passed through the first book-lined shelf.
Hours passed as his active mind raced over the volumes. Jorge finally settled on a book called The History of Valdeonian Wine. Perhaps it would help him to discover the ailment of his vines on the far north of the vineyard. He found a comfortable chair in the reading area of the library's second-floor atrium. Leaning back in its comfortable upholstery, he began to read. Movement over the top of the pages alerted him to someone else's presence. A man stood within the shelves pretending to examine the parchments. His eyes periodically darted toward Jorge.
Sweet Erthe Mother! Was he to be denied a moment's
peace? Snapping the book closed, Jorge lifted out of the chair and walked into the shelves opposite the man. His shadow waited a few moments and followed. Jorge kept to a steady pace, zigzagging slowly between the shelves. The man kept at a good distance, pretending to casually browse. He didn't seem to realize Jorge had spotted him. Good. The man was a fool. Losing him shouldn't be too difficult.
He tucked the book carefully inside his waistcoat and stepped into the next aisle. Rather than keeping to his customary zigzag pattern, Jorge skipped two aisles. The man walked past his position, noticed Jorge was not where he should be, and began to spin around. He hurried to the next aisle in the wrong direction.
Chuckling, Jorge moved several aisles over in the direction of the staircase. He found a position close to the top stair and stood listening for his opportunity. It finally came in the form of two young men loaded down with parchments and books. They were slowly making their way up from the first floor.
Jorge stepped out of his hiding place and into an open aisle. He coughed loudly, drawing the attention of several patrons, including his shadow. Pretending to examine a pile of parchments, Jorge let the man draw closer. Then he jumped back into his hiding place the same moment the two students reached the second floor and continued up the stairs. Their boots stomped loudly upon the marble. They disappeared from view just as his shadow reached the staircase. He did exactly what Jorge hoped he would do. Taking a careful pace, the man moved up the stairs after the two students.
Descending to the first floor on silent feet, he kept to the walls in the event the man realized too soon what had happened and decided to look over the balcony into the foyer. The book grew heavier under his waistcoat. Books were rare, and those within the largest of the four great libraries of Andara were irreplaceable. Taking them outside the protective walls of the building was not allowed. He couldn't spare the time to read his find now. No choice was left to him. He'd have to temporarily borrow the book until he could return it in a few days.
He nodded to one of the stately librarians and exited the building into the fading light of late afternoon. A light rain trickled from the sky. He put a protective arm over the book. It was best to take the quickest route back to the palace in case his shadow had friends. Jorge walked to the curb to summon one of the carriages for hire. One look at his braids and the driver prodded his horses quickly past.
Two men standing under a streetlamp were watching him with an unhealthy interest. Jorge walked slowly to one of the shops jammed with people escaping from the rain. His shadow from the library joined the two men beneath the lamp. They began speaking low together and casting quick glances in Jorge's direction.
Jorge kept his steps unhurried as he merged with the crowd upon King’s Row. A bakery stood upon the corner. It was bustling with shoppers, eager for the evening's bread. He peered into the window, pretending to eye the pastries. The three men appeared within the reflection. They were moving closer to him. He entered the bakery, pushing his way around the busy shop. Moving closer to the counter, he lowered himself slowly to the floor. Twisting his body through a swinging gate separating the clerk from his customers, he crept into the kitchen.
Ignoring protests from the baker, he flew out the back door into a deserted alleyway. Two young men with clubs were standing at the far end of the alley. He gave them an evaluative glance. Richly dressed, lazy, he guessed from the way they aimlessly searched the alley. They were probably fresh off their father’s estate.
"There goes the Pacarro barbarian!"
He shook his head as they slapped their clubs against gloved hands. Mustering a fierce Pacarro warrior cry, he flew at them. Their eyes grew wide with fear. One of them dropped his club. Jorge slammed a fist into his jaw, laying him out upon the ground. He struck the other man's head with the butt end of his dagger. They both groaned helplessly upon the dirt and trash littering the ground.
Shadows darkened the alley as he moved further into the heart of the city. Soon one alley looked the same as another. He'd lost his bearings. Climbing the nearest wall like a ram in the mountains, he straddled his weight upon the top. The Palace of Kings came into sight. He would find rangers on duty there. Unlike the city constables, a ranger could not be purchased for any price.
A neighborhood open space awaited him on the other side of the wall. It was a large, main hub connecting alleys. Several options awaited him, but none seemed to lead directly to the palace. He sprinted toward the nearest alley. A sharp sting at his side threw his body against the wall. Gunpowder. Its distinctive smell struck his nose. The musket’s bullet missed him by inches as it struck the far wall.
Armando, Julian's valet, stepped out from behind a pile of crates. His men moved in to form a half circle at his back. The false Lion Friend nodded with a smile.
"I must say this has been a worthy hunt. You have proven to be more challenging than any animal I’ve hunted, Pacarro."
Black chased away the brown of Armando's eyes. Inhuman orbs stared down at Jorge with murderous intensity. Points formed on his canine teeth as a beastly hunger crossed his features.
"What are you?"
Jorge clutched at the medicine bag he'd made before the trip. It was a Pacarro tradition to ward off evil spirits. He'd made it out of sentiment, never really believing in the myths of his people. Looking upon the creature standing before him, he knew he'd been foolish to dismiss centuries-old wisdom.
"You'll never know." The thing of evil's face undulated as it assumed human form again. "Kill him and make sure you leave the body in a place the Wolf will find it."
It gave Jorge a nod and then disappeared into the shadows of the alley once more. Jorge kept his eyes upon the creature for as long as he dared. Escaping this trap and returning to the palace had just become a matter of utmost import to his country. Wolf had to be warned about the creature as soon as possible before it could exercise any more evil upon Valdeon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julian hurried away from the Great Hall, skirting the crowds of murmuring onlookers. Cesar was still alive, and the men Marcellus recruited for their diversion had been captured. Minor annoyances. The plan had worked. Jorge Pacarro was out in the open with the changeling in close pursuit. As insolent as it could be, the changeling's skill for espionage was impressive.
A palace guard matched his hurried pace and bolted forward to block him. "My lord prince, Wolf and Chancellor Benito wish to speak with you."
"I am otherwise engaged."
"Forgive me, Highness, but My Lord the Wolf says if you do not come this very moment, he will send a ranger guard to fetch you."
"Fetch me? I will not be fetched like a stray dog! Get out of my way."
The guard gasped, clutching wildly at his back. Marcellus's gleeful face appeared over the man's shoulder. Twisting the dagger deeper into the unlucky victim's back, he caught his dying body as it sank to the floor.
"Hide the body quickly. We must hurry to my chambers. Armando may be awaiting us now."
Marcellus gave him a quick nod and dragged the guard behind a statue of Mikel D'Antoiné. He was sweating profusely when he rushed to Julian's side. Tiny flecks of blood covered the sleeve of his shirt. Marcellus quickly rolled them up when he noticed Julian’s look.
"Where is Zoya?"
"She awaits us in your chambers, my prince."
"Good. I won't have her harmed by any western bumpkins out for revenge."
A small body rammed into Julian with a thud. He grabbed at the boy's arm before the little devil could get away. Rather than showing fear at being caught, the boy — to Julian’s surprise — pulled out of his grip and put a small fist on each hip. Hard eyes glared at them above a sharp nose and square jaw. He could be no other than the son of Xavier the Wolf.
"One of the De Vincente pups." Julian kicked at the boy and missed. "Go back to the Wolf bitch that bore you, whelp."
"Don’t you talk about my mama that way!"
Dark eyes stared up at them in defiance. The scowl o
n his face was a familiar fixture of the family De Vincente. Even at his young age — Julian guessed about five or six — he still held the famous temper.
The little brat flew at him and kicked Julian’s shin as hard as he could. Leather boots didn't guard against the well-placed strike. He rubbed at his leg with a yelp of pain. Marcellus grabbed the boy by the hair, pulling him away from Julian. Terror ripped anger from the boy's face. Little hands pushed at the unyielding fist holding his locks. His breath came in haggard wheezes. Marcellus pulled the boy’s face roughly up to look at him.
"You must be the sickly little pup Wolf was too weak to drown in the river. I’ll do him the great favor of cutting your throat."
His blade lifted toward the tiny neck, its point pushing into the skin. The fool was courting certain death. He'd have the entire De Vincente family hunting him and any who named him ally. One slash of his blade and every hope Julian had of ruling Valdeon would be dashed.
"Leave him, Marcellus. We've no time for this!"
Julian's words were lost within the bloodlust filling Marcellus's heart. The warning came too late. Streaks of ash raced toward them. They circled in a blur around Marcellus. He fell flat on his back with an angry cry. His knife slid along the tile to the other side of the atrium. Something slapped against the back of Julian's knees. He fell upon his backside, joining Marcellus upon the ground.
Two rangers stood before them, weapons drawn, bodies ready to strike. Chestnut curls framed young faces. Firm, intense eyes held their prey. Julian exchanged a warning look with Marcellus. Good. He knew better than to move. Their captors may be in their teen years, but they were still rangers with full power.
The little De Vincente boy wheezed behind his rescuers. His head rested in the lap of a slightly older boy. Both children glared at Julian. Mockery shimmered in their eyes. Two more soldiers in the D’Antoiné and De Vincente feud.
The Lords of Valdeon Page 24