The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Tournak was backing away from the chest toward Saxthor and Bodrin. “It’s not like I was around in the Wizard Wars to know these things.”

  Tournak was last out. He carefully closed the trapdoor to the wall niche from the sally port. They closed the port gate and fluffed the grass up around it so no one would notice any activity there.

  “They won’t be looking for anything here,” Tournak said. “They don’t know about that niche and sally port.”

  “Wait!” Saxthor exclaimed. “Did anyone close the trap door from the tower into the cellar?”

  “I double-checked the trap door from the tower’s first floor to be sure it was as we found it, and I gently fluffed the dust on the floor to disguise any footprints the wraith might note,” Tournak said. “Since the footprints weren’t in the light, it’s unlikely the wraith will notice the disturbed dust, or he’ll assume the ogres did it.”

  “Where to now?” Bodrin asked as he stood looking about.

  “Cross the moat and get in the shadows on the opposite side,” Saxthor said. “We need to get away from the ruins before dusk, in less than half an hour. Look for a similar hidden gate opposite the one we just left. If defenders were slipping out of this wall to attack invaders in the moat, they’d also use it to pass through all three walls to escape if the hall fell.”

  They found the hidden gateways and passed out of the Wizards’ Hall as dusk settled on the ruins. When they reached the safety of the woods, they looked back to see a smoky wraith vapor floating just above the keep’s crumbling battlements. Saxthor felt his pocket for the Regal Violet Amethyst of Faith. It was there next to the other jewels. That evening by the campfire, Tonelia sewed the pocket shut around the amethyst and stitched fabric onto Saxthor’s tunic for a new pocket.

  11: Memlatec and the Prince of Hoya

  The Astorax

  The queen languished on her sickbed. Though Memlatec hated to disturb her, the news from Hoya was grave indeed. He hurried to an emergency audience with her.

  “Majesty, some upstart has proclaimed himself chatra of Hoya and effectively holds your cousin prisoner.”

  “Prince Henri Tulak de Hoya a prisoner in his own castilyernov; it’s unthinkable,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said. She sat up, staring at Memlatec. Augusteros fluffed her pillows.

  “The presumptuous chatra, who may be the Dark Lord’s creature, has replaced the Hoyahof’s traditional Tashian guards with troops loyal to him. In effect, the strongest defense of, and gateway to, the northern provinces is now in the creature’s hands and without a blow struck.”

  “Can this be so?”

  Eleatsubetsvyertsin stared across the room as her mind grasped the situation, then looked up at the wizard towering over her bed.

  “We must send troops at once.”

  “Give me a week’s head start to spirit Prince Henri out of the Hoyahof, Majesty. Without the prince as a hostage, the chatra and his troops will have to surrender the citadel or find themselves under siege.”

  “Very well, you’ve discovered this; we will grant you a week’s head start. Meanwhile, we shall summon General Sekkarian and apprise him of the situation privately. For a week, no longer, not even my chatra will know of the situation, rescue plan, or decision to send troops to relieve Hoya. When General Sekkarian marches north, his troops will encamp outside the city and await your instructions.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Memlatec bowed.

  “We’ll also dispatch a discrete emissary to Graushdem’s King Grekenbach, informing him of the situation. We must forewarn the king of approaching troops, so we don’t catch him unaware. An army appearing unannounced on the border could start him mobilizing his army. It’s time there was communication between our kingdoms after so many generations of mistrust.”

  “A wise decision, Majesty.”

  “What would you advise as to warning Sengenwha, also?” Eleatsubetsvyertsin looked Memlatec in the eye. “You know there’s been no communication with Sengenwha since Mother married Father, resulting in the last Sengenwhan war.”

  “Hold back on Sengenwha, Majesty,” Memlatec said. “The royal house of Graushdem has had a long grudge with Dreaddrac’s Dark Lord. We both know King Grekenbach will understand about the possible agent masquerading as chatra in Hoya. However, there’s been no communication with Sengenwha in Your Majesty’s reign. We don’t know that the Sengenwhan court is free of the Dark Lord’s agents. We can’t risk someone forewarning the Hoyan chatra. The chatra could tighten security around the prince and prevent his rescue.”

  Memlatec left at once for Hoya, as the queen left her sickbed and again ordered her ministers to council. Her first order was to summon General Sekkarian, the eastern army’s commander.

  *

  When Memlatec arrived at the gates of Hoya, he still had no plan. General Sekkarian would soon be starting north. The sorcerer needed a plan. Saxthor’s experience would’ve made the chatra more suspicious of a sudden visit by the queen’s high wizard.

  Memlatec was staying at the inn on the outskirts of Hoya but hadn’t given his true name. Like the adventurers before him, he sat in the inn’s alehouse listening to local chatter. He perked up when the subject turned bitter about the chatra’s upcoming birthday celebration. A farmer said he had to leave early that night. The chatra's agent ordered him to deliver an ox the next morning for the feast. The plan formulated from there.

  The next morning, Memlatec was up early, waiting for the unsuspecting farmer. When the man drove by with the ox in his cart, Memlatec cloaked himself in an invisibility veil and climbed unnoticed on the back of the cart. The cart traveled through Hoya and on to Castilyernov Hoyahof. When the cart passed through the gatehouse, Memlatec left it and snuck through the fortress’ baileys, making his way to the keep.

  Hendrel had relayed to Memlatec where Saxthor said the chatra held the prince. The staircase to the upper floors wasn’t that broad, and guards stood at the doors. Careful not to bump into anyone on the steps, the veiled wizard worked his way up, floor by floor, until he reached the prince’s apartment. Guards stood on both sides of the single door. Memlatec immediately noted that these guards, like the others he had passed, were orcs.

  He waited for someone to come for an audience with the indisposed prince.

  When guards finally opened the door that evening, Memlatec snuck in behind the visitor, who turned out to be the chatra.

  Memlatec stood in the corner, thinking.

  Once the prince is alone, Memlatec thought, I’ll drop the veil of invisibility and share my plan to rescue Prince Henri.

  “What news from the south? Has anyone asked about the prince’s relative?” the prince asked.

  The questions surprised Memlatec. The prince doesn’t sound like he is under a spell or deathly ill, he thought. More significant, he referred to himself in the third person. Even with the door closed, the chatra is visibly afraid of the prince. The prince is telling the chatra what he should do. The frail man described by Hendrel, from Saxthor’s account, is not the same as this strong-willed prince.

  “I should have vaporized those intruders from the south,” the prince said.

  This prince is a wraith, Memlatec thought. What’s happened to Prince Henri?

  By listening to orc guards’ conversations in the barracks, a few servants, the chatra, and prince, Memlatec pieced together what had happened. Many months before, the wraith slipped into the castilyernov and up to the prince as a vapor. He’d drained the prince’s strength, making him more dependent on close attendants. The weakened man refrained from holding court. Eventually, the wraith took the prince’s body for his own.

  The wraith had arranged for the Dark Lord’s creature, a weakling of a man, to come to the court disguised as a noble. When the prince became extremely weak, and without consulting the wraith, the minister declared himself chatra, the first minister.

  The need for attention and reassurance emboldened the upstart to declare hims
elf Chatra of Hoya. He wanted to command at least the appearance of respect. The wraith was angry, but once done, the wraith didn’t reverse it.

  As first minister, and without the prince’s knowledge, the chatra began replacing the garrison with the Dark Lord’s servants. As the prince grew weaker, the wraith worried about what would happen when the prince died. The monster realized if the prince’s death became public knowledge, the queen would appoint his replacement. The new Prince of Hoya might not be a man the wraith could control.

  Just before Saxthor’s visit, the prince had died. The wraith took on the prince’s physical likeness at least at night. Now the wraith ruled in Hoya, and the chatra merely did his bidding. Memlatec concluded this explained why the prince didn’t protest replacing the Tashian guards.

  I can’t remain invisible indefinitely, the wizard thought. Invisibility and the wraith’s image projection consume a great deal of our energies.

  Memlatec slipped out of the Hoyahof and returned to the inn to revise his plan. He’d have to destroy the wraith before General Sekkarian arrived with his army. If Memlatec failed, open war would erupt between the Neuyokkasinian army and the perceived Prince of Hoya. That could potentially divide the kingdom internally and deliver the crippled kingdom to the Dark Lord with little resistance. Civil war might trigger the Dark Lord to prematurely march south while he still held the Hoyahof.

  If Memlatec could remove the wraith, it should throw the chatra and garrison into confusion. Without the wraith for leadership, strategy, and determination, the frightened chatra might abandon the castilyernov and take the orc guards back north.

  Memlatec sat down at a table and wrote out his greetings and those of Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin. The High Court Wizard of Neuyokkasin would officially be arriving at Hoya the next day and would like to confer with the prince on matters of state. Memlatec sent for a courier and instructed the man to deliver the official document to Hoyahof Palace.

  *

  News of Neuyokkasin’s high court wizard’s imminent arrival to confer officially with the prince created panic in the citadel. Only the wraith’s strength and will held the chatra and orcs in check.

  “Calm yourself,” the wraith said, having requisitioned an orc body.

  “Don’t you see? We can’t refuse to see the High Court Wizard of Neuyokkasin,” the chatra said. Chewing his nails, he paced the floor beside the reclining wraith, who watched the sniveling creature unravel.

  “My concern is the wizard’s potential ability to detect the prince is merely an image. You must make it clear to him I’m ill and can’t receive visitors.”

  The chatra stopped pacing and looked at the wraith. “What if he insists?”

  The specter didn’t like wasting energy on the prince’s facade for such a contemptible creature, but it had to maintain the physical presence to speak. “If you can’t stand up to Memlatec, insist I receive him at night. I’ll see no one in the daylight. Projecting the prince’s image drains me even at night. The projection during the day is dangerous; it’s out of the question. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the chatra said, gazing at the floor.

  *

  When Memlatec arrived with the pomp expected of an official state dignitary, the chatra met the court wizard with appropriate state ceremony at Hoya’s city gates. With pleasantries exchanged, the Royal Court Wizard of Neuyokkasin accompanied the Chatra of Hoya through the city to Castilyernov Hoyahof.

  “The Hoyans are much more sullen than I remember,” Memlatec said.

  There are suspicion and fear everywhere, he thought.

  He rode along on a resplendent litter borne by a dozen bearers, who kept the litters of the wizard and the chatra parallel so that they might talk as they rode. The chatra looked away from the crowd that snarled at him.

  “It’s the heat I fear; a hot spell and steamy.”

  Arriving at the Hoyahof, the chatra conducted Memlatec into the formal state reception hall where, to the wizard’s amazement, the chatra sat on the Hoyan throne, the exclusive seat of its princes.

  “Where is Prince Henri?” Memlatec asked. “I’d hoped he’d greet me at the city gates.”

  “The prince is unwell; I’m sorry to report. He’s in seclusion,” the chatra said.

  “Well, I can’t have traveled all this way to see his highness and return to the queen without seeing him, can I? I must see the prince for a brief visit.”

  The chatra shifted side to side on his seat. “Perhaps I could arrange a brief visit. The prince will receive you in his apartment this evening.”

  “Forgive an old man, but I must rest after my long journey from Konnotan. I’ll be better prepared to meet with the prince in the morning.”

  “Oh, no!” The chatra sat up arms crossed. “The light, well, you see, well, the prince sees no one in the mornings.” His defiant gape wilted under Memlatec’s piercing glare.

  “I’m sorry to hear his highness is so ill.”

  Memlatec’s eyes blazed under furrowed brows. The chatra squirmed.

  “I know he’ll need his rest, as do I. However, I insist on seeing the prince in the morning after we’ve both rested.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure the prince would rather see you tonight,” the little man squeaked.

  Memlatec stepped closer to the throne. “I wouldn’t consider troubling the prince after a long, trying day. I must consider his health, of course. The queen would have my head if I caused the prince, her cousin, to have a relapse. I WILL see him in the morning.”

  “But tonight would be best for the prince.”

  “I think not!” Memlatec said. He paused, watching the chatra. He arched his bushy eyebrows, leering at the cowering man. “Tomorrow morning is best for his highness.”

  The chatra started to speak and swallowed his own word. Memlatec had seen his type so often at courts. As Chatra of Hoya, the wretched man could puff up and display imaginary bravado, but he was no match for a wizard, and Memlatec knew it.

  “Very well, tomorrow morning then,” the chatra said. “I shall arrange the meeting, as you say.”

  “Excellent. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to retire and rest.”

  Memlatec took the refreshments the chatra had ordered to end the audience. It would be the last food Memlatec would eat in the Hoyahof until General Sekkarian again held the castilyernov. Memlatec followed the chamberlain to the guest suite, leaving the deflated creature slumped on the imposing throne.

  *

  The chatra trudged up the keep’s endless stairs. How will I tell him I failed to prevent the daytime audience?

  Arriving at the prince’s apartment at dusk, he stood trembling at the door, afraid to knock. The terrified man noticed the snide contempt on the orc guards’ faces. One knocked on the door for him.

  “Enter.”

  The wraith turned, facing the intruder with a snarl.

  “Good evening.” The wretched man looked up briefly, attempted a weak smile that sank with his gaze.

  “Keep it short.” The prince-orc said.

  “Short?”

  “The visit, you sniveling fool. The visit must be short. Once the wizard sees the prince, the prince will weaken and terminate the audience. That way, the prince’s presence will be affirmed and the wizard must leave before he discovers the deception.”

  The chatra felt nauseous. He started to quiver. “Uhm…”

  “What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d convinced yourself you had a backbone.” The wraith smirked. “Not that anyone else believes it.”

  “Memlatec won’t disturb you this evening,” the trembling chatra said, hoping it sounded like the arrangement was for the wraith’s benefit.

  The prince’s image melted off the orc face like hot butter. The yellow eyes and teeth trained on the chatra. “Look at me. What do you mean, fool?”

  “The wizard refused to disturb you tonight, saying it would sap your strength. He insisted you meet in the morning.”

  In the ensuing
moment of silence, fear enveloped the chatra. His nerve disintegrated as he collapsed to his knees, groveling.

  “In the morning?” The low tone of the repeated phrase stabbed like a shaft of ice. The chatra felt faint.

  “The wizard insisted on meeting you in the morning. I tried over and over to dissuade him, but he insisted.”

  “You proclaimed yourself, Chatra of Hoya. It was you that should've insisted, you squirming little twerp!”

  “Well, the meeting is set at the hour for petitions in the morning. I thought you might see him for a moment, then have a relapse.”

  “You thought. Since when did you start thinking, worm?”

  The chatra cringed, wobbling on his knees. He mopped his greasy, glistening brow. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “The damage is done. I’ll have to meet the wizard in the morning, as you have so carefully arranged. Remind him I’m not well, and bring him here in the morning. You’ll pay for this unnecessary drain on my energy.”

  “Excuse me,” the chatra’s voice broke, “But the wizard insists on meeting you in the audience hall. If you’re unable to go, he’ll think you seriously ill and delay the meeting until you’re well enough to meet with him there.” The wraith moved his finger. The trembling chatra dropped prostrate on the floor, a trembling mass of squeaks.

  “Very well! Be sure you draw the draperies yourself. There can be NO daylight. Send a closed litter for me.”

  Crawling backward, the chatra backed out of the apartment on his knees. He stumbled down the stairs, barely able to stand. At his office, he recovered somewhat and summoned servants.

  “Draw the audience hall draperies so that no sunlight enters. The prince is granting a rare audience, but the light hurts his eyes.”

  The next morning at the appointed hour, Memlatec went down to the audience hall. He studied the grand chamber, passing the time until the chatra appeared, then frowning, turned. “Where is Prince Henri?”

  “The prince will receive you in the council chamber. The light here disturbs his eyes, you see.” With a twitching smile on his nodding head, the chatra led Memlatec to the door behind the throne. “This way, if you please.”