“I’m still not following,” Markus said.
This time Farrell detected genuine confusion. When Penelope sighed, he waved her off. “Name someone else who could replace either Peter or Penelope.”
Markus opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it.
“Exactly.” Farrell held back a smile. “Not just someone else, but someone who knows what’s at stake, who I am, and can be counted on in a fight. Seritia made sure I’m bringing the people She wants.”
“So it seems.” Markus walked over to the window and stared out. “My aunt is a powerful wizard, so I can understand why she must go, but the young prince? Has he even reached his age of majority?”
“No, and I can’t tell you why he’s required, either.” Farrell joined the king looking at the ocean off in the distance. “But I’m certain if I try to leave without him, Seritia, Arritisa, or both will make an appearance and make sure he’s included.”
“I don’t like it, but what choice do I have?” The king sighed and turned to face Farrell. “I’m not used to being overruled or told what to do.”
“Now that the Six are taking a more active role in our affairs, I’m afraid you’d better get used to it.”
Chapter Two
“That’s the best route?” Farrell shook his head and scanned the large map spread out on the table in front of him again. “It’s a nearly two-thousand- mile ride from Jerdam to Agloth.”
Markus and Penelope had schooled him on the finer points of Lourdrian politics, but given the vastness of Lourdria, Farrell had trouble grasping it all. Unlike Ardus or Erd, Lourdria extended north and south of the equator. From east to west, it stretched over four thousand miles and slightly more north and south. Lourdria was not only the largest of the three continents, it was also the most populated.
“No matter where you start, it’s at least two thousand miles from the coast.” Markus used a pointer to tap various spots on the map. “If you want to escape prying eyes, approaching Agloth from the west is your best choice. You’ll reach the sparsely settled lands quicker if you start from Jerdam. The north and east coasts are more heavily populated farther inland, which is why most pilgrims start there. Most travelers want to stay among the civilized lands as long as possible.”
“But we’re not most people, are we?” Miceral’s comment drew a snort from Penelope.
Ignoring his life partner, Farrell focused on the southern end of the continent. “What about the south? Is there a way through the Colograd Mountains? From what you said, those lands are so sparsely settled we’d barely attract any attention.”
Markus shook his head and moved to the end of the map. “Which problem do you want first? The lack of diplomatic missions we can use as an entry for you? The thick tropical jungle you’d need to cross to get to the mountains? Or the refusal of the dwarves to let humans into their tunnels? Between the lack of an urban center of any significance, the dense jungle, the aggressive indigenous people, and the lack of any way over or under the Colograd Mountains, there are no trade routes or roads from the coast to the mountains. It would take twice as long to reach Agloth from the south—if you made it at all.”
Farrell stared at the vast, nearly empty space in the center of Lourdria. The enormous grassy plains covered almost half the continent. The loose confederation of nomadic tribes that called the prairie home were similar to the people of western Arvendia, although far more numerous. At the very center, surrounded by one of the driest places on Endor, mocking him with its remoteness, lay his goal: Agloth.
“Very well.” Farrell rubbed his eyes and suppressed a yawn. “Nerti? Can you think of a better way to get to Agloth other than the one he’s proposing?”
“Markus and Penelope appear to have given the choice of a route careful consideration. The sooner we reach the open plains, the faster we can reach Agloth.”
Nerti had, as he expected, been watching and listening. Farrell wondered again how she did it, but this wasn’t the time to ask. “I agree, but we’ll also be more exposed.”
“It is an either-or game.” Her voice took on the lecturing tone he’d come to recognize. “There are more eyes to see us in the cultivated lands, but there are also more places to hide, as well as more obstacles in our way should we need to flee.”
He almost argued that they could use those places to hide as well, but after what Nerti and he had accomplished at Northhelm, her approach made more sense. “I shall defer to your greater wisdom.”
“I’m glad you agree, Little One.”
Despite himself he smiled. “Queen Nerti likes your plan.”
“She does?” Markus appeared confused for a moment before his eyes opened wider. “Oh, right. She listens through you.”
“Given Seritia’s directive, I doubt there is any plan I’ll truly like.” He turned toward Miceral. “What do you think?”
“Klissmor tells me the quicker we get to the open savannah, the sooner they can run full out.” Miceral shrugged. “They’re the ones doing the running. No way is ideal, so if they have a preference, that’s good enough for me.”
Farrell took a last look at the map and the proposed course and sighed.
“Agreed.”
Markus scanned their faces one more time. “Excellent.”
“How soon can we leave?”
“I’ll send word to King Werthan that we would like permission for Penelope and her honor guard to leave from Jerdas on her pilgrimage to Agloth immediately.” He looked at his aunt and motioned toward the map. “You should be able to leave in the next couple of days. All we’re waiting on is Werthan’s approval. He’ll agree, of course, but he’ll want something in exchange for Auntie using his fair city as a starting point, especially since you won’t be staying for a state dinner.”
“That pompous windbag.” Penelope flicked her wrist and the chart neatly rolled up. “He’d sooner eat his liver than invite me for a state visit.”
“Wait.” Farrell paused as the others turned toward him. “If you’re on such bad terms with Jerdam, why don’t we use a different country?”
Markus smirked and picked up the pointer. Nodding to Penelope, he moved around the large table while the map unrolled.
“Politics makes for strange allies.” Directing Farrell’s attention to a gold shape on the paper, the king tapped it several times with the metal tip. “Jerdam is a small kingdom with dreams of grandeur that will never materialize. It’s stuck between its two larger, warring neighbors, Utremth to the north and Najan to the south.”
He touched the pointer to the countries for emphasis. “Utremth is larger and more prosperous, but Najan has always had the greater population. Since Hevnor’s rule, Utremth and Najan have either been at open war with each other, been moving toward a new war, or licking their wounds and plotting their next war.”
“And Jerdam is stuck in the middle.” Miceral leaned back against the wall across from the chart. “It’s a wonder they haven’t been conquered.”
“They well might, except Jerdam and Dumbarten are allies,” Penelope answered. “You’d think they’d be a bit more appreciative that we’re the only thing between them and being split between the two.”
“Now be fair, Auntie. Jerdam has always been grateful for our aid—in public, at least.” Markus returned everyone’s attention to the map with a gesture. “Though we are allies, we’re also seafaring rivals. Jerdam’s capital city, Jerdas, has the best harbor along the entire west coast of Lourdria. But its precarious position between two bitter rivals has scared off more than a few merchants. Most of those have diverted to Yalk, on Dumbarten’s eastern coast. Although across the Kentish Sea, Yalk’s harbor is larger, deeper, and safer than Jerdas.”
“But if Dumbarten is its ally, doesn’t that give Jerdas the same protection as Yalk?” Miceral asked.
“In some measure, yes, but Jerdam is an ally, not a province.” Markus turned and leaned against the table. “Neither Utremth or Najan would dare board a Dumbarten-flagged ship for fear
of drawing us into their war, but Jerdish ships? Jerdam can send its own complaint in those instances.”
Farrell laughed despite himself. “No wonder Jerdam resents you. If I were them, I’d feel used, too.”
“Used?” Miceral asked. “How is Dumbarten using them by protecting Jerdam?”
“Cousin?” Markus raised an eyebrow toward Farrell. “Would you care to explain?”
Farrell shook his head. “Testing me to see if I have a firm grasp of politics?”
“Of course.” He smirked. “You’re going to be king of Yar-del and Zargon soon. I need to be sure your education isn’t lacking.”
At least his cousin was honest. “Preserving Jerdam’s independence ensured that Yalk was the destination of choice for most foreign merchants who wanted to deal with either of the warring countries. It’s not significantly farther from Utremthian or Najanite ports, and it has the full strength of Dumbarten protecting its merchants. So long as the war between the neighbors persisted, Jerdish ships remained at risk of being boarded any time they approached either country.”
“Oh.” Miceral seemed unsure. “And how is that Dumbarten’s fault? It’s better than being conquered.”
“Because Dumbarten could have ended this conflict any number of times over the centuries.” Farrell turned toward the king. “As powerful as Dumbarten is, they could impose a peace by force of arms. I’d wager a wagon of gold that Dumbarten has remained neutral in the conflict until one side or the other gained the upper hand. Then Dumbarten sided with the losing side.”
“I’d not take your wager, cousin.” The smirk dissolved into a smile.
“And you have no desire to see a large, powerful country off your eastern coast. One that could potentially overrun Jerdam and take control of Jerdas.” Farrell tried to hold back a grin but failed. “Dumbarten preserved the status quo and prevented either kingdom from conquering the other. Devious, self-serving, but outwardly what each side professed they wanted.”
“Glad you agree.”
“More like I appreciate how it’s in Dumbarten’s best interest.” Farrell glanced at the map one last time. “But how will we pass through Utremth lands to the east of Jerdam?”
“My diplomats will handle that.” Markus’s body language told Farrell the meeting was over. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see about drafting a suitable letter to Werthan.”
Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and made for the exit. When he reached the door, he turned around. “Cousin, are you free in the morning to go riding with me?”
“Um . . . of course.”
“Ha.” Penelope rolled her eyes. “Be careful, Markus. Morning to Farrell means a couple of hours before noon. If you don’t set a time, you’ll be waiting until almost the lunch hour for him.”
Farrell ignored the comment, hoping that if she didn’t get a reaction, Penelope would let it go.
“Now, now, Auntie, Farrell’s a guest. What reason does he have to be up before the sun?”
Markus defending him sounded almost as bad as the barb. “What time should I be ready to go?”
“Unlike my dear aunt, I believe in rising at a more civilized hour.” The king smiled. “I’ll send someone to fetch you at eighth hour.”
Farrell did his best to hide that he didn’t think “eighth hour” was much better than before sunrise.
Before he could answer, Miceral spoke. “Markus, I can assure you eighth hour is barely more passable than predawn to Farrell.”
“I suspected that was the case, but sacrifices must be made sometimes.” He nodded toward Farrell. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What’s that about?” Miceral asked after the king left. He looked at Farrell first and then turned toward Penelope.
“I’ve no idea, but I’d suggest you be ready.” She arched an eyebrow and stared at Farrell. “Beneath the glib exterior, Markus is a stickler for punctuality.”
Farrell shook his head “There’s no way he and I are related.”
“I’ll be out in a moment,” Farrell told the guard and slowly closed the door before the man could respond.
“He’s calling for you already?” Miceral sat at the small table in their room, finishing his breakfast. After Farrell nodded, he shrugged his eyebrows. “Good thing we got up earlier than usual.”
“I’ll be glad when I’m not subject to the whims of another monarch.” Farrell picked up the last of his buttered bread and stuffed it all in his mouth.
“That’s because you’re used to being the one in charge or at least above being ordered around.” Miceral chuckled as he stood up. “At least Markus hasn’t placed too many demands on you.”
Farrell nodded and picked up his water goblet. After a long drink, he said, “Agreed. This is the first request that I attend him since we’ve arrived, but I still prefer being free to do as I please.”
“Spoken like a true prince of Yar-del.” He straightened Farrell’s tunic and stepped back. “You’d best be on your way. It wouldn’t do to keep the king waiting.”
He nearly commented that it might be good for Markus to wait, but the demands of ruling being what they were, he had sympathy for his cousin. Leaning forward, he kissed Miceral. It lingered a bit too long, and he started to feel the effects before he pulled back. “It really is too early in the morning for a royal audience.”
Laughing, Miceral spun Farrell around and pointed him toward the door. “Go. We’ll have time alone later.”
Two guards waited for Farrell when he exited their rooms. Neither seemed interested in speaking, so Farrell used the walk to clear his head. After a few minutes, they turned a corner, and everyone stopped.
“Markus?” Farrell said when he saw the king standing in the hallway. Wearing brown pants, an unadorned beige tunic, and no crown, Markus looked like one of the staff. It took Farrell a moment to realize his lapse and he bowed deeply. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
“Yes. Yes. Lovely show.” Markus waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “Now stand up and stop this foolishness.”
Farrell admired Markus’s approach to formalities . . . or lack thereof. Although Farrell embraced the same practice at Haven, this was different. Still red-faced, he nodded. “I didn’t expect you’d be waiting for us here.”
“I rarely get time to myself, so I’m anxious to be off.” He cast his gaze up and down Farrell. “Glad to see you didn’t feel the need to dress up to impress me.”
Without thinking, Farrell glanced down at his clothing. He nearly matched the king, except he wore blue pants with a white shirt. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yes, we are taking a bit of a trip.” Markus faced the guards. “You two may leave. I’ll summon you when we return.” Without waiting for an answer, he gestured for Farrell to head right. “There’s something I want you to see before you leave Dumbarten. Not to sound morbid, but on the off chance you never make it back to Dreth, I want to be sure you visit where we’re going.”
“That’s rather cryptic. Are you trying to spirit me off somewhere you don’t want Miceral to know about?”
“Ha! Nothing like that at all.” Markus appeared amused. “I could tell you where we’re going, but I thought you might enjoy a surprise now and again. A pleasant one, I mean.”
“Yes, my life has been bereft of surprises.” He followed as Markus led them deeper into the royal wing of the palace. “Kel has been so clear and precise in his letters to me.”
“Call it a family failing. We like to keep things close to our tunic.” When the pair turned the corner, Farrell saw an older priest of Honorus standing by an open Door. Markus slapped his thigh with his right hand. “Excellent! Our escort has arrived.”
“Escort?” Farrell mumbled, more confused than before. He followed Markus through the open portal and emerged outside an ancient temple.
The priest bowed before he stepped back through the Door. When he disappeared, the portal winked shut.
“Welcome to the original High Temple of Honoru
s.” Markus swept his hand behind him, gesturing at the soaring edifice. “Deep below ground is where the Order of Kel is housed.”
After studying the building, Farrell scanned the surroundings. Fields planted with various crops bordered the temple. The path they stood upon led to what looked like a well-used highway, and beyond that he could see a hint of a small river.
“This is nice, Markus, but is there more to this trip than showing me the exterior of Honorus’s first high temple?”
“I presume you’re well acquainted with the events that led to the downfall of Vadra.”
Farrell nodded. “Of course. It’s part of the family history.”
“Good. I won’t go into all those details.” Two novices led a pair of horses from the far side of the temple. “And here come our rides.”
Extending his senses, Farrell searched the area for the company of soldiers a royal excursion required. “Where are the guards?”
“Why would I need guards when I’m riding with the most powerful wizard to set foot on Dumbarten since Kel?”
The entire event made Farrell uneasy. “If you’re going to enlist me to be your guard, Markus, it would have been better had you warned me ahead of time.”
“Stop worrying.” The king patted the neck of the closest horse. “This is Dumbarten, not Ardus. There is little to threaten me on the worst days, but with you by my side, there is nothing to worry about.”
Farrell ignored the king’s assurances. “Nerti?”
“Yes, Little One?”
“I dislike asking this, but are you and your son free? Markus has us riding off somewhere with no guards. If he’s relying on me to be his only protection, I’d rather not be riding horses if we find trouble.”
“What you really mean is you don’t fancy riding a horse.” The amusement in her voice told him she was teasing him. “You are spoiled, Prince of Yar-del.”
“I won’t lie and say there isn’t an element of that. I’ve not ridden a horse in over a year. But I really would feel better knowing that if we ran into trouble, I wouldn’t need to worry about directing our mounts and trying to fight off an attack.”
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