Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "queen"

I have written many stories with Dana and Jayden, without them ever meeting or even seeing the king and queen they oppose. I felt it would be helpful to have a series of short stories to introduce them.
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The king and queen strolled down a castle hall escorted by eight soldiers. In most castles so many bodyguards would be excessive bordering on paranoid, but after five assassination attempts the king took no chances. Normally the king kept busy at such an early hour with the endless paperwork of his job, but today he and his queen had to be in the throne room after they were done with breakfast. The day promised to be busy, with four noblemen seeking an audience, an update from his army commanders by way of magic mirror, and representatives of the dwarf corporation Golem Works expected later in the day.

No couple could pose a bigger contrast. The king was a man in his early fifties, still strong and handsome to behold. His black hair showed hints of gray, and there were wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, but otherwise he looked younger than his years. His clothes were the finest furs and silks over magic chain armor, and he never traveled without three magic weapons.

His wife was his junior by twelve years and looked even younger than that. Her dress was the finest silk dyed golden yellow, her long hair expertly combed and styled, her jewelry the finest gold, and none of it was enough. Her face was etched in a permanent scowl, the look of the outraged who couldn’t strike at the source of their annoyance. It marred what should have been legendary beauty.

They turned a corner and passed the castle library. The king didn’t break his stride, but his eyes lingered on the door. He hadn’t entered the library in twenty years. When he needed a book, he had a servant bring it to him. The room reminded him of his long-departed son. There had been times when the boy would spend every waking hour there for weeks, learning of the ancient past, preparing for his tutor’s tests, or simple reading for the love of it. The king recalled having to send meals to the boy, and wondering if he should add a bed to the room. It was—

“You’re doing it again,” the queen said sourly.

The king didn’t look at her as he continued walking. “I am allowed to recall happier times.”

“Brooding over the past helps no one. Prince Mastram is dead and gone twenty years.”

“Twenty-one.”

The queen’s scowl deepened. “How long must you deify a boy unworthy of your attention even when he was alive, and totally beneath your attention now that he’s gone?”

The king was sorely tempted to grit his teeth, to return her scowl, anything to show his displeasure, but such a response would be the act of a lesser man. He’d had many conversations like this with his wife, to the point that it was almost expected, except she usually showed the good sense to entertain this foolishness when they were alone. He trusted his bodyguards, but even loyal men could talk after they’d had a difficult day or too much to drink. His wife should have the sense to understand that.

“I desire privacy,” he told them. His bodyguards fell back enough that they couldn’t hear the royal couple’s conversation but close enough to come in case of danger. He didn’t look at his wife when he said, “We are to have guests soon. Speak your piece now, for I won’t tolerate this in front of others.”

The queen took his arm. “This is madness. You want to be respected, yet anyone with working eyes can see you longing for a past both gone and dead. It’s time and energy wasted. How much longer must this farce continue?”

The king was a practical man who had mastered his emotions long ago. Loss and pain had seared away much of his feelings. That gave him the strength to not slap the queen. Instead he spoke words no less brutal.

“You knew how deeply I loved my first wife before we were wed. Only her death separated us. The marriage between you and I was political when it began and remains so today. Then as now, we need each other, nothing more. You have earned my respect, grudgingly, but nothing you have done has earned my love. I don’t expect that to change.”

He continued before she could reply. “Your family’s soldiers and fortune helped end the civil war, and I honored their demand to marry you. That was all our relationship was, a transaction. Any chance for it growing into something more meaningful ended long ago when your family made more demands, and more, and more beyond those. You spite me every chance you get and wonder why I am cold to you? You wonder why I fondly recall a wife who cared for me, her family making no demands?”

“They demanded nothing and offered nothing!” The queen took her hand away from him. “What chance did I ever have? Your true love keeps your heart, and in death can make no mistakes and have no flaws. I’ve spent half my life competing with a dead woman for a live man’s attention.”

“You are ever careful to omit your own many failings,” he noted. “How many have you destroyed when your temper flared? How many times did I have to rein in your vengeance? I’ve lost count of the court members, lesser nobles and even castle staff ruined for failing to avoid your ire. You wield your authority like an ogre swinging a club.”

“A queen is owed respect. You protest me defending my good name and position, but no one else will, present company included.”

“Lie to yourself if it pleases you, but not to me. I’ve seen the pleasure you take in inflicting punishment on others. You revel in their pain and humiliation. It is a flaw that makes more enemies with every passing year, forcing me to work harder to ensure obedience from my followers. I’d exclude you and your sharp tongue from more meetings, if only I could without your family protesting.”

The queen stopped walking and turned to face her husband. “If you have no care for me, have some for your children. You have sons still alive, both desperate to earn your favor, to prove themselves to you, yet you trust neither with high office or even let them attend court meetings. You haven’t even named one as crown prince! Bad enough I contend with the memories of a dead woman, must our sons compete against a boy you sent to his death?”

“An execution you and your family demanded as the price for their help in my hour of need. I did as I must, but never think I did so out of hatred for him or love for you. As for our offspring, one is a brute and the other a fool. I give them no positions of importance or trust them with secrets because they are incapable of handling either. Our sons have proven themselves Prince Mastram’s lesser at every opportunity. In Prince Mastram’s short life he did more that the pair of them have done in twice as long.”

“And were he alive today, Mastram—”

“Prince Mastram,” he corrected her. “I satisfied your clan’s bloody desires by denouncing him as illegitimate, but in the privacy between us I can call him my son and a prince.”

The queen rolled her eyes. “Prince Mastram lived in a world of books. He was small, weak, timid, hiding behind a scholar and a jester. He held to ideals no one could live by, much less rule by. That’s the son you lionize.”

The king nodded grudgingly. “He was a scholar at heart. In times of peace he would have ruled justly, but he lacked the courage and strength for war.”

“You started a war he’d never stomach.” The queen put her hands on her hips. “You’ve always prided yourself on being practical, doing what had to be done. Be practical now. You need an heir ready for your position when you die, or all you’ve done is for nothing. You have two sons, and given how cold our marriage has become there will never be another to pick from. One or the other, husband.”

The king allowed himself a slight smile. “Planning my funeral so soon?”

“No man is promised tomorrow,” she countered. “Death comes for all men, and only a fool doesn’t prepare for his own end.”

“Ture,” the king admitted. He’d long been taking powerful potions to slow his aging, and more to grant him resistance to exotic poisons used by assassins. That plus his skill in battle and loyal followers should put off the grave long enough to set the kingdom on a solid foundation, but life came with no guarantees.

What the queen never seemed to understand, or anyone else for that matter, was that the specter of death was what drove the king so hard. He had only so much time left, and so much to do to save a kingdom filled with enemies within and without. His lands were ever on the knife’s edge between prosperity and annihilation. Mercy, love, tolerance, those were the luxuries of the safe and secure. What were those ‘virtues’ compared to the lives of countless people? He did what he had to do for their survival as much as for his own.

The queen’s expression softened, and her tone was more compassionate than it had been in months. “Will our children never have your respect the way your dear prince did? Will you never give them your heart as a father should?”

“I give nothing. If they want my favor, have them earn it. On the training grounds, in their studies, in lesser court functions where I tolerate their presence, tell them to perform to expectations and I will reconsider my opinion of them. Make them prove we have not sired idiots. Whatever you do, don’t tell them their ascension to the throne is assured, for I will let a stranger not of my bloodline take my crown before I give it to one unworthy.”

The king continued to the throne room without giving his wife another glance. “We have delayed long enough. Come, my queen. Business demands our presence. You may deal with our sons after more important work is completed. For your sake I hope you succeed. The days ahead will be difficult enough without their continued buffoonery.”

“This is a new disaster,” Queen Amvicta said. She had the good sense to speak quietly when there were so many witnesses, but King Tyros still frowned. Formal banquets like this were part of being king. This was a large one with over a hundred court members, noblemen and other notables. It wouldn’t do to unsettle them.

In other kingdoms such banquets would be an opportunity for developing comradery with followers and encouraging their efforts. Not here. Tyros had no sense of fellowship with the men who served him. They were doing a job, nothing more, and if they failed were replaced. Instead Tyros used the meal as another opportunity to read reports and issue written orders. Paperwork was staggering, and the war vastly increased the workload. This meal began with a stack of paper four inches tall, and Tyros had only gotten through half of it.

King Tyros looked over a report from one of his spies while he ate. The meal was filling if too rich for his liking. Cakes, roast duck, sugared fruit, and there were more courses to come. Food was for sustenance, and this use of spices and sugars a needless expense. “Which one? Your cousin’s failures, the slow progress against Zentrix, or the army stalled at Kaleoth’s border?”

Amvicta gave him a sour look. The two of them were alone at their table at the head of the hall, placing the nearest person thirty feet away. That gave them some privacy, but they still had to keep their tone low to avoid eavesdropping. “Vander’s problems are your making. You sent that walking abomination to him.”

“Flawed tools are all I have. Vander was told to be subtle using Victory’s Edge. Instead his poor security resulted in the wizard’s death.”

Amvicta scowled before dabbing her bread in a honey sauce. “There was never going to be anything subtle about using that foreigner. You heard what he does to men.”

“That’s why Vander was instructed to use his magic on the gladiators. We wouldn’t have to pay them once they were dead, or deal with their insubordination. It would have been a force equalizer after losing the stone and timber golems.”

Tyros and Amvicta fell silent when a servant cleared away their empty dishes. Tyros would have to skip a meal tomorrow after such overeating. There was still a lot of food on the table, wasteful in Tyros’ opinion, but people were watching. If the king didn’t eat well they’d think something was wrong, possibly that he was sick.

Their guests were only too happy to gorge. Richly dressed, wearing jewelry and eating like hogs at a trough, it was hard not to hold them in contempt. Tyros was willing to forgive some of them when they worked hard, but for most of them it was gluttony, plain and simple. Sadly that included his sons. Palan was indulging in his usual behavior, chatting with servant girls and feasting on sweets. “Must he act like a child?”

Amvicta followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “He’s a young man with a youth’s appetite, and not an ounce of fat on him. As for talking with the staff, that wasn’t a sin last I checked.”

Eskas was as bad. The older of Tyros’ sons was stronger after years of regular combat training. He ate like a horse because he worked like one. Sadly he was nearly as smart as one. Brutish, uncultured, arrogant, he was Palan’s opposite yet managed to be just as much a failure in his own way. The surly, dark haired young man kept his eyes on his parents.

Amvicta broke his line of thought when she handed him a sheet of paper. “Since you brought him up, Palan has submitted a proposal for repairing Grist Castle.”

Tyros wiped his hands off on a towel and took the paper. He expected worthless drivel in keeping with all Palan’s ideas, but this had some merit. The boy must be learning, or had someone coach him. “It uses manpower on hand and keeps costs down. The timetable is reasonable, too. I’ll look over it in more detail tonight.”

Amvicta looked pleased that one of her sons had done something right for once. Tyros was merely surprised they hadn’t let him down again. Heaven above, what had he done to earn such weak, stupid offspring? Even Mastram had showed little potential, hiding away in the castle library, mourning the dead instead of moving on. Tyros had loved the boy as much as he’d able to after so much pain and loss, but Mastram had been a scholar when his father needed a warrior. Losing him had hurt, a pain that cropped up in dark times, but it was a necessity rather than a tragedy. If Mastram had been a stronger son the loss would have been greater.

“I was referring to this,” Amvicta said tartly. She pointed to a report from their forces near Zentrix.

Tyros had already read the report. “And?”

“The hunting party we sent after the Sorcerer Lord failed. Five dangerous men went out. Two are dead, two more sort of dead. How does someone become sort of dead?”

Tyros had seen such horrors during the civil war that little surprised him regarding death. “One is a ghost and the other is immortal. He will already be reborn in fire and screams, somewhere or other. I’m told he could return ten feet from where he died or a thousand miles away.”

“They failed.” It was surprising to see Amvicta admit her blunders. She must be emboldened by the fact that Tyros had agreed with her, making it their failure and not hers alone.

“They succeeded,” he replied. “We sent them to find and kill Jayden. They found him, an impressive feat few have even tried. This gnome, Bargle, claims responsibility for locating the Sorcerer Lord, and he isn’t among the dead. He succeeded once, he can do so again, but this time at the head of a larger, stronger, better equipped force.”

Amvicta looked shocked. “You’re not angry?”

Tyros pointed at the report with a knife. “The people we lost were strong but could only be used in limited situations. Those that died were the worst of the lot, and the other two hardly better. We lost nothing that mattered while proving the plan can work. This Bargle fellow, pay him a hundred silver coins and offer a hundred times that when he finds Jayden again.”

Amvicta looked more thoughtful. “Who do we send? The Kaleoth expedition can afford to send a hundred men, no loss when they’re just sitting around eating our food.”

Tyros handed her a letter. “I had someone different in mind.”

His queen’s eyes opened wide as she read it. “The Inspired?”

“Wizards should know how to kill wizards, and these ones will be motivated by lust for knowledge. Jayden knows secrets of the Sorcerer Lords they’ll want for themselves.”

“These are incredibly dangerous men you’re inviting into the kingdom. They’re schemers of the worst kind and will stab us in the back the first chance they get.”

It was tempting, so very tempting to say, ‘Then you should feel comfortable around them,’ but he bit back the harsh response. Tyros had known the risk his wife posed to him even on their wedding day. She wanted her sons on his throne as badly as her clan did. They had waited patiently for him to die so they could take over his kingdom, barely hiding their desire to seize his crown.

He wondered briefly if she understood how much of what he was doing was to hold back that day. The compromises, secret agendas, backroom deals, the atrocities, it kept Meadowland Kingdom whole and healthy, but it also kept Tyros on his throne. Was it enough? He didn’t know. He knew all kings faced the same risks and did no less than he did to hold power. His wife’s clan would take his place in a second if they thought they could.

Tyros shook himself out of his musings. There wasn’t time for doubts. He resumed his meal and was about to pick up another letter when he saw Eskas still staring at him and Amvicta. His son’s eyes narrowed. “Eskas is about to act foolishly again.”

The signs were plain to see. Eskas was as subtle as a charging bull and showed the same poor judgement. He’d beaten sparing partners near to death, ridden horses so hard they had to be put down, insulted any man close enough to hear regardless of their rank, yet thought himself entitled to the throne. He was breathing harder and threw his knife and fork on the table instead of setting them down.

Amvicta wiped off her hands on a towel and stood up. “I’ll deal with this.”

The queen had barely risen from her seat when Eskas got up and marched to his parents’ table. He had a determined look on his face and pushed aside servants between him and his target. Men across the room noticed and stopped eating. Palan noticed the scene, and for a change made no effort to save his brother from embarrassment. That wasn’t surprising given how often he’d failed to save Eskas from himself.

“My son, there is work for you when the banquet is over,” Amvicta began. She had years of experience mollifying her two failures. The most effective was to give them something to do in the hopes it would earn their father’s approval. This time it didn’t work.

“My father and king, I must speak with you.” Eskas was loud enough for everyone to hear him. Guests looked away, some whispering to one another.

“This is not the time to discuss family affairs,” Tyros replied, his voice calm, cool, commanding. His son no doubt thought he could press his case harder and face lighter punishments by having witnesses to his petition.

“It’s never the time! I have waited years for you to name me crown prince and your successor. That day has never come. Every king within a thousand miles names their eldest son as their successor once he is old enough to hold a sword. I have strived to prove my value to you and my ability to rule Meadowland. How much more must I do? How much longer must I wait for what is mine?”

Amvicta winced at her son’s harsh tone. Public scenes like this were terrible for morale and would be cause for talk across the kingdom. She looked at Tyros with an expression that practically begged for leniency. She got none.

Tyros stood up. “I wouldn’t tolerate this disrespect from anyone, least of all my son! You demand honors when time and again you have proven unworthy of them.”

“You give me no chance to prove myself! How many times have I asked for command of an army?”

“You’ve never proven capable of leading a squad and you want an army? What man would follow an untested leader known for being stubborn and easily enraged? The very fact that you approach me like this without permission and in front of witnesses proves your unworthy.”

“What more must I do?” Eskas screamed.

Tyros pointed at his son. “You can start by not making a public spectacle of yourself! Show proper respect and humility, and wait.”

Not finished, Tyros snatched up a paper off his table. Eskas had gone too far and deserved punishment for the offense. “Prince Palan, rise and approach.”

Palan had been watching the scene with the tired resignation of one who’d often seen such squabbles and was embarrassed to have his family’s dirty laundry being aired. That disappeared quickly and he marched up to his father.

“Your plan to restore Grist Castle has earned my approval.” Tyros had intended to scrutinize the proposal for error. No longer. Giving anything to Palan was punishing Eskas, reason enough to agree. “You have two weeks to make preparations. Go, and prove your place at my side.”

“I obey my father and my king,” Palan said and saluted.

“No!” Eskas screamed. “This is not about him!”

“Leave the hall and return to your quarters,” Tyros said, his voice cold. “You may go willingly or be carried out, but you are leaving.”

Eskas stood his ground for a few seconds before he left, his face red and his hands clenched into fists. Tyros watched him go before gesturing for Amvicta to join him. She gave a long suffering sigh, humiliated by her eldest son. Tyros glared at his guests before addressing them.

“If word of this debacle spreads outside this room, I will learn of it and punish those responsible.”

The rest of the meal was held in silence. Tyros finished eating and left, disgusted with his family and his kingdom. The deeds he had done, the pain he had endured, and it never ended. There was a slender chance, a sliver of bright light in the distance that gave him hope he could get through this disaster. It kept him going, and kept him from exacting a terrible vengeance on the fools who surrounded him.

* * * * *

Prince Palan left the hall later alongside his father’s followers. Normally there would be conversations, but everyone remained silent after Eskas’ embarrassing outburst. Palan was silent for another reason. He dared not trust his tongue when his feelings were so strong. The men around him were suspicious by nature and would notice anything out of place. If he sounded too excited, too happy, they’d sense it. They might attribute a change in Palan’s behavior to stress after his brother’s meltdown or elation at his opportunity to prove himself, but he couldn’t risk it.

Palan returned to his room and paced like a caged tiger. Night couldn’t come fast enough, and his heart beat like a hammer at being forced to wait. Only when he was sure the guards were changing shifts and the servants were asleep did he sneak out of his room and head deep into the castle. He found an entrance to the sewers.

Two goblins slipped out of the shadows to meet him. The first had tanned skin, long messy hair, dirty clothes and spikes jutting from his shoulders. The second was spear bald, had turquoise colored skin and a coil of rope wrapped around his ratty clothes.

“Well?” the one with spikes asked.

Palan sat on the floor so he could look his friends in the eyes. “It worked, Thipins!”

King Tyros stood in his bedchambers as he put on his belt and best cape over his silk clothes. Dressing up like this annoyed him. Simple, functional, that was what was needed. Trying to fit the expectation of others wasted time and money. In theory the men and women of his castle, his kingdom, should adjust their behavior to match his.

That was not the way the world worked, though. So much of being a king was looking the part, acting like others expected a king to behave. He’d made efforts to introduce changes in uniforms and behaviors, cutting down on costs and needless ceremonies, but they kept creeping back in. Commoners, artisans and nobles all wanted life to be as it always had been.

Amvicta joined him in dressed in her finest gown and jewels. She looked pleased with herself, so there might be fewer incidents at court caused by her sharp tongue. “Everyone’s ready.”

“A moment longer,” he told her as he put on his crown. Once he’d owned several crowns, but during the civil war he’d sold the less valuable ones to pay his soldiers. Other kings would find that galling, a diminishment of their authority. To Tyros it had been a move long coming. Luxury was waste in his eyes.

Tyros and Amvicta left their room and headed for the courtyard. Guards followed them as always, but there were more defenders. Tyros had increased the castle’s defenses as of late in case his newest followers proved ambitious. These guardians followed at a distance, slipping into this world and back to their own so quickly few noticed them and none got a clear look. One guard glanced to his left and paused, catching the barest glimpse of his mystic defenders, then resumed marching.

“My father sent words of encouragement for this mission,” Amvicta said proudly.

“Palan is restoring a castle, not going on a quest,” Tyros grumbled. Meadowland was filled with ruined castles awaiting restoration or demolition. Fixing one should prove no difficulty, but Palan would no doubt make it harder than it had to be.

“Simple tasks must come before difficult ones. Giving your son a chance to prove himself has been a long time coming. He won’t disappoint you.”

“That would be a welcome change,” Tyros replied, earning him a scowl from Amvicta.

He didn’t care. His wife and sons had proven massive disappointments at every turn. That his father-in-law felt the need to speak on Palan’s behalf was all the more galling. Amvicta’s family constantly overstepped their bounds, acting as kings in his kingdom, offering counsel, as if they had a right to, and constantly seeking advantages at Tyros’ expense.

They reached a point where the castle corridor branched, and Tyros turned left. Amvicta grabbed his arm and demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To see to military matters.”

She scowled. “That revolting wizard? Your son and important men await you.”

“One of the advantages of being king is no one is more important than I am.”

Tyros marched on followed by his wife and guards. He reached the guest bedrooms where the Inspired wizard waited for him. Tyros had accepted the man as a necessary evil, something life was filled with, but he’d never trusted him. This room was well away from sensitive areas of the castle, and nearby servants were in fact highly trained and well-armed agents ready to kill the wizard should he step out of bounds.

“Wait here,” Tyros said, and entered the room. He didn’t knock. This castle and kingdom were his, and he could go where he pleased when he pleased without asking permission. Once inside he shut the door. Best if no witnesses were present for what was about to be said.

The room was simple, with a bed, table and chair. The man within was anything but. Hyress of the Inspired wore the white and black robes common to his order of wizards, and carried an oak staff. He had a book on the bed filled with notes in a language Tyros had never seen and diagrams the meaning of which Tyros couldn’t even guess at. Hyress was a young man of perhaps twenty years, his brown hair cut short, his features almost boyish, but his expression was a riddle. He always looked curious, like the world was somehow new no matter how simple a thing he looked at. Tyros expected the wizard to be furious at his sudden entrance, maybe afraid, but Hyress was unphased.

“You failed me.” As starting moves it was brutal and likely to cause discontent, but Tyros liked his enemies unsettled.

“The plan was high risk and high reward when I proposed it,” Hyress replied casually. “Failure was not merely possible but likely. Nothing of value was lost in the attempt, and more missions are planned for this week, next week and the week after that. Bascal will fall under the volume of assaults.”

“A bold claim when you have only five undertrained, underpowered wizards. Your order is known for the number of wizards they can send, if not their strength. When will more come?”

That was another calculated insult. Tyros knew the best way to beat an enemy was to push them hard and often, and Hyress was an enemy despite their current arrangement. Anyone fool enough to think they could take over the world was a madman, or a deadly threat.

“The Inspired have committed more wizards to your cause than they have anywhere else on Other Place,” Hyress said calmly. “If you want more then more must be offered, or at least paid. We have received nothing we asked as payment for our services.”

“You ask for garbage!” Tyros yelled. He wasn’t used to being unsure about someone, but he couldn’t make sense of Hyress. He’d expected Hyress to demand gold, jewels, noble titles. Instead the wizard had asked to be paid with worthless refuse that even a beggar would ignore. Why? No explanation had been offered.

“It is of value to us,” Hyress replied. “As our prize means nothing to you, all the more reason to give it to us.”

Tyros held his ground a moment longer. He despised Hyress and men like him. The world was filled with opportunists, graverobbers and scavengers looking for scraps during times of crisis. And curse him for even thinking it, Tyros needed this vulture of a man.

He needed victories. The war was progressing poorly. Kaleoth was untouched, safe behind Racehorse River. Bascal had closed the main pass into their kingdom. His armies struggled to open it and had lost two major assets sent to assist the effort. Only in Zentrix did his armies advance now that the ground was dry enough to walk on rather than sink in, but their losses were heavy and morale was low. Tyros needed to reverse this trend, and Hyress might be able to do it.

“How soon after payment can your fellow wizards come, and how many of them will arrive?” Tyros asked through clenched teeth.

“If full payment is made, I can have eight additional wizards in Meadowland within ten days. They will bring summoned monsters, magic weapons and funds sufficient to play an active role in your war for an entire year.”

Tyros reached for the doorknob. “You will have it by day’s end. You disappointed me once, wizard. Those who make a habit of failure suffer for it.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“A question first. All the Inspired Wizards I’ve met wear uniforms of black and white. What is the significance of it?”

“White is commonly associated with goodness and black with evil,” Hyress replied. “We wear a blend of both white and black to show how we are above such thinking. Good and evil are childish concepts. There is only success or failure. Everything else is noise.”

“An interesting point of view,” Tyros told the wizard. It was one he agreed with. He’d survived a civil war, countless assassination attempts and constant challenges to his authority. He’d done what had to be done to survive. Good like the Brotherhood of the Righteous championed was weakness cloaked in dogma. The evil of bandits and monsters was needlessly destructive and heedless of the future. A king had to be decisive, brutal, confident and plan for the future.

That he agreed with Hyress sealed the man’s fate. Hyress would be equally decisive, brutal and confident, and he planned for a future where he ruled. If the time came when he thought he could overthrow Tyros, he would do so without pity or gloating. That meant the Inspired wizard and his fellow practitioners of the dark arts would have to die. Tyros would squeeze all the use he could from them and put them to death.

It was unfortunate, even a touch wasteful, but that was life.

Tyros rejoined his wife and guards outside the guest room and closed the door behind him. Amvicta gave him a sour look before complaining, “I don’t know what you tolerate that man in our castle.”

“Even serpents have their uses.” It was lost on her how that statement applied to her as much as the wizard. She would doubtless press her point, so to head off that argument he said, “With that settled we can move on to Palan. Restoring Grist Castle will take the rest of the year. If Palan succeeds there are other projects I can assign him.”

“Military tasks?” she asked hopefully.

Tyros would sooner put a goblin in charge of his armies than his spineless son. “Construction for now, military if he is and continues to be successful. As for Eskas—”

“We’re not talking about Eskas,” Amvicta interrupted. Her eldest son was no longer allowed in the castle, and she had no desire to see new punishments placed on his shoulders.

“You’re right. Palan has earned a chance to prove himself. We’ll see him on his way.”

They walked on in silence. The more Tyros thought about it, sending Palan on this task was a good idea. Palan had more failings than were acceptable in a man, much less a ruler, but he was clever. Rather like Mastram that way, always thinking. The boy might see what his father was planning. That wouldn’t do. Better to send him far from court, and when the time came deal with him alone.

They reached the courtyard to find Tyros’ court officials and resident nobles in attendance. It has a hot, sunny day, and the guests were sweating. Servants had hung pennants and banners to commemorate this dull event, and tables filled with refreshments had been set on the grassy field. Tyros and Amvicta stood on a low wood platform well away from their followers. Palan wasn’t present, waiting to be summoned and awarded royal orders.

“Announce the prince,” Tyros told an attendant. The man blew a horn, and Palan entered the courtyard from a gate opposite Tyros. He wore armor, as if he expected to fight, and was followed by a procession of soldiers. Those men were in their thirties and forties, competent but well past their prime. That met with Tyros’ approval. They could do the job asked of them without their absence being a drain on the military. Following them were hundreds of boys and young men.

Officially those callow youths were guests of the crown, to be protected and educated at royal expense. That lie fooled no one. They were the eldest sons of mayors from across Meadowland, men Tyros wasn’t entirely satisfied with. Their fathers had served him competently but without the enthusiasm. Replacing so many mayors would cause chaos and convince his officials they had to fear their king. This ensured the mayors’ cooperation, and served as a reminder to everyone there was a price to be paid for any slackening of support.

Palan bowed. “My father and my king, I come to serve.”

“Rise, Prince Palan,” Tyros replied. His son stood up straight. “You have sought royal command to rebuild Grist Castle for the good of Meadowland. This is granted.”

“I shall bring honor to your name and to Meadowland,” Palan replied.

That was doubtful, but Tyros went through with this tedious ceremony and handed a rolled up vellum scroll to his son. Palan accepted it and saluted, and the men with him saluted. Normally there would be a celebration or feast to commemorate assigning a prince a mission for the crown, but this deed was so minor Tyros had ordered it canceled. Palan hadn’t refused the move, some slight sign of maturity on his part. With this foolishness done, Palan led his meager force away, and good riddance to them all.

“You did the right thing,” Amvicta whispered to him.

Tyros watched his son leave. The boy was a waste, trash, a coddled child grown into a worthless man. When he died it would be no loss to Tyros or Meadowland, and that day was coming ever closer.

Tyros turned to his wife. “It was the logical choice.”

* * * * *

Palan stopped his small command late that night, far from the nearest house or witness. He had four hundred hostages, fifty older soldiers to guard them, ten wagons pulled by oxen, food and construction tools. It was enough.

Morale was high. Palan had hand-picked the soldiers, making sure these men knew the real meaning of honor and loyalty. They had served the crown long enough to see brutality masked as necessity, and been sickened by it. The hostages were in good cheer now that they were out of the capital. They knew some of Palan’s intensions and realized they were far from safety, but every step brought them closer to family and freedom. His soldiers fed them generous portions. They’d need their strength for the days ahead, and he’d made arrangements for more supplies along the way.

Palan sat at the edge of the camp away from the others. This small, desperate force under his command was in great danger. He knew this was their only chance, his only chance, but that was little consolation. If caught they would all be put to death. He’d made every effort to avoid such a fate. For months he’d been sending letters by means of discrete couriers to men and women he knew he could count on. He had friends in the kingdom who would risk their lives for him, if he could reach them. He’d also secured weapons and riches his father didn’t know about that could turn the tables in their favor. Would it be enough?

There was a rustling in the tall grass just off the road, and a horde of goblins emerged from cover. Some he recognized, others not. Thipins and Campots came up to him and shook his hand.

“You did it,” Thipins said proudly.

“The journey’s just begun, and father will have men watching us,” Palan told his friend.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them,” Campots promised. “We brought friends.”

“So I see.” Palan studied the newcomers. Most were typical goblins, dirty, smelly, dressed in rags, but two were different. One wore a strange white coat and carried a finely made leather bag. The second was even stranger, wearing black and green clothing in the same style of the King of the Goblins, and armed with a wood club carved to look like a scepter.

“It’s good to have friends,” he told the goblins. “Until you came, I’d never had one.”

“It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” Thipins promised. He gave Palan a reassuring pat on the arm. “You won’t be exiled like your half-brother. We won’t let that happen.”

Greetings, all, and my apologies for not writing for so long. I have been busy with personal matters, and I was getting the second Dana and Jayden book done. That took me nine months longer than I'd expected, but it's finally done. Book 2 is titled Dana Illwind and War's Shadow, and it can be found on Amazon as a paperback and ebook, and is on Kindle Unlimited. It's my sincere hope that you will find it as entertaining to read as it was to write. Thank you all for your patience.

https://www.amazon.com/Dana-Illwind-S...