VALTOR BUSIED HIMSELF with perusing a few of the ancient
manuscripts he had uncovered in the underground tunnels below the ruins of the Forgotten City. They held key information to the power of the Old Ways, which had long been forgotten and believed destroyed during the Great Purge. The three adjoining rooms he had been assigned in the top of one of the northeast towers were uncomfortably dark and damp, having only a couple of arrow slits for natural light and no assigned staff for cleaning. The rooms were staunch with the smell of mildew, a perfect
atmosphere for his unique form of herbalism.
The space had been converted from an old storage chamber into his personal quarters following his rise in station to the prince’s chief advisor a little more than a year ago. Valtor’s strategic maneuvering was finally beginning to bear fruit. He prided himself on the masterful way he had set the pieces in motion. The outcome eventually leading him to saving the prince’s life outside a local brothel Dakaran was known to frequent.
After having swooped in at the last moment to make a heroic rescue from a pre-arranged mugging, Valtor was awarded a place on the royal staff. From there it was easy to catch the prince’s ear, as Dakaran enjoyed nothing more than someone willing to agree with his every whim.
So now, when he didn’t find himself spending his days wiping the prince’s nose, Valtor spent a great deal of his time overseeing the events at the White Tower while doing his best to stay out of the High King’s
purview. He didn’t need Rhydan getting a whiff of what he had planned.
It had been generations since the White Tower had received an oversight inspection from the throne. Now, it was solely autonomous and under his direct authority. Valtor was thought by many within the palace to be nothing more than a mere physicker of natural remedies, but instead of a simple apothecary, he had turned his secluded workroom into a functioning alchemy lab and den of dark relics and even darker incantations.
Valtor lifted the large quill and dipped it in the ink. He was about to scribe a few notes regarding his latest findings when his chamber doors
flew open and Prince Dakaran stomped through in a rage. “The arrogance! The audacity! Who does he think he is?” Dakaran didn’t bother shutting the doors after his grand entrance.
Valtor’s fingers tightened around his feathered plume, nearly snapping the instrument in half. “Who do you think you are, barging in here like a
spoiled child and disturbing my work?” was what Valtor wanted to say, but didn’t. “Who are we talking about?” Valtor wasn’t too worried with anyone overhearing their conversation. No one ever visited this part of the palace. But not wanting to take a chance, he walked over and closed the doors.
“The guardian!” Dakaran said as he paced the floor. Valtor could see the prince had been at the wine again. His speech, although coherent, was dragging. “And my father . . . Well, he just peppers him with praise! Blind old fool.” The prince’s temper was at its peak. “Doesn’t he see what Ayrion’s doing, weaseling his way into power? The man can do no wrong in my father’s eyes. You’d think he was the crown prince and not me!”
Valtor used his thumbs to massage his temples. “I can see the appeal.” “What was that?” Dakaran spun on his heels.
“I said . . . I know how you feel.”
Dakaran studied the chancellor a moment then shook his head and continued. “I want Ayrion gone.”
Even drunk, Dakaran’s rage bled through in his eyes. This was the first time the prince had directly voiced such an aggressive action. Valtor wondered if all his hidden implications and circuitous urgings were finally taking hold.
“And I’m sure that with the guardian out of the way, you will be there to lend aid to a certain young lady’s maid?”
Dakaran didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Valtor already knew the answer.
The prince made his way over to Valtor’s mixing table and began rummaging through some of the loose papers. “I want Ayrion gone.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Valtor finally capitulated, “and might I ask how Your Highness would suggest that this happen?”
Dakaran swung his blue velvet cape from his shoulders and laid it across the nearest chair. “I don’t care if you have to stick him while he’s sitting in the privy doing his morning business. Just do something.”
After Valtor bowed in acquiescence, Dakaran moved around to the other side of the mixing table where Valtor kept shelves of supplies and artifacts needed for his incantations, and scanned the glass jars scattered haphazardly on top. The vases came in a variety of shapes and sizes and held anything from pickled human remains to deadly insects and poisonous plants. “Don’t you have something you can use in all of this . . . stuff?” he asked as he continued his inspection. “Preferably something painful.”
“I’m sure I do.” Valtor closed the large volume he had been studying as the prince walked over to the table. “But I wouldn’t advise it, at least not at present.”
“And why, O illustrious advisor, would you not?”
“The last thing we need is to have an assassination of the Guardian Protector and put everyone on high alert. Suspicions would begin to fly and the High Guard would be even more vigilant than they already are, making it rather more difficult for us. Not to mention an uprising of the citizenry.
You don’t want to dismiss the people’s admiration for him.” Valtor straightened a few of his papers. “Patience is not a virtue to use sparingly, my prince. Your time will come. Acting too hastily without a wise course of action will only land us in the dungeon, or worse, the chopping block.”
“What in the name of Aldor is this?” Valtor turned to see what the prince was referring to. “What dark nightmares were these conjured from?” Dakaran was sifting through a large, leather-bound volume he had pulled from Valtor’s small library of antique tomes.
Valtor’s breath caught in his throat when he saw what the prince was holding. It was a grimoire penned by the dark wizard, Aerodyne, himself. How did that get out here? I thought I had put that away. He quickly made his way to the prince’s side and confiscated the book. Valtor glanced at the pages the prince had been riffling through, hoping that it hadn’t been too revealing. Each one depicted sketches of strange humanlike creatures. The borders were lined with ancient runes which the prince could not have hoped to read, let alone understand. On either side of the drawing were scribbled notes indicating the creature’s name.
“Ah, these are merely bedtime stories used to frighten naughty children,
Your Highness, nothing more.” Valtor closed the book and laid it back on the shelf as though nothing were wrong before changing the subject.
“Where are we with the Cylmaran Ambassador? Belkor, isn’t it?”
Dakaran examined a ceremonial dagger on the next shelf up and then replaced it. “Yes, he has agreed to meet with us on Seventh Day after the evening meal.”
“That’s good news. We are going to need Cylmar’s help if we ever plan on getting you your throne.”
The prince shrugged as he lifted his cloak and threw it across his shoulders.
“We need to make sure the ambassador understands what we are asking from Overlord Saryn,” Valtor said.
“I’m sure it’ll all work out. You worry too much, Valtor. You’re going to give yourself a palpitation.”
Valtor sighed as the prince left his chambers. He was beginning to wonder if he had made the wrong decision in his choice of allies. Only time would tell.
