VALTOR’S CHAMBER DOORS flew open, swinging backwards and smacking against the adjoining wall.
The Arch Chancellor, who was once again behind his mixing table pouring a dark bubbling liquid into a small glass vial while struggling to keep his red sleeves from dipping into the dirty concoction, flinched and spilled part of the contents across the top of the worn hickory, very near
where he had placed his mitre. There was a slight hissing noise as the liquid ate through the wood, leaving behind a somewhat distasteful odor.
Valtor didn’t need a seer to know what was coming. He had already been anticipating it. He lowered the tube back into its tray and watched as the
prince crossed the room. Dakaran’s sword was gripped firmly in his right hand. His eyes were fierce. “Ah, Your Highness,” Valtor said with a
nervous bow. “I’m glad you’re alright, I feared the worst.” Valtor slowly retreated toward the back wall as the prince headed directly for him.
“Are you, Valtor?” Dakaran seethed. “Are you glad I’m alright, or are you disappointed I managed to survive?” Dakaran raised his blade to Valtor’s throat, forcing him against the cold stone.
Valtor gulped. He feigned a look of distress. Not an emotion he generally showed, so he wasn’t sure how well he was pulling it off. “What’s all this about, Your Highness?”
“You know good and well what this is about, you maggot! I was almost mauled to death by three creatures that looked to have come straight out of the Pits of Aran’gal.”
Valtor tried to appear horrified, the words flowing from his mouth with enough lubricant to maintain a dung-hauler’s wagon wheel. “What does that have to do with me, Your Highness? I . . . I don’t understand why you would think I had anything to do with it.”
“It has everything to do with you!” Dakaran spat. He pressed the blade tighter.
Valtor felt the pinch of its edge drawing blood, but he restrained from killing the prince on the spot. As much as he would have liked to choke the life from him, he needed Dakaran.
“At first, I thought I was dreaming. Monsters as tall as a single story home, living in the woods just outside of Aramoor, and no one knows anything about it? How is that possible? Then I remembered a certain book of drawings I had found on your shelf the other day. Those creatures looked pretty flaming similar!” Dakaran leaned forward, their noses practically touching. Valtor could taste the prince’s earlier meal on his breath.
Surprisingly enough, there was no hint of wine. “Now you better give me an explanation to alleviate my misgivings or I’m going to let this blade
slip.” The prince’s grin was soaked in bloodlust. “And I suggest you hurry, because after what I’ve just been through, my arm isn’t feeling so secure.”
Valtor swallowed. His act wasn’t doing the job. For the first time in a long time, Dakaran was as sober as a Wengoby Priest. His eyes were no longer cloudy, but on fire. A different, more direct, tactic was required. One he had hoped not to resort to. He would rather the prince come around on
his own without having to resort to compulsion, but right now, Valtor needed to calm the man down before he did something stupid like try to slit Valtor’s throat. “Alright, I admit it. It was me. I conjured the creatures when I heard the king was taking the ambassadors on a hunting trip and the Guardian Protector was going to be joining them. After our last encounter, you made it quite clear that you wanted the guardian and your father gone, so I—”
Dakaran pushed his elbow against Valtor’s chest. “Ayrion, yes, but I said nothing about trying to kill my father. Let alone me!”
“How was I supposed to know you would be going on the hunt?
Honestly, when was the last time you and your father did anything together? By the time I found out you were going, it was already too late.”
Dakaran loosened his grip, slightly.
Valtor opened himself up to his magic and let the compulsion gently
caress the prince’s thoughts, steering his general desires. It was a trick he had learned from the grimoire he had recovered in the Purging Chamber. He hadn’t quite mastered its uses, but to some small degree, he was able to
manipulate another’s emotions depending on how strong, or, in this case,
how weak their will was. Lucky for him, Dakaran wasn’t exactly known for
his strength, although at the moment, the prince’s temper was making it rather difficult to push through.
The sword retracted a few inches from Valtor’s neck, but Dakaran didn’t lower it altogether.
Valtor needed the prince to let go of whatever ties of loyalty were still holding him to his father. The pieces were falling into place, and in order to make the next move, Valtor needed Rhydan gone and Dakaran holding the crown. “Do you want to be king or not?” Valtor asked. He could see the hesitancy in the prince’s eyes. He was obviously going to need more persuading.
Valtor rubbed his neck where the sword had been and his hand came away with a smear of blood. He stroked the back of Dakaran’s mind, letting his magic worm its way inside to coax a directed response. “You know that as long as he is alive, your father will never turn over his throne to you. The kingdom grows weaker by the day. I know you see it. Rhydan’s an idealist. He believes that everyone should be equal under the law.” Valtor chuckled. “Can you believe that? You, the prince, equal to a common fisherman, or carpenter, or bricklayer. If your father were to get his way, the people would be ruling themselves.
“Aldor needs a new king, Dakaran, a king with an open mind, one willing to see and embrace the benefits of change, and not run from them. Aldor doesn’t need a king stuck on antiquated traditions set up by men who haven’t been around in centuries. Our world is changing, and so should
we.” Valtor longed for that change every day.
Dakaran’s posture relaxed as Valtor’s magic embedded itself.
“Elondria needs strength. Just look at the way Cylmar mocks us by pillaging our borders. Every day, Overlord Saryn grows bolder. And your father does nothing. He is seen as weak.” Of course, Valtor knew all too well that Rhydan was anything but weak, which was why Valtor was focusing his efforts on shaping the king’s drunkard of a son instead. “Pretty soon the other kingdoms are going to rise up and we are going to be pushed into the sea.
“Elondria doesn’t need an idealist, they need a leader. They need
someone like you, Dakaran. Someone who can see the problems and not be afraid to do what is necessary to correct them.” If there was one thing Valtor knew that Dakaran enjoyed hearing, it was his own praise.
Dakaran took a step back, running his hand through his light auburn hair and tucking one side behind his ear. “I don’t know. This is all happening a
little too fast.”
“Not fast enough,” Valtor sneered. “If you want to implement change, you need to make those standing in its way, move.” He waited to see if his words were sinking in. “We had a plan, a way to bring the kingdoms of Aldor back under one rule, starting with Cylmar. You know that. That’s why this meeting with Ambassador Belkor is so important. We’re going to need to rely on Overlord Saryn’s greed if you plan on taking your rightful place
as High King.” Valtor continued to press the prince’s mind. He could feel Dakaran’s grip slipping. “Cylmar is a kingdom under oppression, ruled by a tyrant. They are looking for a benevolent leader to direct them down a different course.” Valtor smiled. “Who better than you?”
Dakaran stared at the floor in silence, lost in thought. Finally, as if in answer to Valtor’s urging, he took a step back and sheathed his sword, allowing Valtor to finally breathe a little deeper.
Dakaran was halfway to the door when Valtor stopped him. “Oh, by the way, how did our good friend Ambassador Belkor fare? I trust he wasn’t too grievously wounded, was he? I would hate for that to affect our meeting
tomorrow.”
“Belkor’s fine. He’s one of the few who managed to walk away without so much as a scratch. But after what happened today, I have no idea as to his state of mind. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night if and when he
shows up, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
The prince left, not bothering to close the doors behind him. Valtor rested his hand on the top of the table and smiled. Even with the setback of losing three of his Shak’tor, things were progressing. The compulsion had worked better than he had expected. Dakaran’s jealousy over Ayrion’s relationship with his father was proving quite the effective tool.
