Prince Maldan was very pleased with the success of our heroes in defeating the now-undead  Gülvini warrior-woman Gana. With her (no doubt temporary) destruction, the disappearances had ceased, and tensions in the Army of the North had sunk back to merely those associated with barbarian incursions, dysentery and arguments over camp followers.

The handful of survivors, including the Prince’s best scout captain and Maid Carissa’s healer friend, spread the tale of the Hand’s harrowing battle with the undead hordes and their dramatic rescue of the prisoners. The tale quickly grew in the telling, until the picture of hundreds of slavering zamora, led by a monstrous gülmora ogress and her dozen hovguvai warrior-women, was firmly fixed in the popular imagination. Mariala  attempted to correct the story whenever she could – perversely, this only cemented her reputation as a powerful sorceress of becoming modesty and wisdom, trying to keep a low profile. The others had little interest in a reputation for humility, and did nothing to fight the rumors.

Indeed, Korwin actively encouraged whatever embellishments others might add, especially those involving his own arcane prowess. Strangely, this tended to lead to a general view that he was a bit of a blowhard, and probably not really that great of a wizard, if he had to tell you about it. Then, somehow, stories of his greatest foul-ups, such as freezing his companions almost to death, began to circulate, and he decided to adopt a dignified silence from then on.

On the second day back in camp, still recovering from their wounds and the horror of the Shadow that some had endured, a courier arrived on a blown horse, with an urgent message for the Prince. It wasn’t long before word spread around the camp, coming first to the ear of Vulk. He was again trying to get Devrik to talk about the terrible psychic scars he must have from losing so much of his soul to the Shadow, and growing increasingly frustrated with his friend’s laconic refusal to feel any particular angst, when a young page ran up, breathless.

“M’lord,” he gasped to Vulk, “his Highness requests your presence in his pavilion, along with any of your companions at hand.” He eyed Devrik warily.

Before Vulk could inquire as to the reason for this summons the lad burst out dramatically, and with a hint of self-importance, “The king is on his deathbed, they say! The Prince is being recalled to the capital!”

That was, indeed, the message the courier had borne, and within the hour the camp was astir with preparations to send the Prince and a large escort south. In meeting with Vulk, and the rest of the Hand, he expressed his desire that they should accompany him as a part of his official entourage. A royal desire being essentially synonymous with a royal order, they quickly agreed, of course.

“I must leave Lord Clarin here, in charge of the army,” he explained. “But I need people around me I can trust, and you have proven your worth to both me and the Earl. Indeed, it was his suggestion that I attach you to my entourage. It is not completely certain who the Succession Council will name, despite my father’s wishes and formal will… I have let men call me Crown Prince, but truly I am but the Heir Assumptive at this point, and I need as many discreet eyes and ears in Shalara as I can get… we must avoid a civil war at any cost, but I fear some rival claimants may…”

He trailed off in morose thought, and was quiet for a moment. Then he glanced back up at his guests and smiled wryly. “I suspect that Lord Clarin had more than one motive in encouraging me to take you south – I think he believes that his daughter Carissa will be more agreeable to being sent south if it is in the company of Dame Mariala.”

Mariala wasn’t sure if it was the promise of her company, so much as the lure of all the romance, pageantry and pomp of a royal coronation, that led to Carissa’s meek agreement to leave her nursing role at the front behind and accompany the Royal Entourage back to Shalara. And she was certainly delighted when the great cavalcade stopped for the night at the great castle of Vinkara, and her mother, the Countess of Kinen, announced her intention of joining the party, to act as her husband ‘s proxy at the King’s deathbed… and in whatever followed. Though there was some concern over her previously frail health, she assured all doubters that she was quite well enough to travel in the comfort of a royal procession.

When the growing entourage passed through Dür, the Countess was herself delighted to at last greet Ser Draik, whose marvelous elixir she credited with her amazing recovery. Between her insistence and the cajolery of his former comrades, he agreed to join the southward odyssey. His brother, the Constable of Dür, was relieved to pass on the responsibility of representing his liege at the upcoming ceremonies to him, being reluctant to leave his command while so much unrest lingered on the borders.

On the sixth of Metisto the cavalcade arrived in the walled city of Tyendus, there to take ship aboard a dozen royal barges arranged for the occasion. It was here that the Heir Assumptive left his two children, 18-year-old Prince Kormun, who had been blooded for the first time at the battle of Noneth Bridge, and 21-year-old Princess Miralda, a reserved and beautiful maiden said to bear a striking resemblance to their great-great-grandmother, Queen Belanin III. Their mother’s people were lords of the city, and Maldan felt they would be safer there than in the capital, at least until the succession was decided.

On the morning of the eighth Prince Maldan arrived in Shalara, and wasted no time in getting to his father’s bedside. Lady Lania, with the heartfelt agreement of her daughter, insists that the Hand, as well as Ser Draik, take up residence with them at the Earl of Kinen’s townhouse.

“It’s certainly large enough,” she said, overriding their polite demur’s, “and it’s perfectly situated so as to easily observe all the players in this upcoming game – most everyone, from the Earl of Burnan to that old harridan Princess Ethalyn (the old one, not her perfectly lovely daughter) has a home within a stone’s throw!”

Once they were settled in and rested a bit from their travels, Lady Lania called them to her rooms. Carissa was with her, looking slightly worried.

“I’m afraid this trip has been a bit more wearing on me than I’d hoped,” she said, reclining on silk chaise and sipping at a cup of hot chocolate. “If Ser Draik will undertake to provide me with more of his wonderful draught, however, I’m sure I will quickly regain my strength.

“In the meantime, there is a formal dinner tonight at Kar Landsar, the royal palace… a quiet affair, under the circumstances, but all the leading nobility and gentry will be there. It may be a deathwatch, but one still has to eat. I am sending Carissa in my stead – the family must be represented – and I would take it as a great favor if Ser Vulk and Sera Mariala would escort her. I was able to wrangle an extra seat… the rest of you may go along, of course, but I’m afraid the dinner itself will be a rather small affair. No more than thirty, I should think.”

And so it turned out. While the others roamed around the public areas of the ancient royal castle, Vulk and Mariala sat down to a low-key but sumptuous meal with almost all of the potential contenders for crown of Nolkior. Ser Koris Harabor, Marshal of the Royal Guard, was the nominal host, the only child of the King not at his bedside right then; Maldan and his half-brother Ser Tulath Kalafon, along with Tulath’s mother Dame Erila, kept the family vigil.

The ill-tempered Baron of Endol grumbled about the quality of both food and wine while his wife rolled her eyes. Princess Ethalyn the Elder kept a sardonic eye on all her relatives present; Mariala didn’t find the woman to be as bad as advertised. While she was certainly well passed her prime, she remained a handsome woman, and the silver streaks in her dark hair only gave her a certain gravitas. She was certainly more polite to the interlopers than some around the table!

Her daughter, Ethalyn the Younger, was a quiet beauty, who said little and barely picked at her food, unless her mother’s sharp gaze was upon her – then she made an effort, eating a bite and making small talk with those nearest her at the long table, until her mothers attention moved on. Then she seemed to fold back in on herself, as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

Ser Corwan Landsar, the  eldest legitimate scion of House Landsar, wealthiest knight in the realm, Sheriff of Thergashire, considered by some to be the best choice to succeed to the throne, appeared somber but at ease, making conversation with those around him. And subtly promoting himself without really seeming to do so, Vulk eventually realized. He was quite good at it, planting seeds of doubt about Maldan as a ruler, while praising him as a general. A born politician! Vulk doubted his auditors were even aware of it… except for Ethalyn the Elder, whose eyes, he noticed,  glittered appreciatively over a couple of particularly choice hits on the Heir Assumptive.

The Earl of Buran and the Archkleros of Nolkior were too far way to hear what Ser Corwan was saying, but from the looks the latter kept throwing at the voluble Sheriff, it seemed he had a good idea of the gist. Whispered asides to the Earl, whom everyone knew held a commanding influence on the Council, with a claim of his own to the throne, caused that nobleman to cast his own glances at his young cousin and shrug in apparent amusement. The Archkleros continued to look unamused.

The dinner ended early, with most of the familial and noble guests returning to their vigil in the series of rooms outside the dying king’s chamber, and the others returning to whatever accommodations they had in the city. Vulk and Mariala escorted the Maid Carissa back to her father’s mansion, then retired to their own rooms to brief the others on what they’d seen and heard.

Later that night, in the early hours of the morning, just after the third bell, King Gairnalt took his last breath, and Nolkior was without a monarch.

♦♦♦

The Succession Council was convened the second hour after dawn. The twenty-three men and women representing the senior leaders of the various branches of Clan Landsar met in the Scarlet Chamber of Kar Landsar, and immediately began hearing from the claimants. As the acknowledged eldest son and named heir of the late king, Prince Maldan was given the first hearing, but chose to hold his words until all other claimants had spoken.

His father, and his own agents, had done much in the short time since Maldan had been named heir to solidify his support, and the looming threat of war from the north provided a strong impetus for even the most ambitious rivals to think twice about the dangers of a divided realm. Thus, most of the claimants made only cursory appeals for their own cause, with the notable exception of Ser Corwan and Princess Ethalyn the Elder.

Ethalyn surprised everyone by making a plea not for herself, having once before been passed over, but for her daughter. She made an eloquent, reasoned argument that the realm needed a queen during this turbulent time, to care for the people’s souls while the men tended to the martial threats around them. She evoked Belanin III and argued that Maldan and Corwan’s best talents lay on the field of battle, where they should focus all their energies, leaving the reigning, as it were, to her daughter.

Corwan gave a masterful speech, rumor later had it, building a solid case for his own elevation to the throne without in any overt way attacking Maldan. Witnesses said that many of the councilors believed to be securely in the Prince’s bag appeared to be wavering. But it all came down to the Archkleros, himself a Landsar and one of the councilors, who would have to release the Sheriff from his sworn oath not to seek the throne, given in exchange for the Archkleros’ permission for him to wed an adherent of Kalos, years ago.

And he would not do it.

The Council adjourned late in the day, after several hours of closed-door debate (some said arguments) between Ser Corwan’s supporters and Archkleros Kalabin. Lord Torad, the Earl of Burnan, remained silent during these exchanges, a fact not lost on the sharpest of the observers present. He had indicated that he would take the penultimate speaker’s spot, and it was expected that his view would carry the day.

But the next day brought news that threw everyone’s plans into disarray. Word came from Tharkia, the some-time province of both Nolkior and Serviana, that the old king had been deposed by his son, who had claimed the throne as Laravad II, five days earlier. Further, the new monarch had announced an alliance with the Ethmoniri barbarians of the north, while simultaneously calling up his levies.

Succession business was set aside for the day as intelligence from the east began to pour in, and strategies were debated throughout the capital. Would Laravad II use his army to turn on his supposed allies, in an attempt to crush Tharkia’s old enemies with a surprise attack? Or would he combine with them to overrun northern and eastern Nolkior, a newer but even more feared enemy? It was surely insane for him to attack Nolkior, but rumor had long held that Laravad was going slowly mad from syphilis, and if it were true, who knew what crazed action might seem good to him.

The next day the Succession Council resumed its deliberations, and Maldan accepted Earl Burnan’s request to speak after him. The Prince made an impassioned plea for unity in this time of crisis, and pointed to his own strong military history and his years of able stewardship as the Constable of Kar Kolosür and the Sheriff of Daretshire. Then Lord Torad rose and gave an equally passionate speech in support of Prince Maldan, and outlining the numerous threats the realm now faced.

That afternoon the council voted Maldan Harabor as the next chief of Clan Landsar and thereby King of Nolkior. The vote was overwhelmingly in his favor, but was not unanimous, with Ethalyn the Elder and Ser Corwan voting against the tide. They were, however, the first to swear their oaths of loyalty to the new king-elect.

Given the latest news of Tharkian troop mobilizations, it was decided the coronation and formal investiture should happen as soon as possible. The ceremony was set for the third hour after sunrise on the day after next, the 13th of Metisto. Preparations began immediately, and within hours the entire city was a whirlwind of semi-panicked activity as every guild, association and district strove to outdo the others in showing their support for the new monarch.

The castle itself was apparently even worse, and the Hand was glad to be well out of it. They had been guaranteed decent seats at the ceremony in the Great Temple, and the extent of their involvement was to show up with the Countess and her daughter.

They were just sitting down one of those new-fangled “brunches” that were all the rage, enjoying Draik’s presence amongst them once again, when a servant entered the parlor they had appropriated for their own use to announce a visitor.

“Who is it, Jarin?” Mariala asked the youth, setting down her glass of pear juice and sparkling wine untasted.

“He won’t say, m’lady, and he’s all bundled up like one of them Dark Riders from the books…”

But before the lad could get carried away with his description the man himself entered, motioning the boy to leave them. Closing the door firmly behind the servant, the figure pulled back the hood of his cloak and tugged the scarf from his face, revealing the grim visage of King-elect Maldan I. Everyone jumped to their feet, but he impatiently waved them back and himself took an empty chair.

“The Royal Regalia is missing,” he said bluntly, in answer to their questioning looks. “And that is a potential disaster of the highest order!”

Helping himself to the sparkling wine, the soon-to-be-monarch launched into a concise explanation.

“This morning the Treasurer Royal, Ser Mirad Alkinil, and several servants entered the Royal Treasury to prepare the Regalia for my upcoming coronation, only to find every piece of it missing!

“Realizing the crisis this represented, he immediately sequestered the servants, said nothing to the guards, and then came straight to me. To avoid suspicion I waited until the normal changing of the guard before having the two who had been on duty overnight arrested and confined in the dungeon. They, of course, deny any complicity, and insist no one could have gotten in or out of the Treasury. Given that they are High Guards, under my brother Ser Koris’ command, I’m disinclined to doubt them… but in this troubled time, with divided loyalties possible on so many sides…

“If the Regalia are not found before the ceremony, there might not be a coronation. It is just possible we could push it through, using my father’s daily cornet, claiming, oh, I don’t know, that I’m a simple man, unpretentious, and my father’s crown is good enough for me, blah, blah, blah. But it would raise raise suspicion, whatever excuse I gave… and if demands were made to see the Regalia, as they surely would be since someone has gone to such lengths to make sure I can’t produce them, it would be seen as a bad omen of the gravest sort.

“Even the most hard-headed of my nobles holds a superstitious awe of those damn trinkets – Crown, Scepter and Reliquary. Most especially the Reliquary, which contains the skull of Kirdek Kelen, founder of the realm. Every monarch in the 500 years since has been invested carrying the Regalia, even the infamous usurper Tiraf Derosol  – indeed, it was his possession of the holy objects that granted him a legitimacy he could never otherwise have commanded.

“If they are seen to have disappeared from our most secure spot, seemingly my magic – or worse, divine intervention – it will be a severe blow to my legitimacy in the eyes of the people. Even those nobles who don’t buy into the superstition might be more than willing to play on it to reverse the decision of the Succession Council. And that will lead to civil war, something we can ill afford with barbarians to the north and that rabid weasel Laravad to the east.

“To make matters worse, this whole thing brings up the infamous disappearance of the Sword of Tarthin, in my grandfather’s time, from this same treasure vault! No one has ever explained how it was stolen, and despite the conquest of Tharkia, where it was alleged to have been purchased by a nobleman, it has never been recovered. Every disaster of the last 45 years has been blamed on the absence of that supposedly-enchanted bit of ironmongery, as will this disaster, no doubt.

“I dare not use the royal machinery to investigate this, the whole point of the plot – and it must be a plot, I don’t believe in divine intervention – is for it to be known that it has vanished. That is why I have come to you, in person, to ask for your help in this. I cannot use the royal Mistress of Esoterica to examine the minds of my guards, and I don’t wish to use the wrack – but I understand that you, Dame Mariala, possess considerable skills in this area. And the rest of you have proved both able and discreet in solving mysteries.

“Therefore, will you come now to Kar Landsar, interrogate my guardsmen, and see if you can find any clue as where the Royal Regalia has gone. If you can recover it before tomorrow morning, I will be profoundly indebted to you – you can name your reward, if it is in my power to give and it is no threat to the realm!  Will you help me in this dark hour?”