The Uncrown’d King

There was no question, of course, of refusing the King-elect’s request. Leaving their brunch untouched, the friends followed their royal patron, once again in mufti, back to Kar Landsar. With the castle in a chaos of activity in preparation for the upcoming coronation, they had no trouble reaching the royal quarters, where Maldan resumed his normal appearance.

He immediately led the group, accompanied by Ser Mirad Alkinil, the Treasurer Royal and two of his most trusted guards, to the dungeons beneath the great castle. The two men who had been on sentry duty outside the Royal Treasury the previous night were being held in separate cells. They had been disarmed, of course, and thoroughly searched, but had not been placed in chains or otherwise subjected to humiliation or torture… yet.

In an attempt to “soften them up,” Korwin cast a subtle spell of gloom and despair, affecting all those whom his shadow touched. Unfortunately, in a torch-filled underground chamber, that included his everyone around him, including the King-elect. On the plus side, only his comrades recognized what was going on, shooting him looks of annoyance, while the royal party simply assumed it was the dire situation that led to these feelings of doom and ennui.

In a somewhat more practical vein, Mariala used her Truth Sense, while Vulk summoned the awe-inspiring power of Abon’s Authority, to assist Maldan he interrogated the hapless guards. These maintained not only their own innocence in the theft of the Royal Regalia, but in the absolute impossibility of anyone having been able to get past them – no unauthorized breaks, no distractions, no food or drink consumed that might have drugged them…

And Mariala was quite sure they were telling the absolute truth.

“Could anyone have gated into the Treasury?” Korwin asked in the face of the King-elect’s growing frustration. “We should examine the area for magical residue–”

“It’s impossible,” Maldan replied gruffly. “Or so all our esoteric experts have claimed for decades. Ever since the Sword of Tarthin was stolen, in the reign of my grandfather, wards and seals have been in place to prevent any magical intrusion into the vaults.

“Still, there can be no harm in having you examine the place yourselves; perhaps you will discover some clue we have missed…”

At that point Ser Mirad returned to the dungeon, having absented himself when it became obvious the interrogation was yielding nothing. Now, he leaned in to whisper into his liege’s ear, gesturing to a cask of ironwood and gold that a servant carried. At Maldan’s nod, he turned to address Mariala.

“A thought has occurred to me, Dame Mariala,” the small, fussy little man explained, “that you might be able to use a certain artifact of which I know – I have seen the Mistress of Esoterica use it once before, and have managed to retrieve it from her chambers without her knowledge.”

He opened the cask and drew out a cube of opaque bluish crystal, perhaps 25 cm on a side. The cube was pierced through the center of two opposing faces by a rod of silver, the ends of which were carved in the shape of entwined snakes.

“Ah, a Memory Crystal!” Mariala exclaimed. “I have heard of such artifacts, although I’ve never actually seen one… still, I understand the theory well enough. I should be able to make use of this.”

Taking the cube up, she moved over toward the first guard, Rozin. Holding one of the silver handles, she motioned him to grasp the other one. Seeing his fear and uncertainty, she smiled and assured him it was perfectly safe.

“If you are truly innocent, this will prove it. It will allow us to see your memories as if with your own mind’s eye. I will guide the process, no harm can come to you.”

Reluctantly, the man grasped the silver snakes, and instantly his eyes took on a glazed look. Mariala focused her mental energies on drawing his mind into a link with the cube and herself, guiding him to recall the events of his guard shift last night.

The cube began to glow, and in each of its six faces the same images slowly began to form. In moments everyone gathered around could see the events of last night, as seen through Rozin’s eyes, played out before them…

Even moving with dream-like speed through the long hours of the watch, it was a singularly boring play they watched… events proceeded just as the guards had said, with nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. Until about the fourth hour after midnight.

At that point, Rozin turned away from his fellow guard, Gildor, as if something had caught his attention – and then there was nothing. After about ten minutes of apparent time, suddenly the memories returned, and the night went on as before, uneventful and boring.

Gildor, taking the silver handle next, had the same memories as his comrade, including the mysterious gap. Some human agency was clearly behind the theft, using some sort of esoteric power to erase the relevant memories from the guards’ minds.

“It could have been an artifact of some sort,” Mariala mused after the cube had been returned to its cask. “I’ve read of such things, though they are rare and valuable… a spell is more difficult, but not impossible… or a very rare psionic talent, perhaps…”

“However rare, and whichever it was, it proves a mortal agency was behind this,” Maldan smiled grimly. “Not that I really believed the Immortals would have done this, but it’s good to be sure…”

The Hand’s next step was to examine the vaults of the Royal Treasury. No arcane energies could be deteted, either in the vaults or in the hallway where the guards had stood watch. But minute traces of dirt within the chamber revealed that someone had been within.

Korwin made a great show of trying to glean something from the small clods of dirt using his vaunted psychometry powers, to no result. It was Erol, fingering one of the samples and sniffing it, who sardonically suggested the stables would be a good place to start.

“I’ve smelled enough horse shit and seen enough muddy straw to connect those dots,” he said, handling the bit back to Korwin.

Confident that his agents were now on a viable track, the King-elect returned to the pressing business of both war and coronation planning, while the Hand headed for the nearest stables, the Royal Stables that lay within the grounds of the castle itself.

Along the way, the group debated what their cover story should be as the investigation progressed… Mariala suggested a scavenger hunt, while Korwin was of the opinion that they should claim to be hunting a stolen shipment of wine meant for the celebration. Neither idea met with much enthusiasm from the others.

Careful questioning at the stables revealed that a man, wearing the livery of Ser Corwan Landsar, had been seen in the predawn hours entering the stables caring a sack of a size and bulk that could certainly have contained the Regalia. No one could identify the fellow, however, and no one could recall seeing him again after he entered.

This lead to a thorough search of the building, and eventually the discovery of a grate leading down to the sewers. Traces indicated that it had very recently been lifted and replaced, with fresh muck to been seen (and smelled) on the rusty iron rungs set into the stone wall leading down into darkness.

With Grover the war ferret on his shoulder, Erol followed Devrik into the hole, scouting it out before the others joined them. A small circular chamber at the foot of the ladder opened, across a corroded iron grate, into the city’s main sewer system.

Once everyone was down, and torches lit, it became obvious there was only one direction to go – to the left there was no path, only a large chamber of murky, noisome water, while on the right a narrow ledge led northward along the line of a large sewer tunnel.

After several hundred feet an iron gate barred their progress. Obviously of an age with the surrounding stonework, the lock upon it was equally clearly of much more recent vintage. Korwin, again exercising his psychometry, was able to divine only that an old locksmith named Gepeto had made the lock, and it had been installed by a member of the Zalik-mal, the so-called “Thieves Guild.”

Toran was able to unlock the gate using his locksmithing skills, and the group continued onward, Grover sniffing ahead. After several other locked gates (some of which had to be smashed open when they proved beyond Toran’s ability), they found themselves in a small chamber off a junction of two sewer lines.

Vulk had been sure he’d heard voices shortly before, and there were signs that someone had recently occupied the area, probably as a lookout. It seemed likely that he (or she) were Zalik-mal, although they were known to be just one of the many groups using Shalara’s vast network of sewers, tunnels and crypts for their sub-legal activities. But were they associated with the theft of the Regalia, or merely lurking about on unrelated business?

It was Grover who sniffed out the hidden passage in the northwest wall of the chamber, a rough, crude and rather narrow passage that led slightly upward into darkness. Toran took the lead, as the group wound its way slowly up the dank tunnel to an apparent dead-end.

But it took the Khundari only a moment to find the mechanism that opened the hidden door, which lead out into an older, larger, and generally better built tunnel. Unfortunately, they had little time to appreciate the handiwork of long-dead demon cultists, or whomever, because from out of the shadows two lithe, fast-moving shapes were suddenly upon them, blades flashing in the flickering torch light.

Despite his ninja reflexes, Toran was taken by surpise, and barely deflected the longknife aimed at his throat, and failed completely in avoiding the other blade that plunged into his side. Staggering back, his head slammed into the wall, and he was down!

As Devrik leapt over his dwarven friend’s unconscious form, Vulk rushed forward to tend to his wounds. While the cantor sent his healing power into the bleeding wound, mentally stitching together the damaged tissue, Devrik applied his more physical abilities to the would-be assassin.

The man screamed in shock as his weapon, and the hand that held it, clattered (and thumped) to the ground. He staggered backward, dropping his longknife and clutching at his spurting stump. Devrik moved forward to finish him off, but with another step back the man suddenly disappeared with a quickly diminishing shriek.

Erol, meanwhile, had pushed past Vulk and Toran and had engaged the second Zalik-mal sentry, blocking the man’s thrusts with his trident, disarming him with a second sweeping motion, and pinning him to the wall, through his shoulder, with a third move.

As the others gathered around, Toran was groggily standing up, shaking his head. His wound had closed, and aside from the occasional painful twinge, seemed not to bother him much. His head still throbbed, however…

Devrik peered down into the darkness of the 10’ wide pit that blocked the passage and had swallowed the wounded sentry-thief, shrugged, and turned back to his friends. Erol was pressing their prisoner for answers, but was getting nothing but surly, if pain-filled, grunts in response.

While Vulk and Mariala argued about various esoteric methods of extracting information from the man, Erol dragged him over to the edge of the pit and leaned him backwards over it. The man’s feet scrabbled for purchase at the edge, as Erol grasped his tunic tightly about the neck, holding him suspended over the inky depths.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he said quietly. “Where do we find your friends and the… items… they stole?”

The thief stared defiantly back into Erol’s eyes, and tried to spit, despite a very dry mouth. “I’ll never betray the Brotherhood! You’ll never make me talk!”

“I believe you,” Erol said after a moment. And let go of the man’s tunic.

With a shriek that was almost as much surprise as terror, the second thief vanished into the darkness. It was several seconds before Erol thought he heard a faint thump…

“Erol, goddess curse you, what did you do?!” “Erol, we needed him!” Vulk and Mariala’s outraged cries tumbled over each other as they rushed over and peered into the pit.

“Eh, he was never going to talk,” Erol shrugged, slinging his trident over his shoulder. “You learn to read men in the arena, if you want to survive, and I could read it in his eyes.”

“What’s done is done,” Devrtik interrupted before Vulk or Mariala could pursue the argument. “The question now is how do we get across this chasm?”

After studying the problem for a moment, Korwin suggested maybe a running start would let them leap it. An irritated noise from Toran and an annoyed glare from Mariala quickly shut down that idea.

In fact, it took Toran only a few minutes to find a semi-hidden mechanism in a dark recess in the wall of one of the sentry alcoves. Pulling the metal grip and twisting it caused a sudden grinding noise to fill the passage as a metal catwalk extended from beneath the near lip of the pit. It slowly ratcheted its way across the gulf, locking into place at the far side with a loud ‘snick.’

With shake of his head as he passed Korwin, Toran led the way across, the others following in various degrees of vertiginous panic. Everyone made it without stumbling to a nasty death, and the party continued up the curving tunnel.

About 30 meters along, the passage turned sharply to the left, while on the right it opened into a circular chamber some 6 meters across. A quick examination of the chamber revealed a stone and iron ladder set into the wall, leading up through a hole in the rough-hewn ceiling.

It was decided that Toran and Korwin would remain below while the others investigated above. Toran wonders what he’d done to piss off the others…

Erol went first, and after a few minutes called softly down that it seemed to open in to a passage in a building. Devrik, Vulk and Mariala quickly headed up the ladder.

With the others gone, Korwin decided it would be a good idea to scout ahead themselves, and set off down the tunnel. Toran was of the mind that sentry duty meant staying put, but realized he’d better stick with his bumbling companion – Gheas knew what trouble he’d get into on his own!

In point of fact, without the critical gaze of the two professional warriors, the Oceanic mage proved almost adept when two more sentry-thieves leapt out at them from another dark alcove. True, he was surprised at first, and if not for Toran (who had expected exactly this sort of thing), he might have died then and there.

But after the dwarf took the first man’s left leg off at the knee with a powerful swing of his battle-axe, while Korwin dodged, the water mage did manage to draw his cutlass. He parried the second minion’s attack, and the man leaped back to avoid Toran’s next blow. Then, in a bit of battle ballet that surprised them both, Toran feinted, the thief dodged, and Kowrin cut him down with slashing blow across the belly.

“Not bad,” Toran told his companion as they cleaned their weapons on the clothes of the dead men. “Why don’t you do that more often?”

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, above them, Erol, Devrik, Vulk and Mariala were enjoying a confused encounter with several acolytes of Kalura, Goddess of Love. It seems the hidden trap door at the head of the ladder was located in the basement of the Kaluran temple, near the dormitory of the male acolytes.

Passing into the refectory, they had run into a very beautiful woman and a staggeringly handsome man, dressed in the translucent silks of mid-level cantors (as Vulk had quietly informed the others). The couple were already annoyed, as a short time before a grubby street urchin had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and raced through the living quarters area, up into the temple, and out the main doors, causing quite a kerfluffle.

Now these heavily armed intruders had appeared, also apparently from thin air, and started asking questions. It was too much! The cantors fled back the way they’d come, calling for the Temple Guards, and the Hand decided that discretion seemed wisest, especially when Mariala recalled that she had an old friend who was an acolyte there. They really didn’t need to be recognized!

It seemed obvious that, if there were any connection between the temple and the Thieves Guild, these people knew nothing of it! Scrambling back down the ladder, they left a pretty mystery for the Kalurans to puzzle over…

♦ ♦ ♦

Reunited, the group continued on, crossing another pit and entering back into the sewer system. A few picked and/or smashed gates later, they discovered yet another hidden doorway, this one rather more cunningly concealed in the stonework of the sewer.  Another ladder led upward into darkness…

It was decided that this time Mariala would scout ahead, having cast her Wallflower enchantment on herself, causing others to ignore her, as long as she was quiet and unobtrusive. Korwin attempted to cast his own stealth spell, Klordia’s Shadow, but failed… perhaps it’s just performance anxiety, Toran thought to himself as he watched the frustrated mage glance around to see if anyone had noticed…

When Mariala eventually summoned the rest of the group to follow her, they found themselves in a very narrow passageway, apparently within the walls of… a warehouse? Clumped together as best they could at the far end of the passage, where a secret door and a spy hole allowed them to hear what was going on in the large room beyond, they listened intently…

Only to immediately hear a door bang open, the sound of running feet, and a piping young voice that gasped out a warning to the gathered men.

“The King’s men… are in… the tunnels… looking for… you… sir!”

A growl went up from the men, and one commanding voice began issuing orders to send a force down to ambush and stop these “King’s men.”

Devrik knew a cue when he heard one, and before the men could begin to act on their leader’s orders he had kicked the door open and leapt to the attack, his great sword glittering wickedly in the dim light of the warehouse. The others were right behind him, Vulk calling up his mystical armor and Korwin summoning his Frost Blade.

There were a dozen men, and one youth, in the large open room, along with great piles of barrels, sacks, lumber and stone along the walls and around the support pillars. Shocked to be suddenly attacked from their own hidden entrance, nonetheless the “guildsmen” reacted swiftly, and a tremendous battle ensued.

Perhaps inspired by Devrik’s earlier fight in the tunnels, Toran quickly took first blood by loping off the hand of the man who rushed at him, sword drawn. Erol traded buffets with a hulking brute, and both men went down, while the leader of the pack snarled at Devrik and aimed a blow at his head, which was barely blocked.

The Zalik-mal captain was clearly a skilled swordsman, and he seemed fueled by rage at being surprised in his own lair. Devrik was suddenly forced back on the defensive, parrying a hail of swift, darting attacks but unable to land any of his own.

Erol was back on his feet and laying about him with his trident, while Toran and Korwin hacked and slashed at the horde surging around them. Korwin’s icy blade took out two of the thieves, while Toran’s bloody axe dispatched another two in quick succession.

Mariala, staying back near the hidden door, surveyed the melee and looked for her chance. She found it as the leader was suddenly in her line of sight, blocking another of Devrik’s powerful blows – she raised her hand and focused her mind.

The leader of the thieves screamed and staggered forward as every nerve in his body suddenly seemed to be on fire. But before Devrik could take advantage of the man’s distraction, two minions attacked from either side, and he was hard pressed to defend himself.

Seeing the leader down but not out, Vulk threw down his staff, uttering the word of Command as he did. As it struck the floor the staff was suddenly a large constricting snake, which slithered determinedly toward the writhing man. As the captain staggered to his feet, his sword still clutched in his hand and blood in his eye, he found himself suddenly wrapped in the tightening coils. He struggled frantically, but to no avail, and was soon on the floor again, writhing this time in the crushing grip of the snake.

Mariala, meanwhile, Fire Nerved a whole swath of angry thieves, sending eight men screaming to the floor where here companions dispatched them between blows with the few still standing. In less than a minute the fight was over.

But even as the last man fell, with a trident in his thigh severing his femoral artery, he managed to deal a savage blow to Erol, who went down like a puppet with its strings cut.

While Vulk rushed to see to Erol’s injury, Mariala was scanning the shadows of the warehouse, looking for the most important piece of this puzzle.

“Where is Lady Ethalyn?” she called out to the others. “Did anyone see which way she went?”

“What are you talking about?” Devrik said as he extracted the thieves leader from the coils of Vulk’s snake and bound him securely with the rope that Toran handed him. “What’s that old harpy got to do with anything?”

Mariala stared at her friend in disbelief…

♦ ♦ ♦

Mariala had experienced a rather different prelude to the fight than her friends had. As they had gathered behind the crowded secret door, the group had listened intently to a fierce argument going on in what appeared to be a warehouse. The spy hole failed to give a decent view of the participants, but their raised voices came through clearly:

“I tell you I want those damn things out of here!” said an angry male voice.

“What, even the gold and gems?” replied a throaty, sardonic female voice.

“Hardly, that’s our payment for doing you this “little” favor… but now the heat looks to be coming down, and I don’t want to be found with anything identifiable!” the angry male voice grated.

“Nor can I afford to be found with the Regalia… I’m sure I’m high on the list of suspects that muscle-brained oaf is putting together – that’s why I’m allowing you to keep such a huge sum for yourself – you keep the Regalia hidden until I need it!” the woman purred, steel covered in velvet.

“It’s well hidden, but I still want it out of here, and out of my hands! I’ve heard rumors about these “Hand” jokers our new king has called in, and I’m not taking any chances, you bitch,” said angry male, finality in his tone.

“Watch your tongue, you vile little worm! You know what I can do, and if I have to –”  the now equally furious female voice broke off suddenly as the youth had dashed in to announce that the “King’s men” were in the tunnels.

As her companions had burst form their hiding place and attacked the gathering of thieves, Mariala had seen the owner of that sardonic and angry voice as she turned to stare in shock at the sudden intrusion – it was the elder Lady Ethalyn Landsar, the King’s cousin and, along with her daughter Ethalyn the Younger, a potential heir to the throne, before Maldan had been elected.

As the woman had pulled up the hood of her great cloak to hide her face, Mariala had felt a sudden… tug was the only way she could describe it later… in her head, and felt her mental defenses snap down automatically. In that brief moment of confusion she had lost sight of the royal traitor, however, and then the battle was upon her….

Now, as she explained all this to her friends, it became obvious they truly had no memory of anything to do with Lady Ethalyn the Elder. And questioning of the few surviving Zalik-mal, including the leader, Hadrel Kervisan, revealed that they, too, recalled nothing of a lady of any sort being present.

“What are you babbling about?” Kervisan had snarled in confusion at Mariala’s insistent questioning. “There was no woman here, I was… I was talking to my men… then the boy ran in…” Vulk confirmed that the man was telling the truth, or at least believed he was.

Eventually, the Hand was forced to shelve the question of the woman no one remembered except Mariala, as it was imperative that the Royal Regalia be found quickly. No amount of persuasion could compel the guild captain to reveal his hiding spot, but in the end they didn’t need him.

In a locked inner room they discovered a dozen barrels of Kaluran wine, the good stuff they never sold and which was rumored to have some amazing aphrodisiacal effects… a close examination soon revealed one barrel that didn’t make quite the same sound as the others when thumped.

When the barrel was opened, sure enough, there was the sack and within it the glittering gems and metal of the Regalia, unharmed and beautiful.

As an added bonus to their general success, carting the obviously stolen wine back to the Kar Landsar allowed the Hand to smuggle the Regalia back in under a perfect cover that actually matched Korwin’s absurd story about searching for stolen wine.

And if the stuff was served at the Coronation, Mariala considered with an inward grin as they sought out the King, nine months from now the midwives of Shalara are going to be busy…

The Legend of Saint Helathor

Helathor of Xaranda was an Umantari weapon smith who lived during the Great War, over 500 years ago. He was said to be a quiet man, surprisingly meek and soft-spoken for such a large and powerful man, and for one who made weapons. His weapons, and his swords in particular, were much prized by the small cadre of warriors of the city (for Xaranda was a city of scholarship and learning, not war), as they were said to never break and to always turn an opponents blade just that little extra bit.

When the forces of the Necromancer poured out of the Savage Mountains and pillaged and raped their way south, the city prepared their defenses, which were mostly of magic. The Telnori mages of Xaranda did not despise their warriors, but knew they could not stand alone against the horde that was fast approaching, and so bent all their energies to Great Wards and the creation of Great Beasts.

The city was soon besieged, but the powerful magics of the mages held, and their fierce Beasts even drove away the powerful Demon General, Khanaribas the Corruptor, at least for a time. But they could not defeat the army of Gülvini, savage tribesmen and fell beasts, only hold them at bay. When the the King of Serviana called on the mages of Xaranda for aid to stop the Corruptor, who was laying waste to all the land, they sent their Great Beasts to his aid, knowing that this would weaken their defenses and that the city might fall.

And it did. When the Necromancer’s forces finally breached the wards and walls, there was terrible destruction, looting, raping and death. Many of the citizens of the doomed city fled down the Silvereye, in boats swiftly prepared as the defenses failed; others fled overland to the northwest, where the enemy forces were thin.

Helathor, knowing his city was doomed and his home lost, gathered together as many of his neighbors as he could, especially the children, and told them he knew a secret way out of the city, one that would take them beyond the besieging forces lines. Taking up a battle sword he had just that day completed, he led the fearful group to the city walls, only to find the streets already overrun with Gülvini and savage men.

But Helathor never paused, swinging his great sword at any who blocked their way, and the people who saw it were amazed, for the blade seemed to shine with an inner white light that struck terror in the hearts of the invaders, and even a glancing blow from the blade could send man or beast to a screaming death.

Reaching the secret passage that would lead to safety, Helathor turned and held the enemy at bay, while all his people escaped. When only a handful remained, they being most of the few warriors or fighters he had found, he told them to go also, and to lead the people north to Lairial “where they shall be ever safe from these horrors.” His companions were loath to leave him, but his will was adamant, and they knew the people would need protection on the long road.

Two only stayed at the hidden opening, in the hopes that Helathor would defeat his foes and escape with them. But the city was burning by then, and for every enemy he killed, two more took their place. In the end Helathor was overwhelmed and slain, buried beneath a mountain of his foes… but not a single one who had seen the escape of his people survived him. As the two warriors quietly sealed the passage behind them, they saw that no enemy would come near the now-dark sword of Helathor where it lay near his blood-stained hand… and though it had slain many that night, blade itself seemed untouched by blood or gore.

The warriors did lead the people Helathor had gathered to Lairial, as he had commanded, and the story of his heroic stand and the power of his obviously soul-infused sword was told far and wide. Already people were calling him a saint… but with the horrifying Rape of Lairial less than two years later, where a great many of his surviving friends and neighbors were killed, his legend took a bit of a hit.

Some of the children survived, however, as part of the Lairial Odyssey, and they never lost their faith and gratitude towards their saviour, despite his less-than-perfect prophecy. Years later, after the war was long ended, one of them, Hordel Wolthan, returned to the ruins of Xaranda. There he claimed to find the Sword of Helathor still laying where it had fallen from his dead hand, unrusted and seemingly untouched by time.

Hordel then built a shrine on the spot, and placed the sword within, and from that day forward became a monk devoted to the veneration of St. Helathor. Others eventually joined him, and although they were never very many, and their saint never gained much popularity in the wider world, they maintain his shrine to this very day. And it is said the lingering power of his pure soul keeps the Sword  shining and untouched, and that any who believe and touch the hilt will gain great prowess in battle against evil, most especially the Gülvini.

Coronation Crisis

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?”