The Hand arrived, with Princess Miralda, her hand maiden, the remnants of her guard, the Ladies Thalia and Lania, the Maid Carissa, Raven and the wee baby Aldari… not quite where they had expected.

Vulk’s heart sank as he stepped through the Portal, last of all, and found himself not in the tower chamber of the Gate of Shalara, but in some sylvan glade. Sunlight dappled the ground through the bight green of early summer foliage, apparently about the right time of day – at least they weren’t on the other side of the planet!

“I’ll need a few minutes,” he said to the large cluster of confused people milling about the clearing. “I need to recover some strength before trying again… and we need to know exactly where we are, in any case.”

Erol and Devrik undertook to discover that last, striking out down the obvious path out of the glade. They were back in less than a turn of the glass, with the happy news that they were very near the village of Hask, less than ten kilometers west of the city! They had made arrangements with a local drover, and a wagon and team of horses awaited them, ready to convey the ladies (and Raven and the wee baby Alari) into Shalara. Everyone else would have to walk, with the exception of the most badly wounded.

The journey, while relatively short, was tense and quiet. They passed a larger number of people than would normally be expected on a country back road, apparently worried folk fleeing the city for fear of an invasion. Princess Miralda snorted in derision when she learned of this, and shook her head.

“The betrayal of Yorma – or whoever has taken his place –” she added with a  nod to Lady Thalia, ” was a devastating blow. But Shalara is hardly in immediate danger, and even if it it were, it’s still a far safer bastion from marauding enemy troops than any country manor!”

But she agreed there was nothing she could do to stop the fools, if fools they were determined to be, and sat back with a frown, contemplating future remedies.

They arrived in Shalara in the early evening of the first day of Agras, and went immediately to Kar Landsar. Ser Koris was relieved to see his niece, but shocked and saddened to hear of his nephew’s death. The King was not yet returned to the city, he informed the Princess and her companions, but was expected the next day. He commanded the hand to remain in the castle for the night, so that they would be available to give their report as soon as possible on the monarch’s return. He had no specifics about his brother’s wounds, but wasn’t too worried, as he seemed still to be in command.

“It can’t be too bad,” he assured Miralda. “He’s still issuing orders and seeing to every detail of his army, by all reports, so I expect the rumors are far worse than the reality.”

Indeed, the next morning, when he arrived at the eastern gates with columns of soldiers marching in good order, King Maldan rode into the city at their head mounted on his famous white charger. Relieved crowds throng the streets to see him, and cheered as he nodded gravely to all. He wound through several parts of the city, eschewing the most direct route to Kar Landsar, giving as many people as possible a chance to see him.

But when he was safely back in his palace, and had time to eat and hear the news from his daughter, he summoned the Hand to a meeting that revealed another story.

Seated in a large chair, his left leg propped up on a footstool, Maldan looked pale and in pain. He waved away Vulk’s solicitous offer to examine his injuries with an irritated grimace.

“It’s not all that bad,” he said. “My own physicians have the wound well in hand, they assure me. It was an axe blow from that traitorous cur Yorma, laid open my thigh to the bone! Still, I’d have decapitated the bastard if the tide of battle hadn’t swept us apart the next moment…

“I have heard all that my daughter has to tell me, of her bother’s death and the events at car Urkonis. I have heard the testimony of Lady Thalia, concerning the apparent imposture of her husband, and of Lady Lania as well. Now I wish to hear what you all have to say of these matters.”

The King listened for almost an hour as the Hand recounted the events of the last several days, only occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification on some point or probe deeper into a statement. When they had brought the story up to their arrival in Shalara he sat back with a sigh and brooded for a few moments.

“Well, you did all that you could,” he said at last. “It is not your fault that you could not save my son; and if you violated my instructions by taking my daughter through a Nitaran gate, well, it seemed you had little choice. I thank you for your service.”

With that it seemed the audience was over, and the Hand were ushered out of the room, free at last to return to their homes.

♦ ♦ ♦

Raven was suitably impressed by her husbands new mansion… she’d seen enough of civilized life now to recognize its value. It was still in the middle of a city, but there seemed nothing to be done about that, and she looked forward to seeing the country manors he – they – had also acquired. But there was no time for that now, and in any case her main concern was for her brother Black Hawk. Killed in the battle at the inn in Athon’s Grove and resurrected by Vulk thereafter, he had been left in the care of the inn folk. To her relief Mariala was able to assure Raven, through the agency of her magical papers, that Draik had arrived from Dor Dür to oversee her brother’s recovery, and that he should be up and about very soon.

The next several days were spent by the members of the Hand in ordering their new homes, studying and practicing the various arts on which their lives depended, and eagerly seeking all the news of what was going on in the east and the north. Kar Vinkara and the Earl of Kinen remained cut off and under siege, but showed no signs of falling. News from the captured eastern lands was sporadic, but seemed to show no particular bent of the invaders to more than the usual rapine and pillaging… indeed, less than might be expected, as if they expected to be in possession of the lands permanently and therefore not wishing to despoil them unduly. News from the rebel fortress of Yormashire was scant indeed, even to rumor.

One story that seemed to buoy the spirits of the city was that of the Princess Miralda, and her heroic leading of her troops into battle at Dor Lorethal, breaking the siege and providing the one success of that terrible day. Her mystique was only enhanced by her subsequent capture by, and escape from, the traitor Earl of Yorma, bringing out with her the Earl’s betrayed wife as well as the wife and doughtier of the brave Earl of Kinen. The Hand’s role in these events was seriously downplayed, to the chagrin of some and the amusement of others.

“No doubt it is the desire of the Crown to do everything they can to enhance the Princess in the eyes of the people,” Vulk said when Korwin complained about the lack of credit over dinner one evening. “She is the Heiress now, and the last thing this country needs is another Succession Crisis should, Immortals forfend, anything happen to the King.”

“Yes,” agreed Mariala, “I imagine Maldan will try to get Miralda recognized by the Landsar Succession Council, as he did for his son, before he goes into battle again. Anything that makes her popular with the people can only help in that regard.”

And the Princess’ popularity did index seem to be riding high, at least with the people of the capital. With the King’s return, and the safety of the new Heiress, the number of people leaving the city slowed, and even reversed itself as many of those who fled early returned quietly and red-faced.

On the seventh of the month the Hand was summoned to Kar Landsar at noon, where they found themselves among a large throng of nobles and gentry, all summoned to hear the official proclamation of the Princess Miralda as the Heir Apparent and Crown Princess. Apparently Maldan had forced this through the Council, who must still be worried about another crisis in the midst of a war. The people seemed generally in favor of this announcement, what murmuring there was centered more on her age than her gender. But even that seemed muted in the face of her apparent martial abilities and sharp wits.

As they were preparing to leave the castle after the ceremony, the group was discreetly intercepted by one of the upper servants of the King’s household, who asked them to follow hi, at the King’s command. They were once again brought into the small study cum audience chamber where they had last seen the ruler. His leg was again hoisted onto a cushioned footstool, although he seemed less in pain today than previously. The Crown Princess stood beside him, and ranged about the room were his brother Ser Koris, several Court officials, and a dour-looking Khundari in rich robe. The King wasted no time getting down to the matter at hand.

“We wish you to undertake an embassy for us,” he began as soon as they had made their courtesies. “Specifically, We wish Cantor Ser Vulk to act as Our envoy to his own king, Dorikon IV of Arushal, in seeking an alliance 0f Our two realms against the threat of this mysterious Vortex.

“You are ideally suited to this task, not only by reason of your being a subject of Arushal, but because of your close personal involvement in many of the events that have led us to what little is known of this Vortex. Who better, along with your companions, to convince Our brother ruler and his advisors of the true nature of the mutual danger we face? We are also led to understand that you are not unknown to certain noble elements of the Arushali Court, including the King’s own brother.

“In addition, We have recently made treaty with Prince Rhogûn of Dürokon, in common cause against this foe. Ambassador Ghervin Stonefoot,” and here he gestured at the grave Kundari, “has a similar writ for Toran Quickhand, to act as envoy for their own ruler, and help bring Arushal into this alliance.

“Your writ is not to return with a treaty, of course, but to convince Dorikon that he should meet with Us as speedily as possible – I propose the Arushali border fortress of Vandol as the best place for our conference, but We are open to any other suggestions he or his people might make. But time is of the essence. Do you accept this mission on Our behalf, Ser Vulk, Lord Toran?”

When they had made their acceptance, the King continued. “We are placing at your disposal the royal warship HMS Kestrel, one of the mightiest of Our fleet. In international diplomacy, it does not do to introduce the uncanny – and it is best for Our own prestige that Our envoy is seen to arrive in style and power, not skulk into Lothkir unnoticed!

“The ship sails on the dawn tide tomorrow. Our Chancellor has your credentials and the official documents of proposal for the Conference of Vandol; Lord Stonefoot has similar documents for Lord Toran. May the Immortals smile upon you and bless this endeavor!”

With war looming on the horizon, and their own on-going battle with the secret Vortex organization still unresolved, the members of the Hand of Fortune agreed that they didn’t need to go running after yet another enemy. If the Zalik-mal of Shalara were willing to stay out of their way, the Hand would not seek them out either.

“But we’re not turning a blind eye to their criminal enterprises if they come to our attention,” Mariala added, once the general consensus had been reached the morning after the fight in Rekka’s Arena between the Hand, more than a dozen thieves, two panthers, a gigantic Black Gül and a Death Worm.

“No, of course not,” Vulk had agreed, and the others nodded. “But for now, let’s just leave things to go on as they have for centuries and focus on our own problems.”

Currently, those problems seemed to consist of finding decent interior decorators and/or furniture makers. With the Vortex seemingly quiet and the King having departed two days earlier for the mustering of his army at Kar Urkonis, the Hand was unexpectedly free for a time. While Mariala undertook setting the remodeling of the Green Tower in motion, the others focused on more modest changes to their new homes. Well, except for Vulk, who began to design a sybaritic gambling den motif for Krenden House.

Toran and Korwin drew Devrik into their plan to utilize the acid sacs of the recently deceased Death Worm. The old apothecary/alchemist across the street from Mariala’s place was very excited to have access to the many other parts of the great beast, and took those as payment for processing the acid to Toran’s specifications. Devrik was equally excited at the prospect of creating both a sword and armor that could stand up to his fire magics… the possibilities were extensive!

The city was quiet as everyone went about their business, but a certain tension vibrated in the air, as if people were waiting. People seemed to go about with a certain air of distraction, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop…

King Maldan had done his best to make the city secure, both physically and psychologically – his brother, Ser Koris, had been left in charge of the city, and he had rammed through an acknowledgement of his son, Korun, as the Heir Apparent and Crown Prince while the Succession Council was still gathered together. This relieved some of the anxiety the people had about the new king going off to war, and reduced the likelihood of another succession crisis if the worst came to pass.

Every day the town criers posted news of the gathering of the Army of the East, and the state of the northern marches under the Army of the North, where the Earl Kinen commanded. The North remind quiescent, and once the King’s forces from west and south had finished gathering at Urkonis they would move east to secure the border with Tharkia. Speculation was rampant that the King might actually move to eliminate the threat by preemptively invading Tharkia… he did have a legitimate claim to that throne, after all, and as an usurper, Laravad II had no leg to stand on at all!

It came as quite a shock, therefore, when rumors began to spread through the city on the 23rd of Metisto that Tharkian forces had pulled off a surprise night attack, and the city of Tyendus had fallen! Crowds gathered in the square outside Kar Landsar, demanding news, but no official word was forthcoming.

New rumors, of the fall of Dor Ludolin and Dor Lorethal, began to circulate, and the crowds began to get restive as the anxiety grew. If Tyendus had fallen, that left only a handful of river fortresses to stop a waterborne assault on the capital itself – and Ludolin was one of those keeps! And weren’t the new king’s children, especially his Heir, in Tyendus…?

Finally, as the sun began to sink towards the western walls, an official herald appeared above the closed gates of the castle. In a firm, carrying voice, he read aloud a statement from Ser Koris, Constable of Kar Landsar:

“Citizens of Shalara, rumors lead to fear and panic when there is no cause for such! 

While it is true that the city of Tyendus has indeed fallen to a treacherous attack by the forces of the Tharkian usurper Laravad, on the night of the 21st, the King is already preparing to retake what was stolen from. The Army of the East is assembled, and prepares to march on Tyendus immediately!

And while that theft includes the keep at Ludolin, it does not include Dor Lorethal, which repulsed the attack by Laravad’s barbarian allies! Nor does it include the royal children – word has come that they escaped the city before its fall, and have taken refuge in Dor Lorethal itself, where they are safe and secure.

As is this great city. The garrison is more than ample to hold the walls against an army, never mind against the sort of rabble of sell-swords and barbarians that the criminal Laravad has under his command. 

Surprise and treachery have given him a minor, and very temporary, victory. But strength and virtue will send him and his barbarian rabble to the grave soon enough!

So go on about your business, people of Shalara, and don’t let the terrorists win! Buy war bonds!”

The crowds slowly dispersed… if not with fears completely allayed, at least with more confidence that the King had the situation in hand. The night was quiet, thankfully, as a subdued populace generally stayed home.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day a courier arrived at the Green Tower, formally summoning the Hand of Fortune to Kar Landsar in the name of the King. There they met with Ser Koris, the King’s brother and currently in charge of the city.

“I have summoned you here at the King’s request,” he began once everyone was seated around a richly inlaid table in a small private study. “I am instructed to give to all the facts, as we currently understand them, in regard to recent events.

“As we have publicly announced, Tyendus fell three nights ago, to a surprise attack. It seems that a squad of Ethmoniri barbarians were able to sneak into the city during the day, and after midnight they ambushed and murdered the guards on the River Gate. They then opened the gates, allowing a large strike force to cross the Bellanin Bridge and seize control of the whole district.

“With their bridgehead secured, the full army that had been gathering at Kar Olsepor these last tendays was able to enter the city unimpeded. The garrison did their best, as the fighting went street to street, but surprise and the ferocity of the attack – half the “soldiers” seems to be barbarians survivors report – doomed them.

“Apparently the Crown Prince and the Princess managed to escape by the Vinkara Gate before the citadel fell, thank all the Immortals… although Prince Korun was wounded at some point. How badly, we don’t know. The courier raven was maddeningly vague…

We know my nephew and niece, with their guards, made it to Dor Lorethal, only to find it under siege by a barbarian force. Apparently… and this is hard to understand… Princess Miralda, somehow, lead an attack on the enemy’s rear, breaking  the siege… the King fears that this means Korun is more seriously wounded than… or maybe…”

Ser Koris ran his hands through his hair in frustration. There was more gray there than the last time we met, Mariala thought to herself.

“Well, that’s just it – we don’t know! And the King must know, soon. But it is imperative that he strikes quickly, before the Tharkians have a chance to consolidate their grip on our stolen land, and he can spare none of his forces to secure his children.

“Therefore, he asks that you all come, by the fastest means you know,” and here the knight looked slightly askance at Mariala, magic making him uncomfortable, “to Kar Urkonis. He wishes to speak with you privately, about what I’m sure you can all imagine.”

The Hand, of course, agreed immediately, and after a brief consultation with the Mistress of Esoterica for her knowledge of Nitaran gates in both Shalara and Urkonis, they returned to New District to prepare for their journey.

♦ ♦ ♦

Devrik, who had been growing increasingly concerned about the safety of his wife and son in recent days, decided now was the time to act. Using the linked parchment Mariala had provided him and Raven, he concisely outlined his plan, asking her and their son Aldari to meet the group at Dor Lorethal as soon as was possible. A separate note to Ser Alakor ensured a proper escort for mother and child.

Vulk called on Lady Lania, the Countess Kinen, to thank her for her hospitality and explain why they were leaving the city. She immediately seized the opportunity to request that she and her daughter, the Maid Carissa be allowed to accompany them.

“I have been thinking for days that it might be best for us to leave the capital. I know it is unlikely an attack will come here, but I would feel better closer to home, and I know my daughter Thalisa, the Countess Yorma, would be pleased to have us at Kar Urkonis. It would also put us closer to my husband, since he’d rather we not return to Kar Vinkara just yet, given the barbarian troubles in the north…

“Both Carissa and myself have the utmost confidence in you and your friends, and I can’t imagine a better escort on the road!”

“Under normal circumstances, m’lady,” Vulk replied diplomatically, “we would be pleased to act as your escort. But we travel now not by roads, but by… more esoteric paths.”

“Ah, you intend to Gate to Kar Urkonis,” the Countess said, looking momentarily nonplussed. But she quickly rebounded, and nodded her head decisively. “Well, I’ve never traveled that way before, but frankly, it’s even better than risking the roads… assuming five more people would not be a problem?”

‘Um, no, m’lady,” Vulk answered reluctantly. “It stretches things a bit, but wouldn’t be absolutely prohibitive… but Lady Lania, I could not guarantee your safety! You must know that Gate travel is inherently dangerous; I can tell you from personal experience that you do not always end up where you intended! Even the most skilled Gate-travelers cannot be assured of a successful, or safe, journey.”

“It can hardly be less safe than the roads right now, Cantor Ser Vulk. I am willing to take the chance… and I know my daughter will be thrilled to experience real ‘magic’ of this sort!”

Vulk continued to try and dissuade the lady from her wish, but in the end he gave in. It was hard to believe that a year ago she was a frail shell of herself, on the verge of death. Seeing her now, with that steely determination beneath a genteel, matronly exterior, he could understand why the Earl would risk so much to restore her to this.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was early afternoon when all the preparations had been made and the Hand returned to Kar Landsar. They were greeted by both Ser Koris and Derwen Verdeth, the Mistress of Esoterica, who led them up to a medium sized chamber in the tallest tower of the castle. Lady Lania, Maid Carissa, their two maids and a major domo were already there.

“Welcome to the Gate of Shalara,” Mistress Verdeth said as the last person crowded into the room. “As His Majesty has requested, I shall help you open the way Urkonis, and teach you the Patterns for both this Gate and that.”

She didn’t seem to be all that pleased to be sharing such privileged information with johnny-come-lately interlopers – Mariala sensed she felt more than a little threatened by both her and Devrik – but she knew which side her bread was buttered on. And who buttered it.

As Verdeth instructed Vulk and Devrik in the Patterns, Mariala looked over and winked at the Maid Carissa, who was almost beside herself with excitement at the prospect of not only seeing powerful magics at work, but being a part of it all. Only a certain tightness of the mouth betrayed her mother’s tension, even as she smiled indulgently at her daughter.

When all was ready, Mistress Verdeth, with Devrik and Vulk flanking her, one hand placed atop each of her outstretched hands, began a low chant.  Slowly a shimmer seemed to fill the air in the center of the room, expanding outwards until it was three meters across, barely visible even to the trained eye. When Vulk gave the signal, they all moved forward towards the shimmer, and one by one the travelers disappeared. Devrik and Vulk were the last ones through…

♦ ♦ ♦

The Gate of Urkonis was located not in a tower, or even in a wooded grove, but in a large cave beneath the castle. Over the centuries it had been worked and sculpted into an impressive chamber with pillars into likenesses of exotic plants and animals, and a domed ceiling of purple-veined white marble. Great iron-bound oak doors barred the only exit from the chamber, and guards were posted outside, small grates in the wall allowing them to see in and question arriving travelers.

Lady Thalisa, the Countess Yorma, was summoned as soon as the party had identified itself, and soon the Hand was seated in another private study. After seeing to their comfort, the Lady bore off her mother and sister to their own rooms and a private chat. A few minutes after they had left, the door to the study opened again and three men entered – King Maldan I, Lord Sedris Kleftin, the Earl Yorma, and Lord Karsin Tobalin, the Baron Ludolin. They all looked tired and worried, but the latter looked positively haggard.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” the King began without preamble, motioning everyone to stay seated. “I have a task for you, if you will undertake it, one I think your group is uniquely suited to.”

“I’m sure we stand ready to help you in whatever way we can, Your Majesty,” Vulk replied, bowing in his seat. The others murmured assent.

“I wish you to recover my children from their refuge at Dor Lorethal, and bring them here,” Maldan said bluntly. “I can’t spare enough troops to feel certain of their safety, and in any case I understand my son is wounded… very seriously, if he let his sister lead an attack…”

The King looked momentarily distracted, then he shook his head, straightened his back, and continued.

“My children know you, from our journey south together earlier this month, which is one advantage in sending you. Another is the considerable skill set you bring, both in the physical and arcane realms. But of overriding concern to me now is Cantor Ser Vulk’s healing abilities… if Prince Korun is as badly wounded as… as I fear, then the sooner you can attend to him the better.”

Vulk looked suddenly pale, but wisely refrained from saying anything.

“My mother-in-law speaks very highly of you all,” Lord Sedris said, leaning forward. He was as tall, dark haired, gray eyed, square of jaw and charismatic as they all remembered. “Especially of the healing potions of your comrade Ser Draik. We know he is not with you, but Dor Dür is not far from Lorethal… perhaps, if it is necessary…” he spread his hand in question.

“Yes,” Vulk nodded. “It is possible to contact him, and he might meet us there…”

“Good!” said the King. “Very good! But let me be clear on one point – as much as I appreciate your willingness to use the Nitaran system to reach me as quickly as I needed you to, I don’t wish you to risk such travel with my children. My Master of Horses will outfit you with fast steeds and strong remounts, enough for you all and the children – when the Crown Prince is well enough to travel, in your opinion Ser Vulk, then ride straight to Urkonis. They will be safe here, under the care of Lady Thalisa and the protection of the Earl’s garrison.”

Suddenly the Lord Karsin leaned forward, his eyes red-rimmed and glaring. “And if you can do this, then I have a request, of you and of the King – rescue my children next!” His jaw worked convulsively as he tried to continue, but the King put his hand on his shoulder and eased him back.

“The Baron is distraught,” he said quietly. “And for good reason. The same night that Laravad’s treachery took Tyendus, a similar betrayal allowed him to seize the keep at Ludolin, the Baron’s seat… we have had news just today that Lady Seria… died trying to defend her children. And they have let it be known that the children are alive and prisoner in their own home.”

“So young,” the Baron groaned. “Seria is but 17, and Karsin barely 15…”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning, in the cold, misty hour before dawn, the Hand prepared to ride out from Kar Urkonis. The King was there to see them off, despite the fact that his army was preparing to march. He was already in his armor, and his squire stood a short way off holding his helmet and his battle sword.

“My prayers go with you,” he said quietly as they stood together in a circle of torch light. “It may be that we will finish this quickly, and all of my fears will be for naught.

“I have a strong right arm in Lord Sedris, his men are fiercely loyal to him, and good fighters. And if Lord Clarin can bring even a third of the Army of the North to us in the next few days… Meanwhile, our enemy is disunited – Laravad is as big a fool as rumor makes him, to try to combine barbarians with a civilized army. Although the Lady of Luck has favored the fool so far…

“Cantor Ser Vulk – although I’ve already had the blessings of my own chaplain this gray morning, would you favor me with your blessing as well? Kasira seems to smile on you, and I would not refuse such grace for myself.”

Vulk lifted his baton and as the King knelt before him called a heartfelt blessing down on the monarch, his army, and his family. Rising to his feet, the King seemed somehow lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

“May the Immortals go with you, my friends,” he said, saluting them. Then he turned and strode back towards his squire, and both soon vanished in the morning mists.

♦ ♦ ♦

It as just after noon the next day when the Hand rode into the village of Lorethal, huddled beneath the gray walls of the keep. It was obvious that war had passed over this small town – several buildings, including the local temple, were burned to the ground, a few others were visibly damaged, and the field before the gates was a churned mess, as if a battle had been fought there.

The patrolling squads of heavily armed soldiers were jumpy and suspicious, but they eventually accepted the group’s credentials, and let them pass up to the keep. There they again had a time convincing the guards of their bona fides, until a commanding female voice ordered the gates opened.

The Princess Miralda looked rather different than the last time the group had seen her. Still tall, dark blond and possessing a face that was perhaps too strong to be strictly beautiful, she no longer wore the fine riding dress of twenty days ago, but instead a simple frock of brown and green wool. Her air of distracted diffidence was also gone, replaced by an aura of steely competence.

She recognized the Hand, of course, and lead them into the Great Hall of the keep as stable hands saw to the horses. Once everyone was seated and servants had poured watered wine all around, they were joined by a man, perhaps 30, who had recently seen hard fighting. Dark hair and brown eyes, he hovered protectively near the Princess.

“The captain of my guard, Borain Loxarin,” she introduced him. “I don’t know if you met when last we traveled together…”

“Not that I recall, Princess,” Vulk said. “But before anything else, I must ask to see your brother – we know he was wounded, and your father asked me to bring my healing skills to him as soon as was possible.”

Miralda looked briefly down, and when she looked back up there were tears in her eyes. “My brother is dead, Ser Vulk. He died the evening of the day we arrived.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” Vulk said, sinking back in his chair as shocked murmurs went around the table. “How… we heard he was wounded in escaping Tyendus,,,”

“Actually, it was after that,” Captain Loxarin spoke up. He looked at the Princess, and continued when she nodded. “The Crown Prince was reluctant to leave the city while there was any chance of repelling the invaders… but when it was obvious the city had fallen, and the citadel was next, I convinced him to… depart.”

“Flee, was how he put it, actually,” Miralda said with a small, sad smile.

“Yes, well, in any case we were able to get out of the keep by the postern gate with our horses, my squad of twenty men-at-arms, the Crown Prince, his squire, the Princess and her maid… and me, of course. We set off across country… and picked up some refugees along the way…”

“Niether Captain Loxarin nor my brother was happy about it,” the princess put in. “But I was not going to leave those poor people to suffer – I saw what those animals did to our people… to the women, even the children…”

“Yes, well, so there we were, slowed down a bit by having to double up to carry the three women, two men and seven children… I figured we had maybe two hours before dawn to get to some sort of cover… which turned out to be about right.

“Unfortunately, just as we reached the shelter of the forest north of the city, we met an outrider patrol of the invaders. Ethmoniri tribesmen, maybe a dozen of them… the odds didn’t faze them a bit, they just whooped in to the attack… maybe they figured the women and kids would hinder us.

“But they were wrong, and we beat them off, killing most of them before the survivors turned tail. But that’s when the Prince was wounded – an Ethmoniri knife in the side. It didn’t seem too bad, at first, but by noon he wasn’t able to stay in the saddle… I carried him in front of me, but it slowed us down even more.

“So it wan’t until the next morning that we approached Dor Lorethal. But we’d encountered some burned out farms, and I had a bad feeling… so I sent scouts ahead. The news they brought back wasn’t good. The town was taken and the keep was besieged. My men had found and killed four sentries, and didn’t think there were more, at least on this side of the keep, but I knew they’d be missed eventually.

“Of course the fortress itself wasn’t in much danger, since the invaders seemed to be about 80 tribesmen with a company of 20 Tharkian knights supposedly in “command,” so they had no siege equipment. But that didn’t help us. I was all for turning back south and west, maybe make for Kar Urkonis –”

“Which would have taken another three days,” Miralda interrupted. “Korun didn’t seem like he had three days. We needed medical help soon. He was already delirious, drifting in and out. I insisted on seeing the situation for myself, and when he couldn’t talk me out of it, Borain, that is Captain Loxarin, made me put on as much of Korun’s armor as possible. It was my idea to take the sword.

“He also insisted on taking the entire troop with us, less one man to watch over my brother and the refugees… one of the women was a midwife, and was doing all she could for Korun. So from the edge of the forest we watched… most of the invaders had gathered in front of the main gate, out of arrow range, of course, and there seemed to be some sort of parley going on.

“It quickly became obvious that the commander of the Tharkian knights had challenged the keep’s commander to single combat… and my idiot half-uncle had agreed! Oh, did I mention that my father’s half brother, Ser Tualth Kalafon holds this keep as the Sheriff of Kinenshire? Everyone in the family thinks he’s a twit, and I’d say this stunt proved it. Except that if he hadn’t agreed to it…

“Well, when we realized what was happening, I had Borain send for the horses, and even go the two peasant men up and armed. I figured it was all or nothing, and my captain agreed… although he was rather shocked when I mounted up and insisted on leading the attack!”

“Shock doesn’t cover it,” the captain said dryly. “If she hadn’t already started to charge I’d have pulled her off that damn horse and sat on her… as it was, I had no choice but to follow her! The gates of the keep were open, Ser Tualth was advancing with his squire to meet Ser Goren Veldaran (as we later learned), and the invaders were totally focused on the upcoming sport.

“The sight of this berserker warrior woman, screaming and waving her sword as she plunged into their rear, must have stunned them – we cut down a dozen before they started to get their wits about them. I’ve been training the Princess since she was 15, at her father’s command, but even I was surprised at her skill and focus in battle.”

Miralda blushed and shrugged. “Daddy always said I should know how to protect myself in a hard, cold world.”

“Yes, well in spite of all that,” Loxarin continued, “we’d  have been lost soon enough if Ser Tualth’s own guard captain, Jefar Hamdon, hadn’t been on the ball. He had tried to talk his lord out of, but the Sheriff insisted it was a mater of honor. He demanded that Hamdon abide by the agreement if he lost, and surrender the keep. I gather the man had no intention of doing that, however, and he managed to convince the Sheriff to allow him to have his men mounted and ready in the courtyard in case the enemy proved less honorable than himself.

“So, when we hit the enemy from behind, Captain Hamdon ordered his own 40 men to the attack. Even in the heat of battle, I have to say the Sheriff’s look of shock and outrage as his men streamed past him was priceless.”

“He’s still sulking in his rooms,” Miralda added. “He can’t argue with the results, but he insists his ‘honor’ has been sullied. Twit.”

“We were still out numbered, of course,” Loxarin went on. “But not by much, and surprise is a tremendous force multiplier. We routed the motherless bastards, killing 55 tribesmen and nine Tharkians, and captured 11 knights. No Ethmoniri let himself be taken alive, and the survivors melted into the forest. I’d have liked to hunt them down, but –”

“Wasn’t practical,” Miralda said firmly. “We lost seven men, the garrison lost nine, and we had my brother to think about. We got him into the keep and in a proper bed, but there was little the Sheriff’s doctor could do… infection had set in. And the local cantor had been killed when the barbarians torched the temple, so there was no one to even preserve him at the moment of… when he died that night.

“Unfortunately, I’d had them send off a message by raven as soon as we were secure in the keep – the last raven, as it turned out, So when Korun… later, there was no way to send the news. But maybe that’s not so bad after all… it would be awful for Father to hear the news that way…”

Everyone was silent for a few moments as they contemplated this amazing story. Finally Vulk broke the spell, clearing his throat.

“We are very sorry for your loss, my lady,” he said gravely. “It is a blow to the whole realm, to be sure. But you are the Heir now, and and our duty to your father remains clear. We must get you to the safety of Kar Urkonis as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I don’t know about the Heir thing,” the princess shrugged. “Father had the Succession Council agree to my brother while he still had them all in one place, and the fear of war was fresh in their minds. Now… the situation has changed. War is upon us, and if anything were to happen to the King… Agara forfend that it does… well, who knows what would happen?”

“Nonetheless,” Vulk insisted. “You are the Heir Apparent, and your father’s orders are clear. How soon can you be ready to go?”

♦ ♦ ♦

As it turned out, not the next day. Which was just as well, since it wasn’t until the next morning that Raven, Aldari, Black Hawk, Draik and 20 Hand of Vengeance mercenaries arrived at the gates. Devrik’s family reunion was everything he’d hoped it would be, and that night they let Uncle Black Hawk babysit his nephew while they got… reacquainted. Several times.

Vulk was thrilled to see his old friend again, and after a good meal and several drinks, Draik pulled out a leather satchel and showed of his latest advancement in the field of Baylorium. Opening the satchel, he pointed to two rows of six vials each, held firmly in place by leather loops.

“Behold,” he said dramatically. “The very latest in miraculous medical magic – Baylorium-7!”

“Very nice,” said Erol, picking up one of the vials. “Looks like… curdled milk.”

“And smells like chicken that’s been left in the sun too long,” Draik replied, taking the vial back. “But that’s not the point. The point is, the healing properties are the point. It’s designed for open wounds – cuts, abrasions, punctures… even burns. Used as a topical, the base doubles the healing rate of such wounds. Which is great, of course, but hardly miraculous, right?”

His friends nodded in agreement. Toran poured more wine.

“But, when you add a drop of your own blood…” Draik paused for dramatic effect. Mariala rolled her eyes.

“…and let it sit in a warm place for 75 hours… it attunes itself to your specific biological structure! And then, when you apply it to a wound, the healing rate is somewhere between 10 and 12 times normal! A wound that would take a tenday to heal normally is healed in a single day, or less!”

That got everyone’s attention. Vulk picked up a vial and looked closely at it. It did look a lot like curdled milk… with a…  was that a faint blue tint?

“And I’m really excited to see what it does in conjunction with your psionic healing ability, Vulk,” Draik went on. “My theory is that it could boost the efficacy of the Baylorium-7 by an order of magnitude – a hundred-fold increase in healing rate for the keyed version!

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to use it on the poor Prince…”

“Still, it should come in quite handy in our line of work,” Erol said thoughtfully. “How long does the keyed balm stay potent? Ot the base version, for that matter?”

“Well, at the moment, the base retains full potency for about a month, decreasing in potency by 20% for every five days after that… so less than two months before it’s just a foul smelling cream. It turns an increasingly dark shade of blue after that first month, until it’s almost black.

“Once you’ve added blood to it – just a single drop is enough – and it’s “cooked” for three days, then it remains fully effective for a tenday. Potency drops by 20% every day after that. By day 15 it’s gone from the pale pink of full potency to the red-black of uselessness.”

“This really is amazing, Draik,” Mariala said. “This will change everything – military medicine alone will be revolutionized!”

“Mmmm, well, maybe someday,” Draik shrugged. “But at the moment it’s difficult and time-consuming to make, doesn’t last very long, and it doesn’t travel well in bulk– large batches tend to lose efficacy more quickly than small ones. These vials are the optimum size, so far.  Oh, and extremes of both heat and cold renders the stuff inert. It’s also not exactly cheap. But I’m working on all of that –”

“What is the temperature range?” Vulk asked, carefully replacing the vial in its proper slot.

“Down to just above freezing, at which point it turns to a crystalline mush, and up to a really hot summer day, when it liquifies completely. That’s why I had this special satchel made for me by an Avikor mage I know in Tyendus.” Draik frowned as he recalled the fate of that city, and wondered if the woman was still alive. “Regardless of the ambient temperature around it, it keeps the interior at normal human body temperature. Which is about the perfect temperature for “cooking” the keyed version, by the way.”

“How many doses are there per vial?” Korwin asked, while eyeing the satchel and wondering if he could reverse-engineer the spell that made it work.

“Depends on the size of the wounds and the amount of tissue damaged, really. I’ve found that I can usually heal three “average” life-threatening wounds with a vial. With lesser wounds it would go farther, obviously, but it’s an expensive way to treat scratches.

“In any case, this is for you,” he concluded, handing Vulk the satchel. “I’ll try to have more ready for you in a month or so, assuming this damn war doesn’t interfere.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day, the 28th of Metisto the group set out from Dor Lorethal for Kar Urkonis shortly after sun-up. The Sheriff had deigned to come out to see his niece off, but remained aloof and apparently depressed. Draik wished them all well, gave the baby a last avuncular kiss, and headed north with his Hand of Vengeance escort.

The group now consisted not only of the Hand of Fate, but one princess, one maid, one wife, one baby, one brother-in-law, one Guard Captain, 13 men-at-arms, and 15 remount horses. Putting the rising sun on their left, the party set out on the road to Kar Urkonis.

The coronation of King Maldan I came off without any further incident, once the Royal Regalia were restored to their rightful place, and the Hand of Fortune had, if not front row seats, at least really good ones. Near the front and just off to the right in the vast nave of the Great Temple.

For all that it was a hurried affair, with war looming on the horizon, the coronation was done with all pomp and ceremony, all the forms and traditions observed, and no room left for doubt that there was a new, and very legitimate, king on the throne of Nolkior.

After a rule of almost thirty years, there were many present who remembered no king other than the elderly Garinalt, but the general consensus seemed to be that a good choice had been made. Maldan had governed the royal seat ably for many years, and was a proven war leader… between volcanic eruptions, barbarian invasions, and now the threat of attack from Tharkia, people were nervous, and they wanted stability, continuity and strength. King Maldan seemed to embody all three.

While there were many parties throughout the city that evening, the new king made only a perfunctory appearance at the official Coronation Ball before retiring to his private chambers, with his closest advisors, to go over the latest intelligence from the north and from the east. The Hand, however, enjoyed the free-flowing food and drink long into the night, along with the congratulations and flattery of much of the Court. The story of the stolen Regalia had been as suppressed as far as possible, but various garbled versions of the event had already circulated throughout every social stratum of the city, and the wisdom of Mariala’s advice to Maldan had thus proved itself.

“There is no way to keep something like this quiet,” she had told the King-elect after they had surreptitiously returned to the castle that morning, the Regalia carefully hidden within one of the many casks of Kaluran wine taken from the Zalik-mal warehouse. “The best lie is one that has a core of truth… let it go about that this Hadrel Kervisan, a known and infamous captain of the so-called “Thieves Guild,” had plotted to attempt to steal the Royal Regalia… after it had been removed from its unbreachable resting place.

“His plot was discovered, and he and his crew were foiled even as they set about implementing their ignoble plan. The virtue of this story, besides allowing you to hang the villain without risking false charges, is that it accommodates any bits of the real story that may leak out, allowing them to be passed off as corruptions or misunderstandings of the ‘actual’ facts.”

“There is wisdom in that,” the new monarch had replied thoughtfully. “In addition, it allows me to reward you all as befits your work on my behalf, both at the northern frontier and here in the capital, without undue questions from my nobles.

“Between the slaughter of the undead gülvini and the foiling of this nefarious plot – I have fought a long war with the damn Zalik-mal in Kolosür for years, so it is entirely believable that they might try to embarrass me or even prevent my ascension – and your involvement in bringing down that scum Bernan at the Tournament last year has not been forgotten…yes, no one will doubt you to be deserving of the honors I plan to bestow.”

What those honors might be, however, he gave no hint.

It wasn’t until the third day after the coronation that the Hand were summoned to Court for an evening audience with the new King. It was a small affair, but very formal – many of the highest lords and ladies of the realm were present, including Lady Lania, Countess of Kinen, and her daughter Carissa. The young maid could hardly container her excitement as Mariala, Vulk, Devrik, Erol, Toran and Korwin filed into the throne room, past the glittering assemblage of nobility on either side, to stand before the King.

The Royal Herald read aloud the accomplishments of the members of the Hand of Fortune in support of the throne of Nolkior, both to the current king and to his father before him. Mariala was embarrassed, Vulk gratified, Devrik stoic (but secretly quite pleased), Erol uncomfortable in the unfamiliar Court clothing, Korwin insufferably smug, and Toran bemused by it all.

“It pleases Us,” the King said once the herald had finished, “to reward these loyal servants of the Crown, as befits their service… though only one is actually Our subject.

“Dame Mariala Teryne-Danoc!”

Mariala stepped forward and went to one knee before the King.

“You are already a Knight of the Realm, and so We now name you a member of the Order of the Azure Horn, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof. We were well pleased to learn that your father has at last acknowledged you as his daughter and one of his heirs. We know something of such matters, of course, and are glad now to raise you up as the Margrave of Green Tower, a title dormant these last 80 years but now yours and your heirs as long as the Realm shall last. With this title comes possession of the Green Tower of Shalara as well as the income from various properties appertaining to said estate, both within the city and in the hinterlands. Rise Lady Mariala, Margrave of Green Tower!”

Mariala rose somewhat shakily to her feet, to the applause of the gathered nobles, and the herald stepped forward, pressing a packet of documents into her hands. Bowing to the throne, she stepped back and broke into a dazed grin.

“Ser Vulk Elida!” the King called out next. Vulk strode forward and also went to one knee, head bowed.

“You are already a knight of our Brother, Dorikon of Aurshal, but We know there will be no conflict in your accepting entry onto the Order of the Azure Horn as well. Accept also from Our hand the title to the estate of Krendan House, and all incomes from the properties appertaining thereto.”

Taking his own packet of deeds from the herald, Vulk rose, bowed and stepped back, as the next companion was called forward.

“Devrik Askalan, like most of your companions you are a son of another land. We understand that Our loyal vassal the Earl Kinen once wished to make you a Knight of Nolkior, but was unable to so honor an alien. We were present that day of the great Tournament, when the infamous Danyes Bernan was convicted for his treasons by the testimony and actions of you and your friends. So it greatly pleases Us now to finally reward you as you deserve – Rise Ser Devrik, Knight of the Order of the Silvereye, adopted son of Nolkior!”

Along with his patent of knighthood, Devrik also received the deed to a great house in the city, and the rental income from related properties, as he stepped back, making way for Erol. His stoic mask slipped as he grinned at Mariala and Vulk, his goal of knighthood at last achieved. Next on the list, the title of Equestrian in his own land…

“Erol Doritar, another son of Kildora, and wanderer in many lands – for the same reasons, and with the same pleasure, We make you a Knight of Nolkior as well, of the Order of the Silvereye, and grant to you such properties and monies as befits your new station. As with Ser Devrik, We know Lord Clarin would be most gratified to see you so graced today.”

Erol rose, bowed, and took his documents from the herald. It was a long way from the Taruthani Games in a Darikaz, to be sure, and nothing he’d ever expected… but it still wasn’t the Republic…

“Korwin Seaborn, scholar of that great eastern Empire that once held sway over these lands many centuries ago, We welcome you to our shores and make you a Knight of the Order of Shala. Accept such lands and rents as seem good to Us to bestow, and let them bind you to Our Realm in honor and amity.”

“And lastly, We would honor Toran, called the Quickhand, a son of our cousins the Khundari and a great warrior as well as a scholar. But We are lead to understand that by the oaths sworn to your own Prince, and the laws of your people and the custom of your land, you may not accept such honors as We would bestow. It is meet that this should be so, but still We would not see you, alone, go unrewarded for your courage and honor.

“In the papers which you yourself but lately brought to Our dear father, and so to Us, Prince Rhoghûn has proposed closer ties between his realm of Dürkon and Our own kingdom. In these troubled times this seems good to Us, and so you are named official Legate to Nolkior, and given unto your keeping is the storied mansion, built by one of your own in years past and long known amongst Our people as Khundari House. Hold it in safe keeping for your Prince, and as a refuge for those of your own folk who will come hither as an official embassy in due time.”

And with that, the audience was over. King Maldan rose with a smile for his new noblewoman and knights, and exited from the room by the door behind his throne. The rest of the Court moved in on the friends, offering congratulations, in varying degrees of sincerity, and angling to get close to these rising stars who seemed to have the favor, and perhaps the ear, of their new monarch.

Some time later they were pulled aside my the king’s major domo, and taken into a private chamber where he proceeded to fill them in on their new properties.

“It took some doing,” the little man said as he seated them around a large table, before taking his own seat at the head. “But the King wanted it so, and I managed to pull it off. Actually, the idea presented itself when I pointed out to His Majesty that the Lady Ethalyn the Elder had somehow wrangled ownership of Krendan House from  the Crown several years ago. It’s proximity to the Green Tower, which he already intended to bestow on Lady Mariala, inspired him to see what could be done in keeping your little group in close proximity…

“As you may have noticed, Lady Ethalyn the Elder is no longer at Court, having found things a bit hot for her… nothing can be proven of her involvement in the recent… unpleasantness… but it has been made clear she would be best served by a prolonged absence from the capital. Although it was also made clear that her daughter would be remaining – under the King’s benevolent protection, of course. In addition, the Lady thought it wise to divest herself of certain properties, not least of which was Krendan House.

“An interesting story there, Ser Vulk,” the major domo said in an aside. ” The mansion which now comes into your possession was originally built by the Kleros of Kasira who founded the temple to your Patron that sits nearby. It was during the period of rebuilding that followed the Great Fire of 2897, when the whole north side of the city, only a few years inside the then-new city walls, burned to the ground. Very few buildings survived (the Green Tower being one of them, my Lady), and New District was wide open for construction.

“Kleros Antros Krendan was young and ambitious and personally quite wealthy, and his construction of a temple to his Immortal Patron was quite a feather in his cap. Indeed, it seemed to spur him on to further heights, and he built both the scholarium and his own Klerosian mansion after the temple was finished. Unfortunately, he had a rather unfortunate addiction to gambling – well, not unfortunate for a long time, it’s how he could build so lavishly. But in the end, the Lady of Luck seemed to turn her back on her Kleros, and in a single season he was bankrupt. The embarrassing irony was not lost on his superiors. He was replaced and his mansion claimed by his creditors, from whom the Crown eventually acquired it some years later.

“Quite an opulent place, I’m lead to understand, although it has faded somewhat over the years. How Lady Ethalyn got her claws on it – er, came into possession of it – I’m not quite sure, but you’ll be glad to know she poured rather a lot of money into its restoration in the last two years. I hope you will enjoy the fruits of her efforts, Ser.” The man gave Vulk a conspiratorial wink.

“In any case, I now had two adjacent properties in hand, and it was but the work of a few hours to acquire several other appropriate mansions nearby – Twin Gables, Ser Devrik, and Ironstone, Ser Erol, were both already owned by the Crown, and making the current lease holders see the advantages of moving was little trouble. Safewell, Ser Korwin, had been abandoned for over forty years, since the execution of Torgoth Kemptor, the infamous canary trainer and serial murderer. His heirs were more than happy to let the Crown take it for the back taxes… although I fear it may require some work to make it quite livable again.

“Khundari House has long been empty,” the man went on, turning to Toran,” as the title has been in some dispute for several decades… since the death of the Khundari master builder Serath Strikestone, in fact. It was he who oversaw the construction of the new city walls and the dismantling of the old ones 130 years ago. In fact, he built his own home from the stones of the old walls, which is perhaps why it gives such an impression of age.

“On his death some 20 years ago, his widow and son decided to return to Dürkon, where she has only recently died herself. The son has never evinced an interest in the property, and the Crown has long contended that it is abandoned, having never been sold or the title otherwise transferred. This current solution should settle the matter nicely, and I’ve heard many neighbors say it will be good to have a Khundari in residence once again on Khundari Square.”

“Of course the most interesting of all these buildings I’ve saved for last. The Green Tower is much older than any of the buildings surrounding it, and not just by virtue of having survived the Great Fire. No, it was old when the first city walls went up, and it sat outside the city for many centuries before she grew around it. Who built the tower, and exactly when, is lost to the mists of time… but in the last 400 years it has been the seat of the Margraves of Green Tower, a fief created specifically for the arcane lord who possessed it.

“Almost every Margrave has been a mage of one sort or another, the first one being a master of growing things – it was he who gave the tower its current name, actually. As you will see, the exterior walls of the edifice are covered in a lush vertical garden, which maintains itself in some miraculous fashion. Even the fire did little more than wilt the vegetation. Quite the tourist draw, I must say…

“The last Margrave of Green Tower was Hürlind Jekoru, a scholar of some repute and rather… eccentric. Sadly, he died without issue – a not uncommon occurrence with this Margravship, come to think on it – and the title reverted to the Crown these past 80 years. But now there is a Margrave again, and I’m sure the people of the district will be pleased to have a noble in residence once more, to whom they can come for the low justice, and to pay their rents directly.

“And best of all, all of these properties as close by one another, all within the New District area of the city, just north of Khundari Square, between the Artisans District and Wizardsgate!”

With that he handed each of them a set of keys, and wished them well with their new homes, which would be ready for possession first thing in the morning…

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?”