A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Pagus took a deep breath and blinked several times, focusing on Iltar. “Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Pagus demanded.

  Typical Pagus. Iltar drew his lips to a line. “Are you going to answer me?”

  The youth grinned slyly, then his face turned somber. “You can’t talk to them, Master, because they’re the ones who put me here.” Alanya gasped.

  “Not the nice emperor-man!” Bilda blurted.

  Pagus turned to Bilda and nodded dreadfully. He then looked to Iltar. “They want you dead, Master. They want us all dead.”

  The acolytes tensed, and Alanya’s face flushed with anger. “Why?!” the high duchess demanded. “What has Iltar done?”

  “They believe he killed their beloved uncle, the late emperor,” Pagus answered. “Because Master Iltar looks like the killer.”

  Alanya gasped incredulously. “But that was an Alathian! A grand mage!”

  Iltar raised an eyebrow. So, Almar killed the emperor, he mused. My, my, what have you gotten me into, brother? That realization brought a flood of understanding to Iltar. It explained why his encounters with the Royals had been so intense. Raedina’s restrained hostility came from a belief that Iltar was his brother. Both Iltar and his older brother—Almar—were the spitting image of their father, Adrin. Iltar imagined that if all three of them were together, one would have a hard time telling them apart.

  Wait, Iltar started. If the Mindolarnians believed me to be the murderer of the late emperor, why would they grant me access to the Royal Archive? That question gave Iltar pause.

  “The ball is a trap,” Pagus said. “I… I overheard them. They were talking after they beat me. I didn’t hear much, except that they hope to draw you to them, where they can strike in full force.”

  “That’s why the emperor arrived,” Alanya muttered, slumping on the translucent ground.

  “I don’t get it,” Bilda scratched his head.

  “Because they assume I want to kill him,” Iltar said flatly. “They’re using the emperor as bait.”

  Pagus nodded. “They think we’re Alathians… that’s why they’re torturing me. They want to know how many more Agents of the Order are here in the capital. I don’t even know what those are…”

  Iltar considered the predicament. He could avoid this mess entirely if they fled Mindolarn at once. But Pagus would still be doomed.

  “Please, Master,” Pagus’s voice was shaky. “Don’t forsake me!” More tears trickled down the youth’s face. “Have pity…” How odd. Never had Iltar seen Pagus beg… but the boy had never experienced such peril.

  “Iltar, we can’t just leave him,” Alanya said, her voice panicked.

  Iltar, however, studied Pagus fiercely. “Reflection?” Iltar asked, “is that you?”

  “What?” Pagus gasped, mortified by the accusation. “You… you think me that—that thing who speaks to you?” His face twisted with horror. “No, Master! Please—”

  A sense of dread—far beyond what Pagus had already expressed—smeared across the youth’s face. “I hear them,” Pagus wailed. “They’re coming again!” The boy shook uncontrollably. “They’re waking me! Please, Master, don’t let them kill—”

  Pagus vanished.

  “What happened?” Alanya demanded.

  “He was pulled from Vabenack,” Iltar answered somberly. Iltar had never seen it happen from this end. Each time he was the one pulled from this realm.

  “We… we can’t just leave him in there,” Agen muttered, pacing back and forth.

  “We’ll free him,” Bilda said stoically. “No one takes my friend and hurts him.”

  “No…” Iltar muttered. “You’re not going to the palace,” he said sternly.

  Pagus’s blood—still on his hand—conjured a fury buried deep within him; a burning sensation that Iltar thought had been lost ages ago. Though Pagus had been a nuisance, he was still Iltar’s apprentice. And Iltar was not going to allow another apprentice to be subject to the horrors of a tyrant. He would rescue Pagus, no matter what odds awaited him.

  With his eyes still on the blood, Iltar declared, “If anyone is going to rescue Pagus, it is going to be me and me alone.”

  “The Channelers of Aridia decided upon a course of action that would safeguard themselves against their enemies. It would, however, come at a great cost. Nevertheless, they were united in their decision. The men of Aridia who pledged allegiance to Cheserith must be eradicated. Their ideals were a danger to all Kalda.”

  - From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 50

  The plan Iltar had concocted to rescue Pagus was flawless. But the women didn’t see it that way. They obviously didn’t understand the laws of magic, else they would have immediately consented to Iltar’s plan. Both Elsia and Alanya, however, fought him on the matter.

  “No, I won’t let you!” Elsia shouted. “He’s my nephew. My nephew!” The countess’s rage permeated her every word. Elsia’s maternal instincts had kicked in the moment Iltar divulged Pagus’s predicament. Growling, Elsia paced back and forth within the guesthouse’s solarium. The sun had not risen yet, but the horizon was a warm orange.

  “The palace is too dangerous,” Iltar said sternly. “It’ll be easier for me if I go in alone.”

  “And if you get caught?” Elsia asked incredulously.

  Iltar sat back in his chair, folding his arms. Did he need to say it? Elsia knew he would stop anyone who stood in his way, with lethal force if necessary. No one would bar Iltar from rescuing Pagus.

  “The Royals are probably expecting someone to go in after him,” Alanya said somberly.

  “That’s why I’ll make it seem like we’re attending the ball,” Iltar said. “My illusions will be flawless.” Those illusions would run their course as Iltar made his way to the dungeon.

  “And what happens when someone bumps into one of your illusions?” Alanya asked frankly. “You might be the best puppet master to walk Kalda but you can’t control the actions of everyone around you.”

  Iltar had taken that problem into consideration. His illusions wouldn’t be ordinary. They would have substance to them. Iltar considered strategically placing other illusions throughout the ball to watch every angle, but that seemed too tedious.

  “I have that covered,” he insisted. “Remember how I said they would have substance to them? They will be transmutations covered in illusions.”

  Elsia growled again. “You can be so arrogant!” she yelled, slamming her fists on the glass table. Iltar half-expected it to crack. “This is no time for one of your ego-trips, Iltar. My nephew is in danger.”

  You don’t think I know that? Iltar thought, raising an eyebrow at Elsia.

  “Iltar,” Alanya said gently, then reached across the table and touched his arm. “I don’t say this lightly, but I hate your plan. What if you run into more resistance than you can handle? What if Pagus has been moved? Not to mention, how do you plan on fooling Raedina when she talks to me—or rather, my illusion? The princess might not be able to walk through the illusion, but she’ll see through the ruse at the first wrong answer. And, honestly my dear, you don’t know everything about me.”

  Iltar felt stung by that last remark. But it was the truth.

  “I don’t think they’re going to keep Pagus in the dungeon, Iltar,” Alanya continued firmly. “I’m positive they will move him to the ball.” She chose her next words carefully. “He will be of use to them.”

  Iltar could only imagine what she implied. Alanya probably assumed the Mindolarnians would use Pagus to demonstrate the capabilities of the new weaponized tevisrals. Of course, Alanya couldn’t say that in front of Elsia.

  “And back to Raedina,” Alanya said. “She is a shrewd woman. My role will be of the utmost importance. Elsia’s role, however, could easily be played by anyone—no offense, my dear.” Alanya gestured apologetically to the countess.

  “None taken,” Elsia said with a quick smile. Her fury abated for a moment.

  “And because she wouldn’t
need to be present,” Alanya added, “she can go with you down to the dungeon.”

  They’re thinking about this all wrong, Iltar sighed. The illusions didn’t have to last long. Even if he had to fight his way into the dungeon, Iltar could still reach Pagus before any reinforcements would arrive. And that’s all that he needed to do.

  “You don’t look convinced,” Alanya observed, her lips drawn to a line.

  Iltar sighed. “If Elsia comes with me, then I have to protect someone other than myself,” he said. “We are sticking with my plan. I go to the dungeon alone.”

  Elsia threw up her hands, shaking her head furiously. Then as she regained her composure, Elsia glanced to Iltar’s closed fist resting on the table. Her expression said she knew he was holding something.

  Not yet, he thought. Iltar always had a flair for the dramatic. It was one of the chief reasons he began studying as an illusionist. When Iltar was a young boy, he wanted to be part of a performing-mage troupe.

  Once Elsia calmed herself, she spoke to Iltar. “You know, I can handle a sword. My father taught me.” Iltar grunted, not amused. “I won the Women’s Sorothian Swordsmanship Competition,” Elsia said, “twice.”

  They have such an event? Iltar wondered. He had never heard of the competition, not even for men. Perhaps Cornar never participated. And if he did, the competition obviously wasn’t prestigious.

  “You know, you haven’t even said how you intend to escape,” Elsia said petulantly. The countess put her hands on her hips, demanding an answer. Iltar looked at her for a moment and then glanced to his hand. I guess this is as good a time as any…

  “This,” he said, relaxing his fist. The object inside dropped onto the table. The women’s eyes widened as Iltar revealed the genius of his plan. This was why he needed to go into the dungeon alone.

  Alanya sighed, shaking her head. She knew all too well what lay on the table—after all, it was one of the chief ingredients of the dream elixir.

  “A rogulin crystal,” Elsia muttered.

  Iltar ignored her. “This is why I must go in alone. If we’re all scattered across the palace, there’s no way to regroup safely to teleport out of there.” He sucked in his breath. “I don’t know how your plans end, but were you thinking we just stroll out of the palace?” His question was rhetorical. “Once you leave the ball,” he pointed to Alanya, “they’ll grow suspicious. We could get out,” he looked to Elsia, “but then we doom Alanya. And I don’t want that. Your plan requires us to all meet somewhere and further complicate our escape.”

  The women were silent for a while, and then Alanya spoke. “I’m not leaving with you, Iltar.” Her voice was stern. “If I abscond, I’ll be branded a traitor to the empire. But if I attend the ball, I have a chance to rectify the entire situation. After you flee Mindolarn—and not attack the emperor—that will be proof enough that you were not the Alathian who slew Emperor Monddar. I may face other consequences, but it will pale in comparison to treason.”

  Iltar had not considered the motives behind Alanya’s decision. He had assumed she would follow him back to Soroth. Perhaps he was wrong about her…

  “What about the acolytes?” Elsia asked, sounding concerned. “How are they going to get to safety?”

  “When they awake I’m sending them to the Yaelinum,” Iltar answered. “I wanted the two of you to go with them…” He studied Alanya.

  The high duchess sat straight-backed, looking dispassionate. Alanya didn’t look like the woman he had come to know. “Don’t expect me to pack up my mansion,” she said. “I’m not going with you. And if you try forcing me to—”

  “I won’t force you,” Iltar interrupted, turning away. He gazed at the palace rising across the city’s northern skyline.

  Silence hung in the solarium for a moment.

  “Are we in agreement?” Alanya asked.

  Iltar turned to the high duchess. He could see sadness beneath her stern façade. “Yes,” he answered succinctly.

  “Okay,” Alanya pursed her lips and rose from her seat. She left the room without saying anything else.

  Once the high duchess was gone, Elsia leaned over the table. “If she’s going, so am I.”

  Iltar just stared at Elsia. “I suppose the only way to stop you would be to restrain you with a mind-control spell.”

  The countess nodded. “And that would be an unnecessary taxation of your concentration,” she said flatly.

  Elsia had a point. Arguing about her joining him was futile. “Have you ever fought while enhanced with magic?” Iltar asked.

  “Never.”

  “Then we’d better get you some practice.”

  * * * * *

  Alanya shielded her eyes against the morning sun as she exited her carriage. The fight with Iltar left an ache in her heart. That pain had throbbed the entire way to the palace. She felt deeply for the man. Alanya hadn’t felt like that for anyone since Scovis died. There had been suitors—other aristocratic men—but none of them made her feel the way Iltar made her feel. There was something extraordinary about Iltar, though he could be rather oblivious.

  Alanya pushed aside her hurt as she approached the palace gates. “I am High Duchess Alanya Tasivir,” she said to the guards. “I’m here to help with the finishing touches for the ball.”

  The guards signaled for the gate to be opened, and soon Alanya was within the palace grounds. She hurriedly made her way to the palace proper. The last touches had been made to the gardens—the plants seemed more alive than usual.

  Oh, Iltar, I hope you can accept my decision… she thought in despair. My place is here. How could I leave everything behind? And what of her servants and her guards? If she fled with Iltar, her entire household would suffer. Those men and women had been loyal for decades.

  This is the best choice, she thought as she entered the palace. Alanya slowed her pace and glanced at the mural on the ceiling. Her eyes were drawn to the center, toward that figure in red standing behind what she now recognized as the doorway to Vabenack.

  And you’ll never be too far away. She thought of Iltar, tears forming in her eyes. I can always reach you in Vabenack. No matter what happens to me I can always find escape there.

  Alanya sucked in her breath to regain her composure. She had to be calm now, acting as if nothing had changed. She couldn’t think of Pagus suffering in the bowels of the palace. Nor could Alanya think of what would happen to Iltar if he were caught.

  Amid her dismay, Alanya heard a greeting from Raedina. The princess was crossing the foyer. A growing animosity swelled within Alanya. She hadn’t expected to hate the princess for what was happening to poor Pagus.

  Suppressing her feelings, Alanya forced a smile. “Good morning.”

  “Where’s your friend?” Raedina asked, settling into a posture that accentuated her hips.

  “Elsia decided to search for her nephew,” Alanya said with a sigh. “He still hasn’t come back. She’s going to the City Watch today with Iltar.”

  “Oh.” Raedina looked surprised. “I hope he turns up soon.”

  She’s an incredible liar, Alanya thought. The princess seemed so genuine.

  “What else needs to be done?” Alanya asked, stepping across the foyer.

  The princess joined her and they walked side by side. “I was just about to check on their progress,” Raedina said.

  * * * * *

  Iltar watched his acolytes climb into the wagon Alanya had provided. They had packed their things while Iltar made one last trip to the Hilinard to recover the research notes they had left in their alcoves. Iltar didn’t close out the alcoves though, so as to not arouse suspicion from anyone who might report the change to the Mindolarn Royalty. Empty alcoves wouldn’t be all that conspicuous.

  All twelve boys took their seats, looking somber. Bilda had shared the news about Pagus while Iltar was discussing his rescue plan with the women.

  “We’ll see you in two-and-a-half–to–three weeks,” Iltar told them. “I’ve written instru
ctions for the captain.” He looked to Agen, the oldest of the lot. “Make sure he gets them.” Agen nodded.

  “Now make sure this stays safe,” Iltar said, lifting his trunk and heaving it onto the back of the wagon. “This has all of my research in it. And a few other things.”

  He stepped back and examined the boys. Iltar had expected them to resist being sent away. But perhaps they—unlike the women—had realized the severity of the situation.

  “Enjoy yourselves on your return trip to Soroth,” Iltar said, coming beside Elsia. “Consider it a reward for all your hard work. Driver, you can go.” The driver urged the horse forward, and the wagon moved across the stone path toward the gates.

  “You gathered all the research, I presume?” Elsia asked, watching the wagon pull through the mansion’s gates.

  Iltar nodded. “And a little more.”

  Elsia cocked her head, looking quizzically at Iltar. “What?” she asked.

  “Just following the example of my rebellious apprentice,” he smiled wryly.

  “Oh, you’re a devious man, Iltar,” Elsia grinned. “I like that.” The countess took up her sword—commandeered from one of Alanya’s guards—and rested the flat side against her shoulder. “Why don’t we go over the rest of our plan while I adjust to the feel of this magic?”

  * * * * *

  Jeridi couldn’t help but feel unnerved about killing Iltar. Raedina and the others were convinced—through their various methods of investigation—that Iltar was the Liberator of Klis. Jeridi, however, was not convinced. He kept coming back to his conversation with Iltar in the palace. There was palpable anger when Iltar mentioned Alacor—it permeated his every word. Iltar knew the grandmaster.

  Troubled, Jeridi walked the Middle Gardens of the palace. They had been made over and decorated by the servants. Lightstones hung from the trees, along with strands of diaphanous red silk. Jeridi had hoped the garden’s beauty would calm him.

  His hopes were in vain. They’re making a mistake, Jeridi sighed, stopping beside a stone bench. “There’s no way I can stop them…” he muttered. Once the Midivars made a decision, it was nigh impossible to dissuade them. Trying to do so would be akin to attempting to dam a tidal wave. If a tidal wave was coming, you wouldn’t try to stop it, you would run from it—