A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Soft music and light chatter reached her ears as they neared the entrance to the throne room. Above them, the hallway was vaulted, its ceiling rising two stories. Pillars came into view along the interior side of the hallway, and beyond it the massive throne room packed with hundreds of guests.

  The throne room hadn’t actually been used as a throne room since the reign of Emperor Mindolarn some seventy years before. Now it was mostly used for events like this ball. The throne room took up nearly half of the third floor. It was an odd shape, like an oval almost—roughly measuring a hundred and fifty phineals long by eighty phineals wide—and rose four stories tall. Its ceiling was barreled, but the pitch matched the rest of the palace’s dome. Railings lined the upper parts of the longer walls, on the fifth and sixth floors of the palace. Soldiers stood along the rails, gazing down into the throne room.

  Towering windows lined the western wall, rising from floor to ceiling. Seven pairs of glass doors were also along that wall, leading to a balcony that overlooked the expanse of grass where the Feast of Sorrows was held. The royal orchestra sat on the balcony, their music wafting into the throne room through the open doors.

  Lightstone lanterns floated throughout the throne room. Crimson globes hung from the bottom of those floating lanterns—each was transparent and glistened from the light of other nearby lanterns. Diaphanous silks hung from the barrel ceiling in seven rows, accompanied by streamers of golden leafy vines. Alanya had been in charge of creating all of that. She was so proud of them and longed for Iltar to see what she had devised. Perhaps he could see them through the illusions… but would Iltar pay attention to the décor?

  Alanya sauntered behind the crowd which was being directed to the raised throne at the east end of the room.

  The oversized throne sat atop a seven-sided dais elevated seven steps above the rest of the room. It was an oval seat carved from crimson-colored stone—it looked like galstra, as the stone had veins and flecks all across its surface. Seven serpentine heads rose from the back of the throne, arrayed exactly like the Mindolarn flag. Those heads too were carved from the same crimson galstra.

  There was enough room on the dais for six other seats. Alanya had heard that Emperor Mindolarn had held court here with his six brothers. But today, the princes and princesses of Mindolarn occupied those seats.

  Emperor Marden sat casually in his throne, leaning against one armrest and slumping a little. He didn’t look like an emperor. Guests were ushered toward the dais and introduced to the emperor by the palace’s chamberlain. Emperor Marden simply nodded in response.

  A palace servant was moving down the line, asking for the names of each guest. The servant filled up a sheet and ran it back to Chamberlain Caedaric, but soon returned to collect more names.

  Alanya’s heart began to race again. Would they strike now? she wondered. More Crimson Praetorians stood against the wall beside the dais. There looked to be forty—no, fifty of them. Alanya’s eyes were drawn back to the dais. Raedina sat with her cousins, Laedar and Negaris, to the right of the throne. On the other side of the emperor sat Princess Ilnea, the daughter of Medis, with her brother, Prince Radigar. Princess Cedara, the daughter of the late emperor, occupied the last seat.

  Where is Malvonican? Alanya wondered. And Jeridi? She glanced around the throne room, but neither prince was present. Their absence made her stomach knot. Alanya glanced again at the soldiers standing along the upper levels of the throne room. The soldiers looked fierce, and Alanya thought she saw men holding channeling staffs.

  Mages? Alanya held back a gasp. The reality of the situation was becoming grimmer by the second. Amid her horror, Alanya heard the image of Iltar speaking. Why, why was he—?

  “This is High Duchess Alanya Tasivir,” the Iltar illusion said. It sounded exactly like Iltar. The servant who was taking names was beside the illusion. Iltar’s image then proceeded to give the names for the other magical creations. The servant took down the names and continued through the line.

  “Take a deep breath,” the Iltar illusion whispered. Alanya complied, staring at the illusion.

  “If you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to do all the work,” the illusion said with a smirk.

  “You really are an arrogant man,” Alanya shook her head.

  “Just stay calm,” the illusion said, “we’re almost there… I think.”

  * * * * *

  Iltar and Elsia encountered no resistance as they descended to the lower reaches of the palace. They passed a few guards stationed by the entrance to the lower levels, but the guards didn’t hear him or Elsia.

  “I thought you said you knew where the dungeon was located…” Elsia said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I don’t have a map,” Iltar whispered.

  They had already descended three floors below ground. Each floor was bigger than the last, and Iltar assumed that the palace spread beneath the various gardens. When Iltar first visited the palace, he thought it was small compared to everything else Mindolarnian. The Castle of Laelin Lake—which Iltar had seen in that experience with Cornar—was far bigger than the palace proper. But now Iltar began to doubt his assumption.

  “We could have missed it,” Elsia complained.

  Faint footsteps approached from an adjoining hall. Iltar grabbed Elsia and whispered for her to stay put, then sneaked toward the footsteps.

  Iltar rounded a corner, and the footsteps grew louder. It sounded like three or four people marching in unison.

  A patrol, he thought.

  Four soldiers marched past Iltar, clad in silvery ceremonial armor with the emblem of the Mindolarn Empire emblazoned across their breastplates. The soldiers were unaware of his presence and continued down the corridor.

  I could use them, Iltar thought, raising an eyebrow. With the guards under his control, Iltar could literally deliver him and Elsia to the dungeon. No one would suspect two people in custody to actually be infiltrators.

  The patrol turned another corner and Iltar whispered a mind-controlling incantation. He would have to enthrall each of them at once, but that wouldn’t prove to be much of a problem.

  With his magic forming beneath his veil of invisibility, Iltar crept behind the guards. Iltar was finishing the incantation as he turned the corner.

  The patrol was nearly fifty phineals away, but their footsteps were jumbled with another set.

  Iltar cursed and held back his spell, softly exhaling to maintain it.

  The footsteps grew louder, and the patrol disappeared down another corridor.

  Oh well, he thought, waiting for the source of the footsteps to enter the hall.

  A man in a white robe turned the corner, his head bowed beneath a cowl. The robed man was muttering to himself in a strange language. It sounded like the Keadal tongue. He was no guard, but perhaps he knew the dungeon’s location

  Not him, a booming voice rumbled through Iltar’s mind. Choose another.

  Iltar froze, watching as the robed man passed. The stranger’s eyes were closed, and his face was painted pale. His white hair peaked from his cowl, but Iltar couldn’t make out his features. The robe he was wearing bore the First Emblem on the back, but the symbol was upside down. There was also a thin crescent above the upside-down symbol.

  Still muttering, the stranger turned the corner from which Iltar had come. Iltar let his magic fade, and then he crept back toward Elsia. The white-robed man moved right past her, making his way toward the stairs leading to the upper levels.

  Once the robed man was gone, Iltar felt Elsia’s grip against his arm. “Who was that?” she whispered.

  “No clue,” Iltar said. “Now let’s find another patrol. I have a plan to get into the dungeon.”

  * * * * *

  Raedina watched as the disguised Alathians made their way toward the throne to be presented. She suppressed her hatred and attempted to feign a friendly demeanor. But all she could do was act stern. It was better than hostility, but not by much.

  Alanya—o
r at least someone who looked like Alanya—stepped forward with her three guests. Chamberlain Caedaric cleared his throat and read from the list. “High Duchess Alanya Tasivir of Mindolarn, and her esteemed guests, Master Iltar of the Soroth Necrotic Order, Countess Elsia Scurn of Sarn, and Lady Alanya’s steward, Hazais Naurm.”

  The four of them bowed, then hurried away, mingling with the rest of the guests.

  Finally, we will have vengeance, Raedina vowed.

  Caedaric announced more guests, but Raedina couldn’t pull her eyes away from that vile Alathian. Justice would finally be dealt this night. The deceitful son of Adrin would harm the empire no longer.

  * * * * *

  Fortunately, Iltar found another patrol. He enthralled them as he had intended with the first batch. Once they were under his control, Iltar inquired after the dungeon’s location. To his surprise, the dungeon was actually two more floors below them.

  To make their ruse believable, Iltar cast his own illusions on him and Elsia. He gave them the appearance of a young couple who was attempting to pillage the palace during the ball. They were bruised and beaten, with a few cuts on their faces. Iltar also fashioned illusionary shackles. He had thought about using actual shackles, but that would make things difficult. He also concealed Elsia’s sword sheathed at her waist.

  Two of the guards marched ahead of Iltar and Elsia. The other two were behind Iltar. Those guards in the rear had the tips of their fanisars at the backs of the pretend prisoners.

  They reached the entrance of the dungeon, situated near the heart of the fifth below-ground floor. Only two guards were stationed outside its entrance, and Iltar learned that the patrols passed by every half hour.

  One of the dungeon guards cocked his head toward Iltar and Elsia, a twisted grin forming upon his face. “What do we have here?” he asked with a crackle in his voice.

  “Some thieves,” said the enthralled leader of the patrol. Iltar had already told them what to say, otherwise he would have had to use his mental focus to direct their words or use his own voice. “We caught them snooping about.” The lead guard gestured to Elsia. “After we roughed them up, she confessed to trying to find a treasury.”

  The dungeon’s guard frowned. “Tumaris won’t be pleased, will he Fazis?” he said, looking to the other man guarding the dungeon.

  The enthralled patrol leader ignored them and reached for the dungeon’s door.

  “We can handle this from here,” Fazis said, stepping in front of the door. “Just return to your posts.”

  The enthralled guards didn’t move, and Iltar—through his mental link to them—commanded them to step aside.

  “This one looks nice,” Fazis said, grabbing Elsia by the arm. He immediately groped her chest, and Elsia slapped the man, breaking through her illusionary shackles.

  Damn it, Iltar cursed.

  Fazis was stunned, both by the slap and the seemingly unnatural feat Elsia had just performed.

  “An illusion!?” blurted the other guard.

  Elsia reached for her invisible sword as Fazis recovered. Iltar sighed, cursing inwardly. This was another reason he had wanted to come alone. Elsia had just destroyed their ruse. The other guard spun on Iltar and readied his weapon. Iltar, however, remained still, mentally commanding his enthralled guards to attack.

  Both dungeon guards yelled for help. Their cries, however, were cut short. Elsia stabbed Fazis through the chin while the patrol captain slit the other man’s throat. The dungeon’s door flew open, and four other guards poured into the hall.

  Great… Iltar thought in exasperation. He swiftly uttered a telekinetic incantation while Elsia and the enthralled guards advanced on the reinforcements. Pale-gray magic coalesced in Iltar’s palm and then shot between his allies, striking one of the reinforcing guards. The blast threw the guard back through the door, where he collided with another man who Iltar assumed was the jailor. Both men were thrown into a wall with a resounding crack, followed by pained screams.

  Iltar pushed through the melee, mustering more enthralling magic. He dashed into the dungeon’s anteroom expecting to find more guards, but there were no others. The guard Iltar had repulsed, however, was recovering from the telekinetic blast.

  Not so fast, Iltar grinned as he finished his spell. The enthralling magic shot in five directions, stilling the guards and the wailing jailor.

  The commotion in the hallway quieted, and Elsia hurried into the dungeon. The anteroom wasn’t large—only enough space for a desk and a few chairs.

  “Perhaps I should have used real shackles,” Iltar said with annoyance, dismissing the illusions he had cast upon them.

  Elsia gave Iltar a sidelong glance, then ran across the room, shouting for Pagus.

  “She’s being foolish,” Iltar grumbled, and then turned to his enthralled minions. “Pull those corpses in here and take up their posts.”

  The enthralled guards complied and Iltar turned to the jailor now under his control. Iltar could sense the jailor’s severe situation through his spell. The jailor’s back had been broken and some of his ribs had punctured his lungs. He would be dead soon.

  “You have a prisoner named Pagus,” Iltar said, kneeling beside the paralyzed jailor. “Where is he?”

  “We have no prisoner named Pagus,” the jailor spat, blood dripping from his mouth.

  “What?” Iltar blurted, furrowing his brow. “He’s a young man, the princes brought him.”

  “We have no—” the jailor cut off, his glazed eyes staring lifelessly at Iltar.

  No prisoner named Pagus? Iltar rose to his feet. Perhaps they didn’t tell the jailor his name. Or called him by something else. If only the jailor had lived a little longer.

  Perhaps one of the guards would know. “Is there a boy in the dungeon?” Iltar demanded of his enthralled minions.

  “We only watch the entrance,” one of the guards replied, the same who Iltar had repelled. “But there are ledgers with current inmates.”

  Iltar spun, dashing to the desk. All the while, Elsia continued shouting for her nephew. Iltar rummaged through several drawers, finding the most recent ledger. He noted several prisoners, but they had all been booked and released weeks ago.

  Perhaps they didn’t document it, Iltar thought. It would make sense not to keep Pagus’s imprisonment on record.

  Elsia’s cries grew frantic, drawing Iltar from his thoughts. Grumbling, he ran after her.

  * * * * *

  Pagus dashed across the palace’s bridge with the plump prince. It was a good thing that he was with Prince Jeridi, otherwise entering the palace would have been impossible. The guards were only permitting passage to people with invitations to the ball. The prince, however, could bypass that requirement.

  “We’re too late,” the prince groaned. “The ball has already begun.”

  “I don’t think Master Iltar is at the ball,” Pagus said. “If you people captured me, where would you take me?”

  “To the dungeon, of course,” Jeridi replied. His exhaustion was returning.

  “Do you need another enhancement?” Pagus asked.

  “No,” Jeridi shook his head. “I will be fine. I can cast it myself if need be.”

  Pagus raised an eyebrow at the prince. Well, if Jeridi was one of those things, it would make sense that magic would come naturally to him.

  “But I doubt your master will be able to make it to the dungeon,” Jeridi said. “It’s deep beneath the palace and there are many patrols. And its location isn’t well known.”

  “You underestimate Master Iltar,” Pagus said with a chuckle.

  They were across the bridge in seconds. Jeridi shouted to the guards manning the palace’s inner gates, hailing them with a series of phrases, the last of which was, “May the Crimson Eye remain hidden for all time.”

  Pagus had read about that phrase in the Royal Archive. He didn’t understand what the Eye was, but he knew it was something powerful.

  Upon hearing the prince, the guards opened the gate. The
gate’s door-like slabs compressed in an unnatural fashion, but Pagus didn’t have time to admire the mystery of it. He had to focus on getting to Iltar and escaping this dreadful place.

  “We should check the ball first,” Jeridi said. “If he’s there, I can escort him away, and hopefully that will buy you enough time to escape.”

  “If you find Iltar at the ball, it’s probably a decoy,” Pagus retorted. This plump prince obviously didn’t understand who he was dealing with.

  Jeridi hummed between breaths. “Well, then we can show him you’re safe and meet somewhere secluded.”

  Pagus grunted, and they dashed up the deep steps toward the palace.

  “I assume you are versed in the illusionary arts,” the prince panted. “I suggest making yourself more presentable so as to blend into the crowd.”

  That was probably a wise suggestion. As they continued up the steps, Pagus uttered an incantation, veiling his clothes with the guise of affluent attire.

  * * * * *

  “Pagus!” Elsia shouted, “Pagus, where are you?!”

  Iltar finally caught up to Elsia. The cells were empty and according to the ledger they should be. No one was held captive in the dungeon.

  Elsia stopped, turning about with a panicked expression on her face. “Where is he?” Elsia asked, her lips quivering and tears welling in her eyes.

  “Your nephew is not here.”

  Iltar knew that voice. It was his… but he hadn’t spoken.

  Elsia looked at Iltar with confusion, then glanced back toward the dungeon’s entrance, gasping abruptly.

  Iltar followed her gaze. Reflection stood in the hall between the cells, smiling with a twisted sense of paternal devotion.

  “You,” Iltar barked, stepping away from Elsia. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ensuring the River of Kalda runs true,” Reflection said, grinning. “It is time for the Unspoken One to reveal himself to the Children of Cheserith.”

  “What…?” Elsia muttered, looking back and forth between Iltar and Reflection.