by Dan Zangari
“You know about them, Master Hegdil?” Bilda asked.
“Why of course!” Hegdil exclaimed. “The dreadful foot soldiers of the Enemy, the Dark One, the self-proclaimed God of—”
“Cheserith, you mean?” Pagus interrupted.
Hegdil laughed. “No… I am talking about Cheserith’s master.” Iltar found himself leaning forward, intrigued by Hegdil’s words. “Sure, Cheserith proclaimed himself as a god, but he wasn’t the architect of the ancient conflict that sundered dragonkind,” Hegdil said, chuckling. “Cheserith was merely the figurehead. No, I am talking about Hemran’na.”
Iltar’s eyes widened. He knew that name. It had been spoken to him by Reflection, mentioned in The Codices of Soron Thahan, and the writings of Algas Marn. The Unspoken One, the Harbinger of Hemran’na, Iltar recalled the synonymous titles.
“That name sounds familiar,” Agen said.
“It’s in the Codices tome,” Pagus interjected, turning toward Iltar. His face paled and his eyes widened. The connection obviously came to him as well.
“The dragonmen are dreadful creatures,” Hegdil continued. “Their minds are keener than men or elves, and they are devious. They have quite the life-span, too. A dragonman can live for over a thousand years, or so the legends claim. You haven’t seen one, have you?” the groom asked, looking around the table.
Bilda nodded.
“In Mindolarn,” Tigan said.
The groom hummed. “If you have seen dragonmen, then the Enemy’s return is soon upon us,” Hegdil said. “There are dark times to come, I fear.” The boys looked uneasily at each other.
Iltar eyed his groom, studying him closely. Hegdil casually spoke about things Iltar had fought hard to uncover. Where had Hegdil come across this knowledge?
Footsteps interrupted Iltar’s reflection, and Belsina entered the dining room. “Are you spreading doom and gloom, Hegdil?” Belsina asked, her face stern, her expression almost chiding. “The boys are tired, and you shouldn’t be scaring them with fictitious horrors.”
“No!” Bilda blurted. “The dragonmen are real, we saw them!”
“Bilda…” Pagus gritted his teeth.
“Sorry,” the boy said, slumping in his chair.
Belsina scanned the table, but her eyes lingered on Iltar. “I think you should all hurry off to bed,” she suggested. “None of you have slept.” The younger acolytes groaned.
“Do we have to, Master Iltar?” Tigan asked.
As much as Iltar enjoyed the conversation, he knew Belsina had a valid point. “We can continue this insightful discussion tomorrow,” he said. “This has been quite the day—two, actually. Besides, we have plenty of time to kill.” The boys looked confused. “We need to wait for the Yaelinum,” Iltar said matter-of-factly. “None of us are leaving this homestead until it arrives. We must maintain our ruse.”
Each of the acolytes pondered their master’s words. They obviously hadn’t considered the implications of their return to Soroth without Pagus’s vessel. Iltar was grateful none of them had left without consulting him. That could have ended in disaster.
“You better have a talk with Aunty Elsia,” Pagus said, sighing. “She wants to return to Sarn in the morning. She’s planning on riding to Serinta to catch a ferry. And, she wants me to go with her.”
“You’re leaving?” one of the acolytes asked.
Pagus gave the boy a sidelong glance, then turned back to Iltar. “She is worried about those dreams she’s had when trying to access Vabenack. She kept seeing my death at the hands of Grandmaster Alacor.”
“They’re just dreams…” Bilda interjected. “They’re not real.”
“Not how she sees it,” Pagus said. “Aunty claims the dreams one experiences when accessing Vabenack are glimpses of the future—frightful glimpses. They’re meant to deter the faint of heart.”
Iltar thoughtfully scratched his goatee, ignoring the additional insight about Vabenack. “You going to Sarn wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, it might be wise for all of us to go. But we do it my way.
“Hegdil, fetch Delrin and Jalim,” Iltar commanded. “We need to pry my conjuration anchor from the top of my tower.”
The groom nodded, then hurried out of the dining room.
Belsina raised an eyebrow at Hegdil, then studied Iltar. “What are you planning now?” she asked, not amused.
A sly grin formed upon Iltar’s face. “Traveling to Sarn unnoticed with this many people will be much easier by way of rogulin crystal. Once the anchor is moved, we will simply teleport to Elsia’s mountain villa. And when Kaelar arrives on the Yaelinum, Hegdil will meet him and redirect the vessel to pick us up on Sarn. We will return to Soroth aboard the Yaelinum and no one will be the wiser.”
Belsina drew her lips to a line. “You’ve entrenched yourself in a difficult position, Master Iltar,” she scolded. “Be wary.”
Iltar grinned. His maid obviously underestimated his clever abilities. After all, Iltar had accomplished many things by furtive means. Elsia was a kindred spirit in that regard. The countess had a perfectly planned explanation for the entire ruse—a lie within a lie. Her contrived plot would answer many questions, especially if Alacor had sent someone to inquire after Pagus’s inheritance and the acolytes’ training.
But if perchance Elsia’s careful planning failed, Iltar would deal with the consequences—even if that meant confronting Alacor once and for all.
And the Messenger of the Promise shall prepare the way before him, purifying the Children of Cheserith.
- Prophecy of the Unspoken One
Yes, this is the right course,” Reflection mused aloud—he had taken a liking to the nickname. And a fitting name it was. He stood alone within the newly rebuilt throne room at Mindolarn. Not even the Praetorians were present. But that was common for days such as this, because today was a day of commiseration. The day of the Feast of Sorrows.
Anger boiled within Reflection as he recalled the reasons behind the feast. But he put the fury aside. “I don’t know why I hadn’t considered this path before,” he mused, turning to the rebuilt wall. “It even allows the Unspoken One a bit of morality—and the powers know he has an odd streak of it.”
Though events had transpired as Reflection wanted, Iltar still maintained a measure of his humanity. That was worrisome.
Reflection sauntered to the rebuilt wall, carefully examining it. “Whoever performed the melding did a poor job,” he murmured, noting the apparent seams where the old and new wall met. The seam was most assuredly unseen to the natural eye, but not to him. After all, he was more than natural. The glass doors leading to the balcony were shut, but Reflection had passed through them without resistance.
Reflection eyed the wall. “That was a bold move, I must say. Crashing into the throne room—what a spectacle! Normally you platinum beasts aren’t so overt,” he said, chuckling. Reflection gazed across the sky, retracing the path Lirathay’lu had taken through the air. It was a considerable distance, nearly the entire length of the city. But such distances were a mere stride for a dragon.
Now at the railing, Reflection gazed down into the palace’s western gardens. Elegant round tables and chairs were arranged around a series of long tables spanning the length of the banquet yard. All were empty. The royal orchestra was preparing themselves at the far end of the banquet yard, behind the stand used by the Presider of the Feast.
“I suppose this is as good a spot as any,” Reflection said, hefting himself onto the railing, feet dangling over the edge. Oh, what a sight it would be for someone to see him perched atop the balcony. “I wonder, what would that be like?” Reflection mused.
A sudden wave of prescience filled him. His vision was multifold—based in reality and possibility. They overlapped each other, but Reflection knew the difference between them. In possibility, he saw servants and aristocrat alike gawking at him, pointing with hasty fingers and shouting jubilant cries. They broke into singing praises that became a joyous celebration.
; That evoked a wry smile. “Perhaps for the final feast,” he considered. Reflection dismissed the prescience and simply observed.
Commiserating aristocrats entered the banquet yard, somberly moving toward the tables. Reflection noted each as he saw them. Their disfigured countenances amused him. “Oh, to mourn a god,” he said with a laugh.
Amid the throng, Reflection directed his gaze to the heir of the Mindolarn throne—Jeridi Midivar. “You play an important role here,” he said. “Before, you were nothing, but now you are essential.”
Jeridi moved around the throng, distinguished by his stride—he did not commiserate. Other things were on the fat prince’s mind. His thoughts were directed to Iltar, and his glorious appearance as the Harbinger of Hemran’na. The prince took his seat near the Presider’s stand, watching the Partakers of the Feast but thinking of his brothers—Xalutir and Negaris.
“That will be quite the rematch.” Reflection chuckled, instantaneously moving from his perch and appearing in front of Jeridi’s table. “Yes, you will be well suited as emperor,” Reflection nodded, turning to the north. “You will create a suitable dam. A dam your brother will break.”
Through omnipresent vision, Reflection saw Almar furtively guiding a small army through the mountains. “How fitting that you kill two emperors on this most sorrowful of holidays. Oh, Almar… they will curse your name for generations.” Reflection laughed. Amid his mirth, Reflection moved through the table, sliding into the chair beside Jeridi. Of course, he wasn’t actually sitting on the chair. He could not react to matter, not in his present state.
“Oh, I long for the days of freedom,” he smiled, glancing to Jeridi. The fat prince stared blankly across the now bustling banquet yard, oblivious to the remark.
“You know, I thought you people useless,” Reflection said, leaning back. “Well, you had your purposes leading up to now. I could have taken myriad paths without you. There are really only two people that truly matter,” he said frankly. “Them, and the Au’misha’k. I can interchange all the other players.
“But these two… they are men of destiny. Their very existence is woven into the fabric of the universe—tied to Fate itself. Them I must protect—even against my own creations. For if they die, all will be in ruin.”
Princess Ilnea approached the table and quietly took her seat beside Reflection. “Has there been any word from your brothers?” she asked Jeridi.
“No,” the prince replied. He was trying not to think of what his brothers were plotting. The princess nodded, closing her eyes and silently praying. Jeridi, however, remained troubled.
Reflection raised an eyebrow, then another wave of prescience filled his vision. No longer was he in the banquet yard at Mindolarn. He stood within the vastness of Vabenack with myriad possibilities arrayed around him—like tiny bubbles clustered tightly in the air. They hinged upon a simple decision, but each diverged into countless futures.
He examined each possibility in an instant, seeing them to a distinct point in time. “Ah, that one,” Reflection grinned, touching the possibility. Events flashed before him and he breathed the possibility into himself.
Reflection returned to the banquet yard—not even a second having passed. He turned to Jeridi, his hand flashing the symbols to enable him to speak beyond the veil barring him from reality. Then, Reflection whispered into the prince’s ear. “Fear not for the Unspoken One, for he is upheld and sustained.”
Jeridi started. Reflection burst into laughter. The startled reactions never ceased to amuse him. Even throughout all the eons, it was still humorous.
“Are you all right, Jeridi?” Ilnea asked, having seen the fat prince startling.
“I heard something,” Jeridi said, “like a whisper on the wind.”
Ilnea’s eyes widened with wonder. “The Will?” she asked. Jeridi nodded tersely. “Praise Aunok’sha!” she exclaimed in a whisper.
The fat prince didn’t share her enthusiasm. Jeridi worried about what he deemed revelation. The prince’s thoughts turned to sorrow for his brothers, and Reflection heard the prince’s internal voice: Oh, you poor fools!
“Poor fools indeed,” Reflection mused, watching the rest of the Partakers taking their seats.
The new Steward of the Empire—Admiral Vedigar—arose to begin the Feast of Sorrows. But as Vedigar moved to the Presider’s stand the servant Practil emerged from the palace.
“Ah, right on time!” Reflection beamed.
There were enthralling particles within the servant. “A wise choice, Solidin. But I expected nothing less from you.”
Practil staggered down the steps, his brown hair disheveled and his clothing dirty and tattered. He stumbled awkwardly, an enforced drunkenness the elf controlling him intended to use to grab attention.
And attention it grabbed. Hushed gasped filled the banquet yard as Practil neared.
“Isn’t that Kaescis’s servant?” Ilnea warily asked Jeridi. The fat prince answered only in his mind.
“We have failed!” Practil screamed, bumping into one of the long tables. Reflection could sense the Partakers’ utter disgust at the outcry. Practil staggered, stumbling through the banquet yard. “Our prince is dead! And all hope for the empire lost with him!” The servant jolted, a result of the elf relinquishing his enthralling spell.
“Oh no!” Practil cried with utter horror, “What have I done?!” The servant fell to his knees, sobbing at what he considered a disgraceful act.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Practil,” Reflection said, rising out of his chair and passing through it. “You’ve initiated the beginning of the end. And that is to be commended.”
THE END OF
Book One of
TALES OF THE AMULET
To be continued in…
The Dark Necromancer
Glossary
For a complete glossary of names, people, places, objects, and terms found in A Prince’s Errand, visit our website at www.legendsofkalda.com/glossary.html. Pronunciations and brief descriptions or definitions included.
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
Robert Zangari
The idea for A Prince’s Errand came about while I was working on what is now going to be the fourth novel in this series, The Mages’ Agenda. It first came about as a prequel novella idea. I was starting to write the short stories for our series and I thought it might be fun to write a larger work, just not something the size of a novel. It would be something along the lines of Robert Jordan’s A New Spring—boy was I wrong…
Several of my readers had questions about our main characters, Iltar and Cornar, and they wanted to know more about their past. How did Cornar become such a great fighter? Where did he get his weapons? Why is Iltar ‘broken’? Those questions sparked ideas that eventually made it into this book, particularly the dream-realm, Vabenack. I had wondered for years how I was going to tell the story of Iltar and Cornar’s pasts, but those most critical moments happened thirty plus years before Tales of the Amulet.
Those ideas floated around for awhile, but nothing happened.
I was working on Treachery in the Kingdom, the then fourth installment in the series, when my wife, Tamila, urged me to do a rewrite. Back then our novels were written in the present tense, with an omnipresent third person perspective. I liked it, but a decent chunk of our readers found it distracting. So, that birthed the idea for A Prince’s Errand. She had read the first book, then titled The Dragons’ Legacy, while we were dating. She hated it. And she loves fantasy fiction.
I decided to stop working on Treachery in the Kingdom and start the series over. People had liked our books. We sold out at book signings. But we weren’t seeing the success we wanted. So, enter A Prince’s Errand.
This novel, well epic really, marks a new era for mine and my dad’s book series. My dad’s been working on these stories since 1991. We first published in 2013, but since then we’ve learned a lot about the publishing world. A Prince’s Errand is a manifestation of all of our lessons learned.
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I hope you enjoyed it. There are more to come, hopefully a total of twelve novels and twelve short stories. Nearly half of those are already written, but they need to be rewritten and changed to match the caliber of A Prince’s Errand.
I wish to thank all of our readers for all their feedback and questions. You have helped us shape the Kalda Universe. Thank you for your support.
–Robert Zangari
Salt Lake City, 2019
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Though we only started working on A Prince’s Errand in 2018, the groundwork for the novel stretches back several decades. There have been many people along the way that have helped us refine our craft and hone this story that is TALES OF THE AMULET.
First and foremost, we want to thank the wonderful team that has helped us create such a fabulous book. Kerem Beyit is such a wonderful artist who has captured our imagination and brought it to life, visually. We are in awe over his talents and abilities to create stunning pieces of art. Whether it’s our pieces or others he has produced, we find ourselves staring for hours at the meticulous detail he puts into every scene. Suleyman Temiz is another wonderful artist that has helped us bring our ideas to life. He has refined the details of various pieces of art relevant to our works. Linda Branam, our editor. Linda has refined our words in such a way that has left us stunned. She has brought a professional polish the novel that was beyond our expectations.
We would like to thank our wives, Belinda and Tamila for supporting us in our writing career. Belinda has been an encouraging wife and mother through various seasons of life. She has been there from the beginning and supported us from the earliest day when the Legends of Kalda were merely an idea.
Tamila needs a special acknowledgement of her own. If it were not for her, A Prince’s Errand wouldn’t exist. As an avid reader and devotee of the fantasy genre, her opinion has helped us shape a story that has been the best thing we’ve ever written.
