For a year the Collective magicians had terrorized the kingdom with great success. They would lay waste to a fort or a Kenzai outpost, and then disappear as quickly as they came. Usually they kept their attacks limited to military targets, but every few weeks they would grow bold and raid a city just to show that they could. The only advantage that the kingdom held was the magicians’ lack of manpower. They could attack any place in the kingdom seemingly appearing from nowhere and disappearing just as quickly, but they lacked the bodies necessary to occupy and hold those outposts that they seemed to take such delight in attacking without spreading their numbers too thin, so the kingdom could always take them back though there was little left once the magicians were done.
Worse than the loss of buildings and resources was the effect that it had on the commoners. They were frightened for their lives and their confidence in the nobility to protect them was waning. As sentiments against the nobility grew the poor sheep would eventually throw their lot in with the magicians to regain that feeling of safety, no matter how false, then the crown and its loyal servants would be crushed.
What were the nobles’ responses to these attacks? What was his father’s response to a danger that could take his kingdom if nothing were done to stop it? It was to do nothing and live in fear! They wanted to fortify larger garrisons and abandon smaller ones altogether in favor of waiting for the magicians under Janus’ control to complete their training before considering their next move. It was ludicrous to think that giving up ground without a fight could be considered anything other than an admission of defeat and relying on Janus’ collared magicians to rout the Collective sent the wrong message.
They needed to be more aggressive. That damned sorcerer had a vision of death coming from Wolfsbane in the east nearly two months ago. His father should be bolstering his army by conscripting able-bodied men and preparing to march them east now, but the old man refused to listen to reason. He believed that it was too risky to move the army without hard proof, but when the sorcerer served as the king’s adviser for decades he had no trouble acting on Sane’s premonitions.
The truth was there, but Janus did not want to admit it. His father, the king, was soft on the magician threat. Perhaps it was because the sorcerer had been a trusted ally for so long or because his second son, Byrn, was a magician, but whatever the reason it was clear that the old man was putting the entire kingdom at great risk for his misplaced sentimentality.
Janus had no such notions of weakness when it came to the wizards. If he were in charge, then he would amass all of the kingdom’s armies under his banner and march them to Wolfsbane without a second thought. He would use all of the collared magicians from the domains against their own kind. Then when the battle was won and the magician threat was no more; he would execute the domain magicians too. It was almost too tempting to keep them as a military force like he kept Kennath Altermas as his personal bodyguard, but it would be far safer for the kingdom as a whole to be rid of all of the domain magic users especially after they had learned so much about the infernal magical arts from Kennath and the sorcerer.
A portly nobleman from the south was talking… for how long? He was one of the warlords, so Janus should know his name, but he could not bring himself to care. The prince watched with apathy as the man’s double chin jiggled with each word. What did this one want? He was going on and on about his daughter. She was a striking girl to be certain, probably around sixteen years. Her hair was a soft golden color and possessed radiance not unlike the early morning sun. The silky strands flowed down her blouse ending just above her ample breasts. Finally, there was someone worthy of his consideration in the king’s court.
Now the fat warlord was introducing the young woman. Splendid. “Your highness,” he blubbered, “please allow me to introduce my betrothed, Lady Chirsten of House Lionfang.” Disgusting. To think that fat, lecherous windbag would be defiling such a lovely young creature soon if he was not already. Now Janus had no choice, but to show the gorgeous thing a night of satisfaction before she was married to such a grotesque man and became his forever. The prince was honor-bound to give the girl one brilliant memory of pleasure before being subjected to a lifetime of misery.
The fat warlord was still talking. Was it possible that the man was growing fatter even as he stood there yammering incessantly? Another woman was stepping forward. She was not as large as the warlord, but she had the potential for greatness of girth. “And as you may recall this is my eldest daughter from my first marriage,” the warlord boasted.
“Yes, the good lady, Gwyneth,” King Kale stated warmly as if he truly cared. It was a remarkable talent that the shrewd king had to remember the names and faces of the most unimportant of his subjects and act as if they mattered. Of course, it was only remarkable in the fact that it was a foolish talent to even entertain. His father was the most powerful man in all of Aurelia what did it matter if he knew the name of some warlord from the south land’s husky offspring.
Speaking of the cow, she was smiling expectantly at the prince and everyone was looking at him. “Pardon my rudeness, dear… Gwyneth. I must have been captivated by your beauty.” Janus tilted his head deferentially and graced her with a warm smile that made her blush. That should appease them.
The daily court went on for far too long and the prince did his best to keep his mind on the matters at hand to avoid the embarrassment of being caught not paying attention. These daily gatherings were a joke anyway. Part of the meetings were devoted to direct edicts of the king and that was easily the most important part of these sessions, but most of it was taken up by his father being forced to listen to other people’s ideas, requests, and grievances as if he were somehow beholden to them instead of the other way around.
When the court was dismissed, Janus took his place at his father’s right hand side as was customary at the end of these meetings. “Do you think anyone caught you daydreaming?” King Kale asked tersely.
“Not likely, father, and if they did it would not be their place to say so,” the prince answered coolly. Few would dare to respond to the king in such a familiar manner, but being the man’s only heir did afford Janus a little more leeway than most.
“No, they would say so behind your back and that is far worse,” the king corrected him, “because it would be the grumbling of men at their dinner tables to their families or at a tavern with their friends. It would seem so inconsequential to them that they would think nothing of saying that Prince Janus does not listen to the people around him, but that would be the seed of discontent being planted and in hard times such as we now face that seed could grow into rebellion.”
“We already face a rebellion, father,” Janus reminded him, “and to speak ill of the king or a prince during a time of war would be tantamount to treason.”
King Kale shook his head. “You miss my point.”
“I guess I must,” agreed Janus.
“The point is that if you do not value those that serve under you, then you will find yourself one day as a king with no one to lead.”
“You valued the sorcerer, did you not? And he still betrayed you.” The words came unbidden from the prince and he regretted them as soon as they left his lips. “Father, I am sorry. That was uncalled for.”
King Kale waved off his apology. “Your words hurt less than you might think. You have spoken with Sane many a time since his capture. You know it was not me that he turned his back against. It was you.”
Janus had no reply for that and stood frozen as his father walked off. Even now his father still considered that lowborn wizard and confessed criminal to be a friend on some level… and to make it worse, he blamed Janus for the sorcerer’s betrayal.
***
“Everything I have done was in preparation for this moment!” Janus raved impotently in the seclusion of his apartments where no one could hear him speak against his father. No one except for Kennath and he did not matter. As long as the wizard was under Janus’ control he would b
e the most loyal of servants. The magic wielder could not even speak or eat without his prince’s leave to do so. Of course, he gave Kennath some autonomy for such menial tasks. It did not take long after getting his slave-magician before the man fainted from hunger. The wizard had not asked to be fed, because he was not given permission to speak and although Janus was ethically opposed to giving magic users any kind of freedom he did not like the idea of being troubled at all hours simply to grant his slave permission to relieve himself.
The magician stood by as Janus continued to vent. “I commissioned the collars that will save our kingdom! I was the one with the vision to see this uprising coming years in advance! It was at my behest that the rest of the domains were closed down and the inhabitants secreted away to form my magician army when Baj first fell!” Janus picked up a shiny bauble and hurled it against the wall so that it shattered into a thousand little pieces. “This kingdom survives thanks to me and do I get any acknowledgment from my father? No, I get insults and admonitions!”
A wrap on the door and the call of a guard asking, “Is everything all right, your Highness?” came through the door.
“Leave me in peace!” Janus commanded silence of the guard.
“Sometimes,” Kennath began, but hesitated thinking better of whatever he was about to say.
“You have something to add?” the prince wondered. His anger was instantly redirected at the surprise of the wizard’s outburst.
Kennath shook his head, “No.”
Janus pulled the control rod from his belt. “Tell me what you were going to say.”
“Sometimes,” the magician started over, “it can be difficult for a father to see his son as anything more than the little boy he used to tuck into bed every night.”
“Then his desire to live in the past has become my cross to bear,” Janus found a seat. The urge to hit someone was strong, but he poured a glass of wine instead. He could strike Kennath if he desired, but it would have lacked satisfaction. The wine presented him with an opportunity to focus his attention elsewhere and the fine wine glass would require him to be calm or risk shattering the delicate cup. A little calmer, he continued, “It is maddening that he sees me as the one at fault, when I see him failing in his leadership of this war. He does not see the threat before him for what it is and he is unwilling to fight the kind of battle that we need to win this war. As armies go, the wizards are agile and strong, while my father spreads our forces thin so that they cannot possibly react to a threat in time or with sufficient force.”
“What would you do differently?” asked the lanky Kennath.
Janus considered ignoring the slave’s question, but the magic user was incapable of betraying him no matter how much Kennath might want to. “I would assemble as much of the kingdom’s army as I could and march against their base in Wolfsbane. Then I would destroy them utterly. Once the rebellion was crushed, I would turn my attention to those of you with control collars and see that every single one of you was executed until there were no more of your kind left in the kingdom. Aurelia would be a land at peace at last.”
Kennath’s face went white in horror. Clearly that had not been the answer he was expecting. Occasionally, he would try to strike up a conversation with Janus in an attempt to ingratiate himself to the future ruler, but the prince was too wise to fall for such a simpleminded ploy. He knew that if the wizard were free the first thing Kennath would do would be to kill him followed by his father.
The king may balk at his son’s attitude from time to time, but Janus understood that the only way to battle these rebels was with like force and the only way to combat the sheer force held by the magicians was to be absolutely ruthless and never waver from his resolve.
“Do not fret,” Janus said genuinely downhearted, “my father’s views are not as far-reaching as my own. Father will likely doom the kingdom to its attackers before I ever have a chance at the crown… either that or he will be killed.”
“You don’t mean…” the words died unspoken before they could pass the magician’s lips.
Janus puzzled at his slave’s words or lack thereof for a moment before he understood Kennath’s meaning and laughed at the idea. “You thought I meant to threaten my father? No, fool, I meant he would be killed by your kind when they inevitably storm the castle. Only a wizard would think of killing his own father.”
A haphazard knock came from the chamber door.
“Now what is it?” Janus asked loud enough for whoever was disturbing him to hear his aggravation at the constant interruptions.
From behind the door a young boy’s voice quivered, “Begging His Highness’ pardon, but the dinner party honoring Warlord Velaren Saberhawk will be held within the hour. Would His Highness like help in getting ready?”
“What a bother,” Janus muttered. Then loud enough for the squire in the hall to hear he added, “Yes, come in.”
The squire was a boy of thirteen who often helped the prince arrange his dining attire and get dressed. This was one of those unimportant people whose names his father would know, but the prince had met with the lad dozens of times and not once did he ever seem disappointed that Janus did not know who he was.
To Kennath, Janus ordered, “See yourself out and go someplace where you won’t be a bother to anyone.” It was understood that everything that the prince said in private was not for the magician to repeat, so he did not need to remind the magic user of that fact. Likewise, the slave did not need to respond with an affirmative to his master’s command before he left the room. The collar would see that its wearer did as he was told.
Janus sat on the side of the bed and extended his booted foot. The squire readily untied the laces and removed the boot before setting it aside and starting on the next one.
How depraved the wizard must be to think that Janus would consider killing his own father. Still as he thought about it Janus had to admit there was a strange logic to the idea. The king’s actions would certainly lead to Aurelia’s demise and Janus had it within his power to prevent that from happening if he was only given the chance to act. Killing his father was out of the question, but maybe there was another option. The king did not need to be dead; he just needed to be out of the way for a while so that Janus could lead the army to victory. Perhaps Kennath would know of a spell to make his father sick for a time without doing any permanent damage.
“Squire, when you are finished here, track down my wizard and bring him back here immediately.”
“Yes, my lord,” the squire promised, helping Janus remove his tabard emblazoned with the royal family’s coat of arms- a crow flying against an orange sun.
Chapter 3
The smell of salt was thick in the air as the Vagrant’s Folly docked in the port of Mollifas. It spent three months at sea on its journey south from the dwarven kingdom of Ghant and the ship’s crew was happy to finally reach port. There were women, fresh food, and fine drinks for the men to partake in; a well-earned reward for a successful voyage, but Captain Hohite Farsea had others matters to attend to before he could enjoy such pleasures. He had to make arrangements for his cargo of precious dwarven steel to be off loaded and delivered to his clients throughout the city. He also had to see his passengers safely off the ship. Most of Hohite’s coin came from the sale of dwarven metals in Aurelia and a return trip to Ghant carrying spices and gems that were only found in the southern nation, but it cost him little to transport a handful of passengers since he would be making the trip anyway and they paid a king’s ransom to get across the sea.
His guests filed off the boat each thanking Hohite for the safe passage and offering other pleasantries until only three dwarves and their aged human servant remained. They were members of the Axebeard family and one of their own recently came into vast sums of money in Aurelia.
“Get the bags, boy,” commanded their matriarch, Gesela Axebeard. Her beard hung down to her knees, its length was as much a status symbol as her fine attire, indicating that she was a woman unaccus
tomed to working. She wore a fine silken dress and overcoat cinched at the waist that was fashionable among the richest of dwarven women and carried herself with the air of one who was entirely confident in the knowledge that she was better than those around her.
The “boy” she referred to was the old human encumbered with baggage to the point of almost being unable to follow after his masters and nearly tripped over the lip of his too long and faded traveling cloak. The captain was surprised at the old servant’s strength. He must have been a mighty warrior or seadog in his youth to be able to lift so many heavy bags at his advanced age.
The old man stumbled as he descended the plank and nearly lost one of the bags over the railing, but managed to regain his balance and save the luggage slung over his shoulder. “Coming, mistress,” the old fellow called after the matriarch.
“Do not tarry, boy,” she cautioned him, “Honestly, I don’t know why my son thought you would make a half decent servant. You are supposed to be waiting on us, not the other way around.”
“My apologies, mistress,” the old man said downcast.
“He came highly recommended, mother,” answered Eiro, one of the two younger males dwarves and the one who happened to hire the old human. “If I recall, you were entirely charmed with the idea of having a human pet. You were plenty pleased when those old crones you breakfasted with were falling over themselves with jealousy, because you had a human and they did not.”
“Old Baryn is useful for fetching high up things,” added the youngest dwarf, Dinero, with a mischievous grin and wink at the old human. Baryn did not acknowledge the dwarf’s joke, but that did not stop Dinero from doing his best to suppress a smile at his own wit.
“When your whiskers grow in, then you can make jokes,” complained Gesela, but there was no bite to her words and she continued down the docks leaving her entourage no choice except to follow behind her.
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