by Jason Jones
“Lady Shinayne?” Zen took a knee next to James, gently lifting his sweaty head and hair out of the snow.
“I need you to get him warm, then we move him into the caravan.” Shinayne knew Gwenneth was ignoring this, and Saberrak wanted to leave James out in the cold to teach him a lesson.
“Then what?” Zen rubbed his head, then lifted him with the elf, into the back of the covered wagon, then rolled him over until he was wedged with blankets and furs He would have asked the minotaur to do the work, but fresh ogre tracks had the minotaur concerned beyond anything else.
“Any miracles? You are a priest.” Shinayne helped get the blankets around James.
“I could turn his wine into water.” Zen chuckled.
“Perhaps a bottle or two, see what happens.” Shinayne listened to the whispers that no one else could hear. The wind and the wine covered them to normal hearing, but not to hers. James was crying, pleading with something not to be tortured. He would beg for wine, beg for death, and even promise to kill himself in his stupor. His hands poured bottles of wine to his mouth, made the motions, as if he were drinking in his sleep.
“He is very sick, Shinayne, very sick then. We need to get him warm and to a mission.” .
“Mission is for another talk, good priest. For now, pray to Vundren he makes it through the night.” Shinayne nodded to Saberrak, he nodded back, both of them knowing they had ogre tracks to inspect. “Stay here with him, the minotaur and I have to scout something ahead.”
“Aye, you do that. I will stay right here then.” Zen waited until they were out of sight.
“Vundren, this will be a long one then. I have to speak for this knight, and myself, a fine mess ye’ involved me in.”
Princes I:II
White Spider Underground
Valhirst
“A thousand apologies my great and honorable ambassadors from the north, where are my manners? The manifests you asked to see were on our progress here in Chazzrynn and Harlaheim, yes? I also have plenty of agents in Caberra, Shanador, Willborne, and even Armondeen. Heathen, bring the books.” Johnas had wined them, fed them the finest Valhirst had to offer, shared his whores, his opium, and his hidden home for days on end.
Men like these were accustomed to finery and to hiding when abroad. If nobles from the Altestan Empires were seen, no matter whom with, in almost any country on Agara, they would be captured and interrogated at the very least. Spies from the former invading kingdoms, especially the much larger and vastly more powerful lands of Altestan, were never allowed, nor trusted. Now to win confidence and contacts throughout illegal trade routes and royalty, that none but a few like himself would dare, Prince Johnas Valhera prepared false documents to attest to the names and activities of his agents in the south.
A show of power. Could he but show control and ambition, he may gain what no other criminal or noble had thought to achieve, an agreement with the most powerful nation in the known world, a nation made up of dozens of conquered races and countries. A nation of power, of men, and of faith, Altestan was nearing his grasp, he felt it. Not that he did not already have men of his there, it was merely that official crime was more profitable than unofficial crime.
Heathen set down the black leather bound journals in the center of the table where the three men sat late in the evening. The men and women of the White Spider had been on high alert to not mention any employs of creatures not human. No mention of wizards, elven assassins, doppelgangers, or any strange contacts they had throughout their webs. Johnas had enough of a hint from Ambassador Prince Alamud that he knew not to mention his goals of enlisting the hard to pierce dwarven settlements as well. The beliefs of the Altestani were that of their race, those with dark hair and skin and blue eyes, they were the chosen and triumphant bloodline that had eradicated other races from their immense continent long ago. Their leaders, their religion, and their conquests had proven over thousands of years, to them at least, that they were simply the chosen children of God. Above women, beasts, magicks, and about anything else, their distrust and disgust had to be appeased. The Prince of Valhirst had done well to keep Vanessa hidden, along with others, and even the warlock mirrors. Heathen, already known to them, was of no use hiding.
“This is interesting Johnas, very thorough indeed.” Alamud flipped page by page through the names and locations of over sixty cities that the White Spider had presence in, not to mention the activities, holdings, and other surrounding cities throughout the island realms of Yallah and Garoug, Taberlo, Falligarde, Halay, and even far off Jal-Adeen over ten weeks travel by ship.
“As you can see, my agents number nearly two thousand strong and we infiltrate every merchant center, trade route, opium quarter, gambling den, and political stronghold on Agara. There is little that the White Spider does not know of, and even less that we can not obtain. What you seek is information, a constant flow of the goings on of your enemies. What I seek is the direct and protected trade route to your merchants and especially the opium fields. You get your eyes and ears full of secrets, politics, and numbers, and I get my kingdom, below the kingdoms.” Johnas smiled, seeing their interest.
“Would your kingdom stay below, or one night rise to take Agara? You seemed poised to do so, Prince Johnas. A question for another time.” Alamud chuckled and raised his hand slowly to show he needed no response.
“What do you know of the west? I hear many things of a magical nature have turned up since the flood and since your king reopened the ruined lands. Particularly those lands once covered in deluge, rumored to have temples to the Caricians of old.” Prince Alamud was staring at the Southwind Keep pages, small as they were, reading notes on raids and contracts that had mostly never occurred.
“The west, well, we have confiscated through our agents there many a lost relic. But of potent magic I know little. I have my eyes on renegade wizards, as you do, and we try and destroy what we find that could empower someone beyond their God given ability.” Lying, like a Prince and a crime lord, lying was his first language. Johnas simply played to the crowd, spoke what they needed to hear. He had more treasures of magic and arcane creation than he knew what to do with, as did many of his quartermasters, spies, city domenarchs, wizards, and assassins. “Religion, to myself, is a waste of time.”
“To us, it is part of the everyday, Prince Johnas.” Alamud cast a suspicious gaze.
“I have heard as much. Perhaps were I exposed to your Yjaros, God of Gods, father of all, I would have a change of heart. Alas, here, there is but Alden and feathered crosses to turn to. I find it most lacking.” Johnas had set up the response, the question, and even his answer, hours before.
“Wonderful to hear, wonderful indeed. And, dear Prince, how is the rulership of the young king of Harlaheim, Richmond, is it? We hear he is having great difficulty with a few elder nobility, church groups, and a wizard that seems nearly worshipped for his longevity in the troubled kingdom. What light can the eyes of the White Spider shed on this?” Alamud was patient, hunting for holes in the answers, seeking for something, yet Johnas could not figure it out.
“It seems ripe for placing my men closer to the throne, if that is what you mean. As far as wizards and old nobles, I know many that would cause a young king trouble, yet Harlaheim is ruled by those old men that kill their own kings when they need a scapegoat to appease the masses. I have my men where I need them for certain.” He was curious, it was almost as if these men had an agenda, one from another contact somewhere close that they had spoken to. The questions were vague, yet pinpointed to certain trouble areas for his organization. Johnas sipped more Caberran wine and waved his hand to have the servant boys fetch another bottle from below. “Since the Aldane moved to Shanador, Harlaheim has fallen in power.”
“And since their loss in the war with Chazzrynn, I would assume, yes?”
“That as well, indeed. Their monarchy is old, far separated from the people, and easy to corrupt.” Johnas watched the men in robes and sashes of blue and teal ru
mmage through ledgers, talk in their harsh yet melodic dialect to one another, and sip his wines with grins atop black beards. Yet, in the Agarian tongue, only Alamud spoke the queries.
“And ties to other nobility and local military strongholds, these are secure?’ Alamud partook in the wine, enjoying its richness and depth of earthy and sandy tones, much unlike the ripe yet soft and lighter red wines of the far north. His robes of spun silk and slave picked cottons were still finer than anything he had seen in Valhirst, he mused as his comfort reawakened. Bored to tears on the inside, the noble from mighty Altestan asked more, even though he had made up his mind.
“Yes, many. I have a report from an agent in Southwind arriving this week, should you care to wait. Her… his movements have alerted me to every action of this kingdom, before they happen. T’Vellon, the Lord of the fortress, has not only assisted in killing the ogre of the kingdom, but done so from a position of nobility and honor, doubling as one of mine for nearly a decade now. A finer symbol of loyalty you will not find.” Johnas flaunted too much he felt, but he cared not. The stumble with these men was done, in the past already. He knew that mentioning a woman in power, a female with the studies of the sorcerous arts, or a leadership position held by anyone but a human man was a violation of their ways.
“I must say, Prince Johnas, you have shown us much and been hospitable to the last.” His accent still sharply northern, the prince's eye contact was perfect, and tone balanced and unwavering.
“With such nobility, you representing hundreds of generations of your chosen people, how could I do otherwise?” Johnas smiled.
“However, your men in places such as the elven kingdom in Shalokahn, and wizards such as Dasius in Vallakazz, and corrupt abominations such as Salah-Cam, have vastly different stories of your dealings and moral behaviors. Strange that their names were not listed in your notes. Neither was your pet wizard, the one you copulate with, Miss Blackflame, or Kaya T’Vellon? Perhaps when you are serious about your word, we can be serious about a deal between the White Spider and Altestan. We bid you farewell Prince Johnas Valhera. Your Caberran wizard at the academy should not be so, talkative? Yes, that is the word, talkative.” Alamud’s voice never fluctuated, his eyes and face calm as the grave, his plan perfect.
“Is that so?”
“And in Altestan, we marry women for many reasons. Pleasure, children, to care for the home. We marry several in fact, depending upon the man and his position. We do not, however, allow women to hold ranks, wield blades, or sleep with men for power or murder. Florin in Harlaheim, others you have? Do understand it is a weak man that cannot decide and kill for himself, and especially weak when he has a woman do it for him.” He stood and turned to leave the chamber and was allowed.
“I see.”
To stay for days and nights, to indulge in every sinful pleasure, to produce comfort and false friendship, and then to subtly use his knowledge to humiliate and expose. The crime lord suffered a blow that would shock him, perhaps into rash actions. Yet the visiting prince saw Johnas remain only as calm and tranquil, and he smiled more.
He knew they would insult him, three times he was told, and refuse the offer. Yet, there was something beyond that, the pride that stung, Johnas had not expected that feeling.
“And farewell to thee, royal ambassadors. In years to come, perhaps.” Johnas kept quiet and respectful, knowing he had lost, failed today and it was better to say nothing at all and keep some dignity.
“Perhaps, and perhaps no. We shall retire for this day, Prince Valhera.” At that the two ambassadors left the inner sanctum, their ten servants right behind them.
They had known of his dealings with the elves of Shalokahn, one of the strongest rivals to their kingdom. They had known of his ties to rogue wizards, an insult to their beliefs. Lastly, they even knew of his hidden affairs with Vanessa and his use of women in business, which meant someone inside Valhirst itself had spoken, had been approached, and had betrayed. Dasius of Caberra had revealed some, perhaps, but likely they just wanted him dead for their own enjoyments and pinned something on him. No, they mentioned more than what Dasius would have known, for certain.
Johnas had planning to do, much planning. With the loss of one fortress this week and several failures, he would need all the members he could organize to regain what he thought to be security.
“Heathen, come here.” he asked nicely, still in shock over how quickly and politely the Altestani men cut his plans down with a few simple words.
“My prince, what do you need of me? Should I kill them before they leave?” Heathen had not slept in days, watching the doors closely with such high profile ambassadors here. His back hunched more than normal for the old veteran killer. Johnas placed a hand on his horn, the one he had left, and tugged him close, then placed that hand on his reddish brown hide squeezing his shoulder.
“I need to know the name of their galleon, where they hid it, which island, and what false flags they have presented.”
“Done, my lord. What else?”
“I need to know where my uncle’s ship is docked, how far north does he wait for our men, or does he try and make for Willborne to investigate? I know the king is at sea, not in Loucas, but I need to know exactly where.”
“Done as well, my prince. May I ask what for?” Heathen was edgy, no sleep did that to even the roughest minotaurs.
“Our northern friends may get a bit of surprise for their disrespect and false pretenses of negotiation. My uncle, the king, may be disturbed to know that an enemy vessel has crossed into Chazzrynn waters in an attempt to dock in Valhirst under false trade colors. After turning them away, I felt the need to contact the king, I believe.”
“My prince, Altestan would not be an enemy we care to have.” Heathen the red, his old wounds covering his entire body and face, had grown cautious compared to his former self.
“Surely not, but they may find my uncle a bit difficult to deal with, unlike myself. Make sure Gregore gets a good look at them, have him join the escort in secret. A good look at them from every angle, understood?”
“Three refusals my prince, remember that they will---“
“Get the dopplegangers, now!”
“Yes, my prince.”
“These merchant princes with their fancy focking false titles, they want games, I shall show them focking games!”
Johnas had webs spinning in his mind, preparing how to spin anything to his advantage. Using shapeshifters, dead ambassadors, the kingdom and the king, those works were that of a genius in the body of a murdering criminal on the throne of a prince. Johnas smiled, knowing he would profit even more greatly once he cut the middle men out of the arrangement. The true powers of Altestan, that is who he wanted to deal with, not more merchant pretenders. There was never a bad deal or negotiation, simply men who accepted loss, and Johnas Valhera was not one of them.
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The cold stone great hall under Valhirst was empty, save for the prince and a silent and aged minotaur guardian. Heathen had been known to drift off while standing post, his unbroken horn providing balance against the stone wall. Johnas Valhera ran his fingers atop his head, through his blond hair, feeling the frustration of the unknown. He had not heard from Kaya or anything recent from Southwind. Nothing more from Vallakazz, from Dasius or the agents he had sent to assist in procuring those relics before Salah-Cam’s assassin got to them first. Even Gregore, his prize doppelganger and the deadliest in the arts of disguise, had not returned from the Altestani ships with news of their intentions. All was in the works into the night, yet the wait for progress was now chiseling at the criminal prince.
His uncle, the King, was watching his every step for sure. There was a spy from Harlaheim in love with Vanessa he had to contend with as well. All of his troubles were keeping his mind busy. Johnas did not blink, staring at the walls, feeling trapped under his own city with his own webs closing more around him than ensnaring others. He began to obsess
with the paranoia, retrace every word, retouch every step, and question the motives of every agent of the White Spider that had supposed allegiance to him.
The door on the right opened, waking Heathen who quickly drew out his immense scimitar and stepped in front of the entrance. Slowly, and with much effort, two young boys aspiring to the prince’s favor for some years now, held up a black robed wizard as he limped into the inner sanctum of the White Spider. Johnas looked from his throne of onyx and jade, at the burned, bloodied, and tattered Dasius who was missing more than a hand, apparently seared off far above the elbow. His bald and handsome face was scratched and blood covered, and splinters of wood decorated his robes and flesh. His leg looked recently broken, perhaps from a fall, and the blood had not stopped its slow release from a partially protruding bone near the ankle.
“Dasius of Caberra. I am assuming things did not fare to our advantage in Vallakazz?” He motioned for his horned guardian to step aside with a wave of his fingers. Heathen bowed, sheathing the curved blade and crossed his arms.
“My Prince, we were discovered. The academy, the daughter of Aelaine, Middir’s protector, Kendari of Stillwood, and the travelers from Southwind carrying the scroll… they were all well prepared for ambush!” Dasius sat in one of the velvet chairs, helped down by the young men, and groaned in pain from so many injuries.
His invoking of teleportation was hurried, resulting in a fall from almost twenty feet above the library he intended to appear inside of. Lucky, he thought, only his ankle snapped from the fall.
Johnas stood and paced with his hand caressing the emerald pommel of his blade methodically. He still did not blink. The prince knew that the warlock mirrors could be traced, should they be studied at length by an accomplished wizard, and he assumed that Dasius, in this condition, was unprepared and likely did not destroy the marble mirror in Vallakazz. The wizards there would trace many messages that would point some fingers, but nothing that could not be denied. Johnas thought more, caring nothing for the injuries of this failure who sat in his chamber.
