The Lords of Valdeon

by C. R. Richards

  Wolf had brought ill news with him, news capable of ultimately throwing Valdeon into civil war. If the Lion Ring fell into the hands of evil, the Jalora's power would fade from the land. The legion's extraordinary power and their ability to keep the peace would diminish. They would be regular men, greatly outnumbered by those who wished to aid evil. Indeed, there were several such men with their covetous eyes fixed upon the throne of Valdeon. Backroom deals and alliances were being made as many listened to talk of treason.

  He stood quietly, waiting as the old man stared into the empty fireplace. Summoning power to his eyes, he probed Benito’s mind gently. Wolf trusted the chancellor, but he had to make sure. No one was above suspicion. Swirling hues of crimson, yellow, and black clung to the chancellor’s body. Terror, feelings of betrayal, grief. The emotions were all there in his energy, but no sign of treachery.

  "Are you certain it’s missing?"

  "The location of the Lion’s Ring has been blocked from us," Wolf told him. "Cardinal Dragon can’t explain why the Jalora remains silent."

  Dragon was the highest-ranking ranger in the legion. It was rumored the Jalora sent him direction for its legion in visions. Wolf smoothed at the worn silver adorning his belt. The Jalora had hidden much from its faithful servants. It had kept Leo’s location from them, hiding him in mists of darkness. Wolf 's frustration came to him again. He quickly let it go. It was not for him to question the Jalora’s perfect wisdom. He had faith it knew best for the legion and Andara. Wolf rested his life and the lives of his family in such faith.

  Benito leaned his forehead against the cold stone. He, with the help of the Lords of Valdeon, had held a feuding country from the brink of civil war for two years. The bright light of hope they had shared was the promise of Leo’s return. Now the king was dead, his ring and the orb lifeless. Hope had deserted them. Wolf took the old man by the arm and helped him into a chair. He poured a glass of spice wine and put it to Benito’s lips. He stood away, allowing the chancellor to gain composure. They had much to discuss. It was best to give Benito a chance to muster his nerve.

  He took a strong military stance before the chancellor, projecting confidence and strength. As a ranger, Wolf could not lie. The Jalora would not allow it. He could, however, omit his own worry and confusion from their conversation. In the coming days, it would be crucial for all to see the Lords of Valdeon as their pillars of strength. The Lion Ring was the key to the safety of Andara. When news of its disappearance reached others, their world would be thrown into chaos. It was critical the legion and Valdeon be of one mind upon their course of action.

  "What is to be done?" Chancellor Benito's voice was little more than a whisper.

  "We must wait for the Jalora to reveal the ring’s location. I would sleep better if I could be certain Julian does not have it."

  Benito turned to regard him. Cheeks sunken with age and worry drooped in disapproval. His shriveled lips struggled to remain expressionless. "Can’t you put aside your family pride at such a time?"

  "Why can’t you see the black heart behind Julian’s sincere face? He is not the grief-stricken son you believe him to be. Where is our wayward prince? I don’t see him here paying respect to his father’s memory."

  Anger brought the blood back to Benito’s face. He pushed out of the chair with an irritated howl and stalked to the window of his office. It was an old argument between them, one neither would let go. Benito, in his love for Edmund, forgave the many indiscretions of his son. He refused to hear the truth, even from someone who was compelled to tell only truth.

  "I have summoned our western prefects. They must know. Perhaps some of Edmund’s old allies will help us look for the ring?"

  Wolf said nothing. He had no great faith in the chancellor’s plan. The prefects of the East and West had been in bitter feud while the king still sat upon the throne. Their hatred and rivalry would only grow worse now that the Lion Ring was lost.

  "The Lords of Valdeon will help you all we can to maintain control, as will the Legionaries here in San Leonora. Dragon also sends his offer of aid if you need it."

  The chancellor wagged his finger. "I don’t require the intervention of the Jalora Legion quite yet, My Lord De Vincente. No matter how much they pressure."

  "The Jalora Legion has no interest in taking control of Valdeon, Benito! The Lords of Valdeon have sworn upon our very souls to protect the Altar of Providence. Every ranger in the legion is honor bound to help us in this duty!"

  Benito came to stand behind his massive cherry wood desk, keeping it between his body and Wolf. Spreading his hands along the desk’s surface, he leaned in to regard Wolf with narrowed eyes. Benito was playing the politician again, maneuvering circumstances to his own favor.

  "I am certain they will help you, My Lord the Wolf. You are well admired by the Jalora Legion. Many call you the perfect ranger and the favorite son of Valdeon. Even the Dragon has showered his favor upon you."

  Wolf regarded Benito with growing rage. Did he imagine his time as chancellor was a coincidence? Benito had no idea what he'd endured on his behalf. The old man should know better than to question. Wolf squeezed at his silver belt and took a deep breath. He had promised his wife, Dulcina, not to lose his temper with the old man.

  "You attempt to flatter me?" Wolf folded his arms and returned Benito’s gaze. "Ask your question directly, Benito. I have no patience for such beef-headed foolishness."

  "I would know where your loyalties lay, Wolf!" The chancellor slammed his fist upon the desk. "Will your loyalties rest with the legion or Valdeon when trouble begins?"

  The Jalora flared in angry outrage within his ring. It would not be questioned or tolerate such blasphemy. Its anger would be satisfied. Nothing, not the regret of breaking Wolf’s promise to his wife or his fondness for Benito, could prevent the Jalora from using its host body to exact punishment. Their symbiotic relationship allowed Wolf to summon forth the full power waiting within. The Jalora’s vast presence filled the room, pushing the Chancellor of Valdeon back against the fireplace.

  "I am a servant of the Jalora and will follow its perfect wisdom as long as I draw breath! It guides my hand, not Dragon and not you." Wolf spat upon the ground. "Do you recall the circumstances of your appointment as chancellor? Many from both the D’Antoiné and De Vincente families plotted for this office you now hold. It was the Jalora who commanded I place you in those robes, and I obeyed its will even though my family opposed me. Do you question me now?"

  "Forgive me, My Lord De Vincente. I meant no disrespect. Valdeon and I are both grateful to you." The chancellor dropped to his belly on the ground, terror permeating from under the robes. "Our king approved of your choice after he…he punished his uncle, my predecessor."

  "Edmund killed him in a rage after he learned your predecessor helped to spirit away his Tslavian bride and annulled their marriage. Let us speak clearly with each other."

  Leo's taste in women was always exotic and dangerous. When his fancy had turned to the young princess of their bitterest enemy, Leo had rashly married the girl twenty years his junior. Her disappearance had caused a rift between the two thrones none could ever heal. War between Valdeon and Tslavia had narrowly been avoided. A stern intervention from the Jalora had stopped certain bloodshed. The hate, however, would eternally remain.

  "Very well, you have my renewed oath of allegiance to this office and my word I will hear your guidance."

  The Jalora, satisfied with Benito’s penance, released Wolf’s body and returned to the depths of the ring. Benito had been fortunate. Men were killed for lesser insults by its power. Benito struggled to his feet as the energy dissipated. Pride would not allow him to look into Wolf’s face.

  "If you will excuse me. The western prefects should be arriving soon."

  "Very well, My Lord Chancellor, go and greet them as you will."

  Purple robes rustled behind Benito as he hurried away. Beef-headed nonsense. Wolf had expected better from a man full grown. Though
the Jalora had released its power, his body still held the remnants of anger. He swung a fist at the door with residual power behind his punch. Flesh tore through wood. The unlucky door slammed against its jamb with a harsh boom. He stalked past the splintered wood and into the lavish halls of the palace once more.

  Depravity, selfishness, and greed. Their presence heralded evil. Wolf pulled his sword and swept its tip to rest upon the jugular of the woman who had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Benito. He spat in disgust when he saw her. Julian's younger sister, birthed by their mother and sired by hell only knew. Leo had banished his adulteress queen while the hell child was still within her womb. Rumors spoke of her dying in childbirth, but were never confirmed. Whether by neglect or nature, Zoya had grown from a child of unfortunate circumstance to an unbalanced creature of evil.

  "Your very presence offends the Palace of Kings, Zoya No-Name. I have commanded your banishment from San Leonora. Why have you disobeyed me?" In his current mood of frustration and anger, Wolf couldn't keep the power of the Jalora from swirling behind his words.

  Zoya's blazing dark eyes lifted to his face with a hatred spelling murder. She rested a fingertip upon the edge of his blade and pushed the sword away. A coquettish grin spread across full lips. Hers was a dangerous beauty, deadly to any man foolish enough to play the games she loved so well. Wolf, seeing her through the clarity of discernment, kept his attention upon her twisted face.

  "Julian has said I may stay, My Lord the Wolf. He, and not you, will rule Valdeon as king." Zoya lifted her chin with prideful defiance. "I will sit beside him at the Altar of Providence, while you grovel at our feet."

  "Blasphemy!" Wolf lifted the sword to her throat again. "The Jalora's curse upon you, Zoya Bastard Child. May it give you the painful death you so richly deserve."

  "Curse me all you want, Wolf. You can't touch me. Rangers may not hurt women or children." She curtsied, lifting her black-laced petticoat up to mid-thigh. "Too bad you have to be so saintly. I would love to play with you."

  Her tongue licked across his exposed blade and then she stepped away with a sigh. "You'll just have to spend your energy with the sow you married. Mayhaps the pup who follows you would like to play? I could show him the pleasures of manhood."

  Wolf heard the shock and fury coming rapidly from behind him. His second-in-command swept toward Zoya. She shook her petticoat and let the green satin of her dress spill around it as if she were shooing away a mouse.

  "Stop." Wolf thrust out an arm to block Berto. "This thing of evil is trying to goad you."

  Zoya laughed as the young ranger struggled with his anger. It was true Wolf and the other rangers could not strike women and children. They were bound by the Jalora Code and could not break it without punishment. The Jalora would reject them, taking the ring from their hand and stripping them of power. But they weren't the only stewards of justice in Valdeon.

  "Crawl back into your putrid basement, harlot!" A lightning hand smacked across Zoya's face, sending her spinning away. Eyes full of hatred glared at her punisher. She put the back of her hand to her bleeding lip and stared down at the blood. Her laughter, when it came, was harsh and manic. Zoya fled down the corridor at full speed.

  "Well, Xavier the Wolf!" their defender boomed. "I thought I heard the roar of a hurricane, but alas, it is only you!"

  A man of middle years with straight, dark hair and sparkling eyes laughed at Zoya's departing back. Wolf well recognized the mischievous grin upon Fausto De Quintaro's face. They had served in the legion together for many years and through many adventures. Now they both were a little grayer and a little more careful in their antics.

  "Fausto!" Wolf burst into laughter and embraced his best friend. "When did you arrive?"

  "I landed yesterday to bring lumber from Varianne." Fausto pushed away to grin at the broken door. "What a happy coincidence, yes?"

  Wolf gave him a reluctant grin, though he knew Fausto could no longer see the expression upon his face. The Jalora’s power hid all weakness and emotion, giving its rangers the advantage on and off the battlefield. They were the tools of justice, and justice must be immovable.

  Other rangers, however, were able to see the facial expressions of their comrades. The little smirk on the Jaguar’s lips didn't escape attention. Wolf shot him a look. The smirk disappeared quickly as his second-in-command stood at attention.

  "Dulcina and the children are with me," Wolf told his friend as the three of them began walking down the corridor. "Will you come to dine with us this evening?"

  "Of course! And we will be joined by another old friend. Cesar arrives this morning."

  They came to the main corridor acting as the central artery for the Palace of Kings. Fausto cast a longing glance at a group of Valdeonian rangers marching past them. His hand smoothed along the side of his left leg, ruined in battle. The injury had ended his career as a ranger.

  "I am glad to have you here with us, Fausto." Wolf gripped his best friend’s shoulder. "I need your help."

  "You will always have my friendship and support, Wolf."

  Fausto gave them a quick nod. He was a good friend, brave and true. Wolf let a bit of his tension ease. He and his comrades weren't alone. Loyal subjects of the Jalora still remained in Valdeon. Time must be spent gauging who he could trust and who the bastard prince had lured to his treacherous side.

  Jaguar followed a step behind him as they made their way down the corridor. Wolf regarded the young ranger’s square face and weatherworn skin a moment. His second was from the rugged San Marimosa plains, home of the fabled Marimosa stallions. Jaguar had served in their cavalry before being called to the legion. Time in their numbers had taught him discipline, but certainly not patience for the social traditions of court. Wolf and Jaguar were kindred spirits in that respect.

  "You would ask me a question, Jaguar."

  "I was wondering about what the chancellor said to you, Sir."

  "You wonder why I didn’t punish him for going against my word."

  "Sir, you are a Lord of Valdeon and third-in-command of the Sacred Guard! Not even the chancellor has the right to…"

  "Each of us has a duty. Benito was chosen by the Jalora. I have sworn to protect him while he holds office. Would you have me betray my duty?"

  "No, Wolf."

  "By the look on Benito's face as he scampered past me, I'd say Wolf gave him something to think about." Fausto chuckled, winking at Jaguar.

  "Our conversation has given me something to think about as well." Wolf lowered his voice as two members of court gave them curt nods. "I no longer know who to trust in this nest of vipers. Benito has summoned the western landowners. I know I can trust Cesar and your father, Berto, but the rest must be tested. We need to know how far Julian's treachery has run."

  "You have a plan, Sir?"

  Wolf nodded. It would take a great deal of patient watching, but he was confident they could chase the rats out of the palace. Once they exposed Julian and his treacherous comrades, the Lords of Valdeon could focus on finding the Lion Ring. Leo was a rash fool at times, but he would have had a plan to safeguard it. Wolf rubbed at his tired eyes. He needed sleep. Then perhaps his refreshed mind would remember any clues Leo may have left for them.

  Chapter Nine

  Masterful fingers moved along the five hollowed reeds bound together by dyed horsehair. The musician's breath puffed out beneath high, sharp cheekbones as chapped lips blew upon the tops of the reeds. Jorge Pacarro played his flute with the passion of a man who knew sorrow as a constant companion. He understood loss. He was the last son of the plains. There were no more full-bloods — only he, the last of the Pacarro tribe.

  Jorge leaned against the railing, letting the notes fade upon the wind. He tucked the rust-colored warrior braids behind his ear. Copper, intertwined among the strands, clicked softly as the airship raced through the clouds. The braids added to his exotic appearance. They were a tradition handed down from an ancient tribe once inhabiting the gra
sslands of eastern Valdeon. Jorge tried to keep some of his heritage alive. Out of necessity, however, he had adopted the Andarian culture in order to serve as squire to his ranger.

  It had been many years since he had first set foot within the Palace of Kings to greet its young monarch. Now time and age had taken hold. His ranger had retired and stepped aside for his son. The once vibrant and daring young king had passed away from the world. Jorge let out a long sigh and played the funeral song of his people once more for Leo. He would not be allowed the chance once they reached San Leonora. Such simple homage would not seem worthy in the eyes of their eastern cousins.

  His ranger, Lord Cesar Santiago, and their king, Edmund D’Antoiné, had served in the same battalion. They fought side-by-side in many a glorious battle. No more battles or adventure for any of them. Jorge was ashamed to admit it, but he loved wandering on his own land, cutting weeds and listening to the birds sing. He had seen too much blood spilled in his service to the Legion. His life in retirement was a peaceful one spent with his wife and children.

  "Valdeon will not be the same without him, Jorge."

  Cesar's bald head came to his shoulder. Bright, dark eyes and a round face touched with grief looked up at him from inches away. It was not easy to sneak up on a Pacarro. His lord may be growing older, but he still kept the stealth of a ranger. Jorge's hand dropped from the handle of his hatchet. Old habits from an old life. He reached for the pouch he carried in his coat. Carefully placing the flute inside, he tucked the instrument away.

  "Are the others still bickering about trade agreements and sanctions against the east?"

  Most of his fellow prefects couldn't think past their own lands. They had no idea what the ramifications of Leo's death would mean. Valdeon's future rested with the new heir to the Lion Ring. Who would be named as heir would certainly be the topic of many hours of heated discussion. Leo had produced two sons by blood and claimed a third, the bastard prince, as his own. Two legitimate sons had mysteriously died, leaving only the bastard behind. Jorge suspected Julian had a murderer's blade hidden behind his back.