A tall pillar of white marble jutted up in the middle of King's Row. Mounted at its top was a large statue of a man riding his beloved San Marimosa stallion. Sword raised in defiance, Mikel D'Antoiné, the first King of Valdeon, remained dedicated in watching over his city. Julian smiled as he looked upon the famous Stallion’s Gate. One piece of history at least remained.
"I must save Valdeon. I must restore its glory and make it strong again, or all will be lost."
"How will you do this, my prince, without the Lion Ring?"
"My ancestor, Cathmor the Conqueror, faced the same challenge as I do."
"Cathmor? Wasn’t he named traitor?"
"Named by the very same Lion he overthrew. It was obvious the boy would be an unfit ruler. Cathmor had the courage to dethrone the weakling Lion Cub and conquer the southern countries. His rule was a grand one."
Yes, until the Lords of Valdeon found the Lion and set him free. You need the Lion Ring. The Sarcion's voice held the irritating tone of a reproachful teacher.
"Cathmor ruled his kingdom for a glorious two years!"
Julian lifted his hands in an impatient gesture. He quickly dropped them again, careful to keep the telepathic conversation and his performance for Marcellus separated. His sister gave him a knowing grin. He had few secrets from her.
Your Cathmor was never able to sit upon the Lion’s Seat, Julian. How will you rule without the Altar of Providence? Pursue the Regent's Medallion if you must, but even its power cannot overcome the will of the Jalora.
Julian leaned back into the soft seat of the carriage. No creature on Erthe or in the beyond was capable of making him lose control faster than the Sarcion. It knew him too well.
"I will have the Lion Ring. Edmund D’Antoiné has run out of options. You will see. I will sit upon the Lion’s Seat with the Crown of Sorrows upon my brow."
Their carriage pulled to a stop before massive stairs climbing up to the palace. Brightly colored tiles formed mosaics within the white stone of each step. Their designs reflected stories about the kings of the past. His jaw tightened as a bit of trash rolled across the bottom step, pushed by a gust of wind. So much for the days of glory long gone. Now the forgotten memories were trampled under the boots of the oblivious.
Their carriage began to sway as someone jumped off the driver's seat. Swinging the door wide, Armando flashed an insolent grin up at him. Turning his back on the changeling, Julian took Zoya's hand to help her out of the carriage. He completely ignored the creature. Zoya, on the other hand, was captivated. She stared at the changeling with undisguised curiosity. An all too familiar sparkle filled her eyes. Zoya had found her next game. Julian tugged her roughly toward the steps.
"Where is Benito? Why is he not here to show his respect for the Prince of Valdeon?"
It was customary for the chancellor to greet returning members of the royal family at the base of the steps. His gaudy purple robes of office were strangely absent today. Julian couldn't abide the old fool, but customs must be observed. It wouldn't do for Gorman's lackey to see moments of such disrespect.
"He is with the Lords of Valdeon, my prince." Marcellus's expression spoke of his anger at the slight. "They are making preparations for Leo's funeral."
"It would appear your lap dog of a chancellor knows his true master." Black clouded the changeling's eyes as it laughed. "Shall we?"
Marcellus pushed at Armando's shoulder. "You speak to the Prince of Valdeon. Show some respect."
A lightning jab to the stomach dropped Marcellus on his knees. Zoya helped the foolish young man to his feet, but her fiery eyes were on the changeling. Julian grabbed her arm, moving her away. He marched up the stairs, ignoring the low laughter from the creature.
They entered the Grand Atrium with its blinding sunlight and endless windows. Buttresses of white stone ascended three stories above their heads. Glass panels captured both dusk and dawn. These same panels changed in color during the hot San Leonora summer days, keeping the atrium cool. It was a marvel of engineering few understood.
Julian's memories of this place weren't fond. He'd spent many hours as man and boy, greeting dignitaries and listening to Leo's worshippers speak in hushed religious tones. The atrium was, above all else, the grand entrance to the throne room beyond. Through its golden doors stood the Altar of Providence.
"You failed to mention the throne room doors had been sealed. Considering they've stood open for at least one hundred years, did you feel the news was unimportant to share with me? I told you I wanted the throne room watched."
Julian's fists lifted toward Marcellus. Shaking with rage, they squeezed tighter. The fool was fortunate the Sarcion still had use for him. Then he remembered his new keeper and let his fists drop.
"No matter. Sealed, they will discourage those scavengers foolish enough to covet my throne. Never fear. The doors will open for the rightful ruler of Valdeon."
"Most reassuring." The changeling's grin exposed sharp canine teeth before disappearing under his guise of devoted valet.
"Those loyal to you are waiting. Many are eager to aid you in such a difficult time." Marcellus spoke with a zealot's passion. Julian returned his hopeful smile. He could use more dedicated followers like his mad friend in the days to come.
"Yes, I'm sure they are." Zoya gave Julian her knowing little smile. His greatest supporter, Zoya enjoyed helping encourage mischief. Unfortunately, she was difficult to control at times.
"What have you been up to while I was away, my little bird?" Julian wrapped her arm in his as they walked. "I do hope you've stayed out of trouble."
"Oh, you don't have to worry, Brother. I've finished my game." She offered him her most playful pout. "He wasn't anyone you knew. Don't worry. No one will find him. He's down in the dungeons with my other broken toys."
Julian gave her a harsh frown, but it quickly melted when she nuzzled her head against his arm. Zoya rested in the faith he would never harm her, and so far she'd been right. Yet, if she did ruin his chances to wear the Crown of Sorrows, their shared blood would not save her.
Marcellus respectfully cleared his throat. He motioned them out of the Grand Atrium into a large artery of corridors running throughout the palace. This corridor took them to the business center. The chancellor's offices were to their left. Elaborate tapestries showing images of horses and lions lined the walls. Benito's large double doors were closed. Julian smoothed at the stone as his Sarcion Ring stirred. The Lords of Valdeon were within his rooms, making their plans and poisoning Benito's mind against him, no doubt.
"The Jalora's playthings, these Lords of Valdeon as you call them, are behind that door. I can feel their great power." The changeling’s perpetual sneer of superiority was gone from its face for once.
"I warned your general they would not be easily defeated."
The changeling nodded absently and followed the rest as they turned down another corridor. Julian was certain Armando would validate his opinion after having experienced the power of the Sacred Guard. Perhaps Gorman wouldn't take their existence so lightly now.
Plain doors lined the wooden paneled walls. Most of the meeting rooms were empty, their chairs standing neatly in rows. Light coming from the last room on the left fell upon the marble floor of the corridor. Many shadows crossed its beams, making impatient patterns upon the stone. Rumbles of angry, indiscernible words tumbled out into the corridor.
Then the ring of swords leaving scabbards announced imminent bloodshed. Julian hurried to the doorway. East stood against West in the confines of the room. Julian waited for the final trigger to their battle. These western lords were outnumbered. Some of them, long time friends of the Wolf, were not among these few. Their absence was disappointing. Such troublesome and rebellious leaders were best dispensed with right away. Giving titles to these bumpkins from the west was ridiculous. One of his first acts would be to absorb their lands and rule them as territories.
"Stop this foolishness!"
Xavier the Wolf's voice
thundered into the room, shaking the chandeliers. Julian and his party hurried away from the Lord of Valdeon to freeze against the far wall. The ranger's form appeared to grow three times its size; though it was an illusion, Julian's very soul filled with terror. Power pushed at his body, threatening to crush him in its fury.
"We prepare for the funeral of our fallen king, and his subjects use the opportunity to bicker and fight." Wolf paused to look each one of the feuding men in the eye. "East and West are not to meet together outside of my presence. Now, get out."
Wolf left them as quickly as he appeared, not waiting for the men to move. He was a man used to being obeyed. The western landowners shuffled out like whipped dogs. Inside the meeting room, the eastern landowners huddled together whispering frantically. Their voices stopped abruptly when Julian entered. Many of his supporters were in attendance. He'd spoken to them each secretly before leaving San Leonora and knew their leanings. Others, newer faces from the eastern provinces, he was unsure of. Care would have to be taken.
"Please, gentlemen, please take your seats. Let us not stand on formalities at such a time." Julian moved to the front of the group and helped Zoya to a chair. "We are countrymen. My father's death impacts us all, as does the loss of the Lion Ring. Long have I worried this day would come. I have warned our chancellor and the Lords of Valdeon to be ready, but they have ignored my pleas."
Rumblings of discontent from his supporters fed Julian's confidence, but still their small numbers weren't enough to see him upon the throne. Observing the crowd for the newcomers' reaction, Julian hesitated. They seemed too frightened to seek favor from him. Could it be they hoped he would be their savior? The thought brought him a momentary rush of pride. He squashed it again. The Sarcion enjoyed bouts of pride too much. It could easily take advantage of such things.
"What was your counsel to them, my lord prince?"
One of his more fervent supporters, a low-level estate owner named Orryo, nearly jumped from his chair. He gave an imperceptible nod to Julian. This man was ever hungry for power. In circumstances like this he was valuable, but his ambition made him far too bold at times. No matter. Julian was easily rid of nuisances. Marcellus was anxious to continue practicing his unsettling hobby on humans. A word would send Orryo to the forgotten bowels of the palace never to be seen again.
Julian stretched out his arms, palms up in the perfect impression of a martyr. "Think upon the facts, my friends. The Lion Ring has been lost, and the Jalora refuses to reveal its location. The Orb is dark with death while the throne room's golden doors have hidden away the Altar of Providence." He waited for their fear to fester. "I believe these dark days have come upon us for a reason. The Jalora has lost faith in Valdeon."
"But, the Sacred Guard…" One of the newcomers rose from his seat, voice and hands shaking.
Julian shook his head with a surprising sensation of actual family shame. "My family has brought this disgrace upon San Leonora. First my uncle, a bishop in the Jalora's legion, was banished from Valdeon in disgrace. Then my father, the king, abandons his people for some unknown shame. It is up to me to save Valdeon and restore honor to the D'Antoiné name."
"What does the Wolf say about all this, my lord prince?"
The newcomer had found his voice, but he wasn't singing the tune Julian wanted to hear. His other comrades nodded, their faces full of adulation for the lord of San Rudalfo. Wolf. He had the peoples' trust. It was the leader of the Sacred Guard who ruled Valdeon, not the doddering old fool of a chancellor. Wolf had just become his biggest obstacle to the throne. He had to be taken care of, and quickly.
Chapter Fifteen
Violence. Its destructive energy radiated from the drunkard charging toward him. Wolf stood perfectly still, blocking the fool's entrance into the Grand Atrium. Basilio, his squire, held a wary hand upon the hilt of his sword. Disciplined to the point of obsession, Basilio waited for his lord's command. He would lay down his life without question for Wolf. Such a sacrifice would be unnecessary today. Neither ranger nor squire were willing to draw their weapons this close to the Altar of Providence without cause. The sloppy drunk blundering toward them didn't warrant a weapon. Instead, he'd get a nasty beating.
"Die De Vincente pig!"
Basilio marched two steps forward to stand between the fool and Wolf. Drawing his blade, Basilio had his own plans for violence. A squire had many duties to endure on behalf of his lord. Defending his ranger's honor against insult was a matter of professional pride. Basilio was known as the deadliest blade in the Squire's Corps. His vengeance would be swift.
Ribbons of ash exploded into the corridor. They surrounded the approaching attacker in rapid streams too quick for human eyes to see. Two rangers grabbed the drunkard's body, disarming him and throwing his body to the ground. They were from Valdeon's eastern plains. One, tall and lean, bore the Owl Ring. His companion was a thicker man with a rugged look about him. He wore the Griffin Ring.
"Another troublemaker." Owl pulled the drunkard to his feet. "Where does the bastard prince find them all?"
Griffin picked up the man's dagger. "No crest or other markings. Julian's hiding his tracks."
"Take him to the dungeon with the rest. Question the fool when he sobers up. I want to know who encouraged him to attack a member of the Sacred Guard."
"Yes, sir."
Basilio flicked his blade at the side of the drunkard's head before the rangers could take him away. The man screamed as his ear bounced off his shoulder and onto the ground. Owl gave a hiss of alarm, but kept any objections he had from his lips. No one dared question a squire to the Lords of Valdeon. In many ways, they were more powerful than any soldier in the Valdeon or UR Armies.
Wolf nodded to Basilio and then turned to enter the Grand Atrium. Valdeonian dignitary filled the glass structure. Their murmurs of insincerities were deafening. Missing were the tales of friendship Edmund the Leo had cultivated from every corner of Andara. In his haste to squash rumors, Benito had not allowed time for Edmund's allies to attend his funeral. Many among the legion and Andara would not take kindly to the offense.
Cesar, Fausto, and Jorge were deep in conversation beside the exterior wall. Probing them quickly, his suspicions about more bangtail mischief were confirmed. The rangers had spent their morning breaking up fights and stopping vandals around the palace grounds. It would seem they were not alone in the struggle to keep the peace.
Wolf crossed the distance to join them. "You've seen some trouble, my friends?"
"Problems from our eastern cousins. I'm having difficulty keeping tempers from flaring. Young Herbert was lured into an empty section of the palace. His father and brother found him unconscious. He's in hospital now with a missing hand. Naturally, they are out for blood." Cesar shook his head. "It pushes the bounds of decency anyone would dare such a thing during our nation's tragedy."
"Who can understand such evil? The other rangers and I are prepared for skullduggery."
The atrium's growling murmurs subsided to hushed whispers. Julian D'Antoiné, Prince of Valdeon, stood at the entrance. Dressed in his favored black, he wore a sash of red. Its cheery hue proved the disdain he held for his father better than any word or action.
Marcellus De Costa, Julian's rabid dog, trailed behind him. Mad eyes darted around the room until they found Wolf. He whispered urgent words into his master's ear. Julian's attention rested upon Wolf and his friends for a moment. Then he gave Wolf a curt nod and headed into the crowd.
Zoya No-Name detached from her brother's arm. Coming closer, she tossed Cesar a small bundle wrapped in linen. Her smile was wicked when she saw him open the cloth. Puckering her lips in an insolent kiss, she hurried back to Julian's side.
"Curse the savage harlot!" Cesar spun his aging body around to go after her.
Wolf well recognized the determined scowl upon his old friend’s face. He'd charge in amongst Julian's allies without thought for his own safety. Cesar may have been advanced in years, but he still had the heart of
a warrior. Jorge pushed away from the pillar and came to grip his lord's arm. Fausto moved between them and the eastern lords lingering at the edge of the crowd.
"Please don’t, for Edmund’s sake, my lord." Jorge held tightly to Cesar’s arm until the older man reluctantly nodded.
Jorge handed the cloth to Wolf. "It's Herbert's finger. I've heard rumors of the games Julian's she-devil plays, but hadn't realized she could cast her spells so quickly."
Wolf nodded his thanks to Cesar’s former squire. The Pacarro tribesman remained fiercely loyal to his former ranger, though he had been released from service long ago. Five men loyal to Julian blanched under Wolf's gaze and disappeared into the crowd. Jorge's intervention had ruined at least one of Zoya's games.
A light touch rested on Wolf's arm. Love. Devotion. Dignity. They radiated from Dulcina De Vincente in waves, wrapping around her husband to strengthen him. Her very presence brought the beauty back into his heart in an instant. He lifted her hand gently to his lips. Dressed in widow's black, she paid homage to Leo. Her long hair had been braided in an intricate pattern stretching to her waist. Twisting among the strands of hair were ribbons of burgundy — his favorite color. Another hint of cheer had worked its way out from under her collar. It was a string of tiny blue beads formed into a crude necklace. Their little ones had made the present and given it to Dulcina for her birthday. She always wore it, even in the Palace of Kings.
Several ladies stood behind her. They too were dressed in black, showing Leo respect due him as King of Valdeon and a Jalora bishop. The women were known as Ranger Wives, picked and drawn to their rangers by the Jalora itself. Strong, intelligent, and devoted, their loyalty to their husbands was unshakable. Every ranger blessed the day his wife was sent to him.
The Lords of Valdeon Page 16
