He mustered the appropriate amount of patriotic emotion in the undertones of his voice. Benito, agreeably moved, patted his hand. A condescending smile touched the old lips. Julian returned it. Flattery was a tool he'd crafted to control the arrogant.
"I daresay we could use your help in calming the people. Were they to see their prince urging them to remain peaceful, they would follow your word."
Julian lifted his glass with a slight bow. The chancellor was offering to put him in a leadership role as the face of Valdeonian peace. What better endorsement could there be for his new role as regent? The old fool was practically handing him the throne.
Ash gray uniforms marched across the courtyard of the palace outside the chancellor's office. Julian moved to the window. His dark eyes followed the stomping boots with growing irritation. He’d make many changes when he was crowned king. The first would be the permanent removal of the Jalora Legion from Valdeon.
"Peace will not come as long as they occupy the palace, my lord chancellor." He waved a hand at the twenty-two lesser rangers as they marched about the grounds. "The Dragon has positioned his army at the very gates of the Palace of Kings! He has ignored your desires to keep the Jalora Legion out of the affairs of Valdeon."
"Come now." The old man shook his head with a tolerant smile. "The cardinal has allowed them to pay their respects to our fallen king. That is all. Wolf assures me they are necessary in helping him keep the peace."
Julian leaned a hand upon the window, bracing himself against his growing frustration. The Wolf’s hold on Benito was stronger than he'd imagined. It was futile to keep to this course. He'd have to find another way to deal with Wolf.
"I hope you’re right. One of those rangers could sweep through a troop of soldiers. I’ve seen them do it, and so have you."
Julian turned to go, leaving the old man to look out the window. Boots stomping in perfect unison thundered upon the ground outside. San Leonora's feeble dependence upon a fading legion with outdated religious beliefs was crippling the entire country.
"I would ask you to remember who leads them, my lord chancellor." Julian stopped at the door. "Would you discount my concerns so easily knowing the very man the renegades from the West would set upon the throne also commands this troop of killers?"
Julian left Benito and headed down the rear corridors to avoid the atrium. His chambers were located on the main level in the northernmost section of the palace. Away from the rush and noise of court, its location afforded him solitude.
"Out of my way!" He unleashed his spite upon an old woman scrubbing the tiled floor. She scurried out of his way, bowing as he passed.
He took a steadying breath, forcing down the anger. His plans had been delayed by the loss of the Lion Ring, yes, but he could still see hope. Two challenges stood in his way, Leo and Xavier De Vincente. His father was out of reach for the time being. It was best to focus on his nearest problem, the Wolf. He had Chancellor Benito’s ear despite Julian’s efforts to discredit him. Many of the other Valdeonian Lords also trusted the ranger. It sickened Julian to see how they hung upon Wolf’s every word like weakling pups.
The Wolf has great power, Julian, the Sarcion whispered. He is the only man who could steal the throne from you. The Wolf could take it without lifting a sword. Better to have done with him. Kill the Wolf! Kill the young Lords of Valdeon!
Julian’s insides twisted with rage. He had to take action. Something had to be done about Xavier De Vincente and the other members of the Sacred Guard. The young Lords of Valdeon would be easily vanquished if Wolf was out of the picture.
An elaborate arch made from the same stone as the throne room stood like a sentry over the entrance to an ancient wing of the palace. For centuries it housed the Lion and his family. During the rare times a Jalora Master walked among them, the Sacred Guard was housed in the wing as well. Even now, the Jalora's magic groped with angry fingers toward his ring. Julian hurried passed the entrance and continued on toward the chapel. He'd never been comfortable under the magic's judgmental touch and had moved his bedchambers out of the wing.
The double doors of the chapel stood at the entrance of another ancient wing at the very northern section of the palace. Julian headed to the left several steps, pretending to move to his bedchambers a few doors down. Satisfied no one was following him, he hurried through the doors of the chapel. Several small candles flickered at the altar. Someone was vigilant about mourning his father.
He walked by the altar without any of the usual rituals and stopped before an iron rod gate. The chains normally securing entry to the catacombs had been unlocked. He quietly opened the gate and took a torch from its holder. The same thoughtful soul had left another torch burning just out of sight from the chapel. Julian touched his torch to the flame. The light exploded in the darkness, revealing a set of winding stone steps leading downward.
The tombs of his dead ancestors lined the stairwell as he descended into the catacombs. His footsteps echoed in the eerie silence. This was the one place in all of Andara he could find peace. Walking amongst his ancestors fed his commitment to see the glory of Valdeon restored.
"Greetings, mighty prince." Whisper's bulbous head floated a hand's breadth away. Its hideous little face grinned in momentary glee. Julian staggered away on the steps, striking his shoulder hard against one of the tombs before righting himself.
"How is it you've come inside the Palace of Kings without being detected?"
Whisper may be maintaining its apologetic tone, but there was more to the little creature than he had first supposed. Great power would be needed to bypass the Sacred Guard. Their connection to the Altar should alert them to any breaches by creatures like Whisper.
"My emperor has gifted me with many powers, great prince." It spread tiny arms wide and cast its eyes downward. "I use them to serve."
"And you serve Lord Gorman today, I suppose."
"Indeed, mighty prince, I do. He has sent me to warn you. The Jalora's pets have not been idle. Lord Gorman intercepted a messenger sent by the one you call ‘Wolf.’ He was carrying a plea for aid to the Jalora Legion."
Wolf again! Curse the man. He dared call in the legion without the permission of the chancellor. What better proof of Wolf's lust for the throne could there be?
"Our general has dispatched the Wolf's lackey for you. No messages will be sent or received from parties outside Valdeon. Lord Gorman believes this knowledge will help you to focus on the important tasks only you can accomplish here in San Leonora."
"Lord Gorman is too kind. He needn't worry about me. I have everything well in hand."
"Wonderful news, Prince Julian! You have the Regent's Medallion then?"
He looked away, gritting his teeth. Insisting he take the changeling babysitter with him to San Leonora was one thing, but calling him to task like a subordinate was outrageous. Lord Gorman had made his desires for the use of military force against Valdeon clear. The man's impatience for bloodshed couldn't be quieted for much longer. Julian had to find the Regent's Medallion soon, or his control on the situation would slip away and he'd find himself bowing before Gorman. The thought sickened him.
"No? That is regrettable." Whisper shook his head sadly. "My Lord Gorman loses confidence in your efforts, mighty prince. He prepares his men for battle. Lord Gorman has won many thrones for our emperor over the decades. His passion is war. He cares nothing for the treasures and history of the lands he conquers. Even less care goes to the people of those lands. Many will die, Prince of Valdeon, if your plan fails."
His hopes of restored glory and power faded for a moment. Leo had taken his Lion Ring into hiding were Julian could not follow. The Regent's Medallion was missing along with the barbarian who had taken it. Things were not going to plan, but there was still hope. The Pacarro tribesman couldn't hide forever. He was still with them, spying for the Wolf.
"Tell Lord Gorman he has my assurances I will have the Regent's Medallion in my hands very soon. No one will dispute my r
ight to rule. Valdeon is as good as mine. Then we can discuss the taking of Andara."
"You may tell him in person, Prince Julian. He will arrive in San Leonora when the sun sets on the third day." Whisper's voice faded into the stone of the catacombs. "I bid you farewell."
Gorman's coming would mean open warfare. It would be a catalyst for pulling the men of Valdeon together under the Wolf. In times of war, the Sacred Guard ruled Valdeon. No one would question them then. Julian's chances to take the throne would be soundly beaten.
"Ill news, Andarian?" The changeling stepped out of the shadows, a contemptuous grin upon its face.
Always lurking about, watching every move he made. Julian stormed past it without a word. Its sharp laughter thundered off the bones of his ancestors. His approach in dealing with the creature had been wrong. Rather than embracing an ally he could manipulate, he'd alienated a particularly venomous enemy.
The changeling — when it wasn't amusing itself goading Marcellus — had proven useful. It had discovered a spy among them. Jorge Pacarro was the miscreant tattling to the Lords of Valdeon. He was solely responsible for every botched intrigue and failed mob.
Deeper into the catacombs, they came to an antechamber. More torches lined the room. Bits of fabric and discarded boots had been haphazardly thrown along the tombs. This was Zoya's playroom. He couldn't understand why a man would stay and play her games rather than turn tail and run after seeing those who'd come before him. He shifted his eyes away with a mixture of disgust and familial pride.
Bright light from the chamber beyond beckoned him. The Dirge had taken up residence within the tight crawl spaces between bodies. Their own emaciated features were perfectly suited to their new chamber. They slept now. All five of them were in hibernation, silent as the graves about them.
Zoya sat cross-legged upon the tomb of a long-dead queen. Marcellus leaned beside her, careful to keep his eyes away from the tombs. Julian smirked. Zoya and Marcellus were uneasy around his grotesque pets.
"There you are, Brother, and you have brought Armando with you." Zoya gave him her wicked little grin when Marcellus pushed angrily away from the tomb.
"I wish, my sister, you would spend more time aiding me in my efforts to save Valdeon. It seems you are more intent upon playing your frivolous games. And you, Marcellus. What of the barbarian? Why is his blood not upon your sword and the Regent Medallion in my hand?"
The precious symbol of power would end all of Wolf's barking. He'd sent his best men after the medallion. All they had to do was take it out of a glass cabinet. A barbarian from the west had bested them. Jorge Pacarro may have retired from his service as legion squire, but he still remained loyal to the rangers.
"We've tried to find him, my lord prince. It is as if he has disappeared again." Marcellus gave Julian a nervous glance. "I have told our allies about the bounty you've placed upon his head. It doesn't seem to be motivating them."
"Perhaps it is not money that I must offer. Tell them I will grant a position in my court for the man who brings me Jorge Pacarro's head."
The changeling drifted past him to lean next to Zoya on the tomb. Shaking its head, the borrowed features twisted in a sneer. Zoya rested her hand upon its arm and smoothed her fingertips upward. The changeling caught her hand, twisting it sharply until Zoya cried out. Then it threw her touch away with a laugh.
Her eyes sparked with angry fire for a moment. The spark within their depths began to smolder. She had chosen her game. This time the prey was refusing to play. Marcellus's sharp steps hurried to the tomb. He grabbed Zoya's arm and pulled her away. The changeling laughed. Clever creature. The prey was playing his own game. Perhaps there was a way Julian could use it to his advantage.
"Those bumbling fools won't find him. You'll have to draw the barbarian out of hiding." The changeling's sharp grin stretched toward Marcellus.
"How? We've tried everything to bait him." Marcellus folded his arms, staring dangerously at his rival.
"Not everything. What would you do if someone threatened to harm me, Marcellus?" Zoya pressed her body against him. "Would you hide away in a storeroom? Or would you defend me?"
He put shaking fingers under her chin. "I would kill them to save you, of course."
"Of course," the changeling snickered.
"Don't you think this barbarian would do the same? Threaten the friend he holds most dear and watch how quickly he rushes into the light." Zoya pulled the small dagger Julian had given to her and began plucking at her fingernails. "I wish it could be Fausto De Quintaro. His death must be another day. We need to draw western blood. Who better than Xavier the Wolf's mentor?"
Marcellus stared at her, his eyes twitching madly. "Killing Cesar Santiago is a death sentence for the man holding the assassin's blade. Even if he could get close enough to try the deed, Wolf would stop him before he could reach the old man."
"We must see this done at a time and place the Wolf will not expect. If the Lords of Valdeon are otherwise occupied, our assassin will do his job and our friends will hide him. The man who does this for me will go down in history as a true patriot!"
"I would be your logical choice, of course." The changeling tilted its head with a shrug. "I am, after all, the most skilled among your men."
"You? Always skulking in the shadows like a coward." Marcellus lifted the sleeve of his shirt. Several cut marks sliced his skin. "These represent all the lives I've taken. What do you know of killing and death? If the deed is to be done, then I'll be the man."
Julian went to him then and put a hand on each shoulder. "You are my greatest ally, Marcellus. Your future king will never forget the courage you show today."
The mad fool gave him a proud smile. Julian returned it. Marcellus should have listened to his own counsel. He'd been right about Wolf. The ranger would cut him down before he reached Cesar. No matter. The barbarian would be drawn out into the open. Then they would have him and the Regent Medallion. It would be his greatest pleasure to wave the golden necklace in Lord Gorman's hideous face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Great Hall within the Palace of Kings had seen war and destruction in its centuries-old existence. Rebuilt many times, its walls were a patchwork of old and older. Jorge found inconsistencies in its brickwork convenient. Discreetly covered by tapestries, they offered an abundance of hiding places. He'd used them frequently in the past few weeks to spy on Julian and his treacherous band. Many plots had been stymied by the Lords of Valdeon due to the information he'd overheard.
He kept watch now as the prefects assembled to bicker again over the future of their country. These meetings were tiring for men of action. Even the eastern prefects, dressed in their colorful plumage, seemed strained with temper. Many times their eyes would shift from the Lords of Valdeon to the bastard prince. A few of the eastern lords — Fausto De Quintaro for one — kept their gaze firmly on the chancellor as he spoke. Those faithful to the Altar would not be enough to stand against Julian’s supporters.
Their dark prince sat upon the small dais beside the chancellor. He was a hand's breadth from the king's seat. His covetous fingers stretched absently toward it while his eyes remained upon Wolf. Open contempt was in their depths.
Jorge shifted his attention to the twitching man beside Julian. He'd made the mistake of passing too close to the beast once. The faint odor of rotting blood mixed with cherry blossoms and spice wafted around Marcellus De Costa. He was the breath of death and the hand of madness. The killer warranted close surveillance, but he was not Jorge's target today.
A man approached Julian, carrying a tray with spring water and fruit upon it. The prince waved the tray away without acknowledging his new valet, Armando. Jorge had witnessed Julian's resentful behavior toward his attendant before and had grown curious about the man. His face was a familiar one, though Jorge hadn't placed him at first. Then he remembered their last meeting many years ago. Armando had been one of Leo's lion friends.
Why would a lion friend offe
r himself into service to the king's bastard son? It was a mystery Jorge was determined to solve. He'd spent the past few hours following the man, hoping to gather clues as to his purpose. Armando's behavior was peculiar for a man in service to the prince. He wasn't a subservient domestic when they thought they were alone. Rather he behaved as an equal to Julian. One who enjoyed toying with his irritable employer.
Julian may not have craved refreshments, but the chancellor certainly did. Benito stepped away from his position on the dais and took up a glass of wine offered to him by the servants patiently waiting at the side of the room. Wolf and the other members of the Sacred Guard followed. Their emotionless faces revealed nothing about their moods, but Jorge knew them well enough to know rangers weren't immune to impatience.
Conversation and ambient noises rose into a loud buzz. The room was in movement. Prefects mixing with one another as they took refreshment under the lights of the Great Hall. Jorge kept his eyes focused on Armando. The valet stood quietly against the wall, outside the chaos. Jorge grinned at his good fortune. Armando had chosen to stand beneath one of his hiding spots. Finally, a chance to get a close look at the man.
He slipped from behind the tapestry to crouch low on the floor. Jorge crept along the wall unnoticed. Lifting the edge of the next massive tapestry, he crawled along the small ledge the cloth was designed to hide. The dust of many years puffed into the air before him. He swallowed the cough trying to escape his throat and took a slower pace. Better to show caution than risk attracting the attention of an observant onlooker.
Counting the paces, he calculated Armando's location. Jorge stopped and pressed his fingers on the age-worn material. Heaven forgive him, he pierced the antique tapestry with his dagger. The blade sawed down a few inches until he had an unobstructed view of Armando's head.
Obviously bored, the valet took an easy stance. Dark hair peppered with age fell straight against his ears. A meager mustache lined thin lips. He looked a few years older than the last time Jorge had seen him, but nothing out of the ordinary leapt to his attention.
The Lords of Valdeon Page 23
