The Crown Of Yensupov (Book 3)

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Now, Your Majesty, we must look at an even more potentially critical problem,” Memlatec said. The royal couple looked at each other, then back at the advisor.

  “What more would you have us do?” the queen asked.

  Memlatec stepped forward. “Would Your Majesty accept a basket of sweet cactus fruit?” He offered the queen the basket.

  The queen looked at the rich, ripe cactus fruits. “We think you didn’t request this audience to offer fruit, Memlatec. What is it you wish to say?”

  “There is a great deal more to do. Your longest continental border is with the kingdom we know the least about. The Kingdom of Sengenwha has ignored the commerce across the Pundar River, Lake Pundar, and its southern border. This arrangement has benefited both kingdoms, but it’s time we discovered which way Sengenwha leans.”

  Memlatec peeled a cactus fruit and took a bite of the juicy pulp. “These cactus fruits were picked in Sengenwha, and arrived here before they could spoil. If the king bows to Dreaddrac’s might, he’ll permit their armies to pass from Prertsten down the interior to the Neuyokkasinian border before we learn Dreaddrac is on the move.”

  The queen looked at the fresh ripe fruit. “I see your point. We’re totally exposed on our northwestern border should Sengenwha ally with Dreaddrac.”

  “Your Majesty must make overtures for an alliance with King Calamidese at once. We don’t even know what the king’s nature is. If he’s a warrior, hopefully he’ll stand with us against Dreaddrac. However, if he’s insecure on his throne or a weakling, he may bow to the Dark Lord in exchange for promises to support his throne. We must discover his nature.”

  “Yes, we have been remiss in developing relations with Sengenwha,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said. “We have taken for granted they would be with us in event of an attack, but our historical relationship with Sengenwha hasn’t been amiable. You’re aware of the war fought over our mother, Queen Lyttia?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Memlatec said. “Due to that, and because of its central desert, we’ve ignored it as a critical power, when in fact it is in a most strategic position.”

  The queen tapped her finger on the table.

  She’s considering Sengenwha for the first time in her reign, Memlatec thought.

  “We shall have the chatra send an invitation at once requesting King Calamidese join us here for the festivities next month. We may get to know the king better then. We will find out if an alliance is possible or if we have additional worries.”

  “Might I make another point, Your Majesty?”

  The queen frowned. “You’ve already brought an exceptionally worrisome point to our attention, wizard. Is it necessary to add additional worries today?”

  “All power rests with Your Majesty. I need not remind you, decisions about the kingdom’s security rest with you.”

  “Yes, yes. Continue.”

  “The kingdoms of this age are those of man. The age of elves and dwarves passed away with the Third Wizard War. Men have known only their own strengths and have forgotten the magical powers of the earth itself.”

  “We’re a selfish people.”

  “Without that connection to the earth, men will falter in the face of Dreaddrac’s overwhelming power. We will need alliances with the remaining elves, dwarves, and other creatures, which draw strength from the earth, to counter forces Dreaddrac will put in the field.”

  “But the elves and dwarves are gone, you note that yourself,” Augusteros said.

  Memlatec’s brows furrowed. He looked about the room and stepped closer to the throne. He was about to tell the royal couple about their son’s mission. Then he decided it would endanger Saxthor should someone slip and reveal the information.

  Memlatec knew the greatest concentrated constructive energy was in the Crown of Yensupov. He feared Saxthor wouldn’t retrieve the jewels in time to summon the power and turn back Dreaddrac. He dared not share the secret of the crown even with the queen. All they could do was prepare for war with little more than man’s abilities and hope the critical power would arrive in time.

  3: The Road to Prertsten

  The Green Emerald of Hope

  Saxthor and his band trekked deeper into Prertsten. The trees along the Akkin provided cover, but the forests gave way to wasteland in the interior. The northeast was rocky and dry. Life was harsh for those who lived there. The western two-thirds of the principality jutted out into the Tixosian Sea. Raging storms blew down from the north destroying the crops one out of three years. Living on the edge most of their lives, the Prertstenian people were tough and fierce. Still, they were no match for the Dark Lord, who dominated their impoverished principality, almost from the beginning.

  “Tournak, what do you know about the attitudes of the Prertstenians and Prince Pindradese?” Saxthor asked.

  “The people know only cruel and ruthless overlords.”

  “Are the people likely to resent Prince Pindradese and be more sympathetic to us, or are they resigned to life under Dreaddrac’s dominance?”

  “My guess is most feel crushed; defiance would be useless. They’ve been under one ruthless ruler after another since the principality’s inception. The first Baron Prertsten was created a baron of the old Occintoc Empire before the peninsula’s present states formed. The Occintoc Empire ruled unchallenged on the continent for eons, but Occintoc was in its twilight, and long past its military glory, when the baron first achieved notoriety. The empire survived on its historical prestige. The Age of Magic, when men, elves, dwarves, and wizards lived together in harmony was in decline. The Wizard Wars were about to begin and would sweep away the Occintoc Empire.”

  “So this dynasty is entrenched?” Saxthor asked.

  “Yes, they’ve been brutal rulers from the beginning; these people don’t know anything different.” Tournak snapped a stick, walking along. “Some generations ago, the crops failed, and many Prertstenians immigrated to Tixos. These left have little to hope for.”

  “How did the princes gain power here?”

  “The first baron was a low-ranking noble living in Prertsten in the last Occintoc Emperor’s reign. The emperor made the younger son of a distant noble, Baron of Prertsten, as a reward for some long-forgotten service. As a younger son, the man had no expectations of position or inheritance so elevation to the title apparently made the baron feel he was destined for greater things. He might have lived and died unnoticed except for the Dark Lord’s appearance at his court as wizard.”

  “The king of Dreaddrac was originally a minor court wizard in this obscure principality?” Saxthor asked. He stopped walking and turned to face Tournak. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  Hendrel joined the two men to hear the story. “Memlatec never told me about that either. How did Prertsten’s court wizard become king of Dreaddrac and overlord to the Prince of Prertsten?”

  “The Dark Lord withdrew from the Conclave of Wizards when he began using magic to explore the darker side of power,” Tournak continued. “To remain unnoticed, the young wizard disappeared into the western continent, eventually returning, seeking exile in the remote town of Prertsten, where he offered his services as wizard.

  Having a wizard ornament his entourage appealed to the baron, who, as new to the titled nobility, collected anything he could afford that would enhance his prestige. The baron thought to use the wizard to his own ends. It was the wizard, and his growing power, that used the baron for his purposes.”

  “So the wizard was hiding out here in Prertsten, where his experiments wouldn’t be noticed?” Hendrel asked.

  “Yes. From Prertsten, the Dark Lord conjured and experimented with evil until it consumed him. Using Prertsten as his base, he extended his power over Dreaddrac to the cold desolate north. No one wished to go there. He remained unnoticed. When the Dark Lord discovered the caverns beneath the Munattahensenhov, the greatest of mountains, he began to build his own stronghold unobserved. As his dark power grew, he drained the strength of the decaying Occintoc Empi
re. It became a shell only held together by its ancient prestige.”

  “And the Baron of Prertsten didn’t notice this growing evil among his subordinates?” Saxthor asked.

  “Remember, the baron was new to the nobility. He concerned himself with his own aggrandizement,” Tournak said. “He noticed nothing that didn’t enhance his prestige until it was too late. When the Dark Lord had built his power base and bred his minions in the Ice Mountains, he unleashed those forces and began the First Wizard Wars.”

  Saxthor stopped walking and faced Tournak again. “The Wizard Wars began out of Prertsten?”

  “When the First Wizard War broke out, the ancient Occintoc Empire collapsed as its first casualty. The old emperor fought three major battles with the Dark Lord, losing one after another. The emperor retreated down the peninsula until Dreaddrac’s forces were within a day’s march of the capital, in what is now the Powteros Empire. The emperor abdicated after the Grand Imperial Army’s quick annihilation.”

  “I remember Memlatec’s stories of the Occintoc Empire,” Saxthor said, nodding. “He was so animated, when he talked of it. It spanned most of the continent and was glorious and spectacular in those days of peace.”

  “The empire was in shambles with virtually no defenses left. As the Dark Lord was about to seize the throne of Occintoc, the other wizards united to thwart him. After several battles with the wizards in command, the Dark Lord retreated to Dreaddrac and sued for peace ending the First Wizard War.”

  “Too bad,” Bodrin said as he joined the discussion. “From the stories I’ve heard, the whole continent was a peaceful place in the Occintoc Imperial Age.”

  “With no emperor to unite it, the empire descended into chaos,” Tournak said. “The former generals of Occintoc divided up the empire, setting up various kingdoms. They declared war on each other to gain territory, encouraged by the Dark Lord’s minions. As the formerly united opposition competed and weakened, no single kingdom could destroy Dreaddrac.”

  “Seeing the breakup of Occintoc and the weakened state of the ensuing kingdoms, the wizards united and built the Wizards’ Hall to counter the Dark Lord until men could again unite to oppose Dreaddrac. However, the kingdoms continued to fight among themselves over their individual territories. The Dark Lord again gained strength as the southern kingdoms weakened. Eventually, as the wizards foresaw, the Dark Lord again marched out of the Ice Mountains for the Second Wizard War.”

  “How did the baron of Prertsten become the vassal of his former subject?” Saxthor asked.

  “It was the barons of Prertsten that aided the Dark Lord through the wars. Realizing early on that the dark wizard was too powerful to control or even oppose, another Baron Prertsten abandoned the southern forces of his fellow men and declared himself a vassal of the Dreaddrac. After Baron Prertsten protected the sorcerer’s retreat at the end of the Second Wizard War, the Dark Lord proclaimed the baron, Prince of Prertsten. With the Dark Lord’s backing, the prince was able to establish his claim to the lands that now encompass Prertsten as a part of the peace agreement at the end of the Second Wizard War.”

  “Ever since that time, the princes of Prertsten have ruled the impoverished land with an iron hand. No one dared to challenge the Prertstenian lords, who had Dreaddrac to back them. Thus, the land we now travel is totally subservient to Dreaddrac.”

  * * *

  Pindradese the Sixth, Prince of Prertsten, sat on his throne in the audience hall of Prertsten Palace with a glum look on his face. The man of forty-seven looked tired and old. Caught between constant threat of insurrection at home and the crushing dominance of Dreaddrac, the princes abandoned themselves to self-indulgence. The Prertstenian princes didn’t have long life expectancies. Stress and decadence sent them to early graves.

  “Our court is honored to entertain the ambassador from Dreaddrac,” Prince Pindradese said.

  “My master sends his greeting to the prince of Prertsten,” the ambassador said, with only a slight bow.

  Another insult, thought Prince Pindradese; yet, I can do nothing but ignore it.

  “What brings you to our court, ambassador?” I’ll not address him by his name, the insult will register with him. The ambassador’s eyes narrowed and Pindradese savored his tiny victory.

  “My master wishes me to inform you several contingents of Dreaddrac’s orcs invaded Heggolstockin last week at Feldrik Fortress. While our victory was complete, Your Highness should be aware of the situation. My king wishes you to step up preparations for the coming war.”

  “We were not consulted on this invasion!”

  The ambassador again bowed minimally. “The king thought it best not to trouble you with the matter.”

  “Indeed, our sources have since informed us the orcs were virtually wiped out at Feldrik Fortress,” Pindradese fired back. “Of course, we understand one doesn’t admit defeat, especially if one is an autocrat among discontented subjects.”

  The ambassador’s eyes flashed; his body went rigid. “What the king is telling Your Highness is war is at hand. You’d better prepare for it.”

  Prince Pindradese slumped a little but maintained his icy facial expression. This ambassador means Prertsten will be, once again, the battleground. Having the Dark Lord for an ally has protected Prertsten in the power balance of peaceful times; but in war, it brings devastation and ruin to my impoverished state, he thought. “Close the border with Heggolstockin,” Pindradese told the chatra.

  Per the ambassador’s demand, which he couldn’t refuse, Prertsten was at Dreaddrac’s disposal. The Dark Lord could station additional orc armies at will there in preparation for a Southern invasion. Prertstenians garrisoned Prertsten’s castilyernovs but orc armies encamped freely around them, controlling them in effect.

  This is a grim prospect for Prertsten, Pindradese thought. Sovereignty is but a pretense.

  * * *

  The adventurers saw cohorts of orcs marching along Prertsten’s rocky roads the day after entering the principality.

  “We’ll have to keep to the woods,” Saxthor said. “It’ll take longer, but it’ll be safer to go southwest and avoid the open wasteland.”

  The orcs seemed to be everywhere – or else they were traveling the same routes. On the second day in Prertsten, the troupe was hiking along a gully for cover. From his perch in Astorax’s antlers, Twit spotted an orc troop as they came around a rocky outcrop just ahead. The old bird flew up and into Saxthor’s hair. Luckily, being in the gully gave the adventurers time to hide. With his hand, Saxthor motioned to drop down and get up against the chasm wall. Twit flew on top of a boulder, where he watched the orc movements until they passed.

  “I hope those creatures continue along the course they’re on and don’t turn towards us to cross the ravine,” Tonelia said.

  “If the prince suspected we were in Prertsten, citizens and orcs would be everywhere looking for us,” Bodrin said. “How we’ll sneak unnoticed into the capital and find the sixth jewel, I’ll never know.”

  Later that afternoon, the adventurers ran into another orc troop. The land was mostly level, covered with rocks and cactus, so again, there were few places to hide.

  “There’s a small grove of cedars at that abandoned homestead,” Saxthor said. “The cedars are just large enough. Climb up in the branches and hide.”

  “Climb up in the branches,” Tonelia said.

  “Go!”

  They hid in the trees and remained dead silent. There was no breeze, and the limbs hid their occupants except for one. Saxthor looked from his tree and saw Astorax’s antlers sticking out of the cedar’s green canopy with Twit still holding on.

  “Astorax!” Saxthor said. Saxthor pointed to his head and the deer-man turned his head so his antlers went back into the tree canopy. Poor man, he thought. I thought we’d never get him up in a tree. Twit had a fit the whole time we struggled.

  The southerners held their breaths as the orcs marched past through the site. Tonelia flinched with each clanking o
f an orc’s armor. Saxthor rubbed Delia’s head to keep her quiet in his lap.

  I hope the orcs don’t stop under the trees to rest, he thought. If Delia whimpers, we’ll be done for. Nowhere else would orcs move in the daytime.

  Astorax’s hoof slipped off the limb he propped it on. Bark fluttered down beside the orcs. Saxthor caught his breath. He saw Tonelia’s hand cover her mouth, stopping a gasp. Neither Astorax nor Twit moved. Saxthor looked down. One orc kicked a piece of bark out of his way and another bumped into him.

  “Keep moving!” the second orc said.

  Grumbling, the orcs marched on despite the midday sun. That evening, the adventurers camped among huge boulders, from which they could see anything approaching across the horizon. After the long unnerving day, they ate their cold meal, too tired to complain.

  “Repack in case we have to move quickly in the dark,” Saxthor said.

  “Pack, unpack, repack,” Tonelia said.

  “You think they might discover us out here away from everything?” Bodrin asked.

  “With so many orcs, they might appear anywhere.”

  “Orcs prefer to travel at night,” Tournak said. “It’s because the Dark Lord bred them beneath the mountains to avoid discovery. The fact they’re traveling in such numbers during the day is alarming. There must be even more moving south after dark.”

  Even with the constant fear of discovery, the group slept well that night after the day of hiking across the barren landscape. Days later, they reached the desert’s western edge and began traveling through grassland dotted with occasional woodlands.

  “We’ll take cover in that small woodland for a rest,” Saxthor said.

  Twit was especially glad to see trees again. Traveling in Astorax’s antlers resulted in a lot of motion sickness, a fact known all too well by the deer-man. Old Twit flew ahead to inspect the grove before giving the chirp to enter.