Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “I shall do as you require,” the man told the wizard.

  “Good, once this plan is in motion we must see it through. Can I count on you to keep your sovereign in line?”

  “He is the King of Osla, but he will do as he is told. If we approach this the right way, he’ll think it was his idea all along.”

  “Excellent.” Offendorl waved a hand and a small pouch filled with gold coins floated to the man, who held out his hand as the bag approached him. “Just a little something to make sure all the proper channels are ready. Use it however you need to. I want the army commanders of this city ready to do as we tell them. There is more if you need it and, of course, as much as you personally need.”

  “Thank you,” said the man. He took the bag of gold as if he were picking a piece of ripe fruit from a low limb and tucked the pouch inside his belt.

  Offendorl waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. The man spun on his heel and left the audience room. Offendorl’s private quarters consisted of two floors above the audience chamber, but there were no stairs. Offendorl levitated off the floor, rising up through the air and into a small opening in the ceiling above him. Then he walked to the window and peered down into the city below him. It would all be his soon. The world would bow and scrape. Just the mention of his name would send them scurrying like rats into their holes to tremble in terror. He had not spent years working to control the magic of the Five Kingdoms to have it all dashed by an upstart wizard from the backwoods of Yelsia. He would bring the young wizard into his fold or break him, there was no other way.

  Chapter 1

  “A Council of Kings? Called by a wizard? What in the world is going on, Pavic?”

  “I don’t know, highness.”

  “Are the reports true? Is there a dragon in Yelsia?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We must know. I can’t answer allegations without knowing what’s going on in our own kingdom.”

  “I’ve got agents scouring the docks for news, but so far it is all rumors. I’m not even sure if we can believe any of it.”

  “Well, that meddler Offendorl believes it,” Prince Wilam of Yelsia said. He was pacing the large room he used as an office and study. It was part of a larger building that housed the kings or their officials in Osla. There were large windows that looked out over the Grand City, which was the capital of Osla and by far the largest city in the Five Kingdoms. The streets twisted and turned like a maze, while stone walls circled the city, reminiscent of waves spreading out in a pond when a stone is tossed into the still water. The walls had at various times been built to contain and protect the city, but as the city grew, new walls were built until the buildings, avenues, alleys, and walls were a jumbled sprawl that spread as far as the eye could see.

  Prince Wilam was the ambassador from Yelsia and had stayed at his post despite the reports of his father’s illness or the rumors of his younger brother’s clumsy claim to the throne. Wilam had no doubt he could handle Simmeron; his younger brother did not inspire confidence and certainly wouldn’t have thought through the implications of his traitorous actions. Now there were tales of a dragon destroying villages and demanding gold. It seemed like a children’s story, but it was spreading faster than a plague and his kingdom’s reputation was on the verge of ruin. Still, none of the rumors coming from Yelsia warranted a Council of Kings. Wilam turned to his chief aide, Pavic, and looked at the older man. Pavic had been serving as one of the King’s counselors longer than Wilam had been alive. The older man had thick white hair and slumped shoulders, signs of time spent laboring over administrative duties, seeing that Yelsia was well governed.

  Wilam looked quite the opposite. He had long brown hair and a well trimmed beard. He was barrel-chested and well muscled from years spent training with sword and spear. He had served in Yelsia’s royal army, but it had only been for show. He had never been stationed away from the capital city of Orrock until now, but he was much more comfortable facing a well-trained foe than a smooth talking politician.

  Osla was vastly different from Orrock; the kingdom was flooded with goods, from essential items such as food and clothing, to the rare and exotic. The people of Osla did not lack for anything, and while the King in Yelsia stayed busy simply focusing on helping his kingdom prosper, in Osla there was intrigue, political maneuvering, and officials constantly currying favor.

  Needless to say, Prince Wilam did not enjoy his service in Osla, but his sense of duty was as strong as the steel of his sword. He was forced to rely heavily on his aides to help him navigate the vagaries of political life. Never before had he given much thought to his actions. Now, however, not simply the things he did, but every word he said seemed to be loaded with hidden meanings and a variety of interpretations. Each day was meticulously scheduled and it was only in the privacy of his own rooms and in the company of his most trusted advisors that he could truly just be himself.

  At first he had expected to be of useful service to his King and country. He had thought that his royal position as First Prince of Yelsia would carry weight among the other ambassadors, but he was surprised to discover that his beloved country was viewed as little more than a backwater territory. The other ambassadors were constantly striving to improve their position by belittling their rivals. There was no honor at the court, which was supposed to be an open forum with every kingdom represented as equals. The ambassadors, or kings when they were in attendance, settled disputes and acted as a system of checks and balances so that no one kingdom took advantage of the others. Unfortunately, for the most part, the court was little more than political posturing. The true power lay with a small group of wizards, led by an ancient-looking man who was rarely seen outside of the colossal stone tower that was the unofficial center of the Grand City. Offendorl was the master of the group and any whisper from the Torr was treated as absolute law, even by Wilam’s father. The Prince did not fear the Torr the way the other kings did. He had never met a wizard, never seen real magic, and to be honest, did not truly believe in it. He was practical and preferred strength to subterfuge; a head to head battle where the best man won. What made the wizards so widely feared was a mystery to Wilam.

  Of course he had heard tales of a time when the Five Kingdoms fought each other, with wizards playing the pivotal parts in epic battles, but that was hundreds of years ago. Now, the Kings lived together in some form of harmony, even if they were constantly sniping at one another. Wilam simply didn’t see why the Torr was treated with such deference.

  “I believe our best course of action is to downplay the rumors,” Pavic said calmly. “Let the other nobles talk. They have no proof. What can they do?”

  “You’re the one who always says that perception is reality. Will silence not be perceived as weakness?”

  “Maybe weakness, maybe self-assurance.”

  “I would rather show them the edge of my blade,” Wilam said.

  “As I’ve told you countless times, weapons are forbidden at court. Besides, Offendorl is no rogue you can bully with your sword. He’s a wizard of the Torr and we must tread lightly.”

  “I don’t fear wizards, Pavic. I fear no man.”

  “No one discounts your courage, my lord. But we must proceed cautiously. We are in uncharted waters.”

  “Alright, but I won’t pretend that I respect the old man in his tower. If the rumors are true, then I should be at home, leading a legion of our best warriors to rid our land of this dragon, not bandying words with the greedy ambassadors at court.”

  “Yes, my Prince, but we must make an appearance tonight. King Oveer of Ortis has arrived and will be properly welcomed over dinner.”

  “The constant needs of this position weary me, Pavic,” Wilam said, leaning against the windowsill. “What should I know of King Oveer?”

  “He is very close with King Belphan. They have been allies in the past and neither have much love for your father.”

  “Nor I for them,” Wilam said bitterly.

  “
But we must show our respect.”

  “I have no respect for them; they are bloated cows who curry favor with the Torr. I have no use for them. Pavic, I swear, this court is full of fools and sycophants. We should withdraw and be done with them.”

  “And what would happen then? The other kingdoms would be allied against us and we would be overrun. You may not like your peers, but you must respect them and their positions.”

  “Perhaps I could if they returned that respect.”

  “You shall teach them the meaning of honor.”

  “I would rather teach them the meaning of pain.”

  “In time your service will be completed and you will return home. When you are King, it is this time that the other kings will remember and judge you by. Don’t let your impatience dishonor your legacy.”

  “Alright, I know you are only trying to help me. Send for my steward and let’s get on with this. The sooner it is started, the sooner it can be finished.”

  The steward was summoned and fresh attire was laid out for the Prince. He was dressed and ready as the sun settled down toward the horizon. The guards were also dressed in their finest armor, shields polished, armor gleaming. They rode horses through the winding streets from the royal residence to the opulent embassy hall. The building was constructed of gleaming marble that seemed to glow as the sun set. The building was essentially a large feasting hall in the shape of a hexagon. Each of the Five Kingdoms was assigned a single wall and there were private meeting rooms beyond each wall. The sixth side was a grand entrance with massive pillars and an ornate frieze depicting the Five Kings ruling harmoniously.

  When Prince Wilam arrived he found that the hall was as busy as any beehive. There were servants hurrying from place to place. Large tables had been arranged for the feast and many of the ambassadors, with their retinues, were already in attendance. Of course King Oveer and Belphan would be the last to arrive; they needed to uphold their superiority over the appointed representatives, some of whom were barely more than servants themselves. The representative from Falxis was a merchant that had married one of the King’s younger daughters and Hansrik from Baskla was one of the old King’s advisors.

  “Summon me when the feast begins,” Wilam told Pavic before disappearing into the lavish parlor just behind Yelsia’s assigned wall.

  The parlor was large and filled with lavish furniture, all neatly arranged in groups. It was already too warm for a fire, but a lamp was lit near the Prince’s favorite chair, which was large and cushioned with leather pillows filled with goose down. He dropped into the chair and closed his eyes. He knew what was coming, the kings would soon be looking down their long noses at him. He had been shown deference his whole life, but since his arrival at Osla he felt like an outsider. He found it strange and somewhat humbling, but he refused to let his pride keep him from doing a good job. The only problem was that he rarely understood what his purpose was, or what the purposes of the representatives at court were. It seemed to Wilam as though the striving for power between armies had been replaced with the squabbling of ambassadors in Osla’s grand court.

  The door swung open causing Wilam to look up. Pavic was ushering Hansrik into the room. Of all the ambassadors, only Hansrik could be trusted to speak his mind in a straightforward manner. Wilam knew the wise old counselor changed his tack when dealing with the other ambassadors, but his candor was refreshing to Wilam.

  “Hansrik,” he said as he stood up.

  “I hope I’m not intruding?” he said in a deep voice that seemed out of place in the elderly man.

  “Not at all, my friend. Please, join me. Shall I have wine brought?”

  “No, don’t trouble yourself. There will be plenty of wine consumed this evening.”

  Wilam knew that Hansrik was right. The appearance of a King at the court, under any circumstances, was a major event, but a Council of Kings would be seen as a holiday. Already the Grand City was being flooded with merchants, entertainers, and sightseers from the surrounding villages and towns. By the time the other kings arrived, the city would be overflowing with people.

  “Have you heard from your father?” Hansrik asked.

  “No, he was too ill to leave his bed,” Wilam said. “I can’t imagine that he would be able to come to the council.”

  “Then you’ll be serving in his place?”

  “I’m the First Prince,” he said. “It is fitting.”

  “Fitting yes, desirable no. Unless you have some proof to refute the rumors, that is.”

  “Unfortunately, I do not.”

  “Dragons...,” he said contemplatively. “It is exceptionally rare.”

  “It’s foolishness of the highest order,” Wilam said loudly. “I simply cannot believe anyone is taking this seriously.”

  “A weakness, either real or perceived, brings out the greed in the other kings. They will use this rumor to elevate themselves and their kingdoms at Yelsia’s expense, I’m afraid.”

  “Over my dead body,” Wilam said spitefully.

  “That is what I am afraid of, Prince Wilam. You must not allow the other kings to marginalize you. Your anger may be deserved, but it will not help you in this situation.”

  “And what will help?” Wilam asked. “How can anyone defend themselves from rumors?”

  “You cannot, so don’t try,” Hansrik said. “Treat the rumors as they should be and let the other kings say what they will. It will make no difference in the long run.”

  “But I’ll be perceived as weak if I don’t defend the honor of Yelsia.”

  “Better to be underestimated than to paint yourself into a corner by overreacting. Kings can be arrogant and contemptuous, but they can only hurt your pride.”

  “Pride is all I have, counselor.”

  “For now, perhaps, but soon you will be King in Yelsia. Your kingdom and mine, they are allies. We must learn to stand together, to support one another. If you give in to the provocation, your voice will cease to exist in this court.”

  “Then I will make them hear me.”

  “But don’t you see that you have other weapons at your disposal, not just the sword you wear? A King uses diplomacy, economics, patience—”

  “Hansrik, please stop,” Wilam cried. “Economics? Patience? The constant squabbling over how a decision is worded, or how to properly tax merchants, it all makes me want to scream. If I have to stay silent when those pompous fools start insulting my kingdom, I may just explode.”

  “Well, if you must explode, do it quietly,” Hansrik said.

  Wilam couldn’t help but laugh. The older man was trying to help, he knew that. The advice was sound, wise even, just as it had been from Pavic, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. He knew that the feast would not be pleasant, but he had no choice about attending. And this would just be the beginning. Two other kings were yet to arrive and then there would be the council.

  Chapter 2

  “Oh, Zollin!” Brianna said. She was holding up the helmet and looking at it. He had taken his time with it. Making and remaking the dwarvish steel, finally settling on a design. He had bonded a soft leather padding to the underside so that it was cushioned against her head.

  “Do you like it? Would you rather have jewelry?” the young wizard asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, staring deeply into his eyes. “It is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

  “Well, I wanted you to be safe. We are hunting a dragon, after all.”

  A shadow crossed Brianna’s face at the mention of the dragon. She wasn’t entirely happy about looking for the beast. She remembered how terrified and helpless she had felt when the dragon had attacked Brighton’s Gate. They had been so close to leaving the small village in the Northern Highlands when the Skellmarians had attacked. Luckily, a legion of the royal army had been marching up the Great Valley and had taken up the fight. Then the dragon had appeared, wreaking havoc on both armies and destroying the town. Only Zollin had the power to face the dragon. She felt the
shiver of fear race down her back as she thought of it. Then Branock had kidnapped her, taking her down the Great Valley and sailing around the coast to Orrock. It had been frightening, not because she feared for her life, but because she was sure she would never see Zollin again. Now they were together and about to set out on another adventure, but the dragon was not something she relished facing again.