The Lords of Valdeon (20 page)

Not waiting to see the resentful glare, he turned toward the street where an ebony carriage awaited them. A lion of gold, emblem of the D'Antoiné royal house, silently roared from its door. His little sister, Zoya, gave a delighted cry when Julian entered. She threw her arms around his shoulder and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"I've longed for your return, Brother." Zoya's smile twisted into a mischievous grin. "It has been frightfully dull with the Lords of Valdeon marching about the palace, keeping the peace. Their devoted worshippers praise them night and day. It turns the stomach."

"I do hope, my darling sister, that you haven't been provoking the Wolf. He is rather single-minded where you are concerned."

She shrugged and gave him a secret smile. He knew her well enough to suspect she'd gone against his word. One day she'd choose the wrong man to play with, and then her games would end permanently.

"The Orb of Valdeon is black with death." Marcellus changed the subject as he always did when Julian's anger with Zoya began to brew. "I knew you would not fail, my prince. What a battle it must have been! The Leo is…was a challenge."

Zoya's eyes glowed with desire as she leaned forward. "Let me see the Lion Ring, Brother!"

"I don’t have it."

His dark glare weighed the look upon their faces. Bitter disappointment. Shock. Frustration. He couldn't fault them, having experienced each emotion upon the boggy shores of North Marsh. Understanding was one thing. Tolerance was quite something else.

"Have a care before you question, Zoya. My father still lives, but he severed his own finger to manage it. The ring is sleeping. It is powerless as long as it does not rest on a human finger. Leo is nothing without it, and it is nothing without the right bearer."

Their carriage moved through the massive arch in the Inland wall, and soon they were making their way up King’s Row. The historic street had once been adorned with mosaics. Now, dirt and old bricks were the pathetic remains of the city's glory days. Two-story buildings lined either side of King's Row, blocking his view of the palace. They rode on in silence for a few miles. Any words spoken could only make matters worse.

The buildings ended abruptly, and they entered a large courtyard at the center of the city. Leo's first queen had commissioned a large garden with pathways and a bandstand for the people of San Leonora to enjoy. Now the garden was a weed patch and the bandstand a crumbling relic. Even the massive fountain had fallen into disrepair.

Valdeon had been grand once. Its power could not be rivaled by any on Andara. Of course those days of glory were before the Great War with Tslavia — Valdeon’s fiercest enemy. A century ago, Tslavian soldiers plundered San Leonora. The city was almost lost, until a Jalora Master had come among them to protect the people. This Red Heart created the United Realms, claiming such an alliance between the nations of Andara would keep the peace. In truth, the fool had given away Valdeon’s power over the continent, setting their once-great nation upon the path of mediocrity. It would take a strong leader to see Valdeon's power back again.

"What of the Regent Medallion?"

Marcellus and Zoya exchanged uncomfortable looks. She gripped the hem of her dress, lifting it to her chest. The unfortunate habit gave Marcellus a good look at her naked thighs. Julian slapped her hands and pulled the dress back down to the floor.

"Please try to behave like a lady, Zoya." He ignored her pouting face and stared hard at Marcellus. "What has happened? Why am I not holding the medallion in my hand at this very moment?"

"Your trinket wasn't where you said it would be, Brother." Zoya brushed at the front of her gown. "I had to spend a few evenings with one of the curators. Horrid little man. He helped me find the medallion. I've seen it with my own eyes. We were making plans for a midnight visit, but the Lords of Valdeon arrived in San Leonora before we could take it."

"Have I not made it clear? I must have the medallion!"

Gorman would be delighted to hear of this latest failure. Julian had underestimated his barbarian allies. Their hunger for Andara was keener than he had first supposed. In fact, he was beginning to suspect Whisper might be behind Julian's failed effort somehow. The medallion was his last chance to take the throne peacefully. He wanted to avoid the slaughter of his people by the hands of these barbarians if possible. Let them quench their thirst for blood on the rest of Andara. Valdeon belonged to him.

"Our country stands alone and unguarded at the very center of her enemies."

"What do you mean, my prince?" Marcellus, eager to avoid Julian's anger, grasped hold of this new talk of enemies.

"My informants tell me that Southbay plans to strike our eastern border. They seek revenge against our people for attacking one of their towns." Julian gave Marcellus a well-practiced look of concern. "Naturally, Valdeon would make no such attack. They falsely accuse us."

"Naturally." Zoya sat back, her eyes laughed at him.

"I fear they've been goaded into this by a powerful enemy. My informants brought back the broken sword of a Tslavian soldier. Don’t you see, Marcellus? Tslavia believes Leo is dead and would take advantage of this to storm Valdeon! They concocted the raid on the Southbay town, knowing it would turn our neighbor against us. The fools would naturally go running to Tslavia for help."

"What are we to do, my prince? Has Chancellor Benito been warned?"

"The chancellor will not listen to my warnings. His ear belongs to the Lords of Valdeon. They refuse to heed the evidence."

Rumor of violence surrounding a few dead pawns would certainly spark outrage among the Tslavic court. He turned his eyes back to the window, letting Marcellus absorb the information. Andara was a powder keg waiting to explode. Tensions had been mounting since the day Leo had disappeared. Valdeon wouldn’t be the victim of events this time. It would be the victor!

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.
Y
ou 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.