Heirs of the Enemy (60 page)

“I like your frankness, Queen Samir,” smiled Lady Zachary. “If only you had a son rather than daughters.”

“Queen Samir does have a son,” interjected Lord Zachary.

Lady Zachary looked shocked as she turned to look at her husband. Queen Samir watched with interest.

“Prince Samuel I believe is his name, is it not?” asked Lord Zachary.

“You have done your research well, Lord Zachary,” said the queen. “He is my eldest.”

“But you have disowned him,” Lord Zachary pointed out. “That hardly satisfies our requirements.”

Lady Zachary looked at the queen with an astonished look. “You disowned him? Why?”

“It is a long story,” sighed the queen. “He was a rebellious young boy, and Spino has no problems with a woman ruler like some of the other countries do. What exactly did you have in mind, Lord Zachary? How would this arrangement work, assuming you found the right prince?”

“We are thinking about a wedding within half a year. We would demand a contract to seal the deal, but once the young couple is married, we would present them with half of our wealth as a wedding present. They would, of course, receive the other half upon our deaths.”

“And what would the terms of this contract be?”

“The contract would call for the groom to be the designated heir to the throne. If the line of succession is altered for any reason, the entire amount of the dowry would have to be returned. You must understand, Queen Samir, we are intent on purchasing a throne for our daughter. Nothing else will do.”

“Well,” mused the queen, “I do see the advantage of such a deal for the prince, but it hardly compensates the current monarch. I can’t imagine that any king or queen would give up their heir under such terms.”

“Well put,” Lady Zachary said with a nod. “I certainly wouldn’t if I were queen.”

Lord Zachary sighed and nodded in resignation. “I guess that I will have to rethink the terms of the contract, but it hardly matters for the sake of this conversation. Prince Samuel is not going to magically reappear as heir to the throne.”

“He just might,” smiled Queen Samir, “if the terms are right.”

Lady Zachary grinned at the queen and nodded approvingly. “What should the terms be?”

“I would want gold now,” answered the queen, “and some control over the prince’s funds for a period of time. I would be reasonable about the length of time.”

“No payment until the marriage,” countered Lord Zachary, “but I would be willing to split the dowry in half, with you controlling half of it for the duration of your life. Your will would have to stipulate that a like sum would go to your son upon your death, or if that was not available, your entire estate.”

“Leaving my daughters penniless?” balked the queen.

“Making your daughters dependent upon your son,” retorted Lord Zachary. “He will have more than enough money to keep them in comfort for the rest of their days.”

The queen fell silent as she contemplated the terms. She really did not care who followed her in the line of succession as long as they waited their turn. She had no intention of being pushed out early by anyone. She shivered at the thought of Samuel on the throne, but then again, it did not matter if he liked the idea or not. If he was the heir, he would become king whether he liked it or not. She could make sure of that. There was nothing in the proposed contract that provided for a reluctant groom, and the Vinaforan girl might actually end up ruling the country, which might be good if she was anything like her parents. In the end, it came down to the gold.

“I accept the terms of your contract,” smiled Queen Samir. “I will have it drawn up while we enjoy the ball. We can all get together and sign it before you leave tonight.”

“If you would allow me,” offered Lord Zachary, “I would like to work along with your man on the contract. We have already made arrangements to leave Valdo in the morning, and I want to make sure that everything is correct.”

“Please yourself, Lord Zachary, but I must attend to my other guests. We will talk again after the ball.”

* * * *

Franco heard the banging on his door, and he rolled out of bed with a scowl upon his face. He picked up a knife on the way to the door more out of habit than any suspicion of treachery coming from anyone in the Black Citadel. He opened the door and stared at the black-cloak without any greeting.

“Feragyna wants you in his office,” stated the mage.

Without waiting for a response, the black-cloak turned and walked away. The head of the Badgers was not used to being ordered around, but he took no offense. He was, after all, merely a guest in the Black Citadel. Franco closed the door and got dressed. He thought briefly of donning his sword, but he decided to leave it in the room. Feragyna would surely take offense, and the weapon would not help much if it came to a fight in the Black Citadel. Throwing knives would be the weapon of choice against mages. Franco left his room and moved through the empty corridors to Feragyna’s office. He knocked on the door, and it immediately opened. Franco entered the room, resisting the urge to look for the person who had opened the door. He knew that the door had been opened magically. He also knew that Feragyna enjoyed the uncomfortable feeling that most visitors had when he pulled that trick on them. The Badger was determined not to give his host the pleasure of a response.

“It is hard to get any sleep when you send people to bang on my door,” Franco complained as he stared at the head mage of the Black Citadel.

Feragyna looked as if he was sitting behind the desk, but Franco knew from previous visits that there was no chair. The mage magically suspended himself above the floor. He claimed that constant use of magic increased his ability to use it, just like exercising a muscle tends to make it stronger. Franco was not sure if he bought into such theories, but he was impressed with the mage’s control over his black-cloaks, and that meant showing some respect to him.

“Are our guest accommodations unsuitable for you?” asked Feragyna.

“The accommodations are fine,” answered Franco. “What did you need to see me about?”

“Some minor officer in Giza has stated that he knows that there are Badgers in the Black Citadel. Who did you tell about coming here?”

“I told no one, especially not an officer in the Federation army, either in Despair or Giza. Unless one of your people told someone that we are here, the officer is making things up.”

“That would be a strange coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“People have been sighting Badgers all over the world for the last thousand years. No one takes such sightings seriously.”

“You do not seem to be bothered by people accurately mentioning your location. Are you concerned that this officer also said that there were hostages being held here?”

Feragyna’s words shot through Franco like a stake through his heart. His body tingled nervously, and he felt beads of sweat forming along his hairline.

“I hope this is not some sort of mind game to test my reactions to wild statements.”

“I play no games, Franco. You know that about me.”

Franco sighed nervously. “I swear to you that no one has learned this from me or any of my men. I do not mean to be insulting, but I think you may have a spy among your ranks.”

“That is a possibility,” conceded Feragyna, “but an unlikely one. Still, I will take measures to investigate this on my end. What about your people?”

“No one knows that I am here specifically. I have one man handling reports from all the people in the field. That one man knows how to contact me, but not where I am.”

Feragyna raised an eyebrow at the seeming contradiction.

“You may have noticed that I have an early morning habit of gazing out on the plains below. If I am needed, a smoky fire will be burning out there. Even if that man is compromised, my location would not be learned. A spy in my ranks could exist only among the men that I brought with me, and none of them have left this place.”

“While your statements are true, that does not necessarily dismiss the possibility of a spy among your men. There are ways of sending information without leaving here, even mundane methods.”

“I agree,” conceded Franco, “but like you said regarding your men, it is highly unlikely.”

“So we both have a task of testing our people. We can each see to our own needs, but this news requires action on our part. Do you agree?”

“I agree. You said that this news comes from Giza? How much time do I have to move the hostages?”

“I would think you have at least a week, maybe more, but I think a move sooner rather than later is called for.”

“I will need some time to decide how to divide my men, and I need to send down scouts to make sure that no one is waiting for us down below, but that shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

“Let me send my people down to scout the plains,” suggested Feragyna.

“Why?” frowned the Badger.

“What I haven’t told you is what prompted the report from Giza. Someone attacked the Temple of Balmak there. As you are probably aware, I have men in each of the temples. There were over one hundred armed clerics in addition to my black-cloaks. The temple was surrounded by scores of soldiers, yet everyone inside the temple was found dead. Not a single one of them died from a wound.”

“What killed them?”

“The soldiers think they were poisoned, but I am more concerned that we might be facing a magical enemy. If that is the case, there might already be mages down on the plains.”

“But you said a week.”

“And that is my best guess. I do not think the mage, if it even was a mage, is interested in either of our groups. In fact, the reason that we were mentioned was to cast blame for the attack on us. What they were really after was to kill the priest.”

“Alceans?”

“Undoubtedly. It is clever of them to blame us and give just enough of the truth to trap us, but I do not think that they will be coming here. They will be hunting for the next priest.”

“Do you know where the priests are located?”

“The Alceans will be heading for Calusa, Ur, or Despair. It is impossible to tell at this time. What may cause us trouble is the Federation army.”

“I don’t think so.” Franco shook his head. “Kyrga is still the Grand General, and he will not go against my client.”

“Is Kyrga aware of the identity of your hostages?”

“Kyrga knows that the emperor’s family has been taken. He is not anxious to find them, but even if he were, he would never send troops to the Black Citadel. No general would march against you. Giza can scream all they want, but Despair will not act against either of us. We have far more than a week to leave here, but I know that you are uncomfortable with us now. I understand the terms of our agreement, and I will abide by them. We will be gone before the week is up.”

“And my scouts?”

“Send them down,” replied Franco. “I would appreciate having them check out the plains before we depart.”

“And where will you hide your hostages?”

“You do not want to know,” Franco smiled thinly.

“Well spoken, Franco. Your respect for the Black Citadel is noted. We will speak again.”

The Badger nodded with respect and backed out of the office. The door opened and closed by itself, but Franco did not seem to notice. His mind was already planning the coming departure from the Black Citadel.

Prince Samuel woke up, his eyes slowly focusing on the ceiling. As his confused mind began to understand that he was no longer sleeping under the stars, he bolted upright and looked around the room. The sleeping chamber was elegantly appointed, though not garish in any sense of the word. He glanced down at the fine linens and thick blanket that had covered him. Near the bed was a chair and clothing was folded on it. His old, worn robe was nowhere in sight. The former monk slipped out of the bed and examined the clothing. With a chill in the air, Samuel quickly tried the clothing on. It fit well. A pair of fur slippers sat under the chair, and he slid his feet into them while wondering if the finely furnished room was his cell. He moved cautiously to the lone door and it opened easily. Beyond the doorway was a large sitting room. Sunlight was streaming through the window, illuminating everything in its path. One of the things illuminated was Wylan. The blind man was sleeping on a couch in the sitting room.

Prince Samuel moved silently through the doorway. He walked first to the window and peered out. He could see a vast body of water in the distance, looking quite similar to the Sea of Tears he remembered from his childhood, but the ground before the body of water was snow-covered. The recent snow flurries in the Bloodwood were an oddity, letting the prince know that he was much farther north than he had ever been. Glancing down, the prince saw a wall, and it was protecting a rather large city. People moved through the city streets going about their business in an unhurried manner, but he was too high in the castle to actually see the people well. He moved to one side of the window in an attempt to see part of the actual castle, hoping to see a banner or flag that would identify his location, but he saw none.

“Ah, you are awake,” came a familiar voice.

Prince Samuel spun around, half expecting to see Wylan looking at him. He blushed in embarrassment when he remembered that his friend was blind. Wylan was sitting up, but facing away from him.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I can hear your breathing. Tell me what you see.”

“It is beautiful in a way,” answered the prince. “I have never seen snow like this. It sparkles. It looks clean and pure. Are we in Ur?”

“Herinak,” answered the Knight of Alcea. “Before you get concerned, you are not a prisoner. King Wendal has been gracious enough to provide you with a suite, but he asks that you remain on this level of the castle. His concern is not only for your safety, but for the peace of his kingdom. Should it be reported to the Federation that you are here, he fears an immediate attack would commence.”

Prince Samuel frowned in confusion. He had suspected Ur because Tyronia was as far north as anyone could get and because he thought that the horse countries were unreachable.