Legends of Luternia
Table of Contents
Copyright Information and Front Matter
Legends of
Luternia:The Prince Decides
By Thomas Sabel
Copyright © 2013 by Thomas Sabel
Cover Copyright © 2013 by Jesse S. Greever & eLectio Publishing
Cover Design by Jesse S. Greever
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (eLectio Publishing) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
eLectio Publishing wishes to thank the following people who helped make these publications possible through their generous contributions:
Chuck & Connie Greever
Jay Hartman
Darrel & Kimberly Hathcock
Tamera Jahnke
Amanda Lynch
Pamela Minnick
James & Andrea Norby
Gwendolyn Pitts
Margie Quillen
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Learning to Give in a Getting World
by Marcus R. Farnell, Jr. and Jesse S. Greever
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Drunk Dialing the Divine
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The Advent of the Messiah: Finding Peace, Love, Joy, and Hope in a Modern World
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More From Life: 99 Truths to Understand and Live By
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The Sons of Hull: Book One of the Advocate Trilogy
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Obsidian: Book Two of the Advocate Trilogy
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Good Shepherds: Living the Faith
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The Crab Hollow Chronicles
by Karen Gennari
Nightmarriage
by Chad Thomas Johnston
For Judith, Jon-Mark, and Jacob
Every book is a work of collaboration and this one is no exception. My first collaborators to thank were my family who eagerly listened around the campfire while I told the first version of the story and my wife, Judith, encouraged me to write the tales down. Next to thank is Sophie Schulz who, as young student, had heard of the story and nudged me on to finish it. With the aide of Avon Crismore, my dear friend, and Elizabeth Meyer, my ever-alert editor, the drafts finally were worked into shape.
Finally, a special thanks to Avon Crismore, Elizabeth Meyer, and Tim Rossow for their countless suggestions helped to bring the land of Luternia to life
.
The unholy stench cascaded from atop the castle tower and filled the courtyard. The smell made Crown Prince Ulrik’s stomach heave. He pulled up his coat to mask his nose and dashed across the open yard. He hated running but he craved the safety of the kitchen where the aroma would welcome him in from the dark and fetid smell of evil the Mage brewed from atop the old astronomer’s tower.
“It’s worse than most days,” the prince said to Helga, the old cook, as he took his regular seat on the long, worn bench by the large worktable. She nodded her agreement and set a fresh cinnamon roll in front of him. The butter dollop carefully laid on the roll began to melt, filling the air with the scent of butter, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread.
“Stand up and give me your coat, my dear, so I can air it out in the hallway.” She helped him with his coat and carried it out of the kitchen, holding it out at arm’s length like a thing unclean.
“These are better than the last batch,” he said, wiping the butter off his chin with the back of his hand.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times: Princes need manners more than the rest of us folk. Use a napkin. And say, ‘Thank you.’ And before you ask, ‘No, one is enough.’ When I smelled what that Mage was concocting I decided to fight back in my own way. I’d hate to know what he’s cooking up. Ugh!”
“What do you suppose he does up there?” he asked.
“Uley,” she said, using his pet name “I don’t want to know. Sin and evil that are so obvious are best avoided.”
“I’ve been up there,” he said.
She stopped her work and stared at him.
“On a dare. Barty dared me. He said I was too afraid, too much a scaredy-cat.”
“Barty’s an eighteen-year-old bully. If it was up to me he would have been sent away years ago, even if he is your father’s only nephew.”
Ulrik didn’t pay attention to her statement, “It was horrid, dark, and it smelled like something was dying.”
“Why in heaven’s name his Majesty brought that Mage here I don’t know. There was a time when he never would have let the likes of him set one foot in the kingdom, but when your mother took ill he was blind to everything except finding a way to heal her. He heard the Mage could heal the sick, even raise the dead, and brought him here. I didn’t trust him but your father did . . . and still does. Since he’s the king he must know more than I do. And after your mother died . . .” Helga’s voice trailed off when she saw Ulrik set the cinnamon roll down and pushed the plate away.
“I’m sorry, dear.” She sat next to him and took his hand. “I probably shouldn’t talk about your mother. You were so young when she was taken. She asked me to look out for you and heaven knows I did my best.”
“I don’t remember much about my mother.” Ulrik wanted to become small again and crawl onto Helga’s lap and be embraced by her strong arms and cry, but now he was too old for that. “Helga, could we read from your book?”
She ran her fingers through his brown curly hair, leaving a light dusting from her floury hands. “Do you think it’s safe enough?”
“I didn’t notice anyone else up and around. Please.”
“All right. Your mother would have wished it.” Ulrik slipped out of the kitchen and into the deep pantry, fearful someone might come upon them. For last twelve years, the Mage’s spies had tightened a noose around Castle Åræthi and the kingdom of Luternia. Some folks said that the stones in the walls could see and hear for him. Under Helga’s vigilance the kitchen remained one of the few safe havens in the kingdom.
Ulrik approached the familiar spot in the pantry—a nook concealed between the flour bin and the apple barrel. He pushed a hidden latch to open the concealed cupboard and eased the large, worn book from its hiding place. He was about to reenter the kitchen when he heard someone talking with Helga, the murmurings indistinct. He stopped, not sure of what do next. If he moved around too much, he would attract attention. Then the idea came. He silently slid back to the nook, replaced the book, and closed the cupboard door. With the book safe, he noisily raised the lid to the flour bin, took a handful of flour and dusted his head and front, and called out, “I can’t find it! Are you sure it’s in here?”
When he emerged from the pantry all covered with flour, Helga stifled a laugh and scolded him, “What were you looking in the flour bin for, you scamp! Don’t you have any sense at all? Stay right where you are. I just swept the floor.” She moved to him and attacked him with a damp cloth, chiding him about the mess in the pantry and the kitchen. While slapping the dust off him, she whispered, “Clever idea.”
A boy about his age looked at him with disgust while Helga scrubbed away. The boy wore a black robe cut in the style of his master, the Mage. The boy’s rough peasant clothes hung beneath the ragged hem of an ill-fitting robe. This one is taller than the last, noticed Ulrik. With the previous apprentice the robe dragged on the ground.
“My master, the Royal Mage and King’s Counselor commands me to bring Prince Ulrik to him immediately.” He spoke loudly, looking at the far wall in the attempt to avoid stumbling over his memorized announcement.
“Why?” Helga demanded, standing between the prince and the apprentice with her muscular arms on her hips. This confused the boy for a moment and then he snapped back and repeated, “My master, the Royal Mage and King’s Counselor . . .”
“I’ll go with him. I’ll be all right.” Ulrik said, walking past Helga and with the apprentice into the courtyard. The morning breeze and bright sunshine cleansed the rank odor from the courtyard. In the open yard, the Mage’s apprentice quickly overtook the prince and marched ahead, proud to be the leader. His accent and loping walk spoke of peasant’s roots in the furthermost provinces of Luternia.
“So, the Mage is going farther and farther out to recruit new apprentices,” thought Ulrik. These boys never lasted more than a year. The Mage’s agents scouted the villages, made great promises to parents about the training their sons would receive in the royal court, paid them a trifling, and led the boys to the Mage’s tower. Their families would never hear from them again. Ulrik did not want to know what happened to the boys. All he knew was that the Mage, normally gaunt and pale, appeared sleek and nourished after each apprentice disappeared. “What part of the kingdom are you from?” asked the prince.
“I am under strict verbal discipline as part of my training and cannot answer.”
Ulrik tried not to chuckle at the improper pronunciation the boy gave to the words, “verbal” and “discipline.” Ulrik knew this would be the reply since it was the only answer the apprentices were allowed to give.
Word spread through the castle that the Mage had sent for the crown prince; the courtyard filled with the curious, the gossips, and the concerned. One of them, a large man, lumbered up and blocked Ulrik and the apprentice from the path to the tower.
“You can’t do this,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Uley, please don’t go in there. Bad things up there. It’s a bad place.” Ulrik went to him, led him aside by the arm and comforted him.
“I’ll be careful, Edgar. Don’t worry. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” said Ulrik. Edgar’s eyes filled with trust in Ulrik’s words.
“I believe you. Uley never lies to Edgar.” The big man stepped aside letting them pass. He took possession of the spot where he stood in the courtyard. Ulrik knew his friend would be there when he returned, no matter how long it took or what change the weather might bring. Edgar would remain there: watching, waiting, and trusting.
“My dear cousin, didn’t you get enough of the Mage the last time?” said a youth, attired in gaudy silk damask and leaning on the doorpost of the tower’s entrance. “What does he have for you? A special weight-loss program? But then, maybe it’s only baby-fat.”
