Berlina's Quest (2 page)

Several more guards entered and surrounded the two girls. The head guardsman said, “A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but we must do as the queen orders. Will you come with us peacefully, or are you going to force us to carry you to your quarters?”

Berlina stood and gestured for Felistia to do likewise. They then turned and walked to the door without a word. The guards quickly moved to surround the two girls as they walked.

Once they were back in the princess's quarters and the door shut, Berlina said, “Well, that didn't go so well, did it? I love my mother dearly. Sometimes, I think she isn't the sharpest sword in the armory. She has obviously been taken in by Zatarra and whoever he is working with.”

“Prince Drailsen,” interjected Felistia.

“Yes, probably,” said Berlina. “Fortunately, they think they are dealing with an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl and have no idea that they are instead facing an accomplished witch.” She paused. “If my mother's plan was to be carried out, and I should end up on the throne, I wonder how the people of Jylyria would feel if they found out their ruler was a witch? Almost sounds like enough fun to try!”

“Bee, you are something else. A witch as queen?” Felistia shook her head in amusement.

“I said
almost
. I really kind of doubt I'd want to or that I'd be a good queen. Well, why worry? It'll never happen.”

“Probably not…but stranger things have happened.”

“Well, let's make the best of this for the time being,” said Berlina. She went over to the door and pounded on it. When it opened, she told the guard standing there, “I'm hungry. Bring us our lunch and two bottles of wine. Hurry up about it.” When the door closed, she laughed and said, “I'll bet they are going to get damned tired of guarding us, aren't they?”

Prince Quince looked up from the documents he was working on as Caliban, the Castellan, entered the room. Caliban said, “Your Highness, there is some sort of caravan approaching the castle.”

“A caravan? Merchants?”

“I don't think so, My Lord,” said Caliban. He and he alone had the privilege of addressing his prince as “My Lord” instead of the more proper “Your Highness.”

“It is mostly soldiers, troopers– at least a hundred of them. Besides those, there are two carriages, of the sort that you or any other high-ranking noble would use.”

“Whose carriages are they?”

“They are not close enough to read the coats of arms on the sides, but they are flying pennons of maroon and orange. The same colors the troopers are wearing.”

“Maroon and orange? Maroon and orange? That sounds somehow familiar…” The prince paused and thought. With a snap of his fingers, he said, “I remember, now. Far to the west, almost to the High Palace of Jylyria, there is a Prince Drailsen who flies those colors. Ugly colors…I don't understand why anyone would choose them. Although, I've met this Drailsen once or twice, and he's pretty ugly, too. Bad scars.”

“Yes, My Lord. What should we do?”

“Send out a courier to contact the caravan and find out what they want. Probably a state visit or something. I am surprised that we have not gotten some sort of advance notice of that.”

“Now that you mention it, My Lord, we have. Just a day or two ago. In a message brought by a courier, Prince Drailsen said he was touring the eastern lands and might stop in for a state visit when he got near Quince Castle. You were busy when it came. I did not want to disturb you.”

“Caliban, you are so careless. I really need to know such things, no matter how busy I am. Somehow, a day or so notice seems hardly adequate, but given the great distance and the state of the roads between us, it would not surprise me to hear that a messenger had been delayed, gotten lost, or gone astray. I did complain to King Samsor a few years ago, before he died, that we were in need of a mail service. Nothing ever came of it. With the throne there being held by a Queen Regent until the Crown Prince comes of age, I doubt we will see any changes for a while.”

“Yes, My Lord. I will send out a messenger, and assuming their purpose is a state visit, I will prepare the castle to welcome them.” It wasn't long before the Castellan ushered in the returning messenger, who bowed and said, “Your Highness, the carriage contains…er, ah…it contains…oh, yes…Prince Drailsen, himself.”

The prince looked at the Castellan and whispered, “Is something wrong with him? He seems uncertain, and his eyes have a blank look to them.”

“I noticed that, My Lord, but I know not what it portends.” The Castellan turned to the messenger and said, “What of the second carriage?”

“Er, ah…sir, the carriage contains…um…the prince—” The messenger's voice faded out, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Prince Quince said, “Get him out of here and put him to sleep somewhere. He seemed convinced it is Prince Drailsen, so I guess we must prepare for a state visit. Get everything ready.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The caravan was moving much slower than the messenger had ridden. It was an hour or so later that it reached the gates of the castle. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised up, and an honor guard was put in place with a dozen men to each side. The prince stood in the main doorway facing the courtyard, ready to welcome his guests as the troops and carriages of the caravan entered.

Soon, all of the caravan was inside and came to a halt, but then nothing happened. The prince turned to his Castellan beside him and asked, “Caliban, why is nobody getting out of the carriages?”

The Castellan shook his head. “I don't know, My Lord.”

There was another minute of silence. Suddenly one of the troopers near the head of the caravan pulled out his trumpet and blew a signal. Instantly, twelve horsemen on either side of the caravan drew swords, turned, and struck down the men of the honor guard. As the honor guard fell, the swordsmen spurred their horses to gallop around the courtyard, striking down any other palace guards they could reach.

The prince and the Castellan stood there with shocked expressions on their faces until several guardsmen standing behind them grabbed them. The guards pulled them back into the castle and slammed the door just before the marauding troopers reached it. The sound of palace guards trumpeting an emergency alarm carried all over the castle.

“My God,” asked the prince, “what was that?”

“Treachery, My Lord,” said the Castellan. “A ruse to invade the castle, and I fear maybe a successful one. Considering the number of soldiers they have, compared to what we have left after their cowardly slaughter of our honor guard and those taken by surprise in the courtyard, they outnumber our men by a good margin.”

The captain of the castle's guard interrupted at this point. “Your Highness, Lord Castellan, this location is not safe, or at least it will not be for long. You must go to the Chamber of Safety. If things go as badly, as it seems they might, you must be ready to take the exit tunnel that leads from there to the secret stronghold in the village.”

“Abandon the castle?” asked the prince.

“The castle could stand an attack from outside, or a siege, but as these villains are already inside and have such an advantage in numbers, defense becomes near impossible. We must gather everyone still alive in the Chamber of Safety and salvage what we can through the tunnel.”

The prince shook his head in disbelief and then said, “All right, let us go. See if you can leave an observer or two to tell us who did this dastardly trick. I must know who is in those carriages.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I will do that.” The captain of the guard gave orders for observers to be posted. Then, he and his men led the prince and the Castellan down the passage to the Chamber of Safety.

As the captain had predicted, it was not long before it became necessary for all those still alive, except for a few brave volunteers, to take the tunnel out of the castle and down to the stronghold in the village below.

After several days, one of the observers returned to report. “Your Highness, although all the soldiers wore the colors of Prince Drailsen, the prince himself was not present during the attack. One of those carriages contained only one man—a sorcerer. The other had a prisoner and two guards.”

“A prisoner?”

“Yes, he wore chains. He had on the royal colors purple and gold, but he was definitely in chains, shackled to his guards. When they took him out of the carriage, he struggled and fought, but to no avail. I tried to see where they took him. I couldn't follow him all the way, but I think it was to the dungeons.”

“Could you identify the prisoner?”

“Not for certain, but based on some portraits I have seen, it may have been the Crown Prince.”

Prince Quince turned to his Castellan and said, “The Crown Prince? They have kidnapped the Crown Prince? Then, they slaughter half my men and take over my castle just to have a place to imprison him? This is evil incarnate.”

“Yes, My Lord. It is, but what about the sorcerer?”

“Find a sorcerer, a witch, or some other magic user in the village. See if they can sense what their sorcerer is doing. Also, if anyone leaves, keep track. Count any soldiers who leave, and if the carriages go, use magic or whatever to see if anyone is in them.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

A few more days passed before the Castellan tallied up his information and presented it to the prince. “Your Highness, many of the soldiers have departed but not the carriages. As far as our observer can tell, there are only about twenty of the soldiers remaining in the castle…and the sorcerer.”

“Only twenty? Why can't we gather up our remaining castle guards, and perhaps some militia troops from the villagers, and retake the castle?”

“Because, My Lord, the sorcerer remains and is using magic against us. Our watchers said he was there when the soldiers left. Before they went, he waved his wand around, as if to open an invisible gate for them. He stood in this gate, if such it was, and watched them. When they had reached a distance of six or seven furlongs, he waved his wand again. Here is where our observers all began to doubt their senses, as the moving troops disappeared.”

“Disappeared? What do you mean?”

“There is disagreement, but the prevalent story is that they turned into smoke or clouds and faded from view, leaving an empty road.”

“I would say impossible, but who among us truly knows what a sorcerer may be capable of. Well, continue.”

“Yes, My Lord. After the soldiers vanished, the sorcerer stepped backward a few feet and waved his wand a third time. Then, he turned, walked across the courtyard, and entered the castle. Shortly after that, one of our observers tried to enter, but he ran into an invisible wall that stopped him from going any further.”

“An invisible wall? What sort of thing is that?”

“Magical wards, My Lord. I have here a witch from the village, Madam Clotilde, to explain to you.” He turned and gestured to a woman near the door.

The witch came forward and curtsied. “Your Highness, wards are a form of magical wall that prevent the passage of men or arms. They cannot be seen by those not possessing magical power, but they are effective.”

“You say they are created by a magic user, a sorcerer, or a witch? Can another magic user overcome them?”

“In theory, Your Highness, another magic user can penetrate the wards, but only if that person is more powerful than the one who set them up.
Far
more powerful.”

“Can you do anything about the wards around the castle?”

“A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but my feeble powers do not even come close to what is needed for that. Perhaps some of the witches in the Order of the Flowers could do it. They are very strong. There are rumors that some of those trained by the Order are also extremely strong, but to my knowledge, there are none of them around here.”

“Madam witch, you need not apologize. You cannot be other than what you are. Thank you for your information. Please stay in touch with my Castellan or my other men, in case we have further need of your services.”

The witch curtsied again and left.

“Damn! I suppose there is nothing we can do but sit here and curse that misbegotten Prince Drailsen. State visit, indeed! Make sure everything is kept at the ready. Should an opportunity arise to retake the castle, we must be prepared to seize it.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

* * * *

Crown Prince Darvid rattled the bars of his cell. Of course, they didn't give way. He had been doing it for two weeks now with no results. He yelled, “Let me out of here, you scum. I am a prince!” but that got no more results than rattling the bars. Finally, he gave up, went over, and sat down on his bunk.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, “there must be some way to get out of here.”

“No, there isn't,” said a figure in sorcerer's robes who suddenly appeared in the corridor outside the cell. “The man whom I serve has charged me with keeping you here, and keep you here I will.”

“Who are you, and who is the man you serve? Why am I being kept here?”

“I am Flamencius,” said the sorcerer, “but the name of the master I serve must remain secret. Suffice it to say that you will remain here until your birthday has come and gone. In the absence of a crown prince to take the throne of Jylyria, another will be chosen as king.”

“You'll never get away with this.”

“Ah, but I think we will. Your mother has troops out searching for you, but she will never look this far away from the High Palace. In addition, her court sorcerer Zatarra is working to mislead her, to send her men on wild goose chases. Now, it is time for your supper. Eat hearty, fair Prince.”

Flamencius turned and left as three guards approached the cell. Darvid jumped up and walked to the door of the cell, but two of the guards poked spears between the bars and forced him back. The third man unlocked and opened the door. He placed a tray with a bowl and a cup on the floor, then closed and relocked the door. The other guards withdrew their spears, allowing Darvid to approach the food.

He picked up the spoon next to the bowl and tasted its contents. “Porridge again? I am a prince. Can you not feed me food that fits my station?”

The three guards laughed and walked away.

When they were out of sight, Darvid began to eat. In between bites he muttered, “One bowl of porridge a day. If I weren't so hungry, I'd throw it in their faces. And I'll bet the wine is sour, as always.”

When he finished what was in the bowl, he drank the cup of wine, grimacing at the taste. Finally, he went over to his bunk and dropped down onto it. After an hour of tossing and turning, he eventually managed to fall sleep.

When Darvid awoke, he had no idea how long he had slept, nor any way of telling what time it was in the underground cell with no sunlight. Someone removed the dishes from his meager supper.