Authors: Edward Lazellari

The Lost Prince (64 page)

Seth was fiddling with the big stick. A lit cigarette hung from his lips as he stroked the wood with ultrafine grade sandpaper.

“How much more you got to do?” Daniel asked.

“Not much. Going to stain it with some water seal. Lelani says it’s not necessary. The magic protects the wood, makes it hard as steel. Only another wizard can shatter it in a duel at this point. Still, I think I’m going to go for a wheat or golden maple color—kind of like a Louisville Slugger.”

Daniel had an off-color joke about the guy being overly obsessed with his staff, but it was not princely, and he decided against it.

These people—these utter strangers—looked up to him. They admired him, despite the fact that he killed his stepfather and ran away from home. They considered him strong and possessing leadership qualities—they executed the decisions he made in Manhattan. Daniel had said in the rec room that he missed his friends Adrian and Katie and wished he could see them again. They all set about trying to figure out a way to get them up to North Jersey for a weekend without tipping off the cops. And Malcolm hired some heavy-hitting New York lawyers to get the Baltimore prosecutor’s office to drop the murder charges against him, based on circumstantial evidence of self defense. A New York City cop, a billionaire industrialist, a mafia capo, a Baptist reverend—all working toward his benefit and taking his suggestions seriously, like they were required to listen to him. It was surreal.

“They think I’m your half-brother,” Seth said, out of the blue. Daniel didn’t expect that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s how they justify my having been sent on this mission. I’m the reason you got lost in the first place, though—put into foster care. I was a bit of a fuckup.”

“I thought it was because the guy taking care of me had those interdimensional bends like Dorn and drove our car into a truck.”

“Galen and Linnea should never have been alone that night. The group was supposed to stick together. The plan was to buy up an entire block of houses somewhere and live tight-knit. My faux parents might still be alive if we did that. Lita, the woman pretending to be my mom, had the migraines, too, and set our house on fire in an act of madness.”

“Yeah, I’m not too crazy about getting migraines that cause me to become a homicidal maniac. Does anyone know why that happens?”

“Nope. Lelani says it’s just random.”

“Hey, is—she really a centaur?”

“Yep.”

“If I ask her to show me, would she do it?”

“Probably. She needs you to save her race. She’d probably jump your bones if you asked her. Might want to spritz on some Calvin Klein Obsession first.”

“Ewwwww! That’s like screwing a horse!”

The two of them sniggered.

“Could be worse…,” said Seth. “She could be a mermaid.”

They both said, “Ewwww!” and chortled harder.

When the laughing died down, Seth turned to him, all serious, and asked, “Do you want to go back?”

Daniel thought about it long and hard. There was no Xbox in Aandor—no baseball, comic books, movies, airplanes, NASCAR, or even electricity. They still had to repel twenty thousand enemy soldiers from the homeland first. At the same time, his parents—his
real
parents—were back there. He’d be running the kingdom eventually. And even if Mal’s lawyers could get them to drop the murder charges, it would hang over him wherever he went, the rest of his life. Clyde Knoffler was not worth going to prison for.

Daniel looked at the man that might or might not be his half brother. Seth seemed like a fun guy, in a seedy sort of way. This was a good crew to hang with. They loved their kids and each other—as good a lot to throw in with as any.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he said. “It’ll be fun. Bring it on.”

EPILOGUE 2

Hesz entered Balzac’s small basement university office by crouching under the door frame. His head just cleared the ceiling, and only in places where naked pipes did not run along it. The professor looked up from his back-leaning swivel chair, where he graded the latest term papers at his desk. He wore a wool sweater vest and his reading glasses hung at the end of his nose.

Hesz closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Dorn is dead,” said the frost giant. “As are Kraten, Symian, and all the rest in our party.”

Balzac put down the paper he was marking and folded his hands across his belly.

“I told you things were heading in that direction, my friend,” Balzac said. “My information gave you several advantages, none of which you exploited to your fullest. Instead of waiting to conjure magical golems with forbidden spells, you could have used your vast wealth here to hire some local human thugs to go to the hotel and shoot them.” Balzac threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Even when not suffering debilitating migraines, Dorn always had an arrogant, entitled streak running through him. Kraten, too. The type of men who were born on third base and think they hit a triple. Comes from a childhood of having everything done for you. Always others to pick up your … In this case, Dorn would have been better off delegating the whole matter to you, my friend.”

“I’m bothered by your lack of concern for our cause … our well-being,” Hesz said.

“Concern?”

“Surely by now they know of your betrayal. Lady MacDonnell will likely reveal…”

“What of it? Are they going to go to the authorities, where an interview with me will reveal that they have as little place in this world as I do? None of us are of this universe. Will they murder me in cold blood? Am I not a citizen of the United States, a tenured professor of good standing? I took no part in any murder. I simply visited two hotels to talk to friends in town. Gossip is not illegal. My treason was in Aandor—Aandor has no reach here. We are out of their jurisdiction.”

Hesz sat on a small loveseat against the wall, worrying his hat in his massive hands. “That is all well and fine for you, Balzac. What of me? I have no place in this world. I am not so inconspicuous that I can blend in and disappear. My cause lies in that other reality, and I have no means by which to get home.”

“Fear not, my friend. We shall see home again.”

“We? Are you a sorcerer as well?”

“Not at all. They will bring us home with them.”

“You are mad, Balzac. They will never trust us.”

“It’s not so much a matter of trust, my gentle giant, as it is of need. We possess information that is invaluable to them. Troop strengths and positions, fleet sizes, targets, number of wizards, spies, the spells used to undermine their security.”

“They will place us in chains,” Hesz protested.

“Yes, and bring us back home in them. The key point being we will get home. Once home, chains can be broken, deals can be made. And they will have their hands filled contending with Lara. She will be none too pleased to hear of her nephew’s demise. They thought Dorn was mad … his beautiful aunt makes him look like a choir boy.

“As for playing the royal court … MacDonnell will believe his wife’s accounting of my attempt to kill her, but the generals and court flotsam in Aandor will not put as much faith in the opinions of a woman. Aandor is not an enlightened society by any realistic measure, and my story will carry as much weight despite its fabrication.

“No, my friend … having failed to indoctrinate the prince to my own personal beliefs, the key is to get home by any means necessary and wait out this generation. Daniel’s heir will be the true emperor after all, the blood of twelve kings. I will appeal to these high-minded egos, placate their whims, and find myself in a position of influence again. And then, we shall reshape the world, by iron, by fire, and by blood.”

BOOKS BY EDWARD LAZELLARI

Awakenings

The Lost Prince

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

E
DWARD
L
AZELLARI
’s short story “The Date” was published by
Playboy
magazine. He has worked as a writer, illustrator, and graphic artist, doing projects for Marvel Entertainment and DC Comics. Lazellari lives in Jersey City, New Jersey. Visit him on the Web at
www.edwardlazellari.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE LOST PRINCE

Cover art by Chris McGrath

Edited by Paul Stevens

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

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New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-7653-2788-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4299-4743-5 (e-book)