COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE

Orlynd had wandered around aimlessly, not sure where he had been or where he was going. He turned a corner and found himself in an impossibly long corridor, which seemed to go on for an eternity.

The walls were painted a royal blue colour, the doors and windows were framed by ornately carved wood painted gold, and the cross beams at the ceiling contained gilded carvings of different animal and bird heads.

Perhaps eywis ur representations ay the animals thit can be found in the kingdom, Orlynd guessed.

Lining the walls were what appeared to be at least two to three hundred paintings by various artists. The portraits Orlynd saw included landscapes, many generations of the royal family, as well as some of the members of the royal court.

Orlynd stopped abruptly and turned, noticing one of the paintings on the wall was a portrait of his father wearing his full religious garments, during a time when the O’Brien name was still honourable.

He breathed out a slow breath between his lips and stared up at his father’s portrait. Orlynd’s gaze was so intense, it was as if he was attempting to communicate telepathically to the portrait. He pulled his hands together under his robe and raised them up to his waist.

Everyone Ah’ve ever loved has left me, even yis. How am Ah tae make yis proud? How can Ah dae this when Ah know Ah will never see yis again? Ah’m all alone, Orlynd thought.

“Who are you?” a demanding voice behind Orlynd said. He turned to see a young man slightly shorter, no older than his early teens, standing about a foot behind him. The teenage boy had piercing baby–blue eyes, and long curly brown hair, which was tied back in a braid. He was wearing a maize coloured tunic with black accents and a black belt wrapped around him, with a cream coloured silk shirt underneath, and black boots.

Orlynd bowed, realising the boy could be no one other than the king’s son.

“Ma apologises, Yir Grace. Ah dinnae hear yis approach,” Orlynd stammered.

The prince advanced, so he could inspect the painting that had captured Orlynd’s attention. He stopped next to the warlock, looked up at the painting and then gazed back at Orlynd, displeased. “Enlighten me. What do you find so interesting about this portrait?”

“Ah…err,” Orlynd muttered, contemplating how to answer the question.

The prince narrowed his eyes. “Are you refusing to answer my question?”

“Nae, Yir Grace,” Orlynd quickly responded.

Déor eyed Orlynd, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t believe I recall seeing your face in my father’s court before. What is your name and what house do you belong to?”

“Orlynd,” the warlock answered, growing intimated by the prince’s presence. He watched the prince circle him.

“Orlynd,” Déor said, eyeing him suspiciously. He stopped to glance back at the painting before turning back to the warlock. “Of course! You must be the warlock from Aracelly my father informed me about.” He turned back to the portrait before continuing. “And that painting is a portrait of your father,” he confirmed, looking over the warlock with a bit of a smug grin. “My, you’re pretty skinny. Do you even have anything under your robe?”

Orlynd shooed the prince’s hand away.

Déor chuckled, amused, before his expression changed over to a scowl. “Show me your wand, warlock.”

Orlynd stared at him in defiance.

“I said,” Déor said more firmly, “show me your wand.”

Orlynd did as he was told, pulling out his wand from a pocket of his breeches. He held it out in front of him nervously.

The prince shrugged his shoulders. “Pity. It appears pretty plain to me. I’ve seen other wands not as pathetic as yours.”

“It’s not pathetic!” Orlynd hissed. “Ma wand is designed tae bring enlightenment, n’ help clarify the true intentions ay people around me.”

“Is that so?” Déor challenged. “Tell me then, what am I thinking right now?”

“Ah cannae,” Orlynd said, putting his wand away.

“You cannot or you won’t?” Déor mocked, circling around the warlock again, stopping abruptly when he was face to face with Orlynd. “So, you’re really expecting me to believe you’re my father’s new soothsayer?”

“Ah am,” Orlynd said, growing uneasy.

“Well,” Déor laughed. “Go on then. Tell me my future, warlock.”

Orlynd stared at him with bewilderment.

Déor stared at him coldly. “You think you can disobey me? I am the crown prince. I told you to tell me my future! I command you to!”

Orlynd’s mind raced to come up with an explanation why he could not fulfil the prince’s request. Déor would never understand he had just recently acquired the ability and could not manipulate it to his will.

“Fool,” Déor said, shaking his head. “I was only jesting. Seriously, you cannot do it, can you? Thought so. You’re as worthless as the last man who claimed to be a soothsayer. It confirms my suspicions that my father only selected you out of pity. There are whispers that he is going mad. I cannot deny the claim myself. Why, if I had been king, I would have burned your father at the stake.”

“Dinnae speak ill ay ma father!” Orlynd answered angrily, raising a fist.

“Or what? Are you going to hit me, warlock? Or, maybe threaten to turn me into a frog?!” Déor grinned, amused. “I dare you to.” His expression quickly changed to disgust. “Once word spreads of your incompetence, you will be made the laughingstock of the kingdom. You are no use to the king nor to me. It would be better if you were gone sooner than later.”

He turned his attention to one of servants hurrying down the hallway. “You there,” he stated, pointing. He then pointed to the portrait of Orlynd’s father. “Take this portrait down and get it out of my sight!”

He glanced back to Orlynd and smirked. He said maliciously, “You will notice that kind of filth is unwelcome here. It is just a matter of time before you are unwanted, too. Better watch your head, warlock!”