COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY

1260 CE

Orlynd walked down a long hallway that ran the length of Coinneach Castle. The walls were stained a dark red and the flooring was made of cherry wood. As he walked down this hallway, he couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the ancestors of the royal family were watching him. If it weren’t for the many strategically placed windows, the hall would have been in complete darkness.

As Orlynd approached an intercepting hallway, he could hear footsteps coming toward him. And at the very instant he reached the intersecting hall, the warlock Lochlann stepped out of the hallway and joined him.

Orlynd glanced to the side where the man was walking beside him. He stopped as his blood ran cold.

Lochlann continued to walk down the hallway, when he noticed Orlynd had stopped and appeared to be staring at him. He slowed and turned around. “Um? Excuse me, is there something I can assist you with? Dare I suggest you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

At first Orlynd didn’t say anything, for he was absorbed in his own thoughts. After a few moments he came to his senses and allowed his racing heart to calm. He breathed deeply and then laughed with embarrassment. “Sorry. Forgive me fir ma rudeness. Ah dinnae mean tae stare. Yis reminded me ay someone Ah used tae know. Ah wis oan ma ain tae huv an audience wi his Majesty. Yis must be new tae his Majesty’s court? Ah huv nae seen yis around here before.”

“I am sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a member of his Majesty’s court,” Lochlann answered, studying Orlynd curiously. “Your speech, is that Lorritish? You must be a diplomat from Edinbraugh, I presume?”

“Nae,” Orlynd countered. “Ah wis born in the kingdom ay Aracelly. Ah reckon ma Mam wis fi Edinbraugh in Lorrina. Ah’m a member ay the king’s court.”

“Oh. You’re a warlock like myself then. Shame we have never met before. Perhaps we could share a fine drink at Brishen’s next time you might be traveling to the kingdom of Aracelly?” Lochlann smiled. “I don’t suspect this will be the last time I see you. I live in Glendalow now, but I can never turn down a social invitation. Anyway, I’m here to have an audience, too, but with the queen. I am an old friend of hers, and, you’re a member of the king’s court? Who you are precisely?”

“Ma name is Orlynd. Ah am his Majesty’s advisor. N’ yis?”

“An advisor, fancy that. My name is Lochlann,” Lochlann responded. “Forgive me. The queen is expecting me, and I do not wish to delay her further. Perhaps I shall see you again, Or?”

“Orlynd,” Orlynd corrected.

Lochlann nonchalantly smiled. “Mm. It was nice to meet you, Orlynd.”

Orlynd stood still like a statue. He intently watched Lochlann turn and continue down the hallway towards the Queen’s private apartments. There was an extreme uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. The warlock resembled Tiberius minus his religious attire. He had the same dark oily hair with the same piercing brown eyes. However, he was thin, and slightly shorter than Orlynd and maybe about ten years younger. The uncanny resemblance had to be a mere coincidence, for his father had been exiled nearly thirty years ago, and both his mother and younger brother had perished. Yet something about this man deeply troubled him. There was a fear in his heart he could not place.

It was like Lochlann had said; he had seen a ghost.

“ARE YOU pleased, Your Majesty?” the Lady of the Bedchamber questioned, adding a five–strand pearl choker around the queen’s neck.

Queen Anya sat in front of her vanity in Coinneach Castle located in the Kingdom of Vandolay. Singing to herself with an angelic soprano voice, she stared at her reflection proudly in the hand mirror. Her eyes intensely gazed as she observed her Lady of the Bedchamber manipulate her long, ginger blonde hair into a beautiful braided bun. She finished by gently stabbing a tiara into the top of Anya’s bun.

Anya replied, “Do not ask such a foolish question, child. Do you wish me displeased?”

Vanessa kept her eyes adverted to the floor and waited until the queen permitted her to speak.

“A thousand pardons, my Lady,” Vanessa said nervously, displaying her inexperience. “I will not ask such questions again. Please allow me to assist you into your dress.”

“Granted.”

Anya stood, staring off into the distance without giving further attention to her servant, as she was assisted into her purple and cream–coloured gown for the evening.

A small smile crept from the corners of her mouth as she secretly imagined the results of the upcoming celebration of the king’s coronation in three days. She expected the warlock Lochlann’s arrival at any time. She had sent him a letter, urging him to seek an audience with her. She had schemed the most unprecedented plan starring Lochlann as a pawn in her giant chessboard.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. “What is it?”

“The warlock Lochlann to see you, Your Majesty,” Aonghus nervously mumbled.

The page was also a new servant to Anya, a boy of no more than eleven. He guarded her bedroom from unwelcome guests, much to Queen Anya’s annoyance.

“Let him come,” she answered, raising an eyebrow, as Vanessa finished misting her with her favourite perfume.

Aonghus opened the door to let the warlock in.

“That will be all, thank you,” Anya addressed Vanessa, and waited until both of her servants had taken their leave.

“YIR MAJESTY,” Orlynd said, bowing before the king, after he had been permitted to enter the king’s private apartment for an audience.

“Orlynd,” Déor smiled. “Thank you for coming. I seek your counsel today.”

Orlynd lowered his gaze towards the ground and positioned his hands inside his brown robe as he rose. He waited for Déor to continue speaking.

Déor stood up from a chair in front of a table filled with wooden soldiers and ships, strategically set for battle. He walked towards a window that had been left slightly ajar. “The anniversary of my coronation is quickly approaching, and while my heart should be filled with joy, I find myself troubled.”

The 15th of October was a day of commemoration, celebrating the anniversary of King Déor’s coronation. It began in the morning with a traditional royal party hunt, which spread across the vast lands of the kingdom to the border of Glendalow and the kingdom of Aracelly. Using the game the royal hunting party killed, Déor rewarded his subjects with a feast, acknowledging their loyalty.

“May Ah ask whit is troubling Yir Majesty?”

Déor stared outside the window and focused on his garden. “I received a letter containing grave news from Edesia. I have been informed their country has been hit by plague. Hundreds have already fallen ill and many have perished. King Henrik has implemented a quarantine of the country immediately and requests all carriages avoid the area until further notice. I worry the plague will spread here. Make haste, and share this information with the kingdom of Aracelly.”

“Aye, Yir Majesty,” Orlynd answered. He waited for Déor to dismiss him, but it never came to be. “Is thir something else, Yir Majesty?”

Déor hesitated. He glanced back at Orlynd for a brief moment before turning around. He took in a deep breath. “Yes, I realise it is not the time for personal matters, but my mind will not be at ease. I have been having this recurring dream involving a buck, doe, and their two fawns. The buck and the doe are killed and a dragon carries their fawns away. I fear there is a coup manifesting behind my back in my court and God has become displeased with me.”

Orlynd could see the hidden pain in Déor’s face. “May Ah ask yis, how yis came tae this conclusion?”

“My queen aggravates me,” Déor explained as he paced. “She has been unable to bless me with an heir. It is making people question my ability to rule when there are none to reign after me.” Déor stopped and stared directly at Orlynd. “We may be on good terms with Edesia now, but I assure you King Henrik would like nothing better than to overthrow me and claim Iverna as his own.”

“Thit cannae happen, Yir Majesty,” Orlynd stated.

“And what would bring you to such a conclusion?” Déor asked a bit irritated.

“Ah beg fir yis tae listen. The prophecy states thir shall be identical lads. Dinnae despair, Yir Majesty. Yir lineage shall continue! Yis shall huv children.”

“And what does this derisible prophecy also state, Orlynd?” Déor interrupted. “How about that it will bring destruction to my kingdom. I will hear no more of it.”

“Aye, Yir Majesty,” said Orlynd, defeated. If only he could tell Déor about his reoccurring dream, but even then, it would not bring Déor comfort.

Déor calmed himself. “I shall visit Anya in her bedchambers tonight to demonstrate my continued love. May God bless our union and allow her to give me a child,” Déor said. “There is one other matter I would like to discuss with you. At my coronation celebration, I wish for my guide to be at my side as a part of the royal party. It would be my honour to have you accompany me during the hunt. Do you accept?”

Orlynd raised his eyes and peered at Déor. “Ah shall dae as Yir Majesty wishes.”

“It is settled then,” Déor smiled. “You are permitted to leave.”

Orlynd removed his hands from inside his brown robe and raised his hood over his face. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. He then stopped, lost in his thoughts.

“What? What is it?” Déor inquired.

Orlynd hesitated, then turned back towards Déor and lowered his hood. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Yir Majesty, in court today Ah met a warlock who claimed tae be a friend ay Anya. He said his name wis Lochlann. If Ah may request, Ah need information oan the identification ay this man.”

“Lochlann?” recalled Déor. “Yes, he is one of Mortain McKinnon’s boys. Mierta is the older brother. You do not recall they helped save your life?”

“Aye, Yir Majesty. Ah huv nae forgotten their kindness,” Orlynd answered.

Déor nodded, continuing. “The Queen has a friendship with them not unlike our own. Lochlann is the least strange of the lot. They reside in Glendalow. Why? Has Lochlann done something I should be concerned about?” Déor questioned.

Orlynd smiled and held back a chuckle. “Nae, yer Majesty,” he answered with relief, concluding there was no resemblance between his father and the warlock. “Forgive me. Ma memory must huv momentarily failed me.”

LOCHLANN APPROACHED Anya, genuflected and pressed his lips to her hand.

She turned her head away, barely able to hide her disdain. His oily, black hair fell over his face. She waited until he had stood back up and placed his hands inside his blood red and black robe with gold accents.

“Do you still love me?” Anya questioned.

“Yes, Your Majesty I love you like the first day I set my eyes upon you. My love for you shall never change.”

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she rose from her couch. She lightly traced her finger along the jawline of the warlock until she reached the tip of his chin, before gracefully moving away from him and setting her palm on the back of the couch. “Would you do anything for me?” she asked as she elegantly walked across the room and opened the drawer of her vanity.

He answered with surprise. “Why, Your Majesty; I would do anything you ask of me. Do you not know this?”

“Indeed,” she replied. With her back to the warlock, she pulled out a small vial of liquid. She slipped the vial between the cleft of her breasts and clenched a pouch in her right hand. A small grin caressed the queen’s lips as she swung around and let out a laugh. “I know this, my Lochlann. That is why I request you do this for me.”

Lochlann knelt down in front of her. “I will do whatever Your Majesty requests of me.”

Anya stared at Lochlann. Soon she would know his true allegiance. “You may rise,” she said. Lochlann slowly stood up.

Anya as she spoke again. “There is one more thing.” With a seductive gleam in her eye, she removed the vial from her cleavage.

Lochlann immediately recognised the grey coloured vial. He watched as she twirled it around in her hand. He tried his best to hide his surprise.

“Forgive me,” Lochlann said, after clearing his throat. “I did not know Your Majesty had interest in potions.”

“Preposterous,” Anya answered. She stood and held the vial out towards Lochlann. “Have a look if you wish,” she said with a sigh, handing the potion to Lochlann.

Lochlann opened the vial and inspected its contents. “There is only one warlock capable of concocting such a mixture. It must have been difficult to obtain it from Mierta willingly.”

“Nonsense, Mierta was happy to oblige once I bestowed upon him the duty of my father’s new potion maker. He’ll be able to test all of his new potions on the prisoners to be executed!”

“That will be quite an improvement in his current situation. I’m sure he will be thrilled to test his potions on people instead of rats,” Lochlann jested. “But, why did you request my presence?”

“Why, my dear, Lochlann,” she said, approaching him. She traced her finger against the bottom of his chin once more before placing her hands gently around his cheeks. “I am confident you will see the plan through.” She gracefully walked back to the couch. “The celebration of Déor’s coronation approaches, and this year’s celebration will not be forgotten.”

“Are you ordering me to kill Déor? If this should fail I will lose my head!” Lochlann protested.

“And THAT, Lochlann,” she spoke with a threatening gleam in her eyes, “is why you will succeed.”

“Of course,” Lochlann quickly answered, with a hint of uncertainty. “How would Your Highness suggest I proceed?”

Anya’s cheeks flushed. She smiled with nervous anticipation. Soon the kingdom of Vandolay would be hers. She just needed Lochlann to fulfil her wish.

“Déor presently has twice as many servants testing his food and drink,” Anya stated. “It is appropriate for the occasion. He is beloved among our subjects. You will not be able to slip it into his meals without notice. Seek out Eoghan, leader of bandits. He owes me a favour. You will find him at his usual hangout—the back alleys.

“Instruct him to cover his arrows with the bottle’s contents. He will know what to do. Tell him, he will be greatly rewarded on the condition that he succeeds. The queen shall personally clear his name of any wrongdoing, including the charge of poaching of Déor’s deer, and there will be no further discussion of the incident. You never saw him nor did you ever speak to him. But if he should fail, or if he should mention anything that would be threatening he will be executed.”