COINNEACH CASTLE—
THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1260 CE
Night had fallen and the banquet hall of Coinneach Castle was filled with guests celebrating the day’s festivities. Witches and warlocks from the kingdom of Aracelly, and men from the kingdom of Vandolay and Glendalow attended.
The queen’s court enjoyed dancing to the fiddler’s music while other guests enjoyed food and wine. All seemed to be genuinely pleased to be in attendance, except for the queen.
“His Majesty has still not returned from the royal hunt,” chided Ciarán, sitting to the left of his daughter. “Certainly he will be disappointed to be missing all these celebrations in his honour.”
“Is that worry I hear in your tone?” mocked Anya. She sneered. “I am certain my husband will not be delayed much longer. Tell me, what news of Glendalow?”
“The plan has been a success. The potato crops are turning black and shrivelling up in Deermid’s Fields. Even the ones that looked salvageable have gone bad. I sent word that the king was displeased with their inability to properly grow their crops and as a result has raised their taxes.”
Anya, most pleased at the news, nodded her head slowly.
“However, the people have objected. There is talk if Déor doesn’t change his mind, they will revolt.”
“Then we shall teach these worthless peasants that when they disobey their king, there will be further consequences,” Anya stated. She leaned back into her chair and grinned. “If they don’t want to pay taxes then their contribution to Déor’s tribute will be increased by 10%.”
“The crops are already failing; how will the people be able to give more?”
Before the steward could protest further, Anya raised her hand to silence him.
“They will simply have to work harder and plant more. And if they should choose to refuse again, the tribute will keep increasing until there is no food left and they have no choice but to sell their belongings, as well as their children off as slaves, in order to survive,” she continued.
“Forgive me, Anya, but why?”
“You will never address me in such an informal way ever again. I am not just some commoner, I am your Queen!” She leaned in close to her father. She paused, laughed to herself and backed away so no one would notice the conflict. She calmed herself. “Perhaps, I had not made myself clear. You may be the steward, and my father, but that does not make you indisposable. Do not think I cannot strip you of your title and banish you from my court.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Ciarán objected. “You easily forget you wouldn’t be the queen if I hadn’t convinced Chancellor O’Brien you were a worthy suitor for his Majesty’s son. King Francis would have searched elsewhere for a bride for his son.”
“Well, now,” she mocked. “King Francis is no longer the king, is he?” She smiled mischievously and then laughed.
Suddenly a loud commotion came from the entrance of the banquet hall.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!!!” exclaimed Tierney as he quickly made his way through the crowd towards the queen. The guests were shocked by this intrusion upon the celebration. Some protested loudly while others simply shook their heads.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Anya asked.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” said Tierney, lowering himself to the ground. “I come to you in haste with terrible news.”
Anya eyed him with anticipation. Her heart began to race. Had her plan to kill the king been successful?
“What is it, Tierney? Speak.”
Tierney took a deep breath and gazed up at Anya. “We were on the hunt in Cara Forrest. Déor became separated from us.”
“What happened, Tierney? Stop biting your tongue. What are you not telling me?”
Tierney looked directly into Anya’s eyes. “A man came out of the forest and shot the king with an arrow. Déor’s been poisoned.”
Anya stood abruptly. The crowd gasped. She stared forward, displaying no inkling that she already knew of the foul plot to kill the king. Anya swallowed, held her head high, and raised her hand to silence the crowd.
“Thank you, Tierney. We will find who is responsible for this crime and see that justice prevails.” She slowly approached Tierney as the crowd bowed. “I seek an audience with you and the steward in my private apartment immediately,” she stated. She then addressed her guests. “I bid the rest of you goodnight.”
McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW
1260 CE
“IS THERE anything else I can get for you, Monsieur McKinnon?” Armand asked as he brushed a cool wet cloth against the old man’s heavily wrinkled, feverish face.
“Yes,” Mortain answered with a raspy voice. He reached forward with a shaky hand as he tried to sit up.
Seeing he was too weak to do it himself, Armand approached the bed and assisted the doctor.
“Please fetch Mierta,” Mortain said between breaths. “Quickly! I…must…speak with him,” he took a deep breath and coughed several times. “Need…to…tell him. Be quick,” he uttered trying to calm his rapid breathing. “He is…in the cellar.”
“Oui, Monsieur. I’ll fetch him right away,” Armand said, carefully helping the doctor reposition comfortably in his sickbed.
“My quill!” Mortain gasped. “No time. Need…my quill.”
As soon as Armand had left the room, Mortain went into a coughing fit. He felt something warm and moist escape his lips and get caught in his beard. When he looked down towards his pillow, he also saw several drops of blood.
COINNEACH CASTLE—
THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1260 CE
“TIERNEY, TELL me everything you know,” commanded Anya.
“Of course, my queen,” Tierney replied, then hesitated. He contemplated informing her about Déor’s strange behaviour prior to the attack, but decided not to.
“Well?” said Anya.
“Yes, so sorry, my queen,” Tierney apologised. He cleared his throat. “The king stated there was a man dressed in a peasant’s tunic with a rope tied around his waist.”
The steward instantly recognised the man’s description.
“Your Majesty,” he began, “the man he speaks of is a resident of Glendalow. His name is Eoghan. He is a brigand. He is already wanted for looting. He has also been accused of being connected to an unsolved crime involving a witch who was murdered in a
back–alley twenty–five years ago.”
Anya turned to her father and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I am familiar with him. He has already had previous trouble with the crown for poaching fallow deer in Cara Forest.” She then turned back to Tierney. “Please, continue.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He cleared his throat again. “Eoghan flanked the king, using the fog to his advantage, and shot him.”
Anya nodded with understanding. “And Eoghan? Was he captured?”
“No my queen. He escaped through the forest.”
“I see,” Anya said as she walked towards the windows. “And where is the king now?”
“With the warlock Orlynd, My Queen. They are going to Aracelly.”
Anya turned suddenly. “To Poveglia I assume?”
“Yes, My Queen.”
Anya clenched her fists, but was careful not to display too much emotion. She relaxed her fists and smiled at Tierney. “I am pleased His Majesty is getting treatment. I am certain he will be cured. The kingdom of Aracelly has the best healers. If anyone can save the king, it will be their healer, the witch, Liliana. I’ve been informed her skills are legendary.” She then turned back to her father. “I require the assistance of your new potion maker.”
“Your Majesty?” Ciarán questioned. “Forgive me. I do not have a potion maker.”
“Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t informed you. That job has recently been filled. Mierta McKinnon will now be serving Glendalow and Vandolay. As you may recall, his father has served as court physician for many years, and lucky for us, Mierta has inherited his father’s talents. I could not envision anyone else being more capable.”
“Your Majesty has chosen well,” Ciarán replied.
“I’m glad you approve,” Anya responded. “Tell him he is to construct a truth serum for me. The information Eoghan provides him may be regretful. However, I trust his skills will force Eoghan to admit his guilt, and we will be able to quickly proceed with his execution.”
“As you wish. I will send a messenger to his residence as soon as I return to Tarloch Castle.”
“Excellent,” Anya answered. She waited until the steward had left the room. She then looked Tierney straight in the eyes.
“I have a request of you that I also hope you will accept.”
“Anything, My Queen.”
“Round up some of our best soldiers and make way to Glendalow and arrest the brigand.” Anya reached into a dresser drawer and pulled out a small pouch containing money. “For your trouble.”
“You are very generous, Your Majesty,” Tierney said.
Anya smiled again. “And don’t forget that,” she said, making a small twirl. “Thank you, Tierney. Now, please, leave me.”
Once Tierney had left, Anya collapsed onto her couch. At that very moment she realised her plan had backfired. Instead of eliminating the king, she had only quickened the timing of the prophecy. Everyone knew of the prophecy: a person of royalty would fall in love with a resident of the kingdom of Aracelly, resulting in not one, but two, identical heirs. This would bring forth the beginning of a dark period to all the kingdoms. And most importantly, her reign would be over.
“No,” she sobbed.
Rage filled her heart. She would see that the prophecy would not come true. If she had to kill Déor and his future concubine, she would.
She picked up her hand mirror and smashed it across the table. Then she knocked the table and its contents onto the floor.
At the same time, several soldiers who stood guard in the hall outside the queen’s private apartment tried their best to not show any reaction, completely oblivious of the real reason Anya was upset.
As each smash became louder, they couldn’t help but cringe.