CARA FOREST—THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1260 CE

Froebel! Ah goat tae help him,” Orlynd mumbled, jolting awake and quickly sitting up. He took several quick breaths and attempted to calm his racing heart. He gazed around him with confusion.

He was still in the Cara Forest near the end of a red clay road he had been following by horse for several days.

It was now daylight, but he vaguely remembered setting camp the previous evening when fatigue overcame him, prohibiting him from being able to travel any further. He had made a small fire and had carefully positioned Déor against one of the trees in order to prevent him from injuring himself further.

The only sounds were of birds chirping, mosquitoes buzzing, and small animals scurrying through the underbrush.

Orlynd breathed a sigh of relief. He carefully reached up and touched his brow, noticing he was covered in a cold, damp sweat. He had had the dream again, only this time it hadn’t felt like a dream. This time it had felt real.

Orlynd’s mind flashed to Froebel as he lay dying in his twin brother’s arms. He recalled his appearance. He had the same colour hair as Déor, and his twin, Friedrich, was dressed in the kingdom’s royal attire and had Déor’s eyes.

However, there was also a distinct difference. Never in the king’s lineage had there been a warlock, and yet, in Friedrich’s hand, had been a wand.

There was no doubt in his mind, the lad was a warlock, and possessed the wand that belonged to Lady Liliana, the healer witch from Poveglia. Yet it was impractical. Based on the rules of the Rite of Wands, a wand could only serve one witch or warlock. It could never serve another. Which meant, yes, he was certain—Friedrich and Froebel, born of witch and man, had to be the king’s heirs. But that didn’t explain why they had been able to possess her wand. They were the mirror twins the prophecy spoke of. The prophecy had come true. And if this had been a true omen, their future was in peril. There was still a chance this future would not happen. Fate could be changed. This vision could never happen. This vision would not happen.

Determination filled Orlynd’s heart. He would see to it that the royal line of Vandolay would remain safe, and he would start doing that by finishing the task before him—getting the king to Poveglia.

He stood up and began to walk towards Déor, slumped up against a tree. “Yir Majesty,” whispered Orlynd. “Forgive me. Yis cannae continue tae sleep. We must be hasty n git yis tae Poveglia.”

He gasped.

Déor’s face was deathly pale and there was a blue tint around the corners of Déor’s lips.

“Yir Majesty!” Orlynd exclaimed, quickly approaching him. He knelt down beside Déor and placed a cool hand against his brow.

The fever’s getting worse.

“Forgive me, Yir Majesty. Ah hudnae even goat a deck at yir wound.”

Carefully, Orlynd repositioned Déor onto his back. He unfastened Déor’s tunic, unbuttoned his wool shirt, and opened it, so he could check the wound.

Orlynd’s face turned grim. Déor’s breathing had become shallow overnight, and the wound looked more metallic than ever. It also did not appear to be healing at all.

Orlynd placed a finger on Déor’s neck and checked for a pulse. He sighed with relief to find a quick though strong heartbeat. Hope was not all lost. There was still time to get the king to Poveglia.

“No,” whined Déor.

“Yir Majesty?” questioned Orlynd. “Can yis hear me?”

Déor let out a high–pitched squeal, which sounded like an old kettle about to boil and let off steam.

Before Orlynd’s brain could register what was about to occur, Déor’s body stiffened and began to convulse.

“Hang oan, Yir Majesty! Stay wi me!” shouted Orlynd. He quickly repositioned Déor onto his side. Tears fell down the warlock’s cheeks.

It’s ma fault. Ah’ve waited tae long. This fit may take him n’ thir is naught more Ah can dae tae help him.

Orlynd closed his eyes and prayed Déor would survive.

Shortly, the fit stopped and Déor’s body relaxed. Orlynd opened his eyes and gently lifted his hands off the king. Anxiously, he reached up and checked for a pulse. Déor was still alive, though his pulse had gotten significantly weaker.

Orlynd stood up and readied his horse.

“Hang oan, Yir Majesty,” Orlynd said, stomping out the fire. He turned and attempted to lift the king.

Blimey! He is heavier than Ah realised, Orlynd thought to himself.

He reached into his robe for his wand and pointed it at himself. “Esallertis!”

Feeling additional strength in his arms, he turned and easily lifted the king and positioned him back onto the horse.

“Thit’s better,” Orlynd said. He climbed onto the horse, placed his arms securely around Déor and grabbed the reins. “Stay wi me a little bit longer! Ah will git yis tae Poveglia!!”

He then gently tapped his heel underneath the horse’s stomach, commanding him to move.

As they approached the end of the forest, increasing patches of sunlight could be seen glimmering between the trees. Soon they were in the warm sun and on their way to the large wooden gate, which led into the eastern portion of the kingdom of Aracelly.

The kingdom of Aracelly was an enchanted kingdom, surrounded by a large river in the shape of an oval, believed by many to be the gateway to the heavens.

The eastern portion of the kingdom containing cobblestone streets and numerous stone buildings of the same height was where most business and entertainment took place.

The centre of the kingdom contained four main crossing points, each leading to a variety of other businesses including the sanatorium, Poveglia, which was home to its best healers, and the Draconigena Mountain, located on Draconigena Island in the middle of the harbour. Located directly south was a vast area of flatland, which served as home to many of its residents as well as a resource to grow food and raise animals. Directly to the east were miles and miles of farmland and different coloured cottages.

The gate hadn’t always been there. Travellers’ used to be able to come and go through the kingdom as they pleased, but that was before the great purge.

The gate itself was very large and made of wood that was worn from years of exposure to the elements. At first sight it appeared to be solid, but on further inspection a small doorway could be seen in one corner.

As Orlynd reigned his horse to a stop he studied this small door and shouted, “Oan the orders ay His Majesty, the king ay Vandolay, Ah command yis tae open the gate!”

A short warlock with a bent back opened the door slightly, took a good look at Orlynd and then proceeded to close the door, only keeping it slightly ajar. He questioned. “And why would the king of Vandolay request entry into Aracelly, the kingdom of the warlocks?”

Orlynd took a deep breath and spoke a bit sternly. “Ah’ve come seeking aide fir the king. He has been poisoned n’ will die wi out help fi the healers ay Poveglia.”

“I see. In bad shape is he?” asked the gatekeeper.

Orlynd was quickly growing irritated by the delay. “Ah’m Orlynd fi Aracelly n’ Ah’m his advisor n’ soothsayer. It is ma sworn duty tae serve His Majesty. Now, delay me nae further n’ let me pass!”

The gatekeeper hesitated before replying, “Orlynd the soothsayer, we want no trouble here. How do I know that is the real king of Vandolay and not some imposter? You are not carrying the flag of the kingdom.”

“Ah sent the king’s guard carrying the flag back tae Coinneach Castle tae alert Her Majesty,” Orlynd answered. He waited for the warlock to open the gate, but again, he did not. Orlynd had had just about enough. “If yis dinnae open the gate, Ah will smash it apart wi ma wand!” Orlynd asserted. “Ah’m Orlynd O’Brien, son ay…”

“O’Brien? Yes, I know who you are. Everyone here knows who YOU are. And it is my job to keep people like you on the outside,” the gatekeeper answered.

Orlynd’s eyes were full of furry. He didn’t have time to argue. Déor needed help now! He held out his wand in the direction of the wooden gate and shouted, “Obrate resillas!”

The gatekeeper glanced towards the gate. Creaking wood and stressing hinges met his ears. He jumped out of the way before the gate was smashed to pieces.

Orlynd placed his wand back into his robe. “Ah says nae mair.”

He held his eyes forward, taking a hold of the reigns. He squeezed his thighs and gently kicked his horse, who protested with a neigh. They quickly proceeded through what remained of the gate and onwards towards the heart of the kingdom.