COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE

In the land of Iverna among vast farmland, deciduous woodland covered in wild garlic, and rocky meadows, resided a kingdom of men called Vandolay. Over time, the kingdom had become recognised for its obsequious and short–tempered king, and its arrogant and no–nonsense prince, rather than its abundant wildlife, varied crops and flourishing economy.

Tiberius paced in front of King Francis’s private apartment where the king of Vandolay was enjoying some quiet time alone in the dining area.

“Your Grace, I’ve come to ask for…no, still not right. How did it go again?” Tiberius questioned with laboured breath, stopping abruptly to wipe his hands. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. He glanced down the hallway, taking note of the paintings by various artists, trying to calm himself. Sweat ran down his back underneath his deep red robe. He straightened the vestments of his religious attire and tried to stop his knees from knocking together. His footsteps echoed as he again nervously paced the stone floors. Sunlight shone through a narrow window highlighting his anguished face.

“How did whit go, father?” Orlynd asked, filled with bewilderment. “Yis said his Grace wished tae see me.”

“His Grace did not exactly say it, but do not fear, his mind will change. You brought your wand with you, did you not?” Tiberius questioned.

“Aye, but Ah dinnae understand?”

“Never mind,” Tiberius interrupted. “It may be necessary to have.” Tiberius returned to his rehearsed speech. “Your Grace, I’ve been blessed by God. Yes, that will be sufficient.” He breathed deeply and placed his hand over the door lever. Certainly, if he could return to God’s good graces after committing an unforgivable sin, so then, couldn’t he once again find the king’s forgiveness? He turned the lever and pushed, only to find it locked.

“Halt, right there!” yelled Thomas, one of the king’s guards on duty, spotting Tiberius and Orlynd. “You cannot enter.”

Tiberius and Orlynd stopped. Tiberius leaned in and whispered, “Orlynd, when you see me gesture to you with my hand, I need you to cast a charm on the lock to unlock his Majesty’s private apartment. I will distract the guard.”

“But, father! Ah dinnae think…” Orlynd began.

Tiberius turned to see a young man dressed in a gold tunic with dark blue leggings underneath approaching them. The crest of the kingdom was on his breast.

“I beg your pardon?” Tiberius smiled with only the corners of his lips turned upward. He cleared his throat. The sound echoed down the hall.

A rush of heat travelled to Orlynd’s face.

The guard narrowed his eyes. “The king is not to be disturbed.”

Tiberius, smiling with a closed mouth, turned to the guard. He said politely, “Forgive me. I did not catch your name.”

“Thomas,” the guard answered matter–of–factly.

Tiberius concluded the best way to distract the guard was by means of reasoning. “Thomas, my good fellow, I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I seek an audience with his Grace. My son, Orlynd, has something of great value.”

“Nae, Ah dinnae,” Orlynd protested.

Tiberius raised his hand to silence his son.

Thomas briefly eyed the boy suspiciously then glanced back at Tiberius. He continued, “There is no mistake, your Eminence. His Majesty has stated you are not welcome in his court. You both must follow me now quietly or you’ll be arrested for treason.”

Orlynd felt his heart start to race at the announcement. “Father,” he begged, fearing his father would cause further disgrace. “Please!”

Tiberius glared at his son. “Very well, then. Lead the way.” Tiberius smiled in an annoying self–satisfied manner. He took a few steps forward then stopped. He waited until the guard had turned his back towards them before gesturing to his son.

Orlynd’s eyes grew wide as he watched his father make a fist with his right hand and rotate it around three times counter–clockwise before bending his fist downward and stopping.

Orlynd shook his head.

Again, he was met with a scowl.

Orlynd felt sweat now dripping down the back of his robe. He did not have the courage to stand up to his father. Orlynd sighed deeply and nodded in defeat. He removed from the inside of his robe a lignum vitae wooden wand with a Satya Mani Quartz crystal fused at the shaft. Turning to face the door, he pointed his wand towards the door lever. With a frown, he whispered, “Obrate foríando.”

The sound of a lock unbolting met his ears. Shortly followed by the sound of obnoxious creaking as the door opened on its own.

Tiberius turned around, smiled approvingly. “Quickly, son!”

“Halt!” Thomas yelled, pursuing them.

They swiftly moved inside the king’s private apartment.

The trio found themselves in a large room. The thick richly decorated rug stretching from wall to wall muffled their footsteps as they entered. Heavy royal red drapes hung from the top of the two floor–to–ceiling windows. These had been pulled back and the windows hung open to allow a slight breeze to cool the room. The sparse furnishings included two writing desks and chairs made of a dark walnut wood.

Orlynd was most impressed with the quartet of floor–to–ceiling shelves, filled with books on either side of a doorway at the far end of the room. He could only imagine the stories and information contained within them.

The king, hearing the distraction, approached from another room, pulling on a long grey silk dressing gown with gold accents on the sleeves, and tying a belt around his waist. “What is the meaning of this?” He glared at his guard and sneered. His shoulder length curly brown hair was voluminous and slightly dishevelled. “Thomas, unless my memory has failed me, which it has not, I commanded you to keep the door locked.”

The guard abruptly bowed to the king. “I am so sorry, Your Grace,” Thomas said, stammering, trying to re–gather his composure. “I told them you were not to be disturbed. I made no mistake in locking the door. It was the boy, sir. He is a warlock.”

The king raised a hand and silenced Thomas. He quickly glanced over at the boy, and dismissed Thomas’s accusation. Turning his attention to Tiberius, he spoke with an assertive, no–nonsense tone. “Tiberius O’Brien. I thought I had made myself clear. You and your family were to return to Edesia immediately.”

“Yes,” Tiberius said with an apologetic tone. “A thousand pardons, Your Grace. I wanted…”

“I should have you locked up in the dungeons of Tarloch Castle for your insubordination. How dare you disturb me while I am in my private chambers!”

Tiberius dropped to his knees and lowered himself to the ground, his oily black hair brushing the king’s shoes. “Forgive me Your Majesty! I beg of you. Please allow me to explain. I have found you a new advisor!”

Francis eyed the sixteen–year–old boy standing behind Tiberius. “What is this mockery? Do you take me for a fool, Chancellor?”

“No, Your Grace,” Tiberius answered nervously as he raised himself from the ground and kissed the king’s hand. “I assure you this is no jest.”

Francis took in a deep breath, took another glance at the boy and studied his appearance. He looked nothing like the man standing beside him. He was thin, had ginger brown hair and deep piercing brown eyes. In fact, he reminded him more of himself when he was a young prince, minus the eyes and the hair.

Could he be? Nay, it is impossible.

The king’s heart took a sudden thump as he was instantly reminded of one of his beloved advisors, Celeste, who had been considered a confidant and a close friend before she had passed unexpectedly.

This cannot be, yet the resemblance is uncanny. The boy’s patronage is unquestionable.

Francis shot a sideways glance at Orlynd. He had to scrutinise him to discover the truth. “What is your name, boy?” the king inquired.

“O…Orlynd, Yir Grace,” Orlynd replied between swallows. His throat closed up, preventing him from speaking. His breathing increased and sweat began to drip down the side of his face.

The king’s eyes grew wide and his heart softened. He recognised the Lorritish burr of his former advisor, who was also from the nation of Lorrina. There could be no mistaking it now.

“You are Celeste’s boy, are you not, Orlynd?” Francis asked.

“Aye,” Orlynd confirmed, nodding his head. Orlynd didn’t see why the king asked him the question; all he knew was that his mother had once served as advisor to the king.

The king turned in disbelief. He glanced upward, tears filling his eyes, recalling the smile on her face when she had informed him she was with child.

You were so happy, and I was delighted for you. I will never understand why you chose to hide the real truth from me!

Orlynd’s heart began to race. Had he offended the king?

“Should I be rid of them, Your Grace?” Thomas questioned.

“Leave us!” the king abruptly shouted, startling Orlynd.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Thomas bowed, speaking no further, and took his leave, shutting the door behind him.

The king composed himself and turned to Tiberius. “You are certain the boy has the gift?”

Tiberius smiled at Orlynd. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Sudden warmth filled the king’s heart. “Speak quickly and tell me everything you know,” the king commanded.

Tiberius adjusted his collar. “Yes, well, I returned home after our last audience. I went into my study and found my son standing frozen, facing the wall, his eyes trancelike and fearful. A remnant of flames glowed in his pupils.”

Francis folded his hands and let out a deep breath. “I want to believe you, but Celeste never had episodes such as this. If Orlynd is truly a soothsayer like you say, then he will have to prove it. The boy shall step forward.”

Orlynd’s jaw dropped.

How was he supposed to prove to the king he was a soothsayer? He couldn’t control it by sheer will. Being a soothsayer wasn’t a gift. It was a curse! He would fail. There was no way he could possibly prove it to either of them.

He glanced back at his father with desperation.

Tiberius whispered in his ear. “Tell his Grace, what you stated in the study, yeah?”

Orlynd nodded, noticing the king was quickly growing impatient.

“All right,” Tiberius smiled. “Go on then.”

Orlynd hesitated to move.

Tiberius responded by clearing his throat and nudging him forward.

Orlynd’s heart raced. What if he couldn’t remember what he said? What if the king didn’t believe him? He so badly wanted to please his father. What if he let him down? He looked up into the face of the king.

“Well? Do you have something to say to me or not, boy?”

“A…aye, Yir Majesty,” Orlynd stammered. “S…sorry, Yir Grace.”

“For God’s sake, spit it out, boy!”

The king watched him intently.

Orlynd closed his eyes and positioned his hands inside his brown robe. He blinked, lowering his head. Orlynd opened his eyes, raised his head and spoke confidently.

“When dual warlocks ay royal blood reflect thair image, a time ay great peril will commence. Oan who is coerced will seek the betrayal ay power; the energy ay magic will serve the bearer who brings peace.”

Francis paused, deep in thought.

“Your Grace?” Tiberius said, questioning the king’s hesitation.

“Never in the history of this kingdom has any member of the crown contained the blood of a warlock,” he said, dismissing the prediction. “I fail to see the relevance of this.”

“With all due respect, sire,” Tiberius said. “I believe my son is delivering a message of warning. You know as well as I, it would not be difficult for a witch from the kingdom of Aracelly to conjure up an enchantment to use on you and your son without your consents!”

“Silence!” the king snapped, his eyes blazing. “I do not seek your advice. I have already made a grave error allowing you to convince me to agree to the Vatican’s plan of purging Iverna of Magulians. The crown is in danger and my people believe I have gone mad! I will hear no more.”

“I urge Your Majesty to re–evaluate!” Tiberius persuaded. “My son’s gift is real. Orlynd can help restore Your Grace’s honour.”

“Tell me,” Francis hissed. “Are Orlynd and the Vatican going to pay for the ships and supplies I lost in order to eradicate the Magulians? I think not.” He had enough of Tiberius’s nonsense. “Chancellor, I will personally arrange for the next carriage to take you back to Edesia immediately. You can pass your wisdom onto the Edesian church. You will never step forth in my castle again or heed my warning: I will not show you mercy. As for your son, Orlynd, I have decided…”

Orlynd lowered himself to the ground as the king turned his back. “Ah beg ay yir forgiveness, Yir Grace!”

The king stopped, shocked by Orlynd’s reaction. “Orlynd. Rise,” Francis commanded, waiting till the warlock stood back up. “Never throw yourself at my feet again. You need only bow.”

Orlynd nodded, tearfully.

Perhaps he has the gift or perhaps not. Time will unravel the truth, but keep him near in honour of Celeste, I shall. Francis thought to himself.

“Orlynd O’Brien,” the king continued. “I appoint you as my new advisor. You shall serve my family just as your mother did.”

Orlynd stared at the king with disbelief. “Thank yis, Yir Grace.”

The king continued. “I will arrange new quarters for you here at court. You shall have everything you will ever need as long as you stay in my good graces. I will look to you as my conscience and as my friend. This is your home now.”

Orlynd carefully listened to the king’s instructions.

“As for your father, he must pay for his sins.” Francis glared at Tiberius. “He has shamed his family name. This is a burden you must also bear.” He turned back to Orlynd. “I am sorry. I know you already have lost your mother and your brother. Your mother was very dear to me, and I promise you, I will forever honour her memory. I am sorry you must lose your father now, too.”

“Whit?” Orlynd uttered, frantically eyeing his father.

The king turned, walked to the door of his private apartment and opened it. He looked into the eyes of Tiberius. “You are hereby exiled. Get out of my sight,” he said. He then addressed Thomas and ordered, “Take Chancellor O’Brien away.”

“Father!” Orlynd shouted, his eyes wide in shock. He attempted to run towards him, but was halted by the king’s arm.

“Your Majesty, I beg of you!” Tiberius yelled as several guards dragged him away.

“Father!” Orlynd cried, tears rolling down his face, as he watched the scene unfold.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!!!”