Vol 5, Chapter 8

◆ The next day, His Majesty's POV. ◆

…the Five-Element Godleaf saplings were also damaged. Absolute vandalism!" the junior earth mage, serving as the royal gardener, concluded his report emotionally.

"I see, I see…" the King muttered and gestured for the gardener to leave.

The man swallowed the rest of his tirade, gave a short bow, and left the office. Silence fell, broken only by the King's heavy sigh.

Just one night in the Capital, and already, Merlin take it—what now? Night races in the middle of the city? Isn't the hippodrome enough for them? They woke up half the city with their antics.

Of course, it was still more harmless than that incident a few months back when a few dozen young nobles decided to "cleanse" the Capital of its slums…

Moreover, the Second Prince wouldn't stop. If he had managed to draw someone into his games once, there would surely be a second time… and the political situation was already delicate. He couldn't be allowed to keep tarnishing the Condors' reputation.

The King's gaze fell on one of the reports on his desk: a servant from one of the noble houses claimed that right after the race, the young Condor began praising the wheels of his carriage and suggesting that anyone interested should speak to his grandfather.

Wheels, harness straps, and the like no longer interested the King, but the fact that the Count was involved troubled him greatly.

He frowned, lifted the bell from the desk, and rang it. A servant appeared instantly.

"Find Count Condor and tell him I wish to see him. And also summon the Commonwealth's ambassador. Immediately."

The door closed, and hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Silence.

Robert Dorn removed the heavy crown from his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. But peace didn't come: his mind swarmed with troubling thoughts. Why was Condor in such a hurry? Why? He had made it clear to the Count that the matter was serious and that he had no intention of changing his decision. Ten or twenty years of preparation, and everything would have gone smoothly. Why take such a risk with Short? It was pure luck the man had been an incompetent fool, leading his troops into a steel storm and later failing to handle internal disputes, losing his elite. Perhaps those disputes had finished him off, at the hands of some disgruntled baron? Who knew…

What the King did know was that luck couldn't be relied on forever. Things needed to be done slowly and carefully: building influence, raising and training talented warriors so that in ten or twenty years there'd be a respectable force. Sending the young Condor on more diplomatic missions so that the court began to take him seriously. And keeping him as far away as possible from the Second Prince, who had always treated his duties carelessly. One question remained: was a single agent in the delegation enough, or should more have been sent?

From the shift in the air, Robert knew the door had opened. And since he heard no verbose greeting, it wasn't the ambassador.

"Carl, tell me…" the King began, opening his eyes, then stopped. Dastan stood in the doorway.

"Expecting someone else, Father?"

"Perhaps," the King said slowly, carefully reaching toward the crown.

"Oh, please. If I wanted to, you wouldn't have time to touch it," the Third Prince snorted, pulling up a chair and sitting without the slightest formality.

"What do you want?" the King asked bluntly, setting the crown back on his head with relief.

"The throne," he replied with a smile. "Kidding. An honest conversation, which we've never had… ever?"

"And is there any point in having one?"

"Perhaps we'll find it together."

"Then you have a few minutes," the King conceded, realizing there was no getting rid of the uninvited guest otherwise.

"Good. Then I'll start with the main question: what exactly about me displeases you, Father?"

Robert stayed silent.

"This conversation quickly became a monologue, hasn't it? But I'll continue. You wanted an heir who could balance between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy? I've achieved that and more. I have excellent relations with nearly all the Dukes, my opinion is respected by both the nobility and the guild leaders. I'm an exceptional diplomat, capable of finding common ground with anyone, and an equally exceptional warrior. And who do you want to replace me with? A reclusive oddball reeking of potions, who showed up at court less often than the ugly daughter of the Fourth Duke? Do you think the people will agree to that?"

"They will accept my decision," the King broke the silence.

"Or not? What if all three hale Dukes come to you and ask you to change it? Even with the crown, you don't have the personal strength to oppose all three at once."

"They won't come. They're satisfied with the current state of affairs."

"For now."

"And they will remain so. This conversation is over. Leave." The King made a nervous gesture toward the door.

"You haven't answered my question, Father."

"You want an answer? Fine, it's simple. You have no right to call me that," the King replied, discreetly wiping his hands on the hem of his robe.

Without a doubt, it was the truth—but far from the whole truth. Let the One be satisfied with that!

Silence settled in the office. The Third Prince moved his jaw slightly, as if tasting the King's words.

"I see. You know, Your Majesty, biologically I am certainly the son of the current Queen. Whether I am yours or not, I have no way of knowing. But did you even know your son? How often did you speak with him? I can't seem to recall."

Robert remained silent, seething inside.

"By the way, speaking of fatherhood, can you even be sure that Hornet wasn't—"

"ENOUGH!" the King roared. "You have your answer. Leave."

The Third Prince rose easily from the chair.

"I will. But I hope you reconsider and set aside your personal convictions for the good of the kingdom. When my dear brother returns covered in disgrace, you will have the chance to rethink. Then we'll speak again about who's who. Perhaps it will turn out that he isn't who he claims to be, either." Dastan laughed and opened the door, coming face-to-face with the ambassador. The silver-haired man in a robe immediately bowed deeply.

"Your Highness, Prince Dastan! I never dreamed I'd have the honor of seeing you again so soon. Only a few minutes ago I received a letter from my wife, full of praise for your treatment. Her improvement happened before her very eyes! I daresay—I am your eternal debtor."

"Come now, it is my duty as a prince to foster good neighborly relations between our countries," Dastan replied warmly, casting a triumphant glance at the King.

"My role in such large matters is insignificant," the ambassador protested, waving his hands.

"Even the sea is made only of drops of water," the Prince replied, and stepped into the corridor.

The ambassador quickly bowed to the King, red with embarrassment, suddenly realizing how disrespectful it was to converse in the doorway.

"It's quite all right, Monsieur Grams," the King said with a patronizing smile, barely remembering the ambassador's name.

"Pardon, but Grams was recalled by the lodge two months ago when it was discovered he had stolen laboratory reagents years earlier. I, Sador, was appointed in his place."

The King eyed the ambassador skeptically. Damn them all, why did every ambassador feel compelled to grow an absurdly long white beard, as if it made them more imposing? It only made telling them apart impossible. And the Commonwealth kept replacing them for the most ridiculous reasons, like this one. Why had the High Inquisitor held his post for over ten years, yet not a single Commonwealth ambassador lasted more than a year? Irritating.

"Very well, Sador. I have one very important question: is it possible to accelerate the departure?"

"No, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It's impossible. The gates will activate precisely at noon. We have no way to advance the process even by a few hours."

"Pity, pity. You may go," the King said, shaking his head, then muttered under his breath, "Let's hope they don't cause any more trouble in the hours remaining…"

A cautious knock at the door—Count Condor had finally arrived. The King immediately brightened.

"Carl! Tell me one thing… What's this story about the wheels, and how exactly were you involved in it?"


*****************

"Sir, wake up. It's already eight in the morning; in two hours you are expected at the palace."

The voice of the elderly maid pulled me out of muddled nightmares of being chased by dragons, likely a consequence of yesterday's hectic day. Yawning wide, I rolled off the bed and found a new set of clothes laid out on the chair. Well, the last suit hadn't fared too well against bushes and branches.

"Sir, shall I call you a carriage? I'm afraid ours still can't take you," came a voice from the first floor.

"Yes, please," I shouted back.

Yesterday, the first thing I did, as soon as the carriage made it out of the bushes, was rush to fetch the potion for the horses that would cancel the effects of the alchemical stimulants. After all, I had only borrowed them from Grandfather and had no intention of ruining them. Getting the heated horses to drink the potion was tricky but doable. Getting their snorting, exhausted bodies back to the estate proved much harder, as did getting myself there. The estate, a wedding gift to Grandfather, was located outside the city.

I reached it after dawn, accompanied by a small convoy of several carts. Unloading two sleeping horse bodies and one human one in a red robe, I collapsed into bed in a guest room. It felt like I had barely closed my eyes when it was time to get up.

Dressed, I went down to the first floor, where Asha was asleep on the sofa. Judging by the scorched table next to her, someone had already tried to wake her.

"Wake up, soldier!" I flicked her forehead and immediately smothered the wave of fire rushing toward me.

"Ow! What was that for?" she grumbled, rubbing her forehead.

"And what's with you damaging the furniture?" I pointed at the table.

"That wasn't me!" the mage tried to defend herself, then, glancing at the table, added, "I don't know anything. It did it on its own."

"Yeah, sure," I said, crossing my arms, but the firebug was saved by a servant.

"Sir, where will you be taking your meal? Shall I set the table in the dining room or bring it here?"

"Here!" Asha responded instantly, shaking off the last of her sleep. "Double portion!"

Breakfast arrived quickly. I chewed my cutlets, guarding my plate from my neighbor's greedy hands, and wondered how many owners this little estate and its servants had outlasted. The rooms, small by capital standards, were spotless, despite the fact that Grandfather never even spent the night here, preferring the palace's guest chambers.

"Oh, just give me one… come on, don't be stingy," Asha begged after demolishing her portion.

"Nope."

"Ple-e-e-ase," she whined, breaking my train of thought.

I sighed and handed her a cutlet, which vanished into her mouth faster than I could register.

"Not enough!"

"Then go to the kitchen and ask for more," I said, covering my plate with my hands.

"Oh, I can do that? Servants! The lady wishes to see the kitchen!"

The red-haired menace stormed off, giving me a chance to eat in peace. The thought I'd been having was gone… but never mind, I concluded, chewing the last of my cutlet.

The sound of hoofbeats in the yard was a welcome distraction; the hired carriage had arrived.

One glance out the window was enough to make me regret those cutlets. Judging by the massive wooden wheels, I was in for another round of the jolting I hated so much.

Damn it, when will rubber wheels get popular enough to end my suffering?

********************

Around the palace, people and carriages were gathering. More and more coaches arrived, clogging the street without leaving.

Climbing out of mine, I cursed the cobblestones once again. Who had come up with that hellish paving in the first place? We should cover it all with asphalt immediately.

Despite my grumbling, my mood quickly improved.

Some of the nobles who had attended yesterday's races greeted me warmly and even asked about the wheels. To me, that was a very good sign.

Reassuring everyone that they would all get their wheels, but not soon, I made my way toward the center, where the Second Prince was yawning with boredom and a silver-bearded elder appeared to be meditating.

Correction: on closer approach, the elder wasn't old at all. The parts of his face not hidden by the beard were perfectly smooth, without a wrinkle. Had he grown that massive beard with the help of potions?

"Randal!"

"Your Highness," I greeted the Second Prince.

"Let's drop the formalities. Now I know you're not one of the stuffy ones. Stefan Dorn."

I extended my hand. He eyed it doubtfully, but shook it.

"Ha, I like it. I should make everyone do this; it would be fun to see their reactions!" he concluded, releasing my hand.

"So, what are we doing here?" I asked, watching the Brownian motion around us.

"Nothing special. Waiting for that guy," the prince waved toward the ambassador, "to stop pretending to be busy and order us to the pier."

"The pier? We're going to the Commonwealth by ship?"

It seemed logical, but the prince laughed.

"Well, sort of. You'll see. The first time it's amusing, but by the tenth, I was over it. Don't get me wrong, it's still better than with those pious zealots from the Theocracy; no one around here knows how to have any real fun…"

He kept complaining until the mage raised his head and barked:

"To the carriages!"

Abyss, not again!

"Care to ride with me? You and your companion won't inconvenience me at all," the prince offered.

I agreed, hoping the royal carriage might jolt a bit less.

...

My hopes were not fulfilled…

"Now we'll board the ship. By the way, this is the strongest vessel in our fleet. Well, to be precise, it's not entirely ours. In truth, it's leased," Stefan, in a genial mood, took on the role of guide.

"For a warship, it seems to have too few ballistae," Asha remarked doubtfully as she stepped aboard.

"It's considered a warship because it has magical defenses. Installing ballistae wouldn't take long. I never asked your name?"

"Asha."

"And your surname?"

After a brief hesitation, the girl replied:

"I don't have one."

"Hm. You're far too strong for someone without a surname. Have you yet to receive it, or have you already lost it?" Stefan asked thoughtfully.

The mage shot the prince a blazing look.

"Whew, you've got a fiery companion there, Randal. Randal?"

"Huh?" I snapped out of my inspection of the ship. "What?"

"Nothing. The weather's good, we'll get there in no time," he sighed, sitting down on a bench.

Around us, sailors were raising the sails. The wooden gangplank we'd used to board was taken away, and on shore, guards were lining up, preparing to cut the ropes mooring us. Wasteful, but so be it.

"Safe travels!" came a call from the shore, and swords dropped in unison, severing everything holding us in place. A strong wind immediately filled the sails, though moments before there had been a perfect calm, and the ship began to pick up speed quickly. Looking toward the stern, I spotted the trick: the ambassador accompanying us was making passes with his hands, literally conjuring wind just for the ship.

"Now you see why the Commonwealth is unbeatable at sea? And if the air mages join forces with the water mages… the Theocracy doesn't stand a chance," the prince said with satisfaction.

"Perhaps," I replied diplomatically, planning to explore the ship thoroughly and check every corner. But a suspicious sound behind me stopped me.

Turning, I saw a rather green-faced Asha.

"I'm not feeling well," she managed to say.

Judging by the sounds, she wasn't the only one—many in the delegation were already getting seasick. The sailors, who had only just been raising the sails, were already hurrying to the distinguished guests, wooden buckets in hand.

Grabbing one, I handed it to the girl.

"Aren't you going to take one for yourself?" the prince asked curiously.

I checked in with my body. Seemed fine, nothing unusual.

"No need. What about you?"

"I used to get queasy, but over time I got used to it. Don't worry, the trip really won't take long. If you look closely, you can already see our destination. There!" He pointed.

To the background noise of aristocrats retching all around, I peered at the horizon. In the distance was a speck, growing steadily larger until it became clear—it was an island. Small, and judging by appearances, artificial. Of the buildings there, there seemed to be only some sort of barracks and a large stone arch.

"A portal," the prince commented with boredom. "Through that, we'll reach the Commonwealth's capital in an instant."