Vidanric has a minion!

Shevraeth the Charger

Compassionate King

A king's duty never ceases, even in sleep. On many a restless night, I wake in a cold sweat, sure that the last few years have been a dream and that I must open my eyes on heavy shackles and the dim confines of a forgotten dungeon cell. Mel's presence calms me. I could lie for hours just watching her breathe. It baffles me that a woman of such drive for knowledge and love of life could have given up the freedom of the mountain wilds to be my wife.

I know she is happy though. I see it in the fascinated gleam that comes into her eye every time she sits at my side and listens to petitions. I see it in the way she smiles and tells stories in silly voices to make our children laugh. I especially see it when one of our spirited debates brings her fiery temper to life. Where once she would have looked at me with mistrust, she now laughs away her doubts and accepts those points on which she lacks knowledge. Our resolve to see to the good of our people will never weaken and our love bond strengthens not only with each passing day but with every hour, minute and second we spend together. To stop loving my wife would be to hate myself.

She is on my mind as I work my way through the alarming stack of mail awaiting my attention. The king's suite with its enormous work desk and eager attendants would be the more sensible location for such a task, but my favored desk in the royal archives remains my preference. Only a select few servants and those people I care the most about know to find me there. I find myself glancing up now and then at the door tapestry, smiling as I catch myself hoping Mel will walk in and interrupt me. She has saved me from such tedium many a time, but at this early hour she will be busy readying the children for their adventures around the castle. As adventurous as her mother, Viara has frequently tried to sneak out of the nursery in her sleeping gown, heedless of disapproving servants and laughing courtiers as she slashes invisible enemies with a wooden practice sword.

My glances are rewarded at last but it is not my wife whose impatient fingers bat the cloth aside.

Kayet is bent double with exhaustion. Our most trusted messenger, she is a distant relation to the master-at-arms that once did his best to train Mel in the fighting arts. I guide her to a chair in the library proper, beckoning for a servant to bring water. The girl drinks gratefully until the cup is drained, not pausing to draw breath. She holds out her scroll with a trembling hand.

Duke Arnald's hastily scribbled notes tell a horror story of magical mischief on the northern border. This madman will treat only with me. He says as much in no uncertain terms, warning that if the queen rides with me, he will see the three border lords put to the torch. Some of our staunchest supporters call the northern border home.

Mel and I swore to never keep secrets from one another. No threat will make me break that promise, but there are different levels of truth.

"You have earned a week of rest and fine meals from my own table but I must ask one last favor from you. I need you to go to the queen. Tell her only that there is a sorceror on the nothern border causing mischief. Tell her it is a matter of negotiation and that she's not to worry for me. I expect this to be a remarkably short campaign."

Thayan is in his workroom, chanting in a language that makes the air heavy as soup. With a few elaborate gestures, he transforms the plain block of wood before him into a jumbled confusion of interlocking pieces. He grins at the sight of me.

"You must have some sort of mind magic, Danric. You always seem to show up just when I need your opinion. It's for the Princess Viara's birthday party next week. The way her mother is progressing, she'll need trinkets like this to keep those genius hands busy. What do you think?"

Only peril to the kingdom can outweigh my affection for my daughter. "I look forward to admiring your labors, my friend. Regrettably, I have come to you with a matter of some urgency."

His bushy brows come together in a fierce scowl as he reads the contents of the note. "Croman! That dung-eating son of worms should be shivering on the ice moon where he was sentenced to live out his miserable days! There's no time to lose."

Though I am half a foot taller, I must trot to keep up with Thayan. I have seen him rant when he loses at cards and lose his temper at a stable boy fool enough to abuse his horse but I have never seen him this angry. His tension is a crackling cloud of pressure that even I can feel. Do my eyes deceive me or was that a tiny bolt of lightning on his skin?

"I do hope you'll pardon my ignorance but I have never heard of this Croman."

"Nor had I, until Tianni and I were called to the obscure world of Grennak. Some of the wizards who have visited your world call this one primitive but you are far advanced when compared to the simple tribes and customs of Grennak. Its people are a community bent on the common good. They would not steal bread from their neighbor if their own children were starving. At least, that's the way it was before Croman arrived. He convinced them he had more power than their gods and backed up his boastings with disasters that left entire villages dead. You do well to shudder. Your own dealings with sorcery have given you a taste for what a man without humanity is capable of."

For a brief moment I am pinned by golden-brown eyes set on taking away all that I love and leaving me in disgrace. I came so near to losing my kingdom by underestimating the former king's nephew because I mistook subtelty for weakness. Were it not for Mel, all my efforts to right the wrongs of the former king would have been for nothing.

I should have known I couldn't fool Mel. Thayan and I are at the gate when she comes dashing the length of the courtyard in bare feet. I can't hide a smile when I see her ladies and maids trailing behind her without a hope of pacing her.

"The messenger...she said...dark magic."

"A sorceror with some minor power. Honestly, the Council of Mages will likely get to him before I can, but two of the northern barons have been taken hostage and he is demanding terms. Thayan rides with me."

She's not convinced but three years among courtiers has taught Mel when to keep her thoughts hidden. It hurts me to see that flash of doubt come into her eyes, though she puts on her brave smile and tells me to return soonest.

Rolling green hills and prospering farms stretch as far as the eye can see. People pause in their daily work to smile and wave. Our success in healing the land is evident in the newly cobbled roads and the relaxed air of farmers who gossip as they work to sow their crops.

I don't care how powerful this sorceror is. I'll not allow him to destroy the lives of even one family under my protection.

The fury of our ride is refreshing after weeks spent behind a desk. I guess I will never lose my love of a good race through the countryside on horseback. Perhaps it belittles my regal image but I'll never come to be known as the idle king.

The full glory of spring blossoms reduces as our path takes us north. Baroness Olanth invites us into her hall for a night of feasting and entertainments. Mel would love the choir the Baroness has tempted beneath her roof with a hefty bribe. The wind howls and moans outside but we are cozy in thick knit blankets with cups of hot cider to warm us.

Despite my efforts to sleep, I find myself tossing and turning well into the night. Scolding myself for squandering what might be my last good rest in days only makes me more restless.

I find myself wandering the halls, candle in hand. It doesn't take me long to find Thayan in a similar state. Leaving a note of profuse apology for our hostess, we take to the road before the cook has started to prepare the morning bread.

The northern plains are a vast stretch of land that offer little in the way of farming and grazing. Were we to turn our steps east, in a few days we would come to the richest silver mine within our borders. The barren road we travel has little to offer the eyes aside from towering pines and the occasional eagle wheeling high overhead.

It is a relief to set eyes on the village situated in front of Alna Pass. Not only will we be able to buy provisions that haven't ridden in a saddlebag for a full week but it is this quiet little valley that will grant us access to the place we were instructed to meet our foe.

A discordant note somewhere between a screech and a wail takes us both by surprise. My guards clutch their heads and drop out of the saddle. I just have time to watch Thayan crash to the ground before my own senses fail.

*****

I expected more of a king spoken of in legend. Tales of your feats are sung by bards of the Wandering Guild, you know. Vidanric the Just, they call you. In my travels, I've found that many heroes prove to be a letdown.

I sense the speaker rather than seeing him. There is something of the swamp creature in each poisoned word he drips into the depths of my mind. Though my body is trapped, his voice still leaves me feeling slightly ill. I cannot speak but he can sense my revulsion. He is amused by it.

You defeated a fool never worthy of the power he usurped and so you think yourself mighty. You use smooth talk to make up for your lack of other skills. You are not worth the effort it takes to move from one world to the next. Your queen, however, is another story...

Mine has always been a cold anger. I do not lose my temper and lash out as my more hot-headed friends are prone to do. In this moment when I am helpless to warn Mel of her danger, a powerful rage overtakes all rational thought. Thayan is with me, shielding me from the sorceror's influence. The strain in his mind voice is obvious.

He's too strong, Danric. His overconfidence will prove his undoing, though. I'm going to open a channel. It's risky, but it may be our only chance to get a warning back home. The tapestry will be our signal...

Our connection is lost. Croman's smugness is a bad taste in my mouth. He is toying with my friend, despite Thayan's decades of training in magical discipline. Pressure builds until I am sure he means to kill me and is gone just as suddenly. As surely as I know my name, I know that for the moment, my thoughts are my own.

Though my body is enchanted in magical sleep, I cannot rest. I feel the gentle breeze on my cheek and the stinging fly that lands on my hand. I can feel when it bites but I am unable to react.

Mel will seek me when she receives no word. I await Thayan's signal eagerly. I must warn her not to come to this place regardless of the cost. Tianni will summon the full Council to deal with this threat. My life isn't worth the loss of the magnificent trees that are the greatest treasure of our world.

When the image of a rainbow-hued tapestry appears in my thoughts, there can be no mistaking its origin. It is a magical working that Mel made with guidance from Thayan and Tianni. It tells our story from our first tragic meeting in a field tent to the coronation day, all in brilliant color that makes the figures on the surface come alive. This story of our lives hangs in the royal chamber, to be a gift to the future generations who wish to study the styles of the day.

Unbearable sweetness is Mel's presence when our thoughts touch. A hand wraps around my will, shaping words against my will.

"I need you, Mel..."

Croman's grating laughter is with me. He let Thayan have an opening, full well knowing I would place trust in my friend's talents.

The days of waiting for Mel to arrive are agony. My exhausted brain keeps going over those few magic tricks Mel has taken the time to show me. I simply do not have her aptitude. Even if I were somehow able to distract Croman's attention long enough to break his hold on me, I would run the risk of his harming those held captive at Duke Arnald's castle.

Perhaps when Tianni arrives, the combined strength of the magical siblings will be enough to break Croman's chain of spells.

That hope keeps me from despairing right up until the moment when Croman transforms our friend into a swan. Mel stands alone before the sorceror, faced with the choice between betrayal of all she holds dear and certain death.

I should have more faith in my wife's ability to withstand the most impossible odds.

Dismay registers on Croman's face for half a second before the thrum of ancient magic overpowers whatever defensive spells he has about his person. The tree he becomes is shriveled and stunted. Usually the magic of the Hill Folk produces things of great beauty but in this case, the recipient of their spell was rotten to the core. His branches bend under their own weight, crumpling inward like paper shrinking in on itself as it burns. Not a full minute has passed before his ashes blow away on the wind.

The instant I am free of Croman's foul influence, I crush Meliara to me and kiss her passionately.

It is my suggestion that we take a much-needed week in the mountains. We will visit Mel's family and leave a token of our gratitude for those mages old as time but these are not our reasons for seclusion.

A thick blanket keeps the stone from leeching the heat from our bodies. We cling to one another beneath the light of the stars, setting aside our duty for one single hour of bliss.

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Story by Pureflower
Based on character of the same name from Sherwood Smith's novel, Crown Duel.