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  Raskor nodded. “What Rictor explained is true. Although decades have passed since my time in Tiadd, I recall those secret forums well.”

  Turning toward his father, Rictor bowed. “This is why I must travel to Norstan.”

  No, Brogan thought. What are you doing?

  The wizard lord frowned. “Is that wise? It could be dangerous.”

  “Wise or not, I must do it. Other than myself, only you could identify the secret methods used in sorcery. Obviously, you cannot leave Illustan, so it must be me.”

  Balcor smiled. “I have nothing to hide. In fact, Chancellor Grunjeon, my personal advisor, will escort the prince and ensure everyone in Norstan complies with the investigation.”

  Raskor put his hand to his forehead and scowled, the worry plain on his face for anyone to see. While Brogan would prefer Raskor to convince his son to do otherwise, he saw the sense of the prince’s proposal.

  Moments passed before Raskor leaned back and gave a slight nod. “Very well. Rictor will lead a full company of Gleam Guard to Norstan to investigate the claims against the high wizard.” His expression darkened. “If evidence of sorcery exists in Norstan Keep, it will seal Balcor’s fate.”

  Gleam Guard soldiers escorted Balcor Serranan out of the throne room, to be held under guard in the palace guest quarters until his innocence was proven true or false. The wizards from the Council left next, and soon, only Rictor, his father, Captain Fenton, and Brogan remained. Only when the doors had closed and all had fallen quiet did the wizard lord speak.

  “You take on risk with this venture, Rictor,” his father warned.

  “True, but it is also an opportunity for me to gain the confidence of the Council. If I am to be an asset to you and Pallanar, I must be perceived as a leader, despite my age. Perhaps even more critical, they must view my presence as a necessity.”

  Raskor leaned back in his throne and stroked his goatee. “This is true. However, while you are leading this mission and are the shield against magic, Brogan is your Protector and I would have him prepared, as well.” The man smiled. “I foresaw this outcome when the charges first arose weeks ago. In response, I sent an ambassador to the Enchanters’ Tower in Marquithe in search of a tool to provide an added edge while lessening my concerns.”

  Rictor glanced at Brogan. “A tool?”

  “Fenton,” Raskor said. “Did you bring the falchion?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Fenton replied.

  The Captain of the Gleam Guard stepped forward, unhooked the baldric from his shoulder, and pulled it over his head. The sheathed blade lay across his palms as he held it out toward the throne. Raskor rose to his feet, stepped down, and took the blade with both hands. He then approached Brogan.

  “As Protector of Rictor Ueordlin, heir to the throne of Pallanar, you must be ever vigilant against threats to his person. This blade is a gift to assist you in your duties.” The man extended the sheathed blade toward Brogan. “It is named Augur, the title alluding to the gift of sight it bestows to the one who wields it.”

  Brogan glanced toward Rictor, who appeared as surprised as himself. He reached out and took the blade by the hilt, drawing it while Raskor gripped the scabbard. The ring of steel being drawn echoed in the throne room. But that was the least that came over Brogan.

  His dim surroundings grew bright, as if he were in the midday sun. He glanced around, seeking the source of the light, finding none. An intense glow suddenly surrounded Raskor, and Brogan stumbled backward in shock.

  “Sire. Something is wrong. You are…shining with light.”

  Rictor’s brow furrowed. “You can see his magic?”

  “He can,” Raskor replied. “The sword he holds carries an enchantment of sight, turning darkness to daylight and revealing magic as if he were gifted himself.”

  “Incredible,” Rictor breathed.

  “It is also reputed to enable the bearer to sense darkspawn.”

  Brogan remained in awe, unable to reply.

  Rictor snorted. “We are distant from The Fractured Lands. No darkspawn lurk in Illustan or anywhere else in Pallanar.”

  “True. However, we know not what the future holds. The ability cannot hurt. More importantly, the other attributes will assist the young lieutenant in his duties, beginning with your journey to Norstan.”

  Brogan shook his head and held the hilt toward Raskor. “I cannot accept this, Your Majesty. It is too great a gift and must have cost a fortune.”

  The wizard lord placed the scabbard and baldric into Brogan’s hand, avoiding the sword. “You have the truth of its expense, for that weapon cost me more than most families earn in a decade. But I would pay ten times that number to keep my son safe. You will retain the sword, Brogan. Protect him well, and you will have earned the right to call it your own.”

  Brogan backed away, knowing he had no choice but to keep the vaunted weapon.

  The prince gripped his father’s outstretched forearm, the two locking in a grip while their opposing hands rested on each other’s shoulder. “I will prepare for my journey and depart at first light. Norstan is three days’ ride. If all goes well, I shall return in one week. The truth will either free or condemn Balcor.”

  3

  Norstan

  T he autumn weather was mild, neither too warm nor too cold, perfect for riding. It had held steady for the entire journey, something for which Brogan was thankful.

  Riding at a trot, they drew near the forest edge, the late afternoon sun appearing more and more often through gaps in the trees. He, Prince Rictor, and a company of twenty Gleam Guard rode in tight formation, three horses astride with the unarmored prince in the center. In the lead was Chancellor Grunjeon, a wizard dressed in dark green robes with a silver sash, a hooded cloak over his back. He was a middle-aged man with brown hair and a shaggy, brown beard. The escort had said little during the journey.

  The trees parted, the roadway curving along a ridgeline covered in yellow grass and low shrubs. Lake Norstan lay to their left, its placid waters dotted with fishing boats. To the right, Norstan River curved as it cut through the forest, meandering south toward the ocean. Ahead, built upon a bluff, sat Norstan Keep.

  The Keep itself was surrounded by battlements, the towers within those walls square and blocky, those in the center standing the tallest.

  With the sun at their backs, they rode along the curving dirt road, toward the Keep. Brogan’s gaze was drawn to the city below the bluff, the first time he had ever seen Norstan.

  Hugging the shoreline where the lake met the river, Norstan was among the oldest cities in Pallanar. A wall encompassed the original portion of the city, a maze of steeply peaked rooftops filling the interior. At the heart of the old city was the obelisk, the pinnacle burning brightly with the ice-blue flame of Pallan. Newer buildings, most built of wood, stood outside the walls, extending to the north and south along the waterfront.

  The party drew near the Keep and slowed. Upon a three-story-tall wall, a half-dozen archers monitored their approach. Grunjeon lowered his hood as his horse neared the gate.

  Raising his hand in greeting, Grunjeon stopped and addressed the guards beyond the closed gates. “Sergeant Chandon,” the man said with a nod.

  “Welcome back, sir.” The sergeant thumped his fist to his chest. “Where is the High Wizard?”

  “Balcor is being held at Illustan while Lord Raskor’s son, Prince Rictor, leads an investigation against claims of black sorcery.”

  Chandon shook his head. “Sorcery? Certainly those claims are false.”

  “Yes,” Grunjeon said. “That is why I am here to ensure the prince has our full cooperation. The sooner he is satisfied, the sooner we can return to Illustan and exonerate the High Wizard.”

  The sergeant stepped away from the gate and shouted, “Open it!”

  Clanking chains and the creak of the winch filled the air, lasting for a full minute before Grunjeon led them inside.

  The dirt bailey was covered in shadows, the sun now n
ear the horizon. With Grunjeon in the lead, they rode toward the stable. Three pages ran out to greet them, one taking Brogan’s horse by the reins as he dismounted.

  Grunjeon turned toward Rictor. “Will your men require housing?”

  The prince shook his head. “They will camp out here. I only require a single room with two beds for my Protector and myself.”

  Brogan and Rictor gathered their things before following Grunjeon inside. Anticipation for a meal and a soft bed filled Brogan as he entered the castle.

  The morning sun peered over the forest to the east, a beam of light streaming through the room Brogan shared with Rictor. Both were dressed, stomachs filled with porridge, ready for a day of searching. For what, Brogan still had no idea.

  Rictor rose from the table and gave him a nod. “Let’s go.”

  Brogan stepped to the door. “What of the others?”

  “Nobody else will know what I seek. This is on me. You are there to watch my back. Grunjeon will join us to ensure compliance and answer questions.”

  Opening the door, Brogan stepped into the quiet corridor and glanced right, then left. Prepared for anything, he was dressed in full armor, Augur at his hip. While physically exhausting and uncomfortable, the armor was as much for Rictor as himself. That alone brought another sort of comfort.

  Walking shoulder to shoulder, they strode to the end of the hallway and stopped outside the last door. Rictor knocked and waited.

  The door opened, Grunjeon’s brow arching. “You are ready to begin?”

  Rictor nodded. “I said sunup. I wish to start in Balcor’s chambers. From there, I will work my way down, but I will inspect every room in the Keep before I leave.”

  Grunjeon frowned. “Some residents will be put off by the intrusion.”

  “Tell them to comply or they will spend a few days in a dungeon cell. I suspect the choice will be easy.”

  The wizard left his room, led them to the stairwell, and up the stairs to the top level. He unhooked a ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the door, and opened it to another set of stairs.

  “What’s this?” Brogan asked.

  Grunjeon spoke over his shoulder while climbing. “This is the High Wizard’s tower. His private study is at the top.”

  At the first level, the stairs opened to a sitting room ten strides across and just as deep. The next level was a bedroom, an ornate four-poster bed along the far wall, a nightstand to each side, a divan in the middle of the room. Another story up, they came to a room occupied by racks of robes, a copper tub, and a tall mirror. Finally, they reached the top floor, easily ten times more interesting than the ones below.

  Two walls were covered by bookshelves. A table stood in the middle of the room, large sheets of parchment containing maps and drawings spread out across it. At one end of the room, a dark wooden desk and chair waited. To the other, an odd device stood beside a tall, arched window.

  Rictor strolled across the room, straight for the desk. He sat in the chair and began digging through papers and opening drawers. While doing so, Brogan walked over to the device beside the north-facing window.

  The long, brass tube had a curved rail attached to it, the contraption supported by a wooden tripod and pointed toward the moon to the northeast. He leaned forward and peered into the tube. The moon filled his vision, appearing many times larger than normal, details of the surface startlingly clear, even in daylight.

  Amazing , he thought.

  He stepped away from the device and walked along a tall bookshelf filled with hundreds of tomes. Spines of red, blue, and black faced him, some marked with gilded text, others appearing blank. Rictor, finished at the desk, joined him at the bookshelf.

  The prince chose a book, opened it, and peered inside. “You can help me inspect the books.”

  Brogan furrowed a brow. “You are aware I am no scholar. How am I supposed to help?”

  “Page through each volume. If you come across one you cannot read, pass it to me for further inspection.” He pointed up. “You start at the top shelf. I’ll start at the bottom.”

  Reaching up, Brogan removed a book and opened the cover. The title page said Potential Uses of Energy Constructs . Inside the book, he found a number of odd patterns, but the text was in a familiar language. Paging through it, he discovered nothing particularly odd. He replaced the book and grabbed another, allowing a sigh to slip out as he opened the cover.

  This is going to take a while.

  4

  Darkness

  A belch rumbled deep in Brogan’s throat, his mouth closed to keep it muted. He sat back, enjoying the last of his cool ale, his stomach satisfied by the lamb and potatoes. Rictor occupied the chair beside him, and Grunjeon sat across the table. The other chairs, including the seat at the head of the table, remained empty.

  The day had been long and tedious, and Brogan looked forward to a quiet evening of rest. By far, the most interesting moment of the day was when they happened upon a maid and a male staff member hidden in a pantry, the startled couple dressing in haste and issuing a string of apologies before rushing down the corridor in different directions. Recalling the moment caused Brogan to chuckle.

  Rictor wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside. “If you are finished, Chancellor, I would like to move on to the dungeon.”

  “Tonight?” the man asked, his brow arched.

  “We have completed our search, save for the rooms below ground. I would prefer to finish tonight so I may return to Illustan tomorrow.”

  Stifling a groan, Brogan rose to his feet. “We had best get to it then. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can all get some rest.”

  Grunjeon didn’t appear pleased, but he wiped his mouth, rose to his feet, and headed toward the door, Rictor and Brogan trailing.

  Despite appearing nonchalant, the idea of searching a dungeon at night gave Brogan a chill. He had only been in the Illustan dungeon once, and the smell alone made him wish to never return.

  The trio followed a corridor to a tower door. Inside were two stairwells – one going up on one side, another heading down on the other, both dimly illuminated by lanterns, the flames flickering. They descended, turned at a landing, and continued toward the bottom floor. Grunjeon opened the door at the bottom, it creaking mightily to reveal a dimly lit corridor, the dark, stone walls cold and dank. The floor was dirt, the scent of unwashed bodies and urine causing Brogan to pinch his face.

  A light came from an open doorway ahead, illuminating the corridor. With Grunjeon in the lead, they followed it and stepped into another room. The stench grew more intense.

  The dungeon was a rectangular room, twenty strides deep. Two men sat at a table in the heart of the room. One middle-aged and bald with a thick, brown beard. The other man was much younger, with long, dark hair and a nasty scar across his chubby cheek. Playing cards lay stacked on the table, each man holding seven in one massive hand. A pile of coppers sat in front of each guard. Immediately, Brogan knew they were in a game of Hanapuli.

  Rising, both men thumped a fist to their barrel chests. They were tall, one even taller than Brogan, which was a rarity. Both outweighed him, the younger man by a fair margin, his stomach draped over his belt like an overstuffed pastry.

  “Master Grunjeon,” the older man said. “I did not realize the High Wizard had returned from Illustan.”

  “He did not,” Grunjeon replied as he approached the two men. “Balcor remains at the palace, awaiting his exoneration from the false charges against him.” He stopped and gestured toward Rictor. “Prince Rictor, heir to the throne of Pallanar, has come to personally lead the investigation. I ask that you provide him every assistance as he inspects the dungeon. Once finished, he and his men will return to Illustan.”

  The two big men stumbled over themselves as they attempted to bow to Rictor.

  “Your, um, Highness,” the older man said. “We will help any way we can.”

  “Very good,” Rictor said. “Let’s begin by opening each of these cells.” br />
  The younger guard blinked and turned toward the cells to his left. “Two of them are occupied with prisoners, Your Highness.”

  “We will address those last,” Rictor said. “You may move them to an empty cell we have already inspected.”

  Each guard produced a ring of black keys and began opening doors. Casting a spell, Rictor invoked a ball of white light and entered the first cell, while Brogan stood at the doorway, his gaze flicking between Rictor and the others in the room.

  The cell was six feet wide and twice the depth. A pallet lay to one side, a chamber pot to the other. The walls were the same dark stone as the rest of the dungeon, the interior dank.

  Finding nothing of note, Rictor moved on to the next cell, repeating the process until only the two occupied cells remained. The first was opened and a tall, lean man dragged out. His clothes were stained and torn, skin dirty and scraped, eyes squinting at the light. He could be no more than a few years older than Brogan. In moments, he was pushed into another cell and locked inside.

  “What did the man do?” Brogan asked.

  Grunjeon grimaced. “Murdered his landlord. He was late on rent and refused to vacate. The landlord, an old woman, threatened to report him to the city guard. He slit her throat.” The wizard shook his head. “Would have gotten away with it if the woman’s nephew hadn’t walked in right as it happened.”

  The guards opened the other cell. To Brogan’s surprise, they carried out a woman, her blonde hair graying, skin pallid, blue eyes drooping. Her dress was bloodstained and so dirty, it took a moment before Brogan realized it was the same one the palace maids wore.

  “What have you done to her?” he asked.

  Grunjeon turned toward Brogan and sneered, “You are here to protect the prince, not to question High Wizard Balcor’s methods.”

  Rictor put a hand on the man’s arm. “Why has this woman been incarcerated and abused?”