City of IF

[Kalanna Rai]

It's here, finally here all for you folks to read...the one, the only UnderDark! Enjoy...
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Prologue: Plans

Once, many lands broke the continent of Terrina into numerous scraps of territory. However, since the end of the UnderDark Wars, Maldon has turned toward its neighbours - absorbing them into one bloody war after the next. The Land of the Cursed Kings as it is known, has felled every opponent bold enough to take the field against them. Except two. The mystic land of Cerdes and the mage city of Althur still do not bow heads to the Heartless Kings, and after the battle of Feld, they are not likely to do so. We all know who we can thank for this...
-The Last Ten Years
by the historian Lectus
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King Belart of Maldon was home from his latest conquest, home for the first time in over three years. His people should have been crowding the streets and cheering him onward. Rose petals should have been strewn across the white cobbled streets in his honour, falling from every window, rooftop, and spire in the city. Fanfares should be playing, and messengers should be spreading the joyful news. With the war finally over, and Palt fallen, Maldon was now the largest kingdom of the three that remained.

Instead, Belart had snuck into his palace under cover of night, disguised as a beggar. Assassin's lurked everywhere, and the Maldese people were none too happy with their heartless king. He spent more time, and gold, ruining other countries than he did seeing to the welfare of the people and lands he already controlled. Standing on the terrace that overlooked the ornate palace gardens, which his current Queen so adored; Belart's posture was one of a military man. A man who only accepted the news he liked hearing. The trembling chamberlain next to him was the man about to deliver the news the King least wanted to hear.

"Sire...it is an honour to have you home at last."
The King accepted a jewelled cup from the wine steward that had bustled up, and took a hearty swill as the steward bowed and returned to his corner. Although he gave no indication that he had heard the elderly man at his elbow, the kings face darkened as the silence stretched out between them. Finally, he looked sideways at the man, eyes tight.

"Out with it, man? How fares the kingdom?" The chamberlain eyed the king warily, as if trying to guess his royal mood. It was an exercise in futility. While the chamberlain, Rolo by name, was skilled at gauging everything about a man just by staring him in the eyes - nothing could be fathomed from the King. A man with no heart had little emotion to give him away. Indeed, the only emotion Belart had ever felt in his life was a shade of rage.

"Well sire, to be truthful - not so well. There have been famines in the lowlands this year, and the mages on our southern border continue to worsen the weather. Queen Abullia sends you her regards, and says when you feel like capitulating, she's ready to talk terms."
The King crushed the golden cup in his hand, the soft metal buckling under the force of his grip. Blood trickled out where the cup's jewels lanced his palms, but Belart paid it no heed.

"The bitch. When Althur falls I'll see every swine heard from the Vald Sea to Frostwatch has her on their back."
Rolo said nothing for a few long moments until the King's anger subsided. He didn't bother to point out that Abullia had seduced the King himself once. There were ample reminders of that elsewhere.

"Speaking of Frostwatch, the peasants there are beginning to grumble in rebellious ways. The guards we have sent to quell such thinking are finding it hard not to side with their treasonous thinking. Unrest is swelling across the nation, majesty. The common folk hear much talk of conquest and riches, yet they see nothing but more and more impoverished families coming under the Maldon flag. Nothing but devastated land being added to the borders. And then there was the Battle of Fald..." Rolo stumbled backwards as the King reached out to strike him.

"Never mention that to me again!" Belart hissed. The Battle of Fald had been Belart's one, single defeat in all his years in the military. He'd had the superior force, the high ground, the clear supply lines, and the overwhelming advantages all around the board...and yet a single man had handed him his ass on a silver platter. The identity of this tactician didn't make things any better either.

"But the people see that as a warning sign. They whisper that Darith can never hope to hold Maldon against him, and it's a known fact. Darith hasn't the will to resist if it comes right down to it. The boy is a fine man in all other matters - the people love him. But not as their future king." Belart fumed, pacing back and forth in front of Rolo, muttering angrily. "They will soon attempt a coup. Already the common opinion is that they would rather have a new lineage on the throne, a lineage without a curse."

"And they don't worry what will happen if they dispose of my family? They don't think he will..."

"No, they don't. Sire, you must see that he's shown no interest in Maldon save to protect Althur and Cerdes from invasion." Indeed, Belart only slept soundly at night knowing that fact. Now he ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair - trying desperately to find a way out of this trap that had been centuries in the making.

"Why now? The Kings of Maldon have always ridden to war. The Heartless have always ruled this way. Why, after a thousand years, do they choose now to grow tired of the old ways?" Rolo shook his head, unable to answer his king's question. Suddenly a bolt of inspiration seemed to strike Belart. He went ridged, and one could almost hear the gears of his mind working the problem through. After a few long moments of pregnant silence, Belart gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I've figured it out! A way to conquer Althur and Cerdes without having to lift a finger, much less lose a man! A way to show the people just how good they would have it with Darith on the throne. A way to put true terror into the hearts of every peasant in this land." Rolo looked at the King expectantly. "I'll send for him!"
A clatter caused them both to turn to where the wine steward was mopping up the spilt vintage, and clumsily trying to recover the now dented ewer and spare goblet. Rolo was fairing little better.

"But, sire! You can't..." The King silenced him with an angry look. One did not tell the King of Maldon what could and could not be done. Instead, he respectfully stepped out of the way as the King summoned another elderly looking man. This time in robes embroidered with stars, moons, and planets. The tame court mage.
The King and the mage held a whispered discourse before the mage left, wandering in search of his rooms. Belart walked back onto the terrace wearing a fierce smile.

"Well - now we wait."
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Hours later, and thousands of miles away in a chamber made of smooth white stone, a young man floated six feet off the floor. His eyes were closed and his head was tipped forward, chin nearly touching his chest. His arms were stretched wide, and magical power enveloped him in a sphere of pure energy, arcing between his hands like bottled lightning. His breathing was slow and even, his heart beat a simple, steady rhythm that all in the room could hear. The magic pulsed in tune with him.

Four old mages held the cardinal points in the room with him. They all stood muttering, magic flickering around them like a halo of light. Tendrils of magic climbed up their staves or the hems of their robes until something close to a ball of lightning danced in front of each of them. Compared to that of the young man above them, their magic powers were glitter against the sun. Anyone could have told it was a great working they were involved in. A spell that required all their efforts in perfect harmony. Should even one of them falter, should either their concentration or the plain of the spell itself be broken, the results could be disastrous.

That was why when a falcon made of blue light fluttered into the room, a young acolyte shouted and tried his best to cast a spell - to stop the sending from making contact with the five mages in the centre of the room. He managed to keep it from breaking the boundaries of the spell, but not to keep the mages from being distracted. The four on the floor began to sweat and shake, a momentary lapse in their dedication causing a second of hesitation in their chanting. The energies around them began to waver and lash about.

Above them, the figure in the glowing orb slowly raised his head, his eyes coming open. The energy returned to normal...and froze. The young man met the eyes of the eldest mage who held the spell's north point and he nodded slightly. Slowly, the old mage did the unthinkable...he stopped chanting and walked away from his spot in the spell. It shouldn't have been possible for this to happen, yet it was. The spell was frozen, a feat of power unprecedented and unbelievable, and the other three mages were enjoying a slight break. That meant that it was the young man suspended in mid air that was holding the great working in place...and he was doing it alone.

The old mage snapped his fingers, gaining the attention of the Sending instantly. The blue light falcon swept down with a shriek and dropped a scroll case before vanishing, it's task done. He set the scroll case down and walked back to his place, the other three following suit. Suddenly, they all began chanting again as the energy came back to life and stabilised. The young man's head sunk back down on his chest, eyes closed once more.
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Two hours later, the working was complete. Three of the elder mages staggered off to their rooms with the help of acolytes and apprentices. The last, the old mage on the north point remained. He watched as the young man slowly descended, landing with a soft click of his boots on the polished floor. "You need to rest."

The old man chuckled. "Kind of you, Fallon."
The young man looked back at the old man, amethyst eyes devoid of any emotion. They both knew Fallon wasn't being kind at all. He knew that his Grandfather was tired, whether it was from sensing it or just past experience. It was a forgone conclusion that the old man would need rest. "Not just yet I won't. I'd like to see what's in that message case."

Fallon had wasted no time in walking across the room and grabbing the case from where it lay on a table. He swiftly broke the seal and read the contents - a small, cold smile breaking out on his face. He walked across the room and handed the scroll to his grandfather, the smile slowly fading as his features regained their usual emotionless look. "He wants me to come."

Reading the scroll, the old mage's bushy white brows drew sharply together. He couldn't believe the document he held, yet it was authentic right down to the actual seal of the King of Maldon, pressed into the dark red wax at the bottom, next to the signature.
"The man does everything he can to either deny you exist, or erase your existence completely. And yet now, now he wants to acknowledge you? Mark my words, Fallon, Belart is up to something."

The young man stopped in the doorway of the room. "I'm going."

"I know you are. Try to come back in one piece." The old man watched as his only grandson left the room. Shaking his head, he allowed himself to lean heavily on the arms of two Master mages who had come to aid him. An ache lodged in his chest. "Promise me, Fallon."

I Promise. Fallon had heard. Slowly, a smile spread across Grand Magus Wyvril's face. Someday, his Grandson would take not only Wyvril's own throne, here in Althur - but his mother's in Cerdes as well.

"Oh and then Belart will have trouble on his hands. The mage nations will unite behind Fallon. They will unite…and they will ride to war."
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That's it for now. The next chapter will be up sometime in the next few days and it will have a DP. Hope you liked.

[Masterweaver]

At the risk of deletion: Kewl.

[dinranwen]

At the risk of repeting Masterweaver: Very cool.

;)

I wait in suspense...

[Phang]

At the risk of undermining everyone else's posts: THIS IS THE FREAKING SHIZNIT.

[Masterweaver]

At the risk of offending Phang: What is Shiznit?

[Kalanna Rai]

At the risk of sounding patronizing: Shiznit is the best it gets.

[Masterweaver]

At the risk of stopping everyone posting with at the risk before the post: I say the next chapter starts out years later with the prince playing chess.

[Kalanna Rai]

Weaver, thanks but no thanks. I've already written the first chapter, I'm just waiting for other folks to read and post thoughtful comments.

Chess is not involved as Darith wouldn't have the paitence, Fallon would become easily bored, and Asalia can't remember how to play from one day to the next.

[Smudger]

Interesting story. Three kingdoms, all connected by blood. And Rai, not all stories need to draw you in, they only have to read well, it's an intro after all. Anyway, I was drawn in, but hey, I can't pass up on a new SG :D