Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1) (11 page)

We shall do as you request.
  Konig replied. 
May the winds cover your scent, and bring tasty game until the pack joins your hunt. 

Kriegen accepted the ritual message with a flick of his ears. 

Konig departed silently.

Sniffing the air, Kriegen absorbed strong scents drifting from the humans.  His ancestor voices identified the scents and recounted more stories.  They told him how great stones were piled one upon the other until the human caves rose from the midst of the fields.  Kriegen marveled at the strange creatures and their peculiar ways as he watched from a safe distance.  He would wait until dark to venture close.  Human eyesight failed at night, so he would remain safe.

King Halder watched the caravan wind slowly down the valley from his private window high in the keep.  His heartbeat quickened with excitement but failed to warm the chill from his bones.  Wrapped in a thick shawl, sitting in the hot sun, he still felt cold as the grave. 

I must not die too soon!  I won’t allow this traitorous body to quit before I exact my revenge.
  Visualizing the faces of his family, laughing, happy, full of life, he gripped the arm of his chair and let his memories kindle the anger.  His wife loved the view from this window.  Every morning she drew the curtains, threw open the window, and inhaled the fragrant aroma from the castle gardens.  Their children galloped into their chamber with peals of laughter to wake him. 
Stop!  I cannot bear any more.
He turned away from the dreaded glimpse into his past.

He shook the bell, blinked away tears, and bit his lip until he tasted blood.  A skinny boy appeared.  Halder searched his memory for the boy’s name but failed.  The boy gripped his thin elbow, helped him rise, and steadied his frail body.  Together they walked into the royal suite.  Gasping, Halder sank into thick pillows that lined his chair.  Anger flared.  He fed on his anger, used it to tolerate the loneliness of this miserable life. 

Halder felt the boy slide heavy robes over his stiff, unyielding arms.  The servants thought him difficult and sometimes he fostered that image.  Today, he simply had no energy to help.  He glanced down at the boy’s tousled hair and regretted his lapse of memory.  The anger interfered with ordinary courtesy but it kept him alive. Anger was all he had left and he couldn’t give it up.

Halder strained to lift his leg, allowed the boy to slip trousers over the stick of bone covered with blistered flesh.  He patted the boy’s head.  Surprised, the boy glanced up with clear blue eyes, searching for something in Halder’s gaze. 

The shade of the boy’s eyes fueled his anger.  They should know better than to send a boy with eyes that particular color, too much like his dead son!  He scowled and waved the boy aside.  Other servants carried him, sitting in a chair, down the long spiral of stairs.  Before entering the Great Hall, the servants set the chair down in the shadows of the doorway.

Tension filled the hall.  Fear, apprehension, uncertainty, and hatred vibrated through the crowd in waves of mental energy.  Halder drank it in, allowing the sensations to batter his mind and fuel the anger.  He gathered his strength, pushed his body out of the chair with an astounding display of resolve. 

King Halder stood.  A full head taller than most men, he still looked regal.  Ignoring pain, he moved forward with measured steps to reach the throne.  He took an extra minute before sitting and his liquid gray eyes strafed the crowd. 

Conversations stopped. 

A small smile twitched across Halder’s dry lips.  He sank into the cushions piled on the throne and watched the impact of his entrance filter through the hall. He felt satisfied that he’d injected confusion and discord into the minds of his enemies.  He shattered plots and weakened alliances by clinging to life.  Emotions raced through the room like a bolt of lightning; hatred emanated from longtime foes, hope flickered among those he counted as friends.  Hatred fueled the anger but the hope gave him strength to last a little while longer. 

As the spacers approached the throne, the confident stride of the leader pleased him.  Halder subtly shifted his attention to the courtiers’ reaction.  The fools, absorbed by the drama, eagerly judged the visitors and allowed Halder a chance to spy openly.  Clustered groups reacted—a slightly inclined head, a raised eyebrow, a blush, a dubious expression—and sent messages to Halder’s critical eye.  He inscribed names on mental lists and knew his plan would work. 

Focused once again on his guests, he weighed their value to his scheme.  The leader, strong and muscular in a manner befitting a skilled soldier, was a formidable man filled with youth and strength.  He’d be useful.  The doctor looked competent enough to help Halder live a few extra days.  The three women, dressed in skimpy uniforms, were dismayed at the disapproval of over-starched matrons.  The smallest woman looked friendly but the black woman was fiercely protective of her friends.  Fixing his gaze on the third woman’s bewitching eyes, Halder felt her powerful gift.  Warmed by a flood of affection emanating from her mind, he abruptly slammed his mental shields. 
I can’t let her dilute the anger!

He listened to Captain Donovan’s formal greeting and introductions. 
Good!  The man is trained in diplomacy.
  Waiting impatiently for his turn to speak, Halder became aware of shifting positions among the courtiers.  Alliances were offered, accepted, or rebuffed.  New groups formed, old ones dissolved.  He noticed that Krystal observed the shifting attitudes.  Halder smiled. 
She will be an asset in the scheme
. Donovan stopped talking and Halder rose, masking pain with a fierce expression. 

Silence spread across the hall like a shroud over a corpse.  Nervous courtiers fidgeted under the king’s baleful stare.  His booming voice, the command voice, echoed inside the chamber.  “I welcome my cousin and heir to Havenshire.”  Halder paused.

Gasps hissed through the crowd.  Halder enjoyed the result of his declaration on agitated courtiers.  He moved his right hand.  The reflection from the blood-red jewel he wore danced across ashen faces of his subjects, and the king’s menacing expression demanded silence. 

“Captain Donovan and his party are afforded the full protection of the crown.  Should any misfortune fall upon their heads, it shall be the duty of my sworn men to avenge them to the death.  As my proclaimed heir, Captain Donovan will join the Tournament.”  He fixed a cold stare on Donovan’s eyes.  “Do you accept?” Sweat beaded Halder’s lip as he waited for Donovan’s answer. Loud muttering swept through the crowd. 

Donovan, dumfounded by the announcement, stood looking at the king for a heartbeat.  Death haunted the king’s face.  Suddenly Donovan knew their survival hinged on the scheming mind of this monarch. 

“I shall be privileged to participate in the tournament, Your Highness.”

Halder’s dry lips curled into a sardonic smile.  “You and your party will reside in the castle during your sojourn.”  He gestured to the nearest guard.  “See to the comfort of my guests and guide them to my private meeting room in one hour.”

Halder walked majestically from the hall.  Arriving behind a screen, he leaned heavily upon his servants and peered at the bedlam inside the hall.  He grinned.  He sank onto the cushions of his chair and allowed servants to carry him upstairs. 

Depleted of energy, he knew it would take the best part of an hour, and a strong dose of brandy, to give him enough strength to meet his visitors.  He reached inside to caress the anger, hoping it would fortify him for a few more days.

*******

Following the guard through narrow corridors, Donovan admired his chain mail and authentic weapons.  The leather sheath, used but well-maintained, set Donovan at ease.  If the king assigned them a skilled guard, he considered their safety a priority. 

The king had named Donovan his heir and the idea astounded him.  Surely, the preferred choice should be a distant relative or honored compatriot, at least a native of this world.  Why had he chosen Donovan?

The ground floor of the fortified stone tower was an entry that doubled as a circular guardroom, lit by long window-slit openings in the thick walls.  Guards could fire arrows through the slits if attacked.  Intriguing weapons hung within easy reach in a spectacular array on the walls.  Donovan stopped, eager to examine the armory, but Krystal urged him upstairs.

A massive wooden staircase spiraled through the center of the tower to the sleeping quarters and main hall above the entry.  Designed for security, the main hall filled the entire second floor while bedroom suites radiated from the stairs that climbed to top of the tower.  The opulent suites, decorated with hand-carved wooden furniture and heavy drapes in earth-tone colors, looked more than comfortable.  They were luxurious.  Another guard station was strategically placed at the entrance to the main hall and a private kitchen adjacent to the main hall drew Maggie’s attention. 

The soldier waited as Donovan examined the rooms.  He said, “I hope the accommodations meet with your approval, sire.  I will select several servants to report to your lady.  How many guards will you require?”

Donovan felt uneasy with strangers but acutely aware of the need for protection.  The guard smiled.  “Do not fear, sire.  The king directed me to assign his most loyal men to your service.  Your safety is assured.”

Donovan scrutinized the guard.  Almost as large as himself, the soldier’s face looked weathered but his gaze held steady.

“Thank you.  I’m sorry…I was not given your name…” 

“Bryant, sire.  I’m captain of the king’s guard and at your service.”  Donovan relaxed and Bryant eased his own posture.  A muscular man in his forties, Bryant appeared formidable.  Flecks of gray salted medium length black hair.  He walked with assurance, his right hand hovering over the hilt of his sword by habit.  Somehow Donovan knew this was a man of strength and integrity, who would fight and win.  He was the king’s man; he lived for honor, truth, and unfailing loyalty to his king.

“I trust you to determine the correct number of men, Bryant.  Choose the most accurate archers.  Apparently not everyone in court is pleased with the king’s announcement.” 

“Right you are, sire.  There are those who’d slit your throat in a wink.  These quarters are secure, second only to the royal tower.  Six good men can defend the tower, unless the entire castle falls.”  Bryant grinned.  “With the games approaching, they won’t resort to that…yet.”

“What does the king have in mind?” Donovan asked.

Bryant stiffened and his face became a stony mask.  “Best you ask His Highness.  I’ll lead you to his rooms in an hour.” 

Donovan regretted the question. 
I should’ve known Bryant would never divulge information without permission.

An hour later, Bryant led Donovan, Krystal, Alexander, and Trenton into the royal tower. Maggie and Chella remained behind to organize.  Donovan memorized the route, noting the number of twists, turns, and intersecting hallways.  He’d never trust their ultimate protection to anyone but himself. 

The royal hall, although larger and more lavishly decorated, was built along the same configuration as the guest hall.  It felt hot, stifling.  A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, yet Halder sat in a well-stuffed chair wrapped in heavy blankets.  There were few guards visible but Donovan’s skin prickled. 
Does the king use technology to compensate for guards?  A king might dare to use outlawed technology on this planet
.

******

Halder scrutinized his guests.  Donovan moved with grace, assurance, and strength—he would easily fit into the scheme.  This pleased Halder.  Krystal possessed sensitivity, compassion, and mental power.  Halder blocked her mind.  If she guessed his plan, she might interfere.  She was too much like Angelina, his dear wife.  Thinking of her caused the anger to flare. 
I will make them pay dearly for their treachery!

Halder raised a trembling hand.  “You may kiss my ring, Donovan.” 

The large bony hand had once been strong, tanned and callused from the daily use of weapons, but it now looked skeletal.  The ring’s large stone radiated an ominous white glow.  The moment Donovan’s lips touched the stone raw power surged through his body.  White light shimmered within facets of the eerie stone and reflected in King Halder’s eyes like a malevolent gleam. 

“Rise, my son.”  Halder’s command voice reverberated through the room.  “You survived the test of truth.” 

Donovan staggered to his feet.

Halder said, “No man who holds malice for me can safely kiss the ring.  You are not counted among my enemies.” 

“The ring can kill?”

“No.  The stone reflects intentions.  You see?  The stone glistens with a white light, proving you’re a good and loyal man.  If the ring turned a dark red, my man would dispatch you without a moment’s hesitation.  By passing the trial, you survive.”

Donovan remembered that the ring glowed red earlier today and glanced with concern at his friends.

“Your companions need not be tested.  Their loyalty rests with you. I am prepared to grant you the power of my throne.”  Halder’s gaze hardened.  “You may become king and rule this world as I have done." 

Donovan said, “I don’t want power, simply a place for my crew to live out their lives in peace.”

Halder nodded.  “The throne is not a gift I fling like a tasty scrap to a dog.  It is your duty, cousin.  By the blood of your ancestors, you are indeed the rightful heir.  I look at you and see the son of King McAndrew the Honorable.”

“You’re mistaken.  I’ve never set foot on this planet.”

Halder’s eyes gleamed.  “Trenton, tell him.”

Trenton nodded hesitantly.  “King Halder has the right of it.  We’ve traveled the stars for seven spans as friends, but your journey began here.  You were youngest of King McAndrew’s three sons.  He saw war coming and sent you to Earth for your safety.  You were a small child and I’ve been your sworn man all these spans.”