Velehrad, Capital of the Kingdom of Claron
The Eastern Palace, residence of King Olgerd III
IT WAS QUIET AND PEACEFUL in the office of King Olgerd III, known among the people as the Proud. The office’s owner was sitting at a massive oak table, with a “Towers and Spies” gameboard in front of him, carefully studying the layout of the pieces on their respective squares.
Each figure, as well as the board itself, had been crafted from a different type of rare wood and inlaid with silver, gold, and precious stones; the set was truly a work of art.
At the moment, Olgerd was studying a magical-ink manuscript from the palace archive, using it to replay a famous game his grandfather had once played — a game in which he had literally defeated the ambassador of one of the Khans of the Great Steppe. People said that the ambassador’s defeat on the gameboard had been such as to convince the Khan not to lead his tumens into a raid against Claron. Supposedly, the Khan was so awestruck by the King’s strategic thinking that he decided to send his horsemen south instead.
Olgerd didn’t know whether or not that was true. He had never met his grandfather. The old man had died several years before he was born. But Olgerd — who, like his famous ancestor, had grown into an avid player of “Towers and Spies” — very much wanted to believe that the rumors and legends were true. Especially after he had studied these ancient manuscripts as a child. They contained a detailed description of every game his grandfather had played.
At 55, Olgerd was a pretty accomplished player in his own right, but at the same time he was wise enough to realize that his own mastery was still a far cry from that of his grandfather.
Especially because unlike his grandfather, Olgerd possessed strength of a different sort. Olgerd was a Sangwald. He was a bearer of the True Gift, which he had inherited from his late mother, whose family was descended from an ancient clan of Blood Mages.
Olgerd’s gift had awoken after his father and mother died, so it had fallen to the late Queen’s personal servant Magda to train him. At first, Magda had mysteriously disappeared after her mistress’ death, but she suddenly reappeared after the young King’s magical gift awoke.
As he studied the positions of the pieces on the gameboard, the King was thinking absent-mindedly about what was going on in Mainland. Delegations from the Bergonian border cities had been in his capital awaiting audiences for months by that point. Olgerd knew exactly why they had come to Claron, and why they wanted to see him personally.
In his thirty years on the throne, Olgerd III had managed not only to strengthen his own position within the Kingdom, but also to expand his territory by annexing several once-independent Principalities and Baronies. More than that, he had only mobilized his legions once in the process. The other rulers, or their heirs, had all sworn fealty to him voluntarily. These Bergonian city councils were hoping to do the same.
But Olgerd wasn’t about to rush into a decision. Mind you, this was the same approach he always took. He always needed to think through every possible move and combination that might be coming his way. Especially since annexation of these new territories would come packaged with an undesirable conflict with the King of Vestonia, who would be unlikely to look favorably on such action by Claron.
Yes — it was said that Carl III was on his deathbed due to a strange wound, which none of his healers seemed to be able to treat. Nevertheless, the Golden Lion had already left Bergonia, rather than come into conflict with a Vestonian army under the command of the previously-unknown Margrave de Valier.
Furthermore, Olgerd (who had been paying close attention to events in Bergonia) knew very well that the Margrave had assembled this army on his own initiative, and that only a minority of its ranks were actually filled with Vestonians. Once assembled, moreover, this army had executed a victorious march through the entire country, without losing a single battle in the process.
The main question that remained was how this mysterious Margrave would react to Claron intervening in Bergonian affairs. Olgerd had been informed that the young man had disbanded his army, retaining only a small force with which he was planning to set off for his own Margraviate. But what if Carl were to order his vassal to reassemble his army and move east?
Olgerd had no doubt about the quality of his own army, but he also understood that any military maneuvers that started in Eastern Bergonia would inevitably bleed over into Claron. Which, of course, would be unacceptable. Especially now, with the King’s eldest son Edmund (heir apparent to the Claronian Throne) having taken two legions east to defend the border from nomadic incursions.
Prince Roderic, Olgerd’s second son, was stationed at the Bergonian border with one legion; finally, to protect against the ever-present threat of piracy on the south coast, there was another legion in the south under the command of his youngest son Prince Algis.
The timing for these embassies couldn’t have been worse, but Olgerd knew he couldn’t simply refuse to see them. Having new lands jump into one’s hands of their own accord was a very rare opportunity indeed.
Suddenly, the King’s complicated train of thought was interrupted when he suddenly sensed the presence of some very familiar magical emanations. Olgerd’s nostrils twitched as he picked up the scent of blood.
“You sure took your time,” he said drily, without tearing his eyes off the board. “I haven’t heard anything from you for months.”
“I moved as quickly as I could, my liege,” replied Magda’s voice from the shadows in the corner of the office.
“Yes — so much so that you had to drain one of my subjects,” the King snickered.
Finally, he turned his eyes away from the gameboard and looked up.
After he spoke, a lithe female figure emerged from the shadows, wrapped in a dark, heavy campaign cloak.
A squeamish grimace contorted the King’s face.
“You smell like some sort of cowherd.”
“Forgive me, my liege.” The Vetala threw back her deep hood, and a cascade of thick black hair tumbled across her narrow shoulders. A soft smile danced on her pale, pretty face. “I couldn’t resist. The innkeeper’s youngest son simply looked far too appetizing.”
The King frowned.
“Spare me that kind of detail, please. What did you find out?”
“It’s all been confirmed, my liege,” said Magda as she bowed her head. “The head of that clan of strigoi has been slain. And not just Veslav, either, but his entire inner circle as well.”
Not a muscle moved on the King’s face. He waited in silence for her to continue. For her part, Magda knew that Olgerd never interrupted a report until he had heard it through to the end; only then would he proceed to pepper the reporter with questions. So she continued.
“Veslav was one of the elders. Almost certainly more than a hundred years old. This was no mindless, newly-turned bloodsucker. Killing such a powerful strigoi is no easy task.”
For just a moment, a mischievous spark flashed across Magda’s eyes.
“On that note, there’s one other important detail. Whoever killed Veslav, they cut off his head and took it with them before they left.”
The same emotionless mask was still frozen, unmoving, on Olgerd’s face. Meanwhile, Magda continued:
“I sensed something strange while I was examining the strigoi lair... Barely-perceptible emanations of a strange type of witching magic. The relationship between bloodsuckers and witches has never been a warm one, but neither has there ever been an open war. The local Coven Mother and Veslav concluded a treaty of non-aggression a very long time ago. And for years and years, neither side violated that agreement. Until this... By the time I arrived in Darkvale, the strigoi clan and the coven were already slaughtering each other like there was no tomorrow.”
Magda smirked.
“It was almost insane, the way they were throwing themselves at each other... Apparently, both sides must have racked up quite a list of grievances over the years, given that they didn’t even make any attempt to figure out what had happened or even talk to one another. Had they made any effort to keep the peace, they would have noticed a very small, very important detail... Judging by the aura traces and the faint vibrations of mana that were still emanating in the strigoi lair, whoever killed Veslav must have come from elsewhere, and it’s also clear that they acted on their own.”
The King was focused firmly on what Magda was saying, and at this, his brow furrowed slightly.
“And yes — it was definitely a witch,” said the Vetala. “My sense has never let me down. A very powerful witch... She would have had to be, in order to take out an elder strigoi and his best warriors single-handedly on their own territory. And yet still, it turns out she didn’t have quite enough experience. She didn’t manage to cover her tracks very well, although she obviously tried to do so. At first, I thought maybe someone had come with the deliberate intention of sowing discord between the bloodsuckers and the coven, but then I realized that couldn’t have been the case.”
Olgerd raised a hand; Magda understood his command perfectly, and fell silent. The King needed a pause in order to think through everything he had just heard. For a little while, he just stared down at his game board in silence. A number of miniature arrows were in place there, prepared to fire at his command.
A moment later, apparently having made up his mind, he looked up once again. In a dull, colorless voice, he simply said:
“Continue.”
“Yes, my liege,” replied Magda. “After leaving Darkvale, I followed her trail until it led me to Snowburg. Right up to the wall of the Prince’s tower. But I was too late. By the time I got there, all I found was a funeral pyre. Prince Yar, his wife, and their son had already crumbled to ash.”
The news that Prince Yar and his family were dead didn’t come as a surprise to the King. A messenger bird from Snowburg had arrived in Velehrad long before.
The message hadn’t contained any real detail. All it said was that Prince Yar was dead, and that a delegation headed by the deceased Prince’s uncle was already headed to Velehrad to swear fealty to Olgerd III and request his blessing in taking up the Princely crown.
The late Prince Yar had been one of the very first potentates to swear loyalty to Olgerd III. He had been a faithful vassal and companion of the King, whose force of 500 spearmen could always be counted on. Mind you, Olgerd took the news of the Prince’s death the way he always took such news: to him, it was merely the loss of yet another figure on his gameboard, and sooner or later that loss could be made good.
“The Prince and his family were killed by some sort of very old, very powerful curse,” Magda continued. “I was told that all three bodies — the Prince, his wife, and their son — were covered with disgusting sores. And Yar’s body was also headless... As with Veslav, the witch took his head with her when she left.”
Magda adjusted a fold in her cloak, then continued:
“The Prince was a powerful werewolf, of course, but they told me he didn’t have time to transform... It all happened late at night. The Prince’s bodyguards were found sleeping at the door of his bedchamber. Same with the guards who were in charge of the Princess Consort and their son. Nobody heard a thing.”
At this, a wry smile spread across Magda’s face. The tips of two long, sharp fangs appeared from behind her lower lip.
“Naturally, I didn’t believe that. Somebody, somewhere, must have heard something. Besides, the Prince’s tower was full of protective runes. No intruder could simply pass them by undetected. But this intruder managed to do exactly that — because she got help. As far as I could tell, the witch came to an agreement with the local first-born. I had a chance to talk to some of the true gifted from the Prince’s court, who told me there have been dreamlings living in the area since time immemorial. Prince Yar and his court even used to brag about living alongside them in peace.”
“Are you sure this was all done by the same witch?” Olgerd asked coldly. It seemed that the King had already heard enough. The time had come for some clarifying questions.
“Yes, my liege,” said Magda. “The mana emanations I sensed in the tower were clear beyond doubt: the witch who killed Prince Yar and his family was the exact same one who killed the strigoi.”
“Did this foreign witch come to an agreement with the first-born guardians near the strigoi as well?” The King asked, in a somewhat flat tone of voice. “Is such a thing even possible? Why did you talk to the true gifted, rather than directly to the first-born?”
Magda just shrugged. Searᴄh the NovelZone.fun website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
“I couldn’t talk to the guardians of the lands near the strigoi. They were already gone. The dreamlings had left by the time I arrived.”
For the first time since Magda started her report, an expression of mild surprise passed across Olgerd’s face.
“They left? You mean to say that the dreamlings abandoned their land?”
“Yes, my liege,” said Magda.
“So a strange witch shows up, whom even the dreamlings are willing to help, and then they abandon their lands...” The King mused aloud as he stared down at the game pieces on his board.
Then he looked up again and asked:
“Your conclusions?”
“No more than guesses, my liege,” Magda replied with skepticism in her voice. “Although the more I learn about this witch, the more unbelievable all of this begins to seem.”
“Go on,” said the King as he leaned back in his chair and picked up a game piece shaped like a spy.
The unknown carver had depicted the man in a cloak with a hood over his head. The spy was crouched down close to the ground, with his head stretched out as if he were trying to peer into some far-off space.
The hood moved back ever so slightly to reveal a half-mask that covered part of the spy’s face. This half-mask had been carved to look like a fox’s snout. Its ears were slightly pointy, which added to the spy’s overall image as a cunning deceiver. The mask was decorated with thin silver inlays in imitation of a magical stealth pattern.
In its right hand, the figurine held a small dagger, whose blade was made of silver and decorated with tiny little rubies that looked like drops of blood.
The figure’s belt had a little bag hanging from it, of the type that Mage-Alchemists often carried. Back when he was a child, Olgerd concluded that the spy was probably carrying special potions in that bag: poisons and healing elixirs...
“The witch killed Veslav first,” said Magda. “Then came Prince Yar’s turn... The witch beheaded both of them. She obviously wanted anybody investigating the deaths to know they were connected. That’s exactly what I’ve been spending my time on lately... And here’s what I’ve learned so far. First of all, I asked myself: what connection could there possibly be between the head of a clan of strigoi from Darkvale and a werewolf-Prince from Snowburg? What could two natural enemies who lived so far apart from one another possibly have in common, especially given that they came from totally different social classes? And whatever that connection was, what could a strange foreign witch have to do with any of it? As it turns out, there was one issue in which both victims had an interest. It has to do with the small Principality of Skaligrad — more specifically, its ruler, Prince Ratibor. Veslav and his strigoi helped Prince Yar kill Ratibor, after which the Skaligradians had no choice but to bend the knee to the victors. They say that Prince Ratibor’s son and daughter both died that day as well. As for his wife, Princess Ladislava, though, nobody’s heard anything about her since. She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Although I managed to learn something else about Ladislava...”
Magda bared her sharp fangs once more.
“She was a witch. She used to belong to a small coven, but then she fell in love with the young Prince and got married.”
“You mean to say that this Ladislava came back to avenge her husband and children?”
“It’s all I have to go on at the moment,” Magda shrugged. “Both Veslav and Prince Yar participated in the attack on Prince Ratibor... Everything seems to point to revenge. But there’s still something that doesn’t quite fit. Ladislava probably couldn’t have taken out an elder strigoi, then infiltrated Prince Yar’s tower and killed him and his family, all on her own. The witch who’s doing these things is almost certainly much more powerful than Ladislava... But if it somehow IS Ladislava who’s doing this, I’m anxious to know how she managed to acquire so much power.”
“I suppose not,” the King replied calmly. “Given that you’re here with me now, I assume her trail has led you back to Velehrad?”
“Yes, my liege,” nodded Magda. “Her trail has led me back here. Everything points to her being in the capital as we speak. And I can’t sense her, which means the first-born must be hiding her. Still, she won’t be able to run from me for long. I know why she’s come to Velehrad.”
“She has one more head to take, doesn’t she?” The King concluded. “Who is he? Or she?”
“Perceptive as always, my liege,” Magda smiled. “It’s the mother of her old coven, the Elder Radwiga.”
Olgerd leaned his head back against his armchair and glanced down at the game board, where a ring of towers stood in defense of the king. Next to the king stood the figure of a mage in a dark-blue robe, holding a long staff in his hand.
A moment later, an expression of satisfaction settled on Olgerd III’s face.
“Excellent. We won’t have to chase her around the entire continent. She’s certainly caught my interest. Are you fully prepared?”
“Yes, my liege,” said Magda with a bow as she pressed her hand to her chest. “She won’t get away from us this time.”