Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert
Worldbrand.”
The uproar was immense. Gulffir had been the center of the kingdom for uncounted generations. Through steady trade with the other kingdoms the city had grown from a small hamlet to what it was today. The wooden huts had given way to mighty stone buildings. Many of the traveling nomads had found their home here and put up their tents around the town, later to be replaced by real houses. Streets had been laid and widened. The councilors, court sorcerers and magistrates had built themselves and their families small palaces, filled with luxuries and costly artwork.
Rockvice, on the other hand, was little more than a fortified village. The only stone structure there was the central command house, where each commander had lived and done his duty until the last soldier had left the place. These days it was commonly used by female donkeys as a refuge in which to give birth.
The roads were barely more than paths, trodden by men and horses over many years. The planned fortifications would be easy to overcome by any reasonably armed army. But nobody dared ask why. It took a long time for the uproar to settle and Sergor-Don to resume his speech.
“Send a messenger to the Magon of Ringwall. Inform him of our new location and of our wish to strengthen the bond between Ringwall and the Fire Kingdom.”
“What is the fool doing?” Haltern-kin-Eben hissed at Auran-San. “Does he honestly believe anyone will happily leave Gulffir to live in the middle of nowhere? I think it’s time we took action.”
“Let us wait until he’s done with his nonsensical commands. His fate lies waiting for him in the crowning ceremony. Have a little more patience.”
“Astergrise,” Sergor-Don again addressed the old marshal. “You will be accompanied by the palace guard and the warriors I have taken into my family. The defense of Worldbrand and the people who will raise it to glory is my first priority.
“Grand General Sarch will take a small troop to the foot of the Mistmountain range and set up camp where nobody is quite sure of the exact nature of the border between the Fire Kingdom and Woodhold. You have my leave to be a little generous when redrawing it.
“The other generals will take small contingents to the border towns and forts. I request particular care that peace is upheld on the border to Earthland.”
“Your Majesty,” Auran-San’s smooth voice rang out like a bell. “Perhaps some of these arrangements might wait until you are crowned king.”
The genially smiling face did not hint in the slightest at how the councilor felt inside. He had banished all thoughts from his mind and focused entirely on the magical band between himself and the crown, ready to unleash the magic of Earth to crush anything beneath it. Haltern-kin-Eben had stepped forward as well and bent over to pick up the crown.
“Very well!” the prince called out. “Let us dally no longer; but Haltern-kin-Eben, Auran-San, you have made a mistake. The thing you hold in your hands is a false crown. The future king’s true crown lies right here next to my throne.”
Auran-San stopped dead. With some effort he freed his mind from the Metal that had protected it. He stared in disbelief at the prince, as though he had not quite heard the words he had spoken. Haltern-kin-Eben straightened up and looked rather lost between the two thrones, the treasure of gold and gems useless in his hands.
“Here beside me, in the shadow of the throne.”
The councilor and the Keeper of Traditions stood between the prince and the household. Nobody could make out what was happening.
“What is wrong, my prince?” Auran-San whispered. “Have you taken leave of all that is holy? What crown is it you speak of?”
The prince pulled back his black hood and removed his bandeau. “The red band of the desert.”
Sergor-Don bent over and picked up a simple black shawl from the ground. Upon it was a long red line, coiled up like a snake. In its center there was a silver ring, and from the ring hung a simple smoky quartz. It shook as the band moved.
“Wrap the band around my head, Auran-San. I command it.”
The old councilor took a step back from the throne, then turned around and ran into the middle of the throne room.
“Prince Sergor-Don has dismissed the crown and the king’s grace with it!” he shouted to the throng.
For a moment there was deathly silence. Then the crowd broke out into screaming and shouting, cursing and threatening. Several blades were unsheathed. Haltern-kin-Eben retreated as quickly as a cat. He knew where he stood and what he stood for, but this was not his fight. That was Auran-San’s concern. He suddenly noticed how worryingly small the number of sorcerers was. And he saw that Sarch had pulled out his weapon just like Astergrise. How would the old marshal act? And what would the other generals and captains do?
Sergor-Don had risen once more from his seat and now looked down at the crowd from the dais that held the two thrones.
“My crown is the red band of the desert. It is the old symbol of power all the tribes know. It is the only crown I will ever wear. The crown of gold you see there is my father’s crown, and it is heavy with the magic of falsehood, of treason, of broken trust. Auran-San, wouldn’t you agree that it suits you rather better than me?”
Before the councilor could respond the prince raised his voice to a roar.
“You betrayed the old king and now you want to do the same to his son! Did you really believe I knew nothing of your plans? My body may have been in Ringwall all this time, but my heart and my ears and my eyes were always here in Gulffir. The only reason I haven’t already had you drawn and quartered is your past services. My parting gift to you, my childhood teacher, is this chalice. Drink deep from it. The hemlock’s bitter taste is all but hidden by nectar and the sweet smells of plainsflowers. I wish you no discomfort in death.”
Sergor-Don picked up the goblet from beside his throne and made for Auran-San with determined steps. The councilor smacked the cup from his hands and the milky substance spilled onto the floor. The smell spread through the hall. It was sweet, but not the smell of flowers. It was the sweetish smell of decaying flesh. The breathing in the room grew shallow. Only Auran-San seemed unfazed by it.
“Fool! You believe I would bow to a child? This is the end of the line of Herfas-San. For generations my family has served the kings of your lineage. Each more foolish and weaker than the next, until finally we have this pitiful boy right here who humiliates dutiful generals, ignores border security, and abandons a flowering city to hardship to hide in the shadow of Ringwall. I too am a San like the Herfas, and can trace my father’s fathers back to the first rulers. Little prince, I am Auran-San of the line of Auran-San. My name itself is a constant reminder of my ancestry, and none of my family has ever forgotten it. I will promise you one thing, however: your end will be quite the show. I will grant you renown eternal. You will become a legend, and the people will tell of you in hundreds of years, of the death of the boy king who wanted everything and did nothing.”
At the last word he unleashed a wave of fire; the prince managed to deflect it, but the force of the attack knocked him flat on his back. Uul ran forward and strengthened the barricade. Auran-San flung fragments of meteorite at Uul, but they melted down to glowing droplets and hit the floor. Splitters of rock sliced at Sergor-Don’s skin. Auran-San called roots from the ground and sent Water to follow his Fire in an effort to boil the prince’s blood, and he pushed his foe through the hall.
Prince Sergor-Don was no match for the old sorcerer, but he fought back. Now was the moment to see whether his chosen guards were up to the challenge. Auran-San’s Metal attacks were held back by Uul, whose shield was flawless and did not give an inch. But Metal was not Auran-San’s only weapon – he switched between the elements at the speed of a galloping stallion. It was clear that he drew pleasure from playing with the prince.
“Enough!” he suddenly shouted into the din of crackling air and sparks. Silence descended on the hall once more. The flames flickered out and died. Into the silence the old sorcerer pointed