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The Dark Prince Book Two of The Guardians of Glede Prologue |
The Dark Prince is a continuation of The Triskelion. I just couldn't let an insane elvin prince sit there, now could I? Rugan had some explaining to do! ISBN:1920741968 Ebook Formats: PDF, PDB (Palm), HTML, LIT (Microsoft Reader), PRC (Unencrypted Mobipocket), RB (Rocket 1100), IMP (Gemstar 1150/Ebookwise), IMP (Gemstar 2150/Rocket 1200) Price: US $4.95
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Crown
Prince Rugan Merripen paced his large room. His hands flitted through
the air and his lips moved as if he were having an animated conversation
with someone. But he was alone. He stopped momentarily before the
window, studying the bars that kept him a prisoner. He no longer saw the
beauty of the landscape beyond, the rolling grasslands, the far distant
high mountain peaks that sparkled with first snow. His vision had been
reduced to the thick iron bars that prevented him from leaving. Still,
something was different today. Something picked at him, set his nerves
tingling, his anxiety soaring. A
knock at the door brought him around. "Go away!" he snapped. The
knock sounded again. "I
said, go away!" Instead,
the door opened, and a tall, slender man stepped into the room. Rugan
regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Who
are you?" he demanded. "Your
savior," the man answered. Anger
whipped through Rugan. "Cute. Now the who the hell are you?" The
man chuckled, and sketched a bow. "Count Vaalde Lerrak at your
service, Your Highness." Rugan
studied him a moment, then turned away. "Another healer? Someone
sent to examine the mad prince? You're wasting your time." "Am
I? Then you choose to remain here? Locked up? Away from your family?
What's rightfully yours?' The
words intrigued Rugan, and he turned to face the man. "What are you
talking about?" "May
I?" The man gestured toward a chair. Rugan
nodded, although his gaze shifted to the still-open door. He wondered
why it had been left thus. Usually when a healer came to interrogate
him, the door was firmly closed and guarded. The open door, and the lack
of activity beyond, intrigued him as much as the visitor's words. "Now
then," Vaalde said, seating himself. "What if I told you I
could remove you from this prison and return you to your rightful place?
What if I told you that you would even have magic, your magic, at your
disposal? And what if I told you that you could exact revenge on the
meddling bastard child who usurped your rightful position as the Crown
Prince of Lidgerwood?" Rugan
stared at him, stunned. Vaalde rose and came toward him. "Do
you feel that tingle, Rugan? In the air? That's magic, Rugan. Elfin
magic. Your magic. Wouldn't you like to be able to command it as you
were born to do?" "I
don't know how," Rugan said tightly. "One
needs only a teacher to learn," Vaalde said smoothly. "I am
quite versed in magic. I could teach you much." He walked to the
window, reached out and touched the bars. They disappeared in a flash of
light. Rugan's
mouth dropped open, and he approached the window slowly. He waved one
hand through the air to convince himself the bars really were gone. They
were. His gaze swept to the door, sure that at any moment his elfin
healers would come crashing into his room. But there was only silence.
He brought his gaze back to Vaalde. "Where is everyone?" "Everyone?
Oh, you mean your wardens? They're gone. There's no one here but you and
me." Rugan
hesitated a moment, then walked to the door. He reached out tentatively,
but his hand made no contact with a WardSpell. "It's
gone," Vaalde said. "You're no longer a prisoner. Now, you can
either leave here on your own, return home, continue to play second rate
to your half brother, have your rightful magic denied you..." "Or?" "Or
you can join forces with me." "Forces?
What do you mean?" "Think
about a few things here, Rugan. How many magics are there in the
land?" Rugan
shrugged. He didn't know. "Less
than a dozen. Of those the two most powerful are elfin and sorcery. Now,
if a man were to have control of both, think what that man could
do." "How
could a man control both?" Rugan asked, his interest finally
piqued. "Simple.
Sorcery magic has been banned for use here in Glede." "Then
what did you use there?" Rugan gestured to the window. Vaalde
laughed. "It's been banned for use, Rugan. I just don't happen to
agree with that ban." "So,
you can use sorcery magic?" "And
you can use elfin magic. A perfect team, don't you think?" Rugan
paused, his gaze still on the window. "I don't know how to use
elfin magic. No one would show me. They said my mind wasn't strong
enough, that I wasn't capable of using the magic." He snorted his
disdain at the mere thought. As if that half-elfin, half-brother of his
was. And to make things worse, a Dresari elf was now king. The Dresari
had no direct blood-ties to the elfin crown--none. It was only because
of Kyel's close friendship with Fredek, now deceased, that the black elf
had been elevated to such a position. A position that Treyas stood to
inherit. Rugan had tried to deny Treyas' heritage, but the fact that the
elf shared a strong heritance from their father would not allow such
denial. Even now, Rugan could see the mis-matched blue and green eyes
Treyas had inherited. It should have been me. I should have been the
one to inherit that, not Treyas! Rugan scowled in rage, then started
when Vaalde lightly touched him on the shoulder. "I
will help you, Rugan," the sorcerer said quietly. "But first
we need to get you away from here, to someplace safe. We can't have
those who would seek your power to try to keep you from it." "Where
will we go?" "Leave
that to me, Your Highness," Vaalde said smoothly. Rugan
regarded him suspiciously, then moved away. "Why do you want to
help me? What's in it for you?" Vaalde
shrugged. "I already told you. Half. Half of the power, half of the
glory, half of the lands." Rugan
pondered on the words for a moment, then asked the nagging question,
"How? How do you propose to take control over the elfin
magic?" "With
the Triskelion." Rugan
sucked in his breath, his thoughts spinning. He knew of the Triskelion.
It was part of his family's legacy. Centuries ago, all elfin magic had
been stored in the medallion, stripped from a land devastated by war.
The theory was that without magic, things would be simpler, less
violent. But it hadn't proved to be so. Just two years earlier, when
another war threatened, the magic of the Triskelion had been freed. Two
pieces had been re-joined by two people - the King of the North, and the
Elfin Crown Prince. Only that prince hadn't been him. No, he'd been
denied that right by the Triskelion itself. Anger gnawed at his gut, and
his hands balled into fists, as he felt again the sting of rejection. "Think,
Rugan," Vaalde said softly, his words draping over Rugan like a
comforting shroud. "Think what you could do with your magic." Rugan
did. He fairly trembled at the prospects. But…he half turned to face
the man. "But I don't have the Triskelion," he pointed out,
his tone surly. "Treyas does." Vaalde
smiled. "Come here." Rugan
did as told, sinking down in the chair opposite Vaalde. The sorcerer
reached for his hands. Rugan allowed it, although his muscles tensed
warily. "Now,
then," Vaalde said. "Think about the Triskelion, Rugan.
Remember it. Picture it. At the moment, it's empty. Give it some magic,
Rugan. Elfin magic. Your magic." Rugan
frowned. In his mind's eyes he could see the Triskelion. It glowed with
an internal fire that called to him. It should have been his to carry.
And he had never even touched it. His right, his legacy, had been
stripped from him by his illegitimate half-brother, Treyas. And that
cocky little bastard, King Jansson, had helped. Rugan's
anger increased. If he had the magic, he could get revenge. He would
remove Treyas, send him packing back to the whorehouse he'd probably
come from. And he would find a way to tear apart Jansson's life as well,
to make the young king feel the pain of rejection and loneliness.
Loneliness that he, Rugan, had grown up with, that had been his only
companion these many years. Then he would follow his rightful path to
the crown of the elfin empire. He would be King Rugan Merripen, King of
the Elves. If only he had his magic! He
gasped and leapt to his feet as a jolt of energy shot through him.
Vaalde looked up at him, smiling. "Well
done!" he cried, getting to his feet. "For someone who does
not know how to handle magic, you did a splendid job!" "What
did I do?" Rugan asked. "You
just pulled elfin magic, my friend." "I
did? I pulled the magic?" "Yes,
and, as per your heritage as elfin royalty, you were also able to direct
it straight into the Triskelion. And there it will remain until you, and
only you, are ready to remove it. Ready to use it. Ready to reclaim your
kingdom, and your magic." Rugan stared at the man, excitement surging through him with as much intensity as the magic. Yes. He would reclaim his heritage! And no one, not Treyas, not even Kyel - no one would stop him. He looked at Vaalde, and smiled. "I think," he said, "this is the start of a wonderful and lucrative partnership."
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