Prologue
Page 2 of 3

 

The expression on the doctor’s face turned from one of grim determination to one of panicked expectancy. He repositioned himself to receive the child who was beginning to make his celebrated entrance into the troubled Straemierian kingdom.

Long moments elapsed as the dying young queen directed her last reserves of energy into her offspring, willing the child to live at the cost of her own failing strength. The doctor, his proud blue robes now thoroughly soiled, held up the newly born babe to meet his mother.

“Your majesty,” the doctor spat with his tears and sweat from his face spraying outward with each syllable. “You have a son…Look! The kingdom has its prince!”

The queen cast her eyes down upon her newborn child and revealed the faintest, and yet most beautiful, of smiles before surrendering her will to the inevitable and breathed her last. The babe was placed tenderly into her limp, cold arms.

Tethern Claveun removed a small piece of paper from a pocket and, with tears freely flowing from his eyes, hastily wrote his message to his brothers in the temple:

“The Pillar has fallen!”

 

“Ten days!” Tethern said excitedly. “It has been only ten days since the queen has passed and already there are those who would renounce their loyalty to the Dohma royal line and set themselves up as king!”

Now that the Infant Prince, who had not yet received a name, remained the sole member of the royal line, the Nirdehnian monks knew that danger was in store for the prince. Indeed, the entire kingdom seemed to be on the brink of calamity. With the queen less than two weeks in her grave, three of the most powerful men in Straemier were positioning themselves to seize the crown. Whether this was to be done by a peaceful ascension or by a bloody rebellion was yet to be seen. Tethern briskly walked up the staircase in the northwestern tower of the royal palace and into his bedchamber, closely followed by Rym, the prince’s nurse.

“Word does travel fast, Tethern,” she said dispassionately. “But you certainly cannot blame them for their uncertainty. The whole kingdom is on edge. No one knows what to do and they have no sovereign to ease their fears. What does the Circle of Twelve advise?”

“I have been in near constant communication with the Circle in Kirqon and they wisely have thrown their support behind the Infant Prince’s right to rule. They have also insisted that a regent should be named until the prince can lead and carry on the royal lineage.”

Tethern continued on while shuffling through a small stack of parchments that were neatly tucked under a rather imposing tome. “My dear Rym, in Straemier the Nirdehnian monks can be a powerful ally and a most feared adversary.”

“But just who is claiming their right to a throne that has been in the Dohma family for more than a thousand years?” Rym asked. She was paying sufficient mind to stay out of arm’s reach while Tethern continued to rummage through his scrolls and letters.

“Lord Keziah Aamektah of Karka…”

“Oh, Doctor Khesh always speaks so highly of him…”

“…Lord Aetkrah Bishaba of Duor, and Lord Admiral Naosea Mashba of Lilag,” he answered, clearly annoyed. “Regrettably, all three possess a bloodline that can be traced to the Dohma royal family,” resumed Tethern without looking up from his latest correspondence. “All three, also, have ardent supporters that endorse their claims and subject themselves to their cause. The Infant Prince cannot yet rule and it appears that the death of the queen could potentially force the kingdom into an unpronounced civil war.”

“Then what can we do?”

“My dear Rym, I am afraid that there is little that we can do.” Tethern gently placed his grandfatherly hand upon Rym’s shoulder and motioned for her to rejoin the Infant Prince in the nursery just down the stairs. “It is for us to simply carry on with our duties. These issues will resolve themselves far away from here, I fear.”