The Valltol was a natural fortress valley with mountain walls made of crystalline black-and-white speckled rock. At the east end was the steep climb up the pass leading to the city and citadel of Tammerhof on the Vorvall plateau. On the west end, the River Tek carved out a gorge along the route into Gorgurak. The northern wall of the Valltol was impassible because its high peaks hosted no easy paths across. There was only one pass north into the County of Vorgurr, where the Tek spilled into Gorgurak down a magnificent waterfall. Just two passes led south into the County of Wesstepp.

The Perguy Road, the great east-west trade road that crossed the Valltol, carried the small grains of Gorgurak to the rest of the world and the copper, tin, and salt of Nordvek into Gorgurak. Lining the Perguy Road were the vineyards that made Valltol a famous name in kingdoms stretching thousands of miles to the east and south.

In the center of the Valltol was the Tolberg, a great domed mountain of fine-grained yellowish rock. On the top of the Tolberg was the walled city of Hoheit, capped by the citadel and ducal residence simply known as the Hof.

The lord of this richest of fiefs was the Duke of Valltol, Valgard Nordvek, Duke Sven's and King Stephano's uncle. He was the heavy weight of the old nobility and someone we needed as an ally. Where Duke Valgard led, most would follow.

Everyone I know, including Sven, was intimidated by this old man. He had been first minister before the Regent pushed him out. Valgard had half of the standing army under his direct command since he was responsible for four fortified passes, two fortresses, and the safety of the Perguy Road. The rest of the army was divided between the garrisons at Vogeltal Pass, Welk, Sendor, and Tammerhof.

When he was ousted as first minister, Valgard decamped for the Hof with his family. He then made a practice of doing everything publicly or with copious witnesses, from the moment he rose in the morning to the time he went to bed with Duchess Dora every night. It was Valgard's defense against being framed like Garshom was.

There was no way we could approach him without being seen. At the same time, he was the essential noble we had to have on our side for our plan to succeed. What was our plan? It was authored by Blue Fox, and it was boring and simple. It had three parts. First, elven soldiers and Zimlakan calvary would infiltrate the former Gan Swamp, across the river from Welk, as a diversion for Osterius. Second, we would meet up with as many nobles as possible between now and the summer solstice, twenty-two days from now. We would encourage them to join us at the solstice to discuss the state of the Regency in Tammerhof. Third, we would harass and discredit Queen Griselda and Magus Keleher by any means at our disposal.

The interesting part of this plan was meeting with nobles. It would be difficult to hide all the meetings we wanted with the ousted nobility, so Blue Fox suggested not to bother with concealment.

"Dress it up as a triumphal trip for Willam," Blue Fox suggested at our planning meeting at Queen Margo's palace. "He is the Prince who conquered the wyverns. He was given a magnificent gift of a real flying carpet for his great deeds, and he found his long-lost brother, who he is bringing home. If you can convince Duke Valgard to join you, you will have all four living princes of the blood traveling together to meet the nobility, which is a powerful bloc of royal power. Nothing is illegal about such a trip, so what's to stop you other than fear of that madwoman in Tammerhof? She is counting on that fear, so don't indulge her."

Father Garshom was flying the carpet as we approached Hoheit, so I got to look at the world below the carpet as much as I wanted. Garshom circled the city and then circled the Hof. I could see little figures of people running and pointing at us. Garshom backtracked and flew the carpet down to the road leading to the city's west gate. He leveled out about a yard off the ground and positioned the carpet at the end of the line of carts and wagons entering the city. I could feel the old priest's sense of mischief from where I sat beside my boy.

Andray was nervous. Having been raised as a Prince in two royal households, he was trained not to fidget or make faces. Despite his calm demeanor, I could tell he was tense from the set of his shoulders and the way he clenched his teeth. We were getting a lot of interested looks from the people around us. The eyes of the populace just rolled off the three royals and the ex-bishop.

The gate had two lines, one for vehicles and one for people on foot. The folks on foot were fascinated though wary. After all, there are still plenty of nobles in the world who treat commoners worse than they treat their hunting dogs.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look at the big kitty," a little girl, maybe six or seven years old, ran over to the side of the carpet.

"Cordelia, don't. Come back here, now, child," the mother looked work-worn. She had a basket of gathered herbs, probably to sell to apothecaries and physicians. Her expression was much more panicked than her voice.

"Can I pet the kitty?" little Cordelia asked Andray.

My boy smiled at her, "Hello, Cordelia. I think you forgot the special word to use when asking for a boon from someone. Want to try again?"

"Can I pet the kitty, please?" She smiled one of those irresistible smiles that little girls have at that age.

"Sure," Andray was enjoying this. Garshom slowed the carpet, and I jumped off. I winked at the worried mother and started to purr. I rubbed my nose across Cordelia's smock and gave her the big kitty eyes.

"Oh, I wuv you," Cordelia wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. Then she started to scratch my neck.

"We need to move up, Lady Fuzzy," Garshom said. "You need to catch up." I rolled my eyes for the benefit of the still-nervous mother. I nudged the girl toward her mother and trotted away.

"Bye-bye, big kitty," Cordelia called out. I stopped, turned, and waved a paw goodbye.

When we got to the head of the line, more soldiers were present than I could count quickly. I think every off-duty soldier showed up to see the weird nobles on a carpet that could fly. The on-duty soldier strolled up to the carpet with a pencil and a piece of paper tacked onto a wooden board. I was impressed because he managed to look bored with a large side order of "Now I've seen everything."

He looked under the carpet, "No axles, so you don't need to pay the axle tax. Any trade goods to declare?"

"None," replied Duke Sven.

"Purpose of trip?"

"Visiting relatives," Sven managed not to laugh.

"Place you departed from today?"

"Kizdangengar."

The soldier blinked and then regained his composure but only for a moment.

"Names of people in your party?"

"Prince Sven Nordvek, Duke of Vorvall. Prince Willam Nordvek. Crown Prince Andray Nordvek. Father Garshom de Welk. Lady Fuzzy."

The soldier's jaw dropped. "Crown Prince?"

Andray smiled and waved.

"Pardon my asking, Highness, but I heard you were scarred from your head to your toes."

"That's correct," Andray grinned. "All the scars are on my left side. You can't see any scarring because it's hidden under clothing."

"One last thing, Highness. Could you please remove your mask so I can verify that you aren't on any of our wanted criminal notices?"

Andray removed his mask, "good enough?"

"Yes," the soldier looked embarrassed. "Thank you. You can enter the city now."

Once we were through the west gate into Hoheit, Father Garshom kept the carpet at a uniform one yard off the ground. Strange as it may seem, this is harder to do than level flight at speed. We proceeded at the trotting pace of a carriage horse. A lot of carts and single horse riders moved out of our way when they saw what we were riding on. Several of them started following us just to see what would happen next.

Hoheit was an old city. There was just a hodge-podge of streets, all at strange angles. The ones that Garshom picked consistently moved us uphill toward the Hof. We left the bustle of the warehouses and wholesale supply businesses at lower elevations and moved into craft shops and retail stores of increasing quality as we climbed upward.

About two-thirds of the way to the Hof, the shops we passed turned snotty, and people began to recognize Sven. Word began to travel ahead of us that the Duke de Vorvall had an amazing flying carpet, right out of the legends of the far eastern kingdoms where people never wore shoes inside, breathed smoke through a tube, and drank mint tea spiced with vinegar out of glasses instead of cups.

Uncle Sven took to public attention like a black-and-white bear to bamboo. He loved every minute, especially all the fine young ladies who knew he was still single after Duchess Arlaine passed away. He soon had Willam and my boy on their feet, throwing largesse to the people lining the street as we passed. The largesse was individually wrapped maple sugar candies that Storm Eagle had made up to tempt the Sahkuhl. Sven convinced the Elf King to sell him some. We had two chests full just for opportunities like this. The three of them were having a grand time. I ended up sitting next to Father Garshom to escape all the exuberance.

I must have nodded off because the next thing I knew was Garshom giving me a little shake, "Wake up, my lady. We've got company."

I opened my eyes to see a wall of light cavalry in shining cuirasses blocking the end of the street we were on. In front of them was a tall, muscular man with white hair and a lined face from many seasons of campaigning. He had a trim ring beard and wore his hair in an old-style bowl cut under an embroidered coif. He sported a tawny velvet brigantine and half-plate legs. An old-fashioned bascinet was on a helm hook on the back of his saddle. His unsheathed broadsword was resting on his right shoulder.

Sven spotted the old man, "Uncle! Hail and well met!" Sven spread his arms wide, "You need to get one of these, Uncle Valgard!"

Duke Valgard said nothing as he studied the passengers on the carpet. All I got from him was a raised eyebrow. His eyes stopped at Garshom. The Duke's eyes widened briefly before he pointed his sword tip at the old priest, "You! Where have you been? I thought you were dead."

"Well, I didn't mean to get your hopes up, Your Grace," Garshom repressed a smile.

"Humph," was all the old Duke said in reply. Then his eyes landed on my boy, who had sat back down on the carpet next to Willam.

He pointed his broadsword at my boy in earnest. Without realizing it, I advanced to the edge of the carpet while growling, meaning to get between the sword and my boy.

Garshom caught hold of my tail, "Down, girl. It will be fine."

"How did the two of you get fooled by this imposter?" the old Duke demanded of Sven and Garshom. "He's got two eyes!"

Sven looked skyward and shook his head. Garshom's forehead met his palm. Willam was grinning and whispered to Andray: "Do the eyes! Do the eyes!"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

My boy let out a good-natured laugh, "So that's the problem! Willam, would you please hold these?" Andray took off his chaperon hat and half mask and passed them to his brother. He fumbled in the case on his belt with his right hand.

"It's a fake, Uncle Valgard," Andray said in a reasonable voice with a smile. He put his finger and thumb on either side of the left eye socket and popped the eye out. He held it up for the Duke's inspection, "see?"

Duke Valgard was horrified and looked ready to empty the contents of this stomach the wrong way. "Your...your...your! That's...I mean...where did the eye...eye..."

Andray leaned down and popped another eyeball in, "How's this eye, Uncle? I find it's perfect for scaring room maids." The flaming eyeball had taken the place of the normal-looking green eye.

"Gaaah!" Duke Valgard backed up his horse.

"It's especially effective with young girls," Andray wore a happy, carefree smile. "Now, I do like this one because it's so mysterious," he swapped the flame for the stars. "Don't you agree, uncle?"

By now, the sword tip was pointed at the ground, and Duke Valgard's jaw was hanging open.

"Not all of my eyeballs are for gags," Andray made another switch. "This one is practical since it's a lantern and frees up both my hands. Clever, yes?" Andray's smile was just a little too innocent.

The Duke regained his composure, "Put the lantern away, nephew, and put the regular one back in, or your Great Aunt Dora will die of fright. And since when did you start talking like one of those hole-dwelling elves?"

"Willam? Mask?" Andray sorted out his eyeballs, put the mask back on, and put the chaperon back on his head. He tucked the end of the drape on the chaperon back into the headstall on top, "Do you see the collar of estate I am wearing, Uncle Valgard?"

"That's a chain of leaves, but only the Elf King's family can wear one of those," the old Duke frowned. "What nonsense is this?"

"Storm Eagle took me in and made me his foster son. He gave me this chain. I talk like an elf because I've lived with my elvish family for almost four years."

"I see we have some catching up to do," the old man sheathed his sword, "Gilbert!"

"Here, Your Grace," a cavalry soldier rode up to the Duke.

"Please warn my Duchess that we have four guests for dinner, make it with just the family, and we will need just as many rooms." He glanced back at my boy, "What should we do with your pet? I don't know if we can leave him inside unattended, and your Great Aunt Dora would have all of our heads if you brought him to the dining room."

"Ow!" Garshom flinched. "Bad choice of words there, Your Grace."

"Please," Sven gave me a look, "don't get blood on the new carpet."

"What?" Duke Valgard was confused.

"Fuzzy usually sleeps on my bed," Andray shook his head, "and she's a girl and not a pet. If you could, please set up a bench or a high couch where she can see everyone at the table at dinner. She doesn't eat human food and is too polite to eat what she prefers when sitting with us, but she gets grumpy if she's not included in polite dinner table conversation."

"Very grumpy," Father Garshom nodded with emphasis. "If she isn't offered something appropriate to sit on, she may sit on the table in protest. I've seen her do it."

"You want me to sit your pet cougar at my dinner table?" Valgard looked and sounded outraged.

*Enough! I am nobody's pet!* I even hissed a little. *Εασιλι, μει ἰν λτσε βλιζζαρδ σνιε ὀπ ἁρ ὁλλε!*

I sat up on my haunches, feeling pleased with myself as the miniature storm cloud gathered and snowflakes started to fall on Duke Valgard's head.

He gave me a disbelieving look and then looked up at the tiny storm over his head.

"My lady," Garshom leaned toward me and scratched my chin lightly, "the Duke is colorblind. He's never been able to see blues and greens. He has no way of knowing just by looking that you're a spirit beast. He's an old friend of mine. Don't give him too hard of a time, please."

"That's a spirit beast?" Valgard was aghast. "Why didn't anybody tell me?"

*Alright, Father,* I conceded, *I will undo the spell.*

"No!" Duke Valgard held up a hand to stop me, "Not yet. I want to show this to my Duchess. She'll want to see it. This is wonderfully inventive magic!"

"Merciful Matadee!" Garshom dropped his forehead into his hand and shook his head, "you haven't changed one bit, have you?"

Duke Valgard was so keen on showing off his own personal blizzard that Garshom had a hard time keeping up with the old Duke as he cantered his destrier through the curtain wall and then the double-gated tunnel into the inner courtyard of the ancient square keep of the Hof.

Valgard sprang off his mount with the bounce and agility of a much younger man and ran up the steps into the keep. I leapt off the carpet and sprinted to catch up with him. I chased him and his storm cloud down a hallway, around a corner, down another hallway, and then up a stair and into what looked like a solar.

"Dora! Dora! Look at this, sweetheart! It's my very own blizzard!" He came to a stop, slightly out of breath.

Five ladies were sitting together in comfortable padded armchairs. One was reading, one was playing the lute, and the other three were embroidering. The oldest of the five, a grey-haired embroiderer in a burgundy gown, had a face that must have started wars when she was young. She looked up in consternation at the cloud over the Duke's head. Then she stood up, dropped her embroidery hoop, and picked up a large, nasty pair of shears. She was tall for a human woman. She stepped in front of the lute player as if to protect her and held the shears like a dagger pointed at me.

The youngest, a strawberry blond who was the one reading the book, quietly stood up, suddenly armed with a short sword and buckler. She stepped to the left of the old lady with the shears and assumed a perfect crouch, sword and right arm ready to impale upward if I jumped, shield canted to direct my approach away from the lute player. The two middle-aged women had throwing spikes prepared to throw if I made a wrong move.

"Valgard," the old lady did not shift her eyes from glaring at me, "pull out your sword because there’s a cougar behind you."

The old man blinked and laughed, "Sit back down, Dora. My four-footed friend is Lady Fuzzy, and she's a spirit beast. What do you think of my blizzard?" He pointed at his head.

The old lady’s eyes kept me as their focus. To make it easier for her, I laid down in the couchant position and then put my chin on the floor between my paws.

Duchess Dora picked up her embroidery hoop and sat back down, "I do wish you would remember to warn me when you have these little fancies of yours, Val." She studied the miniature blizzard, "How, by the whiskers of Weasilli, did you acquire that snowing cloud over your head, dearest? Is there a mage in town who didn’t know any better and cast that on you? How did you manage to insult a mage?"

The Duke looked at me, and I looked at the Duke. I picked my head up and looked at the Duchess, *I'm afraid I'm responsible for the one-person snowstorm. My boy was trying to advise the Duke to find some way I could sit at the table at the meal this evening, and the Duke said you didn't seat pets at dinner, not once but twice.*

"And you are nobody’s pet," Duchess Dora nodded. "This is beginning to make a little more sense. Well, I can understand how you would be mistaken for a pet if one did not know beforehand you were a spirit beast, the likes of which have not turned up in Nordvek for several hundred years. Am I to presume you are part of the group who entered the city earlier on a carpet that flies?"

"Oh! Dora! It's down in the inner courtyard right now! You must come and see this thing! I have no idea where our nephew Sven got it, but it's amazing." The old Duke was bouncing in his boots. I was astounded by how he could shift from the stern and threatening military commander to a seven-year-old boy in an old man suit in a matter of seconds.

"Val, dear, you're getting snow on the rug," the Duchess eyed the accumulating snowflakes beginning to circle the Duke's feet.

*Oh! Let me take care of that. Γενεγ!* The storm cloud faded away.

"That really is an interesting spell," Duchess Dora put her embroidery hoop aside and leaned forward to talk with me. "I’m a mage myself," she admitted, "a bit of healing, fireballs, basic castle defense, mending broken pots and swords and such. Where did you learn that spell? Or did you invent it yourself?"

*My boy invented it a few years ago to tease his sister. If you can do a fireball through an invocation to Weasilli, then learning this spell should be easy for you.*

"This sounds delightful," she grinned at the Duke, "quite delightful."

"You don't really need to teach her that spell, you know," Duke Valgard pointed out in a wheedling voice.

"So, who is your boy? I assume he's traveling with you and our nephew, who I assume is Duke Sven," the Duchess’s eyes were dancing.

"Didn’t Gilbert give you my message?" Duke Valgard asked Dora.

*Your Grace, we passed poor Gilbert on our way here in your rush to show your Duchess the miniature storm magic.*

"Meh," the Duke grumped. "It's like this, sweetheart. Sven and Willam showed up at the west gate riding a real flying carpet." The Duke looked at the door into the room as voices approached in the hallway. "Well, I don't need to say anymore now because they are here."

The first person to reach the door was Father Garshom, who, for some reason, was looking worried. He stopped in the doorway and looked at the Duchess. I deduced they knew each other because the Duchess had gone wide-eyed and had risen from her chair.

"Garshom?"

The old priest removed his chaperon hat and handed it to Sven behind him. "Welladay, Dora. Have you been well?" The only times I had heard this gentle, tender voice out of Garshom was when he was consoling someone grieving or calming someone who was hurt and needed healing.

The Duchess took several long strides of increasing speed across the floor and entrapped a surprised Garshom in a firm embrace that was more of an attack tackle than a hug. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and then Garshom hugged her in return.

"I'm sorry, Dora," he said softly, "the people who rescued me advised that I vanish. Their intelligence network determined that the entire de Welk family, including you, was being watched. In fact, you're still being watched, as is our brother and everyone else in our family."

Dora stepped back and held him by his shoulders, "Little brother, why are you here? Is this going to get us all killed?"

*Griselda is planning to kill you all anyway,* I pointed out. *We have been watching her and her chief henchman, Magus Keleher, in Tammerhof daily for the last half month. The plan of Griselda and her brother, King Sigurd, is a bloodless coup followed by eliminating the nobility of Nordvek and replacing it with Osterians, as the kingdom is swallowed by Osterius when Princess Aricia marries her cousin, Crown Prince Egbert Oster.*

"The problem is that the Regent holds Tammerhof," Duke Valgard frowned at me. "The King, if he is still alive, is under her control, as is the Princess. And the Regent has her own armed force, loyal to her and not to Nordvek. In addition, Magus Keleher is a formidable and ruthless practitioner of great ability. Only Garshom comes close to Keleher, and Keleher is a younger man."

*Keleher is not the only magus inside the borders of Nordvek. We have Father Garshom. We have me. And we have the most talented and powerful royal Nordvek family mage in five generations, Crown Prince Andray.*

"He’s a mage?" Duke Valgard gave Father Garshom a sharp look. "You didn’t tell me that."

"I haven't had a chance yet, you old goat," Garshom snapped back. "We've been here for less than an hour. And yes, he's a mage. He effortlessly picked up in three years what it took me thirty years to master. We didn't tell him this while we were teaching him because we wanted to keep him thinking that he needed to work harder, but he’s the most talented mage I have ever seen."

"Prove it," Valgard growled.

"A year and a half ago, his best friend was attacked by a snow wyvern. Andray invented a spell while the attack was underway that kills wyverns. The same spell will kill any magical creature because I used it last year to kill a salamander. To date, Prince Andray has killed two wyverns: the snow wyvern a year and a half ago and a red wyvern last month."

"Not only do we have Father Garshom, Fuzzy, and me," Andray's elvish-accented baritone spoke from the doorway, "for the next month, we also have the use of four court mages from the Sahkulate of Zimlakuliku, plus an excellent battle mage, the best healing mage, and the two best artificer mages of the Green Elves."

My boy had his hand on Willam's shoulder, and Willam had his arm around Andray's waist. With Willam's help, my boy limped into the room.

*What happened?* I ran over to him and Willam. *Here, lean on me. Willam, get him a chair.*

"What happened?" My boy gave me a look full of accusation. "When I stepped off the carpet, I stepped wrong, and the whole leg twisted to the left and got out of alignment. Now the foot isn't working. I need to take my leg off and straighten it. And because somebody chased after my great uncle and left me to go up the stairs on my own, this brute," he pointed at a grinning Willam, "took advantage of it and carried me up the stairs."

Willam set down the chair and helped his brother sit down. Duchess Dora walked up to him, lifted his chin, and stared at his left eye.

"It's glass," Andray smiled his classic, friendly guileless smile. "Do I need to take it out for you?"

"Glass?" Dora looked closer.

"Sweetheart, he has a collection of different eyeballs," Valgard warned. "I’ve seen them all already."

"And the leg?" she knocked on his left knee.

"It’s made of wood and springs and shaped leather, Aunt Dora."

"And since when did you start talking like one of those tree-hugging elves?" the Duchess frowned.

"Sister, dearest," Garshom put his arm around Dora’s shoulders, "Andray and I have been living in Elvenhome. It was the elves who rescued us and took us in. Andray picked up the accent naturally."

"Well," Duchess Dora straightened up, "I guess we owe those people a favor then for having helped you out, considering the alternatives. I should probably be grateful it wasn’t goblins or trolls."