Chapter 38

The Land of Syzthedia

As the cavalry thundered toward them with pikes lowered and halberds poised to strike, the party readied their weapons for a bloody showdown. The party was outnumbered at least three to one.

“Lower your weapons,” Rahl commanded the party.

“They are going to run us through,” Maltokken said, his voice quavering.

“I can take down at least half of them before they reach us,” Snow said to Rahl. “We would have a better chance that way.”

“No, we shall not fight them. Not now,” Rahl said. “Can you create a barrier large enough to protect us?”

Snow nodded solemnly. “Stand close to me!” she yelled so that all in the party could hear her.

The party clustered around Snow and Rahl. Snow spoke a quick incantation and waved her arms high above her head. Seconds later, a nearly transparent cylinder ten paces across quickly and silently rose up from the ground to encompass the party. The heavy thud of hooves and clatter of armor diminished as the magical barrier rose above their heads. It stopped rising when it reached a height of approximately two stories. Some members of the party let out gasps of surprise at the incredible barrier that slipped out of the ground to protect them. Although the barrier was essentially clear, light passing through it wavered slightly. The effect was similar to viewing a reflection through a slowly flexing funhouse mirror. Out of curiosity, Connie felt the barrier with her hand: the magical force felt hard and substantial, like warm steel. She rapped on it firmly. It made no sound whatsoever. She wondered what it was made of and which celestial spells (or combination of spells) Snow had used to create it.

The cavalry slowed their charge. They stopped a dozen paces from the barrier. Weapons still poised for attack, they fanned out until they had surrounded the party. Now they stood in place, staring at the party like thrakes waiting for a kill. The magical barrier had just become the party’s prison.

Rahl held up his hands in the universal Cerinavian gesture of peace. The leader shot an arrow at him. It soundlessly bounced off the barrier. Rahl lowered his hands.

“Doesn’t look like they’re interested in having tea with us,” Connie said.

The leader of the cavalry seemed to know something about magical barriers. He shouted something to the rest of the unit that remained behind. Two robed figures from the second group broke away and rode closer. They stopped about a hundred paces from the barrier.

“Those are spellcasters,” Snow stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “They are going to try their magic on us.”

“Does this barrier you created resist spells?” Rahl asked.

“That depends on the strength of the spell cast against it. No barrier is impervious. All can be overcome if the countermagic is strong enough.”

The two spellcasters made spell gestures. Suddenly, a heavy thud emanated from the walls of Snow’s barrier as though they struck it with an invisible battering ram.

“What was that sound?” Maltokken asked in alarm.

“They cast a spell at us,” Snow answered with a sigh. “They are testing the strength of our barrier.”

There came another thud against the barrier. This one was louder than before. The soldiers closest to the barrier poised their weapons for attack.

“We have to do something. We can’t let them destroy the barrier,” Maltokken cried out.

“I need to speak to their leader,” Rahl said to Snow. “Maybe they don’t realize our intentions are peaceful.”

Snow cast a spell on Rahl. “Go now. You should be able to hear each other perfectly well through the barrier.”

“We mean your people no harm,” Rahl stated to the leader. “We are here on a quest in search of an artifact. An artifact to aid us in the banishment of Chaos.”

The leader gave Rahl a hard, suspicious look, then whispered something to one of the other soldiers. The soldier departed to deliver a message to the main portion of the cavalry that waited at the crest of the hill, presumably to a superior officer that waited there.

“What’s their problem?” Connie asked Rahl.

“We are intruders in their land,” Rahl answered. “This valley is so isolated that perhaps outsiders do not show up often. They are probably wary of us.”

Snow gazed at the soldiers coolly. “Why don’t we kill them now and ask questions later?”

There came a louder, more intense thud against the protective barrier that encompassed the party.

“The magic that holds the barrier will fail soon,” Theo disclosed as he waved his staff at the barrier. “We had better do something.”

“Ready your weapons,” Rahl ordered.

“But there are twenty-one of them to our six!” Maltokken said.

“Leave it to you to count them!” Jalban said.

Snow laughed. “I can slay most of these fools with one spell.”

Again, there came a loud thud as spells cast by the two spellcasters struck the barrier. The barrier fluttered and vanished for an instant as its magic was nearly overcome.

Snow addressed the party. “I’m going to cast a dangerous spell that can only be used in this situation. When I drop my hands, you will need to drop the ground as quickly as possible.” She smiled maliciously. “If you do not, you will wish you had in your dying moments.”

The party members looked to each other in apprehension. Connie did not like the sound of that. Snow stepped over to the middle of the barrier. Snow closed her eyes and brought the tips of her fingers together high above her head. Now she began to slowly sway back and forth like a serpent caught in a trance while humming a strange tune. After a few seconds, crackling sounds like crinkling aluminum foil issued above her head. A fuzzy ball of blue-white energy the size of a baseball appeared between her hands. As Snow persisted in her meditative spell, more energy flowed from her hands to the luminescent sphere. The sphere became larger. She held it there with only the slightest effort. Connie knew from her celestial teaching that Snow was drawing from her personal celestial energy and concentrating it into the sphere above her head.

When the sphere of raw magical energy had expanded to the size of a basketball, the bluish-while light made Connie’s eyes water and burn. She averted her eyes from the sphere. She noticed the soldiers outside the barrier were shifting around on their hanyaks. Evidently, they didn’t know what Snow was doing, but they didn’t like the looks of it. A few of them panicked and rode off.

The crackling sound was now accompanied by the whirring sound that ascended in frequency from a gentle hum to a loud whine. The hair on Connie’s hair began to stand up as if she stood in an immense electrostatic field. All eyes of the party were on Snow, with most everyone already on their knees. The sphere had increased to the size of a large beach ball. It almost breached the crown of Snow’s head. Once the whirring sound reached a fevered pitch, Snow suddenly dropped her outstretched arms to the level of her shoulders. The party fell to the ground in sync. Immediately, a sharp deafening sound like the crack of lightning issued from above Snow’s head. The ball of light suddenly flattened as though it were stuck with a hammer. The protective barrier collapsed in an instant. The flattened light shot outward in the shape of a razor-sharp disk, perhaps a hundred paces in diameter. The disk immediately dissipated to a light, wispy smoke.

Screams of agony immediately filled the air surrounding the party. Connie had instinctively shut her eyes at the crack of lightning. When she opened her eyes, the area was surrounded with the writhing, severed bodies of hanyaks and men. The disk had neatly cleaved the flesh of all creatures in its path. Even a few smaller trees touched by the disk had fallen. The sight was horrible. Some victims, depending on where the light struck them, had merely lost their hanyaks and their legs. Others had been cut entirely in half at the breastbone or hip, bone not withstanding. Most horribly, some of these soldiers were still alive. Now, men and hanyaks crawled and writhed on the ground. They dragged their exposed entrails behind them as blood gushed from their grievous abdominal wounds.

“By the gods, Snow!” Jalban uttered in horror at the sight.

“She’s evil!” Maltokken said.

Almost everyone else in the party reacted with no more than a mute stare; they were too stunned to speak. Snow smiled, self-satisfied at her work. Then she spun around to face Jalban and Maltokken, who still sat on the ground at her feet. “I suppose you two believe they had something better in store for us,” she stated with cold logic without the slightest hint of remorse.

Connie noticed besides Snow, only Tristana did not seem affected by the bloody massacre of the soldiers. The conjuration gazed unflinchingly at the ugly sight with an expression of cool amusement. Then she blinked a few times as if smoke had blown into her eyes. Connie wondered what Tristana was thinking, or if the conjuration even thought anything at all.

Before more words could be shared, the remaining garrison on the hill advanced toward the party. Unlike the unit that came before, they did not charge the party; rather, they bravely rode their hanyaks through the carnage to where the party stood. They did not seem to be on the offensive. Just the same, the party got to their feet and readied their weapons. Connie looked for the two spellcasters that had attempted to bring down the magical barrier. Their decapitated bodies lay sprawled on the hillside. The enemy spellcasters would be troublesome no longer. Now Connie prepared a few offensive spells of her own in case they would be needed.

The garrison stopped just before the party. One of the soldiers, dressed in shiny metal armor that reflected the chlorine green sky dismounted his hanyak. He had a simple ocher scarf wrapped around his right arm. He had sheathed a huge sword with a fancy, iridium hilt. Though he wore a helmet, his face was plainly visible. He was an older gentleman with pale skin, kind eyes, and gray mustache. He had an air of authority about him that betrayed no arrogance. Connie thought he was rather handsome, too. He walked up to Rahl and made the Cerinavian sign of goodwill. Rahl reciprocated the gesture.

The man uttered something to Rahl in a foreign language. On hearing these words, Rahl turned to Connie. She knew he wanted the Box of Tongues. When Connie reached for the Threshibian bag at her waist, where it was stored, the soldiers on their hanyaks unsheathed their weapons in a lightning-fast reaction. Connie froze.

Rahl quickly held up his hand to calm the foreign soldiers. “Please. We are retrieving an artifact that we may speak to you.”

“That is not necessary,” the older man said with a thick accent.

“Your people speak our tongue?” Rahl asked.

“No,” the man replied. “I speak your tongue. It is a very old tongue, not spoken here for hundreds of years. My name is Azamel. Servant to the Prince of Syzthedia, ruler of the Kingdom Valley.”

Rahl smiled, evidently pleased they were speaking to someone with clout in the valley. “I am Rahl of Dyandil. These are my companions.” Rahl quickly introduced the names of each party member, along with their city of origin. “We have come to your valley in search of two artifacts, a seven-sided bracelet called the Heptakon and a talisman called the Kn’all-ba-tasalb.”

“How do you know the artifacts are here?”

“The divination of our sorcerers has led us here. They lie somewhere in the western part of your valley.”

Azamel brought a black-gloved finger to his clean-shaven chin as he thought. “Before you are allowed to search the valley, you must be brought to the prince. Only he may allow you to stay.”

“Very well,” Rahl said with a bow. “My party and I would consider it an honor to meet the prince.”

“So it will be.”

Azamel gave a few orders to his men. The men approached the party. Most of the party members took a step back. Azamel held up his hand.

“Please, before we go, we must take your weapons and spell components. You are evidently very powerful in your own right. I cannot allow you to meet the prince while you are dangerous.”

The party looked to Rahl for a decision. Rahl acquiesced to Azamel’s request with a nod. Azamel men converged on the party and relieved them of their staves and weapons.

Azamel and his men began escorting the party down the road toward the main city of Syzthedia. Rahl and the others looked away from the awful sight of dismembered corpses strewn across the fields on either side of them. The area looked like the aftermath of an epic battle.

“Forgive us what we did to your men,” Rahl said to Azamel, his voice tinged with regret. “My sorceress got carried away.”

Snow smiled defiantly.

“Yes, it is regretful what has happened to them,” Azamel said. “But the captain acted of his own accord. I did not receive word of your intention on the hill until it was too late.”

“Syzthedia must not have many enemies in this isolated valley. Why were your men so intent on attacking us?”

Azamel turned to Rahl with an enigmatic smile. “Their attack was borne of fear. When the men at arms saw your craft flying over the city, they thought you rode on the back of the dragon.”

“What dragon?” Rahl asked. “Is there a dragon in this valley?”

“Yes. There is an ancient dragon that lives in a mountain on the eastern side of the valley. He lived here before men set foot in the valley. Though legend says that he was once a friend of the people, he is now greatly feared.”

“Why is that?”

“It is said that the dragon imprisons a princess there, a potential heiress to the throne of Syzthedia.”

Rahl stared up at Azamel. “Why has no one rescued her?”

Azamel’s eyes acquired a faraway look as he gazed toward the city in the distance. “Many have tried. Most have met with a fiery death. None have succeeded,” he said.

Connie bit her lip on hearing this. At that moment, a dreadful intuition told her that the dragon was in some way connected with the artifact they sought in the valley. She hoped her intuition did not pan out.

The city was every bit as impressive on the ground as it had been from the sky. For its organization, it reminded Connie of Roggentine in some ways. First, they passed through a gate in an outer set of walls. Within those walls were largely modest residences and basic shops such as a livery stable, smithy, and tailors. Once again, there was the crazy mixture of Danish and Mexican architecture.

Then they passed through another set of gates to wend their way through more residences. These buildings were much more subdued in style; the strange architecture gave way to a more medieval Gothic European style. Connie suspected these buildings were older than those in the outer ring. In this ring were more upscale shops and residences.

Within the innermost set of concentric walls lay an opulent palace similar in construction to the oldest structures at the core of Roggentine. Connie even saw a peculiar curved window, as was prevalent in Roggentine. From this sharing of architecture, Connie suspected that a long time ago, before Chaos poisoned the land, Cerinavia was a great empire that spanned the continent. What remained in this isolated valley was a vestige of the old empire’s lost glory.

As the garrison paraded the party through the streets, the party was met by curious looks from the populace of the city. It seemed that wherever they passed, they were viewed from nearly every angle, from the rooftops to the gutter, from beggars in the streets to common shop owners who took a break from their labor to watch the procession to a mother sitting on a second-story balcony breastfeeding her infant. They were evidently famous from their flyby over the city.

The guards led the party into the palace courtyard and shut the giant wooden gates that surrounded the palace. The gates shut with the loud grinding sound sealing them in. Azamel had water brought to the party to refresh them from their long walk to the fields, and then he left them in the custody of the guards while he notified the prince of their presence. While the party sat in the courtyard, the guards spoke among themselves in a language that sounded strangely familiar to Connie, though she could not understand a word. Theo informed the party that he had a spell that would enable them to speak the language of the Syzthedians, if only he could procure the heart from one of their freshly dead. Rahl told him this was unlikely to happen.

The shadows from the towers grew long across the courtyard before a lieutenant from the garrison ordered the guards to escort the party into the throne room. They led the party through a series of stout wood doors to a medium-sized hall. The Gothic inner decor of the building with a predominance of muted primary colors was reminiscent of the cathedral where Snow whiled away her days casting fertility spells. Someone sat on a throne at the end of a wide green carpet that spanned the length of the room. Azamel stood to the left of the throne.

Once the party had been escorted to the base of the stairs, one of the guards escorting the party wordlessly brought the pole of his halberd to Rahl’s chest. Rahl ventured no closer to the prince.

“Kneel in the presence of Prince Georgas, future ruler of Syzthedia,” Azamel ordered the party.

The party did as they were told, and all paid homage to the prince. They held the position of kneeling until the Azamel told them to rise.

Now Connie got a good close-up look at the prince. He was a dapper-looking young man in his early twenties. His dress was rich to the point of self-parody. He wore a flowing green fur with an intermittent pattern of white stripes. Under the fur, he wore a shirt of black ruffle with a metallic green trim along its outer edges. From what could be seen of his pants, they were simple black tights. His boots were tall and black and comparatively simple compared to the rest of his attire. Around his neck was an ostentatious collection of jeweled medallions. To Connie, it appeared that he could not decide which medallion to wear for the occasion, and so he decided to wear all of them to keep all bases covered. The same with the rings on his fingers. His head bore the weight of a heavy-looking iridium crown with alternately folded green and white plumes of velvety cloth jutting from the top. At least the crown matched the fur cloak. The prince sat with his accouterments in an immense, gaudy, ornate iridium throne garnished with a rainbow of gemstones. The throne seemed much too large for the young man who sat within its wide armrests. Connie thought she could sense why the young man was a prince and not a king.

Square-shouldered Azamel stood beside the prince, his hands folded demurely over his belt buckle. Six armored guards in bright red ceremonial tunics stood on either side of the throne on the lowest of four steps that ascended to the throne level. Each guard held a keen-looking halberd whose highly polished blade matched the shiny-chrome appearance of his armor. Connie wondered why the noble-looking Azamel wasn’t the one sitting on the throne.

Prince addressed the party in the Syzthedian language. Azamel translated.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

Rahl introduced each member of the party, then he told them they sought an artifact to aid in the banishment of Chaos from the land. Once again, Azamel translated for the prince. The prince responded. Azamel translated the words to Rahl. “You have come to my kingdom in search of an artifact. What is this artifact you seek?”

“We seek the Talisman of Kn’all-ba-tasalb,” Rahl began. He briefly described the purpose of their quest. After he had finished speaking, Azamel translated again. The prince listened with intense concentration. The party waited in silence.

While this was being done, Connie remembered the Box of Tongues she carried in the Threshibian bag. With the party unarmed and so many halberds in the room, she knew better than to simply reach for the box within the bag. She tapped on Rahl’s shoulder. He turned to her. She suggested they use Box to expedite the conversation. He nodded once. After Azamel finished with the translation, Rahl informed him of the Box of Tongues. Azamel made a request of the prince. He nodded once after mulling it over for a few seconds. Now with the go ahead, Connie withdrew the box from the bag, folded open the top, and then placed it on the floor between the party and the prince. A thin, prismatic light radiated from the top of the ornate box.

“Are you able to understand me now?” the price asked the party.

“Yes,” Rahl replied.

“I heard what you did to a phalanx of my cavalry this afternoon.”

“You have my greatest apology,” Rahl said.

The prince raised his hand to Rahl. “Your apology is accepted. Though my people shall miss the presence of those brave men, I must admit that I am awed by the story told to me of what you had done. It is very rare we have visitors to our great valley. And it is rarer still that we meet great warriors such as yourselves.”

“We do not seek fame or conflict, great prince. We seek only the banishment of Chaos.”

The prince nodded slowly in thought. Connie sensed that there was something yet unspoken on the prince’s mind.

“You must be aware that now that you are in my kingdom, you are also my prisoners,” the prince said.

“We are aware that you have the power to imprison us,” Rahl replied. “But respectfully, I must state again that we mean you or your kingdom no harm. We are here on a quest. Our success may very well determine the fate of your great valley, for no place is safe while the pestilence of Chaos runs rampant across the land. Even as we speak, our great cities are under siege.”

At this moment, Azamel leaned over and whispered something to the prince. After the Azamel stopped speaking, the prince ruminated over his words for a moment before continuing.

The prince brought a heavily bejeweled hand to his chin. “We have nothing in our treasury that looks anything like the bracelet or talisman you describe. Tell me, Rahl of Dyandil. What makes you so certain we possess the artifacts you seek?”

“My master found it through divination,” Snow broke in. All eyes turned to Snow, for this was the first time she spoke.

“Who is your master?”

“Calicus of Roggentine.”

“Could your master be wrong?”

“Indeed, divination is an inexact science. But we have confirmed the presence of the artifact in your valley.”

“And where does the artifact seem to be?”

“Somewhere west of where your men encountered us. It may even reside within this palace. I need my staff to tell you with any certainty. Give it to me, and I shall say.”

The prince narrowed his eyes at Snow. “If I give you your staff, you aren’t going to cast a spell on me with it, are you?”

“Ha! I don’t need a silly staff to cast a spell on you!” Snow said in a haughty tone.

Connie shook her head at Snow. The sorceress never let an opportunity pass to boast of her powers, no matter what the circumstances. It was almost embarrassing.

“Give the sorceress her staff,” the prince ordered the lieutenant who escorted the party into the throne room. Moments later, one of them handed Snow her staff of magic detection.

The party stepped away from Snow to give her space. She waved her staff in an arc around the room. The prince winced slightly when the end of the staff passed his direction. Finally, Snow homed in a direction just to the right of the throne. “It lies this way. Further to the west,” she said.

The prince’s eyes widened remarkably on hearing this. “How far?”

Snow knotted her brow as she tried to gauge the distance while clutching the staff. “It is difficult to say. Five leagues. Maybe more. The magic is muted. The artifacts must be buried beneath layers of stone.”

The prince sat up on the throne on hearing this. “The distance. The stone. Yes, it makes sense. A great treasure lies there. Piles and piles of iridium. A fortune like none other.” The prince broke into a sudden fit of uproarious laughter. The party looked at each other, confused. The prince continued laughing without explaining the reason for his mirth.

Rahl spoke. “With all due respect, my companions and I do not understand the humor.”

The young prince stopped laughing as if someone had pulled his plug from the wall. He glowered at Rahl. “The trinkets you seek lie within the mountain of the dragon.”

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Connie closed her eyes and shook her head on hearing this. This was the worst of her fears.

The prince continued. “Rahl, can you guess at how many men I have lost to that dragon?”

Rahl shook his head.

“Take a guess.”

“I have no—”

“Take a guess,” the prince said, not smiling.

“Fifteen, twenty men?”

“No. Many more than that. Try hundreds. I have sent hundreds of my best men to slay that dragon. And do you know what that dragon does to them? He breathes fire upon them from his belly. He roasts them alive. And then he eats what is left of them.”

On hearing this, a few members of the party shifted uneasily on their feet. Connie looked over at Azamel. The aide lowered his gaze, seemingly embarrassed, perhaps feeling this way in response to his prince’s mad outburst.

“And that’s not the worst of it,” the prince continued. “The dragon is a very old and crafty beast. He knows spells. Spells no longer remembered by living souls. In fact, it knows the art of celestial and spiritual magic so thoroughly that my best sorcerers will not even venture near its cave, even at the threat of execution.” The prince sat back on his throne. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “What’s more, as heir to the throne, I find myself in an awkward position. You see, within the cave of the dragon lies someone very close to my heart. Her name is Sanja. She is the first daughter of Xaltri Firth, Earl of Oshnae, of the castle to the east. She vanished the night before she was to be married to me. She now resides body and spirit within the bowels of the mountain, a prisoner of the fearsome beast.” The prince gazed up ponderously at the narrow, stained-glass windows set high into the cathedral-like walls of the throne room. “My father, the king, died two years ago. I am his only son. The stipulation of ascendant to the throne was that I marry first.”

“Surely there are other noble women in the valley,” Snow said. “Could you not take the hand of one of them?”

The prince jumped angrily to his feet. He pointed to the wall behind the throne. “No! Sanja is to reign at my side as queen. There can be no other!”

Azamel cleared his throat. “Sire, as you recall, Sanja did not want to marry you. Her betrothal to you was a forced arrangement. Had she not fled the city the night before the ceremony, the dragon could not have captured her.”

The young prince settled despondently into the throne. “She just needed some convincing, perhaps some time to adjust,” he said.

Azamel continued. “As your guest says, the valley is full of lovely maidens. Besides, Sanja did not love you.”

“Silence!” the prince ordered Azamel. “You old fool! You know nothing of love. You have never taken a lover, even during the years you served my father.”

Azamel bowed submissively to the prince. “Of course, sire,” he said contritely. “What would I know of love?”

Connie instantly felt sorry for Azamel. He had been trying to be sincere with the prince, but the prince would hear none of it. From Azamel’s expression and the gentle tone of his voice, she could tell he only sought the best for the prince.

The prince stared scornfully at Azamel for a moment, then returned his attention to the party. “Since you have entered my valley, you will accept my hospitality and remain with me as my guests.”

Rahl spoke, “We do appreciate your hospitality, good prince, but we are on a quest. Time is of the essence. We have other lands that we must travel to and other artifacts to procure.”

“You dare refuse my hospitality? Then perhaps you would prefer to remain as my prisoners. You are guilty of slaughtering 33 of my soldiers and their hanyaks. The punishment for this crime is to be boiled alive in hot oil. Now, would you like to remain with me as my guests, or do you wish to be my prisoners?”

“We are delighted to accept your gracious offer,” Rahl said.

“Wise choice,” the prince said while giving Rahl an offhand glance. He addressed the guards. “Show each member of this group to a room in the east wing of the palace.” The guards converged on the party. The prince wrinkled his nose as they did. “And see to it that each receives a bath.”

With the large, round tub all to herself, Connie allowed herself to slip into the warm bath water up to her lower lip. She soaked in the water while admiring the detailed fresco of some sort of athletic event played with curved poles painted on the domed ceiling of the luxurious private bath. The great, circular bath was surrounded by light green drapes that assured her privacy. The warmth of the water relaxed her. It no longer bothered her that the “water” was actually concentrated hydrochloric acid. Water was water anyway.

She spotted a fancy hourglass-shaped bottle of pink liquid by the edge of the tub. She removed its glass stopper and sniffed the contents of the bottle. It smelled sweet and fruity, a mixture of plums, roses, and something indeterminate. She spilled some of the fragrant liquid into the bath water and swirled it around with her hand. Now she rested her head back and closed her eyes to let the fragrance and warmth sink into her. She could not remember the last time she’d had a real bath outside the rough, makeshift tub Rahl made for the party back at the abandoned village.

Connie had almost dozed off when two young girls, probably no older than twelve, stepped through the curtain. They wore identical, loose-fitting, ocher-colored robes. Smiling sweetly to Connie, they slipped out of their robes and joined her in the water.

Connie sat up. “Excuse me!” she said. “This is supposed to be a private bath. What do you two think you are doing?”

The girls gave Connie quizzical looks but did not otherwise respond. Then Connie remembered she did not have the magical box to translate their words. She had loaned it to Rahl, since he was the spokesman of the party.

The girls waded over to Connie. One emptied some of the fragrant liquid onto the palm of her hand and inhaled the scent. The other picked up a pastel-green sponge and sopped up some bathwater. One of the girls lifted Connie’s arm from the water and began running the sponge over her arm in a mild sweeping motion while the other applied copious amounts of soap and water. Connie felt awkward while the two girls did this. She was not used to this type of treatment.

“I can do this myself,” she said in halfhearted protest as one of them ran a sponge over the palm of her hand. The girls responded with a giggle, not understanding a word. By the time the girls had moved on to her other arm, Connie was hooked on the decadent experience of having someone else wash her.

After her bath, she was given a soft cloth bathrobe that caused a strangely fuzzy sensation on her skin. Two guards escorted her back to her room. She felt thoroughly refreshed as she walked down a wide hall, of which every inch boasted some sort of floral decoration.

The guards locked her in her room. Though she was a prisoner, she did not immediately care. She was alone, and this was a good feeling. She flopped down on the king-sized bed, which was covered by no less than three incredibly soft comforters. She allowed herself to sink into their softness. Then she heard music coming from somewhere—a faint, sweet, and pensive tune. She sat up and looked around to determine its origin. The music emanated from an opening in the ceiling just above the bed. Surrounding the opening was a black, morning glory-shaped horn not unlike one found on ancient Victrola record players. The purpose of this horn was to direct the music downward to the occupant of the bed. Connie suspected the music originated from a distant room in the palace and was literally piped into the rooms through a network of ducts. Connie took a moment to study the furnishings in the room. They were alien-looking in a medieval sense, but also ornate without being overdone. Two five-wicked oil lamps gave off an incredible amount of white light.

There were two windows facing the south. She estimated she was on the third floor. Just below the window was a large, grassy courtyard with a great, rectangular pool at its center. To the left of the courtyard behind a wall was a huge garden dotted with miniature fountains and crisscrossed with walking paths. To the right, lay an expansive swath of low-cut grass—a perfect place to play croquet. Lightly armored sentries, carrying shiny-tipped halberds, patrolled the grounds in pairs. Beyond the outer wall of the palace, the rooftops of the surrounding city could be seen. In the distance, many leagues away, she saw the barren, snow-covered faces of the mountains that defined the valley. Though the sky was still bright green, the setting sun had dipped below the mountains. It cast a giant shadow across the valley and made the hour seem later than it really was.

There came a knock on Connie’s door. Before she could reach the door, the door opened of its own accord. It was a maid carrying Connie’s clothes. The woman placed the dry and neatly folded clothes on a table next to the vanity.

“Thank you,” she said to the woman. The woman smiled but did not say anything. Connie remembered again that the woman could not understand her language.

The woman left as quickly as she came. The guard shut and locked the door behind her. She looked through the clothes, impressed with how clean they were. She brought them to her nose. They smelled fresh, too. A few minutes later, there came another knock on her door.

She waited, knowing the visitor would probably open the door of his or her own accord no matter what she did. She closed the folds of her fuzzy bathrobe tightly around herself in case it was a male visitor. The door opened. This time it was Rahl escorted by a guard.

“Rahl!” Connie said, delighted to see him.

Rahl looked years younger with his beard neatly cropped and his long, raven hair brushed back over his shoulders and left untied. Evidently, he received the same luxurious treatment in his own bath as Connie received in hers. Then she wondered if he’d also had young girls wash him down, running their little hands all over his body. She tried not to think of this scenario.

Behind Rahl huffed an obese, middle-aged woman. She carried a tape measure. Before Rahl could speak, the woman was all over Connie, measuring her body dimensions with her tape measure.

“I trust you enjoyed your bath,” Rahl said to Connie.

“Well, yes,” Connie said, distracted by the woman. “What is going on?”

“There will be a feast tonight. We are to be the guests of honor.”

“We are?”

The woman wrote down some measurements on a piece of parchment. There were other sets of measurements on the parchment. Connie assumed they were taken from some of the others.

Connie sighed. “First, we were going to be prisoners. Now we are to be guests of honor. Can’t the prince decide what he wants to do with us?” She looked longingly at the bed. “I don’t want to go to any banquet. Actually, I’d rather sleep for a while. It’s not everyday I get to sleep in a bed like this.”

“We cannot decline the hospitality of our host,” Rahl said.

The woman wrapped the measuring tape around Connie’s neck. She read the tape and scribbled down the reading.

“Why is she taking my measurements?” Connie asked.

“They are going to create a dress for you. A generous gift from the prince.”

Connie gave Rahl a perplexed look. That didn’t sound right. “Are those your words or his?”

“His,” Rahl replied with a slight smile.

“When is the banquet again?”

“This evening. In a few hours. After dark. They are making appropriate attire for all of us.”

“They're going to make me a dress in only a few hours?”

Rahl shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

“Sounds like they have one hell of a tailor. And they don’t even have sewing machines here.” She paused. “Then again, they may have some special spell for sewing,” she said to herself. “Either way, I have to see this dress.”

“The prince said there will be festive dancing and entertainment.”

Now the woman leaned again against the table. She stared at Connie expectantly, waiting for her to disrobe so that she could complete her measurements.

“I will see you later, Connie,” Rahl said. He turned to leave the room.

Connie smiled, her heart set aflutter by the prospect of having some levity on this quest. “Okay. See you at the banquet!” she said as he passed through the door. “Save a dance for me!”

The banquet hall looked like something out of a big-production medieval movie. Bright, festively colored tapestries covered the walls. Long, orange-clothed tables were arranged in an open rectangle in the room. Lighting the room was a huge silver and crystal chandelier that held perhaps a hundred or more lamps.

Small, wicker baskets sat on the tables, each stuffed to overflowing with fruit, some varieties of which were indigenous only to the valley. Inside the rectangle of tables was the polished splendor of a vast dance floor. At the head of the tables stood a tall, empty chair reserved for the prince. Immediately to the right sat Azamel. To the right of the prince’s chair sat some local noblemen who were able to make it to the impromptu feast. The party occupied the string of seats to his left. Men and women of noble and quasi-noble birth trickled into the room, mostly in pairs. They took seats at various parts of the table. If all the seats filled, there would be three hundred or so guests in all.

An usher led Connie to a seat of honor several places over from the prince. Tonight she was adorned in a deep azure gown with a plunging neckline. The pattern on her dress was an amazing pastiche of stars, crescent moons, and swords befitting of her role as a celestial Battlemage. The material of the dress was quite soft, and though it had the sheen look of satin, the feel of it was not unlike crushed velvet. Connie was pleased with the gown tailored to her body on such short notice. She doubted she could have chosen a better gown for the occasion. Then she wondered if the gown was hers to keep after the banquet. She had forgotten to ask the women. The accouterments did not stop with the gown. She also wore a pair of white slippers and, most remarkably, a thin gold necklace given to her only moments before by a steward before she entered the room. The prince’s private hairdressers fussed with her hair for almost half an hour. The effect was magnificent. Now her hair flowed gracefully over her shoulders, a mixture of waves and thin Syzthedian braids. Connie could not remember looking so well in Alyndia’s body. She came to the conclusion that Alyndia did not know how to dress to bring out her best in her feminine features.

The rest of the party was primped dressed in a like-fashion. Snow was dressed in a similar gown to Connie's, only done in striking red with a maroon pattern. Her dress, however, was cut slightly differently in the bosom, not quite as deep. Nevertheless, the peachy swelling of her feminine assets scandalously threatened to spill over the top. Rahl and the other men were dressed tastefully in brown vests. All three men wore black trousers tied from ankle to hips with a crisscross of thin leather straps. Rahl singularly wore a long sleeves black shirt with red-pink ruffles and daintily puffed cuffs. Theo, Maltokken, and Jalban wore subdued blue shirts with aquamarine ruffles.

For all the adorned attractiveness of the party members and guests, Tristana was clearly standout in the room. This was a woman who could still manage to look good in soiled rags after spending the day dragging logs down a mountainside. The ministrations of the palace staff had turned the pretty woman into a striking apparition of beauty. She accomplished this with a simple black dress and a necklace of white, pearl-like stones. Her unadorned raven hair hung just below the nape of her neck. For her peaches and cream complexion, she caused a gasp of wonder from the men in the room, and she provoked snide whispers among the fair but incomparable women. As Tristana approached their table, Connie and Snow looked to each other and then made sure that the seats to either side of them appeared occupied so that their own appearances did not pale next to Tristana’s uncommon beauty.

As more guests trickled into the room, musicians took their place on a low, broad stage at the edge of the dance floor opposite of the prince. There were six members to this band. They carried a variety of stringed and reed instruments. A palace guard wheeled in a large bowl-shaped drum that looked like a kettledrum and placed it by the stage. This looked like it was going to be a big production. Most strikingly, five of the six members were women. She wondered why this was so.

Connie sensed that someone was standing behind her. She turned around just as she felt the tingle of some magic spell flow through her body. She was alarmed to see one of the prince’s mages standing there. He gave her a grin.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“I have cast a spell upon you so that you may understand us,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Connie said, suddenly nonplussed.

“It is all right, Connie,” Theo said to her from the other side of Snow. “I made a trade with them. Spell for a spell.”

The mage then cast a spell on Snow. As did Connie, she quickly turned around when she felt the flux of magic.

“I hope you got something good in return from them,” Connie said as she gazed uneasily at the Syzthedian mage.

Theo responded with a smug grin. “Absolutely, I did.”

After every seat in the room had been filled, Azamel stood up. “All rise for the prince!” he commanded. All guests dutifully got to their feet and stood attentively behind their table.

The prince appeared from behind a curtain behind his throne, escorted by four armed guards. Once again, Connie thought the prince was foppishly overdressed. Evidently, he did not use the same competent tailors that had done the swift, miraculous job on the party’s attire.

Azamel gave the order to sit only after the prince had taken his seat.

“Let the banquet begin!” the prince commanded.

The six-piece band began to play a light, festive piece. A legion of servants, who appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, filled with wine the copper-colored goblets set on the tables. Others placed wholesome-looking loaves of brown bread a long with a dish of pasty yellow cream that looked like mustard. Connie dipped her finger in the yellow paste and tasted it. The cream tasted like garlicky butter. Deciding it was palatable, she helped herself to a slice of bread and dipped it in the cream as she saw the others doing.

Soon, a sumptuous meal of meat and vegetables was served. Connie thought the meat had the taste and consistency of prime rib. It was a welcome change from all the jule she’d had in the past month. She ate heartily, as did the rest of the party. This meal was followed shortly after by fruit-filled pastries and hot bread smothered with sweet jellies.

Connie noticed that Rahl and the other party members seemed to be having a good time. To her dismay, she kept noticing the prince furtively gazing at the party, studying them, evaluating them. From this, Connie could not help feeling that the Rahl and the party were being buttered up along with the rolls for some reason yet unrevealed.

After the meal, the pace of the music picked up, and dancers were called in. A troupe of dancers pranced about the dance floor in their colorful costumes festooned with bells. They performed a suite of four dances inspired by the four seasons. Connie found the music quite good, reminiscent of the chamber music of Handel. Soon, the guests of the banquet began to mingle. Connie noticed the casual stares of many of the male guests in the room. After a few of the dances had been performed, a few of these guests walked over to her and introduced themselves. Many of them commented on how Connie spoke Syzthedian for the short length of their stay and that she had almost no detectable accent. The men kept trying to make small talk with her. Connie nodded to them absently; the cloying music kept drawing her attention to itself, the sweet melodies hanging above the din of the room. Connie asked one of her male admirers who wrote the songs. He replied that the songs were written by the great Syzthedian woman composer, Ishthara Dolornes, who died hundreds of years before. She wrote thousands of pieces in her lifetime. Her music was a great inspiration to musicians. Connie thought that perhaps the popularity of this woman composer was the reason why the majority of court musicians were women.

As the night wore on, the wine flowed endlessly from the servants’ flasks, and though Connie drank in only small sips, the cumulative effect of the wine took a slight hold on her. She began to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. Now the troupe of dancers gave way to guests who wanted to do some dancing of their own. One particularly attractive male guest fancied Snow, and though Snow refused his advances at first, she ended up out on the dance floor. Soon, the seat next to Connie was vacant more than it was not. Connie accepted a few proposals for dancing. Though she did not know the steps to the Syzthedian dances, she allowed the men to teach her. Soon, she was dancing like an expert. Most of the other party members ended up on the dance floor, except Theo, who sat stoically with his arm crossed at this chest, and Tristana, who, although surrounded by a swarm of men, shook her head at each proposal for a dance. Connie chuckled to herself as the men cajoled Tristana into saying even one word, yet she kept one eye on the prince. He sat by himself as he watched the party and the dancers with a cool, detached expression. He did not drink from his glass of wine, nor did he dance. His aloofness led Connie to believe his mind was in other places that night. Azamel remained steadfast at his prince’s side, overseeing the dance, occasionally pointing out to the servants a guest whose wine goblet needed topping off. Occasionally, he rested his eyes on Tristana. Connie smiled to herself. Even old Azamel seemed mesmerized by her beauty.

Soon, Connie had enough to drink. The music sounded better still. She realized that if she was not drunk, she was well on her way to becoming so. While she was on Earth, she did not often drink to the point of inebriation. But juxtaposing the Cerinavian version of drunkenness to what she remembered feeling on Earth, the Cerinyan drunkenness had a stimulating edge to it as if she’d a few good joints along with earthly alcohol. She theorized she might hallucinate if she drank more—if she didn’t pass out first. She decided not to test her suspicions.

After the dancing and carousing were in full swing, Azamel rose and took a vacant seat next to Tristana. When he did this, all the men cleared away from around Tristana. Theo, who sat on the other side of her, eyed Azamel with obvious suspicion. Nevertheless, Azamel began speaking past Tristana to Theo. Connie looked at him while he spoke. She did not often go for men that much older than she, but Azamel had a charismatic manner that betrayed an infinitely strong will, tempered by kindness. Connie thought he would be interesting to talk to. She scooted her chair next to them to listen in on their conversation.

“She was conjured by a wizard who lived in Cerinavia,” Theo said of Tristana in response to Azamel’s question. “I did not know him personally.”

Azamel gazed deeply into Tristana’s face. Connie tried to decipher his expression. She wondered what he thought. “Such a lovely thing,” Azamel said longingly. “One has to wonder what pleasure this wizard had in mind to conjure such beauty from the outer planes.”

“Well, I do not recommend you look too long into her eyes,” Theo said. “Not unless you want to gaze into the negative plane. You may be harmed unless you are highly skilled in the High Art of Spirit Magic.”

“Yes, yes,” Azamel dismissed, swatting Theo’s words away like an annoying insect.

As though feeling perverse, Azamel gazed deeply into Tristana’s eyes. She, who had been sitting lackadaisically in her seat, seemingly bored by the banquet, suddenly sat up in her chair and returned Azamel’s gaze with an expression that could only be interpreted as great interest.

“Don’t say I did not warn you,” Theo said, seeing that Azamel didn’t heed his warning.

Azamel worried Connie. She remembered what happened one night when Maltokken tried to make a pass on Tristana while he was on watch with her. He told her sweet, seductive things while gazing deeply into her eyes. By chance, Theo awakened and saw Maltokken sitting on a log, staring into her eyes, silent and transfixed. He leapt up and threw Maltokken to the ground. The whole party awoke instantly. Maltokken “woke up” on the ground beneath Theo, unaware of what had been going on.

“Was I sleeping?” he asked.

Theo presently examined him and determined that Tristana had permanently consumed one of his three inborn humors. She had “sucked it away,” so to speak. He added that if Maltokken had continued looking into her eyes, she would have consumed all three, quite possibly killing him.

For the next few days, Maltokken was as weak as tea, nodding off at every opportunity. Tristana, on the other hand, seemed to be in a jauntily good mood, as evidenced by an additional spring in her step. Maltokken kept his distance from her from then on.

Now Azamel had locked his vision into Tristana’s velvety black irises. A playful smile formed on his lips. Tristana returned the smile. He touched her arm. There seemed to be a genuine connection between them. And, for some reason, her black-hole gaze did not seem to affect him as it had Maltokken.

Connie and Theo looked to each other. Now Azamel slowly, seductively ran his tongue over his upper lip. Tristana blushed and broke her gaze from Azamel, still smiling.

Azamel looked to Theo. “Now I know what the old wizard had in mind when he conjured her.”

Theo was stunned at this lascivious proclamation. “And what might that be?” he asked.

Connie saw that Theo was incensed by what Azamel might say. She put her hand on Theo’s shoulder to calm him. “It’s all right, Theo.” She gave Azamel a look of consternation.

“May I have her hand in a dance?” he asked Theo.

Theo winced at Azamel. “Well—yes—you may,” he said, momentarily discomfited. “But I do not know that she can dance.”

“You may be surprised.” He took Tristana’s hand and guided her to her feet. “I only hope that I am up to the task.”

“What does he mean by that?” Theo asked Connie as they watched Azamel lead Tristana to the middle of the dance floor.

“I have no idea,” Connie replied. And she meant this.

When the prince’s personal advisor entered the dance floor, most of the other guests cleared away in silent abeyance. Azamel whispered something into Tristana’s ear. She nodded to him in response. He then left her in the middle of the dance floor to make a request of the band.

“What is Azamel doing with Tristana?” Rahl asked as he returned to his seat.

“He is going to dance with her,” Connie said, stating the obvious, realizing that Rahl may have had a bit too much to drink.

“I didn’t know she could dance,” Snow said, overhearing the conversation. “Does she dance, Theo?”

Theo shrugged. “We shall soon find out.”

Azamel returned to Tristana. The room went very silent. All eyes in the room were upon them. She held out her hand to Azamel in a strikingly graceful pose. He took her hand and struck a similar pose. They held this position for a moment, frozen, seemingly stuck in time. Then the music began to play. The piece had the rhythm of a waltz, its delicate melody carried along by a recorder and a stringed instrument that reminded Connie of a mandolin. The two figures moved on the floor in sync to the movement. They took each other’s arms and spun gracefully like two swans in love on a crystalline lake. They performed a complex dance—a dance far more complex and intricate than Connie had ever seen. She was the recorder; he was the stringed instrument, and in harmonious sync, they played out a tragic romance in one act. Connie was mesmerized by the dance. Their movements were incredibly graceful and lovely to behold. Both of them smiled broadly, happily symbolizing the joy of new love. Azamel danced with the vigor of a young man, and Tristana danced with the sprightly energy of a ballerina in her prime.

Snow dabbed tears from her eyes. “Is that our Tristana?” she asked softly to no one in particular.

Connie gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

As the waltz progressed, the melodies of the two lives varied discordantly to symbolize a parting of spirits. The piece ended in his make-believe death. Only the disembodied, withering voice of the recorder remained, detached, and far away from its accompaniment. Azamel lay prone on the polished dance floor, eyes closed, with Tristana weeping over him in pantomime.

There came a stunned silence in the room as the echo of the last note of the piece faded from the room. The guests stared at the two without issuing a sound. There was not a dry eye in the house.

Then there came applause and cheering. Azamel hopped to his feet and lifted Tristana to hers. The two smiled broadly. They bowed to the crowd and then to the prince, who sat in his chair, wiping his eyes.

Hand in hand, Azamel led Tristana back to the table where Theo and the rest of the party waited. As Tristana took her seat, Theo stared at her as though she were a stranger. Connie thought she saw him trembling.

“Thank you for allowing me to dance with her,” Azamel said to Theo, who was too stunned to speak.

Azamel turned to return to his seat, then he stopped abruptly and looked back at Theo. “By the way, she said she doesn’t like to fight Chaos monsters.”

“What do you mean by that?” Theo responded with an accusatory tone. “How could you possibly know what she said?”

“Fortunate is the man who understands and fulfills the woman’s unspoken desires, for she will reward him with even greater joy,” Azamel said. Without elaborating on that, he smiled once again at Tristana and returned to his seat.

The band began another song. Some guests filed out onto the dance floor. Theo abruptly stood up from his chair.

“What is wrong, Theo?” Snow asked.

“I’ve had enough of this.”

Snow gave Theo a knowing smile. “Tsk, tsk, Theo. He only danced with her. It seems you have an awful case of jealousy. Why don’t you control yourself and have a little more wine?”

Theo locked his eyes on Azamel, who was being complimented by a few of the guests on his dancing. “First he stares into her eyes, then he believes he can communicate with her. Who does that peon think he is? A Spirit Master? Even I cannot do that.”

The smile fell away from Snow’s face. “You say he stared into her eyes? And he communicated with her this way? I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” Connie said. “I saw it myself.”

Snow stared at Azamel for a moment. She gingerly cast a spell to detect his aura. Noticing her do this, Connie did the same. Azamel radiated very little magical aura, nothing that could not be found in any commoner who could cast a simple elemental spell or two.

“He does not seem overtly powerful, if he truly did cast a spell on her,” Snow said, not removing her gaze from Azamel. “If he is a powerful sorcerer that can communicate with spiritual beings, then he probably hides his magic well, for it does not show in his aura.”

Azamel noticed Snow staring at him from across the room. Snow smiled sweetly at him, then looked away.

“Then what does it mean?” Rahl asked his sorceress.

Snow shrugged. “Perhaps someone cast a spell on Azamel that would enable him to do this. Perhaps it was one of the court mages.”

Theo chuckled dryly. “All of the prince’s best sorcerers have been sent to slay the dragon. Those that remain are not impressive in their skills. Our magic is much more powerful than theirs.”

Connie had been scanning the auras of most of the guests, including the mages that were present in the room. She corroborated Theo’s point.

“Then I have no idea why he was not harmed, Theo,” Snow said with a sigh. “Maybe Tristana just didn’t feel like taking his humor. Also, Azamel could be lying. Maybe he didn’t speak to her at all, and he only wanted to get under your skin. In any case, my dear, I recommend that you respect him. He may seem courteous, but do not offend him. There are some things about him that do not add up.”

“Bah!” Theo said. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Just as Theo turned to leave, the prince rapped his goblet with a knife to make an announcement. Azamel stood up and addressed the guests. “Let there be silence,” he said proudly. “The prince wishes to speak.”

The music immediately stopped playing. The guest ambled back to their seats. The prince rose from the chair to get a good view of his guests. Connie had kept her eyes on the prince for the duration of the banquet. She knew he had been mulling over something for the last several hours.

The young prince wore a haughty smile as he spoke. “I thank all of you for attending this banquet. Perhaps you are wondering why I have called you here on such notice to attend.” He gestured to the party who sat to his left. “As you all know, we have some visitors. They are great warriors from the distant land of Cerinavia. They are the answers to my prayers, the saviors that will free our land from a force that has plagued our beloved kingdom.”

Uh-oh, here it comes, Connie thought.

“Tomorrow, at dawn, we shall sail across the Phosnia Lake, where I shall lead them into the cave of the dragon. We will rescue the lovely Princess Sanja Malaynia. It is there we shall first befuddle the beast with our great magic and then impale its soft underbelly with our swords.”

A loud gasp came from the guests. Snow reached over and grabbed Rahl by the sleeve of his shirt. He turned to her with a look of confusion. He was as appalled by this announcement as Snow and the rest of the party. Most of all, Azamel seemed shocked by the prince’s announcement. Before Rahl could respond, he spoke up.

“But Sire, the dragon is a vicious beast. It has killed hundreds of your best men.”

“I am unafraid,” the prince replied.

"But you are the ruler of the people, first in line to your rightful crown. If you are killed, the people will be without their beloved leader.”

The prince spun around quickly. He backhanded Azamel hard. His loyal advisor tumbled from his chair to the polished stone floor of the room. Connie jumped to her feet on seeing this. Prince or not, she didn’t like seeing him treat the loyal Azamel that way.

Snow roughly pulled Connie back to her chair. “No,” she said to her apprentice firmly. “It is not our place to interfere.”

“Silence, Azamel!” the prince shouted. “Are you wishing cowardice upon me?”

Azamel looked up to the prince forlorn from the floor. “Sire! With the greatest of respect for your great courage, I speak for all your loyal subjects. We do not want you to be harmed.”

The prince smiled arrogantly. He looked to Rahl and the other party members. “I shall not be harmed. I have protection.”

“Good Prince,” Rahl said. “We are uncertain of our abilities against this great beast you speak of. We will be in peril as it is in our search for the artifact within its caves. We cannot assure you that we can rescue the princess or ensure your safety.”

“Nonsense,” the prince said. “You have slain thirty-three of our men with one spell. You are most certainly capable of completing this task.”

“Sire! Please reconsider!” Azamel said, pleading.

“Silence Azamel, you old fool! Do you not listen? Silence, or you will lose your head. You may have been a proficient advisor in my father’s time, but your judgment fails you now.”

“Rahl, what are we going to do?” Snow asked.

Rahl sighed wearily. “Well, we must go to the caves anyway. Perhaps we can rescue this princess after we find the artifact.”

“No!” the prince said to Rahl after he overheard what he said to Snow. “First we will rescue the princess, then we shall seek your artifact.” He paused. “And if she does not leave the cave with us, my men shall see to it that you do not leave the cave either.”