Amanda Moonstone: The Missing Prince
Sample Chapter
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
Chapter 4
A King's Plan
“Don’t let anyone disturb me,” Kimera ordered the guard stationed outside his bedchamber. The guard nodded and stood nearby the door as Kimera closed it behind him. He decided to retire for the night, feeling exhausted from all this worry. He just prayed that Daryl would be found soon. Being King was everything he ever dreamed of. He would not let it slip away. As long as Daryl was out there, his role was in jeopardy.
He felt a headache coming along and grabbed the side of his temple, the inside of his skull pounding like the beat of a drum. A little wine will ease this. He wandered to the table at the end of the bedroom, picking up the diamond encrusted jug filled with Golden Sun, the best wine in the Southern Lands. He took a golden wine goblet and poured the orange tinted liquid into the goblet.
“That is not a good deterrent for pain.”
Kimera jumped out of his skin, dropping the jug. The wine spilled out as the container hit the ground, most of it splashing out with the initial impact, the rest slowly seeping through the funnel onto the ivory-coloured carpet.
Someone was sitting on his bed—but Kimera was sure that he did not see him there before. He was dressed all in black with a heavy overcoat and a large fedora. Over one side of his face was a white half-mask with lines drawn on either side. He sat crossed legged, a large, black tome resting on it, his gloved hand turning the dirty yellow pages. “The alcohol does not make your agony go away, it only conceals it.” He spoke slowly and quietly, taking his time with his words like he would not be rushed. His voice seemed to carry no emotion and chilled Kimera to the bones with each word he spoke. “It hides you from the true agony that you hold within your soul.”
“You!” Kimera gasped.
“You want to lock your door,” the man in black suggested. “That is unless you intend for your servants to know your dark little secrets.”
Taking this advice, Kimera locked the door with a key from the bedside table.
“You have a question that you wish to ask,” the man in black said, remaining seated. “Ask it and I may have an answer.”
“You told me that Daryl was at that village,” Kimera snapped at him.
“And that was not an untruth,” the man in black replied. “Impatience was your enemy here.”
Kimera could barely understand what this man said half the time—speaking to him was like trying to decipher a puzzle that was harder to crack than it needed to be.
“Are you saying that this is my fault that Daryl got away?”
“If that is the intent that you take from my words.”
Kimera wished this man talked in normal Commonspeak and not in riddles. “You’re supposed to be helping me!” Kimera shouted, then realised he should keep his voice down.
“Have I not?” the man in black asked. “Who was it that came to you in your time of need?”
Kimera remembered that day well, just over six years ago. He was in a tavern, drinking himself into a stupor to overcome his depression. He had become deeply resentful of being second fiddle to his sister, the Queen. What had she really done to deserve it? Kimera had fought in wars for Celtland (that was before he let himself go a little), he had all the skills to lead Celtland. But Father had chosen Sheena as his successor—and that did not sit well with him at all.
He met with the man in black when he was trying to buy another round but had run out of money. He brought Kimera a drink and sat and talked with him. Kimera told him his story and his anxieties, even breaking down into tears at one point. The man in black listened to his story and seemed to take pity. The man in black offered him a chance to take everything he wanted and said that he would help him. It was because of him that Kimera was able to put a plan into action whereby he would become King and finally put an end to his sister once and for all.
The man in black stood up, his stature was so large that he dwarfed Kimera. “I assume you know the importance of finding this child?” he asked him.
“Of course I do,” Kimera snapped. “With him out there, my claim to the throne is threatened.”
“The importance of your claim is non-existent,” the man said
“Non-existent?” Kimera screeched. “Are you saying me being King isn’t important?”
With his head focused on the pages of his book, the man walked past Kimera, towards the door.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Kimera shouted. “I am King; you will answer me!”
The man stopped and pointed two fingers towards his throat. Kimera suddenly felt his throat tighten, as if someone had put a noose around his neck.
“A King is only a title,” the man said. “And words are only as powerful as those who speak them.”
Kimera flew through the air as if picked up by an unseen force. He landed on his backside, his head near the spilled wine.
“If you follow the path of blood, blood will follow you.”
Kimera sat up, one hand rubbing his head, the other clutching his throat. “What are you blabbering about?” he grumbled.
But the man in black was not there. He had vanished. Kimera never even heard the door being opened. Stumbling to his feet—and nearly tripping over his own weight—he bolted towards the door, only to find it still locked. Impossible! He can’t have walked through it.
Rushing to his bedside table, he grabbed the key to unlock his door, throwing it open.
But all he saw was an empty corridor. It was like the man never existed in the first place. Kimera rubbed his aching head, his headache returning.
“Your Majesty?”
The guard eyed Kimera, rather befuddled. Kimera looked back at him with a blank expression. Then, remembering his role, he asked the guard in a demanding tone, “Did you see a man in black pass by here?”
“I did not, Your Majesty,” the guard replied.
“Agh, never mind.”
The guard looked into Kimera’s quarters, noticing the spilled wine. “Your Majesty, is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” Kimera snapped. “I . . . just had an accident with the wine jug.”
“Shall I . . . get you more wine, Sire?” the guard asked, confused but not wanting to upset the King, seeing he was in distress.
“No!” Kimera snapped. “I mean, yes . . . get me some more wine!”
He slammed the door shut, leaning against it and rubbing his throbbing temple. His heart was racing at a million times a second. The man in black couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air like that. It wasn’t possible.
Was it?
He felt a headache coming along and grabbed the side of his temple, the inside of his skull pounding like the beat of a drum. A little wine will ease this. He wandered to the table at the end of the bedroom, picking up the diamond encrusted jug filled with Golden Sun, the best wine in the Southern Lands. He took a golden wine goblet and poured the orange tinted liquid into the goblet.
“That is not a good deterrent for pain.”
Kimera jumped out of his skin, dropping the jug. The wine spilled out as the container hit the ground, most of it splashing out with the initial impact, the rest slowly seeping through the funnel onto the ivory-coloured carpet.
Someone was sitting on his bed—but Kimera was sure that he did not see him there before. He was dressed all in black with a heavy overcoat and a large fedora. Over one side of his face was a white half-mask with lines drawn on either side. He sat crossed legged, a large, black tome resting on it, his gloved hand turning the dirty yellow pages. “The alcohol does not make your agony go away, it only conceals it.” He spoke slowly and quietly, taking his time with his words like he would not be rushed. His voice seemed to carry no emotion and chilled Kimera to the bones with each word he spoke. “It hides you from the true agony that you hold within your soul.”
“You!” Kimera gasped.
“You want to lock your door,” the man in black suggested. “That is unless you intend for your servants to know your dark little secrets.”
Taking this advice, Kimera locked the door with a key from the bedside table.
“You have a question that you wish to ask,” the man in black said, remaining seated. “Ask it and I may have an answer.”
“You told me that Daryl was at that village,” Kimera snapped at him.
“And that was not an untruth,” the man in black replied. “Impatience was your enemy here.”
Kimera could barely understand what this man said half the time—speaking to him was like trying to decipher a puzzle that was harder to crack than it needed to be.
“Are you saying that this is my fault that Daryl got away?”
“If that is the intent that you take from my words.”
Kimera wished this man talked in normal Commonspeak and not in riddles. “You’re supposed to be helping me!” Kimera shouted, then realised he should keep his voice down.
“Have I not?” the man in black asked. “Who was it that came to you in your time of need?”
Kimera remembered that day well, just over six years ago. He was in a tavern, drinking himself into a stupor to overcome his depression. He had become deeply resentful of being second fiddle to his sister, the Queen. What had she really done to deserve it? Kimera had fought in wars for Celtland (that was before he let himself go a little), he had all the skills to lead Celtland. But Father had chosen Sheena as his successor—and that did not sit well with him at all.
He met with the man in black when he was trying to buy another round but had run out of money. He brought Kimera a drink and sat and talked with him. Kimera told him his story and his anxieties, even breaking down into tears at one point. The man in black listened to his story and seemed to take pity. The man in black offered him a chance to take everything he wanted and said that he would help him. It was because of him that Kimera was able to put a plan into action whereby he would become King and finally put an end to his sister once and for all.
The man in black stood up, his stature was so large that he dwarfed Kimera. “I assume you know the importance of finding this child?” he asked him.
“Of course I do,” Kimera snapped. “With him out there, my claim to the throne is threatened.”
“The importance of your claim is non-existent,” the man said
“Non-existent?” Kimera screeched. “Are you saying me being King isn’t important?”
With his head focused on the pages of his book, the man walked past Kimera, towards the door.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Kimera shouted. “I am King; you will answer me!”
The man stopped and pointed two fingers towards his throat. Kimera suddenly felt his throat tighten, as if someone had put a noose around his neck.
“A King is only a title,” the man said. “And words are only as powerful as those who speak them.”
Kimera flew through the air as if picked up by an unseen force. He landed on his backside, his head near the spilled wine.
“If you follow the path of blood, blood will follow you.”
Kimera sat up, one hand rubbing his head, the other clutching his throat. “What are you blabbering about?” he grumbled.
But the man in black was not there. He had vanished. Kimera never even heard the door being opened. Stumbling to his feet—and nearly tripping over his own weight—he bolted towards the door, only to find it still locked. Impossible! He can’t have walked through it.
Rushing to his bedside table, he grabbed the key to unlock his door, throwing it open.
But all he saw was an empty corridor. It was like the man never existed in the first place. Kimera rubbed his aching head, his headache returning.
“Your Majesty?”
The guard eyed Kimera, rather befuddled. Kimera looked back at him with a blank expression. Then, remembering his role, he asked the guard in a demanding tone, “Did you see a man in black pass by here?”
“I did not, Your Majesty,” the guard replied.
“Agh, never mind.”
The guard looked into Kimera’s quarters, noticing the spilled wine. “Your Majesty, is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” Kimera snapped. “I . . . just had an accident with the wine jug.”
“Shall I . . . get you more wine, Sire?” the guard asked, confused but not wanting to upset the King, seeing he was in distress.
“No!” Kimera snapped. “I mean, yes . . . get me some more wine!”
He slammed the door shut, leaning against it and rubbing his throbbing temple. His heart was racing at a million times a second. The man in black couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air like that. It wasn’t possible.
Was it?