Lost Prophecy

A Dramatic Prologue, Because of Course There Is

The child was born on a dark and stormy night, which was appropriate enough given that a lot of people in Lucknow castle were rushing about in a dramatic fashion. Not that it made the birth itself any more exciting or interesting, but since the Princess and a couple of doctors were doing all the work there wasn't much else anyone else could do, and sitting around looking nervous wasn't going to cut it this time around. Not in these circumstances.

The King himself wasn't up to a lot of rushing about – his age, gut, ridiculously overdecorated robes and need for dignity put paid to that sort of thing. But he paced back and forth in the corridor outside the royal bedroom, scowling to himself. A high-pitched shriek came from the other side of the door, and he winced and clapped his hands over his ears. 'Argh, that voice!' he muttered under his breath.

Another scream came, just as painful to listen to as the last one, and then came the inevitable sound of a baby crying. The King stopped pacing at once, and went straight to the door. It opened as he reached it, and one of the doctors greeted him with a smile. 'It's over, Sire,' she said. 'Your daughter is well, and so is the child.'

He nodded curtly and went in, jewel-encrusted robes trailing on the floor behind him. The other doctor was by the bedside, where the Princess was sitting up. She should have been covered in sweat and generally looking rather the worse for wear given that she'd just had a baby, but no – she may as well have just had a bath followed by a session with the royal hairdresser. She'd always had a knack for that, the King reflected.

Her rainbow-striped hair lay neatly around her shoulders, glossy in the candlelight, and her eyes were bright – one gold, one bronze, just like his own. The royal family of the Land of Flowers had always had bicoloured eyes. It made them special, like their rainbow hair.

As for the baby, it was in the arms of the second doctor, but as the King approached the bedside she put it into its mother's arms. She cradled the infant, and smiled at her father. 'You have a grandson,' she said in her irritating, screechy voice.

The King sighed. 'How are you, Etarina?'

'I'm fine,' she said. She showed him the child. 'Look at him, Father.'

The King inspected the child, and immediately stiffened.

The baby did not have rainbow hair. Nor were the eyes right. This baby's hair was spotted with dark blue, and the eyes were silver – both of them.

'No,' the King muttered. 'Etarina, what have you done?'

She had started to look a little nervous. 'I didn't mean to... that is, I thought-,'

Rage rose in the King, and his fists clenched. 'It was him, wasn't it? It was Ambit Afterman – he's the father, isn't he?'

'Er,' said Etarina. 'Er, maybe-,'

'He seduced you, didn't he?' said the King. 'Don't lie – I know he did.'

She hung her head. 'Yes. He was so nice to me, and he's the Chosen One, and I thought-,'

The King turned away, fists still clenched. 'Damn him! That bastard – how dare he? My daughter...'

He stomped out of the room without another word to Etarina, and outside a pair of his guards joined him. They escorted him to the throne room, and there he picked up his scepter, which he'd left on the throne, and sat down with it in his lap. A couple of lackeys were quickly on hand, offering food and wine. He accepted both.

'Bring me Lord Deever,' he said.

The commander of the royal guard arrived shortly after that, and bowed to his King. 'Sire. How is the Princess?'

The King growled. 'She's had the child. A boy.'

'And is it-?'

'It is,' said the King. 'It's his son.'

Deever swore. 'That bastard!'

The King gripped his sceptre, which was shaped like a bunch of flowers. 'Ambit Afterman murdered Northrop Aquaberry, and he broke the prophecy and betrayed us to the demons. And now he's tainted the royal blood as well. Impregnating my only daughter!'

'We should have had him killed when he was here,' said Deever.

'Yes – we should have,' said the King. 'But never mind. You have work to do now, commander.' He stood up. 'Send out your best men. I want Ambit brought to me in chains, and the moment I get my hands on him, I'll have his head cut off and put on a spike.'

Deever paused. 'Isn't that a bit barbaric, Sire? We don't even have any spikes...'

'Then I'll have some made!' the King shouted. 'Get to work! I want Ambit, and I want him now! He's going to pay for this, I swear – there won't be a single corner of my Kingdom where he can hide from me, come what may!'

'Yes Sire,' Deever said hastily. 'You can rest easy. My men will find him, I promise. Ambit Afterman won't escape us forever.'

*