Excerpt: Like Finding a Number in Alphabet Soup

Prologue

"Your eminence," the messenger wheedled obsequiously, "I come bearing news."

"Well, of course you do. You're a messenger-- it's your job. What is it?"

The messenger fidgeted on the spot. He knew Malaki wouldn't be happy with the tidings he brought. He heard rumors about the last messenger who brought Malaki bad news, and the details definitely weren't pretty. Why didn't he just listen to his mother and find a nice peaceful job behind the bar of some tavern? No-- he had to go out and see the world. Now look where it got him.

"Well?" Malaki grouched. "Are you just going to stand there?"

The messenger gulped. He supposed it was better to just get it over with. Perhaps if he just got it over with now, the emperor wouldn't be that irate. Taking another look at Malaki's face, the poor man reconsidered. Irate was two minutes ago. Now Malaki looked downright mad.

"W-well, your excellency, I was sent b-by the general at your outpost in the Northern Forest. Apparently, they've received word there that the young man you sent on that top secret mission was eaten by a bear. Some rangers found his bones and clothes."

The messenger said this all very quickly in a single breath, and when he was finished, he took a great gasp of air and cowered, inching towards the door.

Malaki looked thoughtful for a moment, and almost calm. But those who knew him well enough would immediately catch that the vein in his temple was throbbing, the surest sign of his upcoming rage. Suddenly, he banged his fist down on the armrest of his jewel-encrusted throne, causing several rubies to dislodge from their mountings.

"Another one? Damnation! I'm running out of young farm lads of humble backgrounds and pure hearts and all that other drivel that prophecy said. They aren't exactly thick on the ground around here. And why do they always get eaten? First it's wild boars, then it's wolves, and now a bear. Do they wander 'round forests with a parchment saying 'eat me' affixed to their back? Do they marinate themselves in garlic and herbs before they set out? Honestly..."

Malaki sat back down in his throne in a huff. By this time, the messenger had been tiptoeing his way, bit by bit, toward the exit, and he had one foot out in the hallway when his luck ran out.

"Hey you! Where do you think you're going?"

"I-- I-- Well, I--" the messenger stammered, his brain all out of on the spot excuses.

"You!" Malaki gestured to the guard nearest the door. "Take this miscreant out of here and... Put him to work in a coal mine or something."

The messenger whimpered as he was dragged off. Just as he disappeared from view, the palace's doorman entered the throne room.

"Very sorry to interrupt, your majesty, but there is someone here to see you, and he says he has an offer that you might find enticing. Shall I send him in?"

"This better be good," Malaki grumbled. "Let 'im in."

A tall and gangly figure entered, clothed in ornate red brocade robes that were impeccably tailored. His blond goatee was trimmed and smoothed perfectly, not a whisker out of place, and his mustache was just as lovingly cultivated. His hair shined in the sunlight drifting through the cathedral-style windows of the throne room, and his posture was so perfect it lent him a sense of presence that made him seem that he almost owned the place. Everyone in the room, including Malaki himself, paused to gape for a moment. After a second, Malaki shook himself out of his trance. He was already in a bad mood, and now some poncy nobody dared to come wandering into his palace and take the attention away from him. This was not acceptable at all. He rushed to reassert his authority.

"Who are you? And don't you know to show some respect in the presence of your betters?"

"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry," the newcomer oozed, and he sank into a deep bow that was almost too respectful, just a hair's length away from mocking. "I was just admiring the furnishings. I must say, they are exquisite, especially that chair."

"Throne," Malaki muttered somewhat petulantly, disarmed by the stranger's charm. "It's a throne!"

"Oh dear, my mistake. Oh, and it seems to have suffered some sort of injury. I'll take care of that if I may."

Without waiting for Malaki's permission, the stranger approached, picked up the rubies off the ground, replaced them in their positions, and placed his fingertips over each one. With a small spark, barely noticeable, the gems were reattached and good as new. Malaki was mildly impressed. This guy might be useful to have around, he thought, as long as that annoying attitude gets reigned in.

"So what is it you want, Mister...?"

"Drythe," the stranger finished. "You may just call me Drythe."

"Well, Drythe," Malaki said in his most regal tone, "my doorman said you had a proposition for me. Let's hear it." He was tempted to snap his fingers, feigning haughty impatience, but he figured that that might be overkill.

"I know about what you've been trying to do lately. I know all about the prophecy and the artifact that you are desperate to obtain."

"That's supposed to be a secret! How did you find out? And I suppose you want me to bargain with you for your silence, is that it? Well, absolutely not! Guard, take him and--"

For the first time since his entry, Drythe's composure slipped a bit, and he interrupted Malaki.

"No, no, no, that isn't the case at all!" Malaki didn't look convinced, so Drythe continued. "You see, I know about the prophecy because I am a sorcerer who apprenticed to the wizard Chriton at the time he wrote the prophecy and hid the artifact."

Malaki leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on his entwined fingers, trying to look thoughtful and intrigued but not too interested.

"So?" he asked skeptically. "What's that to me? I already know the prophecy. What more can you offer me?"

"Ah yes," Drythe continued conspiratorially. "You know the prophecy Chriton gave you, the one he wanted you to know. But that prophecy was false, a mere diversionary tactic, if you will."

"What? What proof can you offer me?"

"I cannot offer you concrete proof, but I can cite, if I may be so bold, the fact that you have sent multiple young men who fit the prophecy perfectly, and they have all perished. What do you have to lose by believing me? If I am wrong, just send me away and continue onward with what you've been doing."

"And what do you want in return?" Malaki asked, having learned long ago that nothing came without a price.

"Oh, just a mere pittance," Drythe responded smoothly. "All I ask is for employment as your court sorcerer. I've already proved my use to you once so far, repairing your throne. I would require a handsome salary, of course, but surely that would not be too much of a boon to ask for from someone as rich and prosperous as your majesty."

Malaki was stuck just where Drythe wanted him. If he offered Drythe a measly sum, the guards in the room could start rumors later that Malaki wasn't as rich and powerful as he claimed. And Drythe knew Malaki wouldn't be able to resist the chance of him being right about the prophecy being untrue. He knew how frustrated Malaki was with the lack of success so far, and Malaki wanted that artifact more than anything. To a man like Malaki, the lure of power was very strong indeed.

"One hundred pounds a month, and room and board in a suite in the palace."

"Your excellence, I'm very grateful." Drythe bowed again, so low his forehead seemed to almost brushed the floor.

"Yeah, well, you had better be telling the truth. If you're lying to me, I'll roast you on a spit and serve your pompous arse for dinner," Malaki growled. If there was one thing that made Malaki grumpy, it was parting with his money.

"Absolutely, your highness. Quite right. Now let me tell you how the prophecy really goes. The key to the prophecy, the one thing Chriton never expected anyone to guess, is that the only person who can find the artifact is a girl. And not just any girl-- a girl from Earth."

"What?!" Malaki shouted. "That's preposterous! How would we fetch a girl from Earth? We can't just skip over there, in case you didn't notice. You must be trying to make a fool out of me! Give me one reason I shouldn't lock you up in one of my dungeons and let my master of torture have his fun with you."

"Your highness," Drythe carried on courageously, "I know a way to get to Earth. Chriton taught me how to open a portal."

"What? But the portal caved in and was lost as soon as my ancestors arrived here. Everybody knows that."

"Yes, but Chriton found a different portal. It's a smaller one, only able to transport one, or at the maximum two, people at a time. But that's all we need. So yes, you can have someone 'skip over there,' pick up a girl, and come back with her in tow. The hard part then will be convincing her to help you. As I said before, what do you have to lose in trying this? You stand only to gain what you want the most, the artifact."

Malaki looked thoughtful, and Drythe shifted his weight from foot to foot, getting a bit nervous as the seconds of silence ticked by. Finally, after a minute or so, Malaki spoke again.

"Fine. We'll try this portal of yours. I'll have my son work on the girl. The ladies seem to always like him."

"Very good, your majesty. Very good."