Macster - The Missing Links

Lord Rupert could not keep the relief from his voice or the beaming smile from his face as he read aloud from Prince Wendell's letter on the parchment in his hand. "Dear all: you must be wondering where I have been these past few days. I have been laid low with a sprained ankle, and am staying in the Royal Hunting Lodge in the Disenchanted Forest. Do carry on with the coronation plans, and rest assured I will be back in plenty of time for the big day. Lots of love, Prince Wendell."

He lowered the parchment sheet and met the eyes of each member of the Council, nodding in approval at this most welcome news. Beside him, the Lord Chamberlain, who had been reading over his shoulder, clapped his gloved hands together and chortled. "Thank goodness for that!"

As he returned to his seat, Chancellor Griswold added his own take on the matter, eyes dancing with good spirits. "That explains it."

But one councilman did not smile, did not join in the general frivolity. Viscount Lansky bit his lip, hand curled before his mouth and flexing in intense thought. "It explains nothing." He leaned forward and fixed his steely gaze on Lord Rupert. "Why has the prince made no reference to the troll king crisis?"

An uncomfortable moment of silence ensued, and then the courtier responded somewhat lamely, voice uncertain. "Well, perhaps he hasn't heard about it. A twisted ankle can be excruciating."

Lansky thrust himself to his feet, as if wrenched upright by the firm resolve in his heart. "The troll king has challenged Wendell to face him in combat." He crossed to the map of the Kingdoms, where Chancellor Griswold was examining the ranks of yellow death's-head flags that represented the Troll King's advances. "Meanwhile, he's killing Fourth Kingdom citizens, and nothing's been done about it."

"We need a plan," the chancellor noted rather redundantly.

Lord Rupert came up behind both of them and clapped his hands on their shoulders, smiling. "We have a plan." He reached up and smartly rolled another chart down over the map, this one displaying a schematic of the palace dining room. "My seating plan! The ceremony is barely three weeks away, I need the prince for a fitting, and I need people to at least commit to a basic color scheme..." Wringing his hands, he paced back and forth, quite agitated by his inability to perform his duty.

A soft snort escaped the viscount, betraying his contempt for Lord Rupert. The prince was out of contact, the kingdom was threatened from both sides by the troll king's armies and the queen's escape, and all he could think about was placecards and silverware? "I'm worried about Wendell," he said insistently, drawing everyone's attention. His earlier decision to act to save the Kingdom was now put to the test--and abruptly an idea came to him. "I shall go to the hunting lodge, by the fastest steed in the Kingdom, and tell him of the troll king's challenge." Suiting actions to words, he circled the table and strode purposefully toward the council room doors.

"Jolly good idea!" the Lord Chamberlain opined enthusiastically.

Lansky rolled his eyes, wondering if he could be any more willing to please, but turned back with a grim expression. "One further thing." He planted his hands on the table. "The Queen is still at large. She has spies everywhere. Nothing that is said here must go beyond this room. Agreed?"

Each advisor nodded gravely, and at the table's head, Chancellor Griswold echoed, "Agreed."

Viscount Lansky swept one last glance around the room, judging the merit, sincerity, commitment, and ability of each present, and found many of them lacking. But they were the only chance the kingdom had, unless he and the prince could intervene. Sighing, he turned and gestured to one of the silent guards, who opened the ponderous doors to admit him from the chamber.

Behind him he could hear the Lord Chamberlain launch into one of his custom-made speeches. "We must consider military options. Otherwise, we may be perceived as being spineless in Wendell's absence." At least he was thinking, even if that spineless assessment was sadly true.

Lord Rupert's higher-pitched voice sounded surprisingly introspective. "Would it help calm people if we..."

The doors closed and Lansky failed to hear the rest of what Rupert would have said. But even assuming his suggestion had been viable, it would not have as great an impact as what the viscount intended. Without hesitation, being a man of action and a veteran of battle with keen strategical sense, he traversed the corridors of Wendell's palace quickly, fueled by urgency. In short order he was entering the stables. Brushing aside the ostler, he personally saddled his favorite steed, a grayed-to-white stallion, and wrapped his scarlet-lined cloak around his shoulders as he mounted.

Along the entrance road, from the towering, exquisitely carved facade of the castle, he rode, past marble fountains and manicured lawns, face set in determination.

Yet he had no inkling that the entire time, throughout the Council meeting and now at the onset of his journey, the cold eyes of the queen were upon them all.

Observing the silly regents and advisors of Wendell's kingdom from a mirror hung above the council chamber's doors, the queen turned away from her mirror in contempt, but also worry. She had been quite certain they would fall for the letter, she had written it exactly in her stepson's distinctively frivolous style. But the Viscount Lansky...she had forgotten how stubborn, tenacious, and perceptive he was.

"Summon my Huntsman," she murmured to her mirror, and as its smooth surface blurred with racing images, she began to pace, lips pressed together in vexation. "Oh, we have problems..."

At last, after several minutes, the mirror settled on one image. The Huntsman stood before the tree in the woods that was his secret hideaway and prison, gazing at her in a hand mirror she had given him for this express purpose. He did not seem upset that she had contacted him.

She said, "Wendell's council doesn't believe my letter. They have sent a man to Wendell's hunting lodge." She paused significantly. "He must not return."

Without hesitation or pleasure, the Huntsman replied, "It is done."

The queen smiled at him. He, at least, was a worthy ally.