A Prince's Errand [PREVIEW] ✔️ | Book One of TALES OF THE AMULET

Chapter 4 - Mischief

My Chosen, they are faithful to me in all things.

I have tried them, proven their obedience.

They have achieved the pinnacle of life.

To them I grant all my power.

- 10th Verse from the Feast of Sorrows

As Iltar's wagon emerged from the forest, the morning sun warmed his face, contrasting with the cool spring breeze blowing from the eastern shores of the island. Hegdil sat beside him and drove the wagon. Filly, the black horse, trotted, his horseshoes clanking against the stone highway. Chatter from behind reached Iltar's ears; the acolytes were teasing each other. Iltar, however, contemplated the ride through the forest.

That dream was still fresh in his mind. Though the forest, the various dirt roads, and the highway were fine, the destruction he had witnessed still haunted him.

Why would I dream of such things? he thought. And that man who looked like him. There was something eerie about that reflection. Iltar shook the thoughts aside, turning his attention back to the road.

The wagon moved toward Soroth, amid riders on horseback and horse-drawn carriages. A merchant caravan was up ahead, probably from the western side of the island. Farmers there sold their produce here in the capital city, a more profitable market than any other city in the west.

After a short while, Iltar's wagon neared the city gates. Soroth was a modest city compared to those Iltar had seen in other parts of the world. But Soroth was home and held a special place in his heart. Iltar didn't remember much of Tor, the city of his birth, except for the hustle and bustle of its citizens. Soroth was much quieter. Although the city was a major port, the docking district was mostly on the southern side of the city. There were piers and wharves along the northeastern edge, but not many.

The location of the docks caused a divide among the citizens. The northern half of Soroth consisted of neighborhoods and shops. It was the more attractive part of the city. The wealthy lived there. The farther south one went, the less affluent the city became. The southwest side was the worst.

Soroth enveloped most of the southeastern corner of the island that shared the city's name. With a population of nearly two hundred and fifty thousand, the city was the largest in the nation, which consisted of sixteen other, smaller islands. The islands of Sarn, Silgarn, and Sereth—each half the size of Soroth—had one large city and several smaller towns scattered along their coasts.

Pagus was from Sarn. The rebellious youth was a member of one of their Royal Families. That boy, Iltar thought. What was he up to? Pagus had been mingling with the older acolytes recently, the apprentices of several council members of Iltar's Order.

Iltar's wagon slowed, and he braced himself as it came to a halt.

The merchant caravan up ahead had arrived at the northern gate. City watchmen in brown plate armor inspected the various wagons. After the guards finished their search, they waved the caravan through. Each of the other riders or carriages stopped briefly, but the traffic behind them contin-ued without coming to a complete stop.