AN: So the prologue sets the stage for who he will become, and yes, there is some divine influence, but it's limited to being "touched" before birth as different and special- there are no powers or other "perks" involved. This is not a tale of some deity creating a "Chosen One" in the magical or divine sense- just a boy who has drawn the special interest of a higher power, that he might bring a measure of hope to his people.
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One Child
Ten years later- 19,493 A.S.
Green and red fairie fire lined the pillars and arches of the great chapel, while a small, solitary figure polished a huge obsidian statue in its center. The statue was in the shape of some monstrous female, with the lower body of a spider, a scorpion's arched tail and pincers, and the face of an elven woman with serpentine features and fangs. The small ebon-skinned boy had climbed up onto the statue's back to reach higher up; he was wiping dust from its face when he heard footsteps echoing through the huge round chamber. He looked up from his perch, to see an elegant dark elven woman standing in the entrance glaring at him with a look of disapproval.
"Lothir Ustdalharuk E'Terrin'dar, what are you doing up there?! You are supposed to be cleaning that statue, not getting your hand and boot-prints all over it!"
The young child climbed back down, chastised and contrite. She strode over to him, and cuffed him across one pointed ear.
"I couldn't reach!" He complained, rubbing his ear.
"That is no excuse. You must show respect and reverence to the Goddess in all things! You are noble-born, with the power to levitate. Use it, boy!" She raised her hand to strike him again, and the boy flinched from the expected punishment.
"Ardra, enough. This ridiculous servitude ends now. He is the Prince of the First House, not some lowly slave." A tall, imposing drow male strode in with a look of cold fury. He had piercing, ice blue eyes- a color rarely seen in drow- and a grim visage, his silvery-white hair cropped close on the sides and top, with only a long tail in the back. He was dressed in black leathers, with a red silk sash around his waist and a cutlass and whip at his hips.
The woman whirled on him, her red eyes blazing. "He must learn his place, Lord Aldan, or he is useless! And prince or not, he is still just a male."
The boy looked up from one to the other with a nervous fidgeting of his hands. His innocent blue eyes seemed on the verge of tears, but neither of the two noticed.
"It is King Aldan, Mistress Ardra; furthermore, I am the ruler of this House, so I will say how my son is raised!" The drow roared at his Consort, causing a momentary look of fear to flash in her eyes. She gazed down at the floor in deference.
"As you will, then. But do not forget that he is as much my son as yours. He will learn proper respect for the Goddess and our traditions." She gave a formal bow to her mate and House Patron, privately seething that she should have to defer to an upstart male when most noble Houses were still ruled by their Matrons. "Lothir, you are dismissed from your duties. Your father seems to think serving the Goddess is unworthy of a male." His mother nodded to him curtly as she left the temple, with a final glare in Aldan's direction.
Aldan glanced at the child casually. The prince was about the size of a human five-year-old, but with the fine features and slight build typical of all elves. His wild mop of snowy hair hung over his face, as the young boy cautiously met his father's stern gaze.
"Come, boy. It is time to begin your training. You must learn certain skills if you are to take your place within this family. Do you understand?"
Lothir looked down at his feet as he followed his sire out of the chapel. "Yes, father," he said contritely. He did not understand why his parents were always angry, but it frightened him.
"Good. Do not disappoint me, or I will give you over to your mother and let her do with you as she likes. Do I make myself clear?"
The little boy nodded silently. They walked down a short corridor to another round room with stairs spiraling up through the ceiling above. He followed the older drow up the stairs, past several floors, to a small room that served as a study and meditation chamber. Inside were two others, a shorter, severe-looking male in scholar's robes, and a woman in a purple corset and a long black skirt, with her white tresses in a high bun. The two were waiting patiently; they snapped to attention as their Patron entered with the boy close behind him.
"These two will be your tutors, Lothir. Belkris will instruct you in numbers, strategy, alchemy, magic, and nature lore, as well as the basics of defense until you are ready for the Academy. Shiallin will teach you history, politics, religion, language, and the cultures of the races we deal with. She will also be teaching you the finer arts of noble life. You will spend six hours with each of them every day- without fail. I will be informed of your progress, so you had better not fail in your studies. Your lessons begin tomorrow. Do not be late! You are all dismissed." He waved the three from the room. The tutors nodded and left, and after a moment's hesitation, the young prince did likewise.
With that, Lothir found himself with nothing to do for several hours- a rare treat for one used to spending most of his time in servitude to the rest of his family. So he wandered to his father's library, a place filled with musty old tomes and scrolls- many of them gathered from far-off lands long before he was born- where he knew he would be left alone. The room was seldom used, for most drow had little time or interest in reading for pleasure.
Inside, he looked around at the shelves, and levitated up to the very top of the nearest one. He looked through the stacks until he found a large volume filled with many detailed illustrations of beasts, monsters, and far-away places. He pulled himself along the shelves, digging out several other books- all similarly illustrated. He had not yet learned to read, but he enjoyed looking at them all the same. He dropped to the floor and carried his treasures to a large round cushion on the floor by a small hearth. He lay down on it with the first book open before him, and began to study the pictures. He studied each one closely, memorizing every detail. Some of them had the names of the creatures below them; he ran his fingers over the symbols of the words, engraving them into his young mind. Lothir had been blessed with a bright, inquisitive mind, and a near-perfect memory.
He could recall even the smallest details of things he had seen or heard. Soon he began to notice that many of the same words that named the creatures in the pictures appeared in the writing as well. He became excited when he realized he could read the words for dragon, dwarf, beholder, and several others. He jumped up and went to a small desk, and pulled out parchment and a quill, and began trying to copy the ones he knew. It did not take long before he discovered that many of them had symbols in common that made the same sounds when he said them aloud to himself.
Little did the young drow realize that he was doing something that even children four years older or more often could not do. In only hours, he had begun teaching himself not only to read, but to write, as well. And not only letters, but entire words and phrases. Once he understood the sounds they went to, he began putting others together on his own- and suddenly he was reading far better than a child his age would normally be able to. If anyone had seen him at that moment, they would have been astonished by how easily he had mastered that most basic skill. But Lothir was bright beyond his years, and more importantly, he truly desired to learn.
He was lost deep in concentration, so he almost did not hear the footsteps approaching the door. He hid the parchment and quill quickly, thinking that he might be punished if his parents found out he was in the room without permission using up precious parchment that was so rare in the dark caverns of his home. Then the door opened, and in came his sister Morganna. She smirked at him, her arms folded.
"There you are, little worm," she said. "Mistress Ardra is looking for you- it is time for dinner. You'd better be glad I found you first, before they learned you've been in here messing with father's books."
"D- Don't tell them! Please, I'll do anything you want!" He pleaded with his older sibling, jumping up to hug the girl.
Morganna made a disgusted face, trying to push her brother away. She hated the young boy, seeing him as a weak, stupid male who had by birth alone taken everything that should have been hers. She was older by more than twelve years, so by right of eldest child should have been the favored heir. Yet Morganna was only half-drow; though she and Lothir shared the same father, her mother was not was not the Lady Consort- not even a drow, in fact.
Aldan E'Terrin'dar had not been born a dark elf. He was one of the Nameless Cursed, those rare elves of light skin who had committed offences so great against their fellows that they were punished by being forced to endure the Dark Banishing. Thus were they transformed into the black-skinned drow, their sins visible for all to see, and their names struck from all records of elven history as though they had never existed.
Once, not long after he had been so Cursed, Aldan had taken revenge against his former kin by slaughtering an entire encampment at the edge of the Silver Kingdom, leaving only one woman alive to be taken as his slave. Her name was Ravyn Bloodbane- and she was Morganna's mother. Thus, Morganna was a bastard child, who by custom could not even take the name of her House.
This suited her father just fine, for young as she was, Morganna had already begun to exhibit a cruel streak to rival that of even the most sadistic of dark elves. She could often be found whipping, burning, or beating slaves- her own mother included- for no particular reason, or catching cave snakes to skin them alive.
She particularly enjoyed playing cruel pranks on the slaves, such as putting deadly scorpions in their beds, or using a grease spell on the stairs to cause one of them to fall. And always, when he tried to punish her, even with whipping, she would merely glare silently, with no sign of contrition or fear. He had long since given up on trying to control her. With a child so vicious and foul-tempered, the self-made king had wisely chosen to look elsewhere for his future successor.
Naturally, he had been doubly pleased when his Consort had given birth to a son. Most drow favored daughters, for only females could join the clergy of Lothrenya that ruled so much of their society. Yet Aldan's founding of a new house and moving it so swiftly through the ranks to the coveted position of First House had begun to change that- at least in some Houses. Several noble families had overthrown their Matrons and allied themselves to him, forming a powerful coalition of disaffected Houses. Establishing a male heir had strengthened the position of the First House among its allies.
Morganna resented that- she spied on her young brother whenever she could, and found him to be too soft for a drow. He was properly respectful of customs and of his elders, to be sure; but when he was away from his parents' eyes, he seemed more like a surface elf in demeanor than any drow.
"I should just tell them you were playing in here. I bet Mistress Ardra would whip you. Maybe she'd even let me do it!" She gloated, knowing her timid brother was afraid of his mother more than anyone else.
"Morg- I- I'll feed and clean up after your riding lizard for a week! I'll even polish your saddle!"
The older girl laughed, tossing aside her long black hair, its three distinctive silver-white streaks gleaming in contrast to the raven tresses she had inherited from her mother. "Alright, toad. But you have to scrub my hunting gear, too!"
He nodded mutely, his blue eyes wide in fear. Lothir was almost as terrified of his cruel sister as he was of his mother. He knew she hated him, but was still too young to understand the reason. He couldn't know that she considered his very existence to be an insult. He rushed to put away the books, and then raced down the stairs to the dining hall.
As expected, his parents were waiting, and did not look happy. His mother yelled, and then sent him to his quarters without dinner. It was only later, when he heard a cautious knock at the door later that night, that anyone came to check on him. He opened it to find the elf slave Ravyn standing there, looking about with frightened eyes to be sure no one saw her. The slave woman held a tray in her hands, with leftovers from the meal.
"Quickly, my prince- they must not see me, or they will punish us both!" She whispered. Lothir did not have to be told who "They" were. She entered, and he closed the door while she set down the tray.
"You must be hungry. I saw how Lady Ardra treated you. It is unthinkable that such as she could have borne you, child." She stroked his soft hair while he eagerly picked up a hunk of rothe meat and a large, spongy mushroom dripping with cave-fisher jelly. He looked up into her violet eyes and smiled.
"Thank you. Why are they always angry at me? Everything I do is wrong. My sister hates me! Am I bad?"
The woman sat on the edge of his small bed; he climbed up beside her, hungrily munching away. Ravyn sighed. "No. You are so different from all the others. I think perhaps your father might have been like you once, before he turned to seeking only power. I cannot bear to see such innocence trapped in this evil place. Would that you had been my child, rather than that wicked little fiend I birthed. She is more drow at heart than you are, little one."
Lothir finished the rothe and mushroom, and took a piece of cheese and a cup of moon drop wine mixed with rothe milk. "Lady Ravyn, you're the only one who's ever nice to me. You're my friend." She leaned over to kiss his forehead.
"Shh, do not speak such things aloud, child. You mustn't call me Lady- not ever. I am only a slave here. Our friendship must be a secret, for they would not allow it. Promise me you will never speak of it around others."
He nodded solemnly. "Alright, I promise."
She stayed until he became sleepy, and tucked him into his bed; Ravyn sighed as she left, wondering how long it would be before her cold-hearted master would change the sweet child she knew into a killer like himself. Such a kind and guileless heart could never survive untainted for long, she knew. Sooner or later, the boy's world would make him into one of them. Though she was a slave, she could not help but wish to keep such a flame of goodness alive in such a dark and cruel place. She saw in the boy her one solace and hope of freedom; for if he understood love or compassion, he might one day be in a position to free her. If such a day ever came, she knew the gods would bless them both.
Lothir awoke early the next morning, both nervous and excited about his first day of lessons. He dressed quickly, then rushed down to breakfast and ate hurriedly. He remembered his father's words; he knew better than to be late. Then he raced to his father's study, where he was told to go to the large training room in the lowest level of the House.
He ran all the way, and stopped running only when he had entered the room, where Belkris stood near the door waiting for him. The dour older drow scowled as the boy approached and bowed breathlessly; he reached out and rapped Lothir sharply on his head.
"Ow! I'm not late!" Lothir protested, rubbing his head.
"No. You are not late. What you are, boy, is impertinent! You will enter this room quietly and with dignity befitting your station- not like some wild rothe bull!"
The boy cast his eyes down to the floor. "Yes Master Belkris. I'm sorry."
"Now, if you can contain your exuberance, we will begin…." The stern drow waved absently, as though it was no longer of importance.
Thus began Lothir's first day of lessons; he spent hours learning about all of the things that made his people formidable, the knowledge and skills needed to survive and conquer their dangerous world. It was the first of many such days; as his father had promised, he was required to attend every day without question or excuse. At first, he was eager, until he discovered how utterly dull most of his lessons were. Even so, he knew better than to complain or slack off in his studies, no matter how boring. On the few occasions he was caught daydreaming, he was severely reprimanded by his tutors. Lothir learned quickly to fake attention, even when thinking of other things entirely, lest he end up with another lump on the head.
Days stretched into weeks, months, and then into years, with little change in the routine. Only once was there any real interruption- for after four years, King Aldan discovered that Belkris was a spy for a rival House that had been plotting to destroy E'Terrin'dar. Naturally Aldan was not pleased. Belkris was immediately executed, and his head was displayed in a jar the next day while Aldan interviewed the candidates for his replacement.
The replacement- a gloomy sorcerer in his fifth century by the name of Jezdin- was, if anything, more exacting and less tolerant than his predecessor had been. Lothir, ever inquisitive, would often ask questions of his teachers; once he had even dared to ask why dragons, who were so huge and powerful, did not rule the world, or why humans ruled over so many lands, if they were as weak and stupid as everyone claimed. He did not understand why his teachers did not answer his questions, but always responded by beating and berating him for such foolishness.
He could not know that they had no answers. His innocent questioning had brought to light the essential flaws in their way of thinking. For in asking them, he had exposed the intrinsic arrogance of their belief that theirs was the greatest of all races. Yet he noted their unwillingness to answer him, and determined to seek his own answers. Thus, he began sneaking into the library late at night to read those books from such far-away lands as Iolia, Alron, and Deepvale.
Once he had been caught entering the library by Ravyn, who had come down from his father's chambers, bruised and with her long tunic ripped, on her way back to the slave quarters. He paused at the door, still holding it open, frozen in fear at being discovered, and worry at seeing her hurt.
"Little one, what are you doing here? You should be asleep!" She had chided him gently, even as she had ushered him into the room, away from prying eyes.
"I couldn't sleep- please don't tell anyone!" He pleaded. She closed the door and lit a candle, while he pulled a book from under the cushion where he had hidden it the night before.
"Of course, you know I wouldn't. But we mustn't stay here, or we will both be punished." The woman knelt beside her young friend while he sat on the cushion, with another candle beside him, and opened the book.
"Is that why you're hurt? Did you do something wrong? I wanted to read a story before bed- will you read it with me?" He looked up at her with his big blue eyes hopeful. Ravyn sighed, unable to refuse him.
"I was- punished, but not for doing anything wrong, dear. Your father is not a very nice person. He likes to hurt people." She did not know any other way to explain that he might comprehend. How did one tell a child about such things?
"I know," he nodded. "He hurts you a lot, doesn't he?" Lothir reached up to touch her face, frowning at the deep bruises, and the marks of a hand on one shoulder.
She only nodded silently, and closed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened. The boy was still too young to understand what manner of "punishment" she had been subjected to. How long would he keep that innocence?
"Yes. I'll stay with you for a while, but we must not remain long." She had sighed, and sat with him while he read ancient tales of knights fighting undead dragons, and brave heroes battling evil sorcerers with armies of monsters.
"Are any of these stories true?" he had asker her after a while.
"Oh, yes. The one about Malvordain the Red Terror was from the kingdom of Coldmire, back when it was called Lyseria. And Galdara Berriksdotter really lived- in fact, others have found her sword from time to time."
"Do you think I could find it?" he asked, excited.
Ravyn only laughed. "Perhaps one day, little warrior," she said, hugging him while he looked up with his bright blue eyes shining with a glow of happiness. It was so seldom there that she cherished every moment they shared, for those were her only moments of happiness as well. He smiled, and she shook her head with a sigh. "Come now, we've been here too long already, you scamp."
And so she had taken him back to his room. Nearly every night afterwards, they had met in the library, where she listened to him reading the tales of other places, and shared with him stories of her own home in the Silverwood- like the human hero Lycus Firehawk, who a few years before she was captured had defended and later married the elven queen Zara Elrin.
The boy was fascinated by those tales, and always listened with rapt attention. He was most enchanted by her songs, however. He would often ask her to teach him new ones, and then sing them back to her after hearing them only once. His memory and sense of tone were superb, even for one so young, and Ravyn was pleased by how easily he picked up tunes or poems. Truthfully, she was glad to see such happiness in him.
Time passed; the young prince grew, and before long, he was nearing his twenty-fourth year. He was now at the age where he was no longer simply a child, yet just barely entering adolescence. Dark elves aged much more slowly than humans or halflings, though not quite as slowly as other elves. Already he had begun the combat training that was taught every drow. In a society rife with treachery and murder, being able to fight one's enemies was essential to survival.
Lothir had taken most easily to fighting with blades. He had even managed to impress his instructor- a grim drow with a scarred face named Nalvir (for Jezdin, being a sorcerer, had little skill with weapons, and so Aldan had needed another tutor to teach his son the arts of battle)- when he discovered he could fight with two blades better than most could with just one. Soon he was spending hours learning the basics of combat to prepare for the day he would enter the Academy for his real training.
In some ways, however, Lothir was still very much a child. He knew almost nothing of the complicated ways of adults- and of personal relations in particular. Neither of his scheming parents had any interest in teaching him about such things, and would probably have considered his "adult" education to be beneath their notice in any case. Aldan was home too rarely to even pay attention to the fact that the young boy was fast growing into an adolescent- and a very curious one, at that- since he spent much of his time on the sea with his fleet of deadly ships preying upon the villages and merchant ships of Anterris' eastern shores.
His mother, on the other hand, barely ever gave him a glance. She had always considered a male heir to be an embarrassment in a society that favored daughters. No male could enter the Venom Queen's clergy, and with their tight grip on the reins of power throughout most of their island empire, the clergy were the strongest power in Argonia, save perhaps for Aldan's own force of bloodthirsty cutthroats.
Thus, Lothir was left to discover for himself the changes that came with growing up. Some he had accepted without a second thought; as he became taller and stronger, he found he could balance on the ropes of the narrow walkways that connected the stone spires of his home, or climb to ledges high on the stone walls of the great cavern that held Argos Hall. He even found he could swim in the cavern's cove as well as any of his father's most seasoned sailors. Soon he was challenging them to swimming contests on their occasional returns to the cove to rest and supply their ships.
Yet there were some changes that took the boy completely by surprise, simply because no one had ever bothered to explain them. The first happened one day when Jezdin had asked him a question and Lothir tried to answer, only to have his voice come out as a high-pitched squeak after he had barely uttered two words. The old mage turned slowly to glare at him darkly.
"If you are attempting to be amusing, boy, I would suggest you stop." He strode toward the young drow, and gave him a sharp tap on one hand with his rod.
"Ow! I wasn't-" He began, and then suddenly squeaked again. He clamped both hands over his mouth, looking up at his tutor with eyes wide in fear. "I'm sorry!" He blurted- and his voice went through three separate octaves on the word "sorry".
"Enough of this nonsense! I will not tolerate such insolence!" Jezdin snarled, and struck the boy hard across one cheek with his hand, then leaned over him, amber eyes narrowed in cold distain. "Now, answer me, boy, and if you dare mock me again, I will show you why it is unwise to anger a sorcerer!"
Lothir flinched, and tried once more to answer his elder. But halfway through, he made a croaking sound much like the cave toads that were sometimes found by underground pools.
Jezdin suddenly seemed to snap. "I warned you- now you will suffer for your foolish games!" He pulled out a wand from the folds of his robe and pointed it at the young prince.
Lothir saw the long silvery wand aimed at him, and quailed. He let out what might have been a shriek of fear, if any sound had come out, and dived from his desk in a mad rush for the door, while a stream of tiny, fiery red orbs streaked toward the spot where he had been. They struck the desk, and made scorch marks and ignited where they hit. He heard Jezdin shout a few simple arcane words, and the door slammed shut in his face. He tried to scream again, but what came out was a strange broken cry like the high-pitched chatter of a monkey.
"S-stop! P-please, I'm-" and he croaked again- "I can't make it stop! H-help!" He tried to yell out through the strange affliction that seemed to have come over him. He could not seem to put together three words without making a squeak or a croak, or simply losing his voice entirely.
"Master-" he shrieked, "something is wrong"- another croak- "with my voice!" Again he ended in a squeak.
Jezdin paused, finally understanding that the boy was genuinely afflicted. "This is not some silly jest? You had better be telling the truth, or your father will hear of this."
"N-no," the boy began desperately, still unable to control the sounds he made. "I think M-Morganna put a spell on me- like the time she turned my hair purple for a week!" He managed to say through the cracking and sputtering in his throat.
The old mage considered. "Hmm, well, it is possible. We shall see." He grimaced, then uttered a few strange words and waved his hands in the gestures of a simple spell. At last he gazed down at Lothir with a strange yellow light in his eyes.
"I see no aura of magic on you. There is no spell."
"I-if it's n-not (squeak) a s-spell, what is it (croak)?" Lothir asked frantically, afraid of what was happening to him. "Am I i-ill?"
The old sorcerer frowned. "I do not believe so," he said, his gaze resting on the younger drow. "Just how old are you, boy?"
"I (squeak) just t-turned twenty-four, Master," he replied. He still seemed incapable of normal speech, and was forced to take his time even to get out that much.
"I see. Well, then I suppose there is no help for it." Jezdin sighed.
"What is it, Master?" He croaked.
"It is most likely your voice changing. You are beginning to approach adulthood, after all. It will pass in time, though I've never heard of it coming on quite so quickly or strongly as this."
"H- how long?" The boy asked hesitantly.
"Who knows? Weeks; months perhaps. It could take as long as a year or two. In the meantime, to spare you any further humiliation- and my own ears- I think it best if you write out your answers when I ask you a question. Now- let us continue…"
Hearing that imperious tone, Lothir knew his teacher had dismissed the subject, so he sighed and tried to continue his lessons.
True to Jezdin's prediction, within a few weeks the young drow's voice settled into a tone much deeper and stronger than it had been. Unfortunately, by then everyone in the House knew it was cracking, and Morganna naturally made him utterly miserable with her constant snickers and cold smirk whenever he tried to speak. Even Aldan had told him to keep silent several times over the weeks until it had passed.
Only Ravyn appeared sympathetic to his troubles. She would come to visit him in his room late in the evenings if she was not called into her master's chambers, and she would sing old songs from her homeland. She taught him the words to help him learn to control the frequent shifts from squeals to deep cracks that seemed to cause so much frustration to the young prince.
After a time, he began to notice the annoying cracks came less; then one day he was watching his father's flagship- a huge war galleass with black sails and a figurehead of a drider at its prow, called Executioner- leaving the cavern's dock on another raiding trip. He sang an old tune Ravyn had taught him that was meant to ask for fair weather and calm seas. He smiled to himself when he realized he had made it through the entire song without a single squeak or crack. He had developed a rich, warm tenor, that rang out pure and true when he sang. Elated, he laughed, and dove into the water, swimming after the ship until it had entered the tunnel that led out into the open sea.
Lothir had never been allowed to leave the cavern of Argos Hall. He wondered what it was like beyond that tunnel, where the great burning ball of the sun was said to sear the eyes of his people. For that reason, Aldan's ships always carried a priestess of Lothrenya to cloak them in darkness, both to shield their sensitive eyes, and to protect their weapons from the ravages of sunlight that made them degrade and turn to dust if left in it for too long.
He wanted to go with them, to see that wide expanse of sea and sky that Ravyn had spoken of in her stories. However, it was not permitted. His parents had made clear that he was never to go beyond the bounds of their House unescorted, and so far, no one had ever consented to take him into the deeper tunnels or caverns, or on the ships to the surface world. The confines of that one cavern made up the whole of his world, and it seemed smaller every day.
Already he had explored all of its secrets. He knew every rock and crevice, from the deep crevice of the refuse pits that ran into a long crack in the eastern wall, to the grove of giant mushrooms and glowing fungi that carpeted the southern end. There was even a small rothe herd that had been fenced into that area, complete with a small stream that fed into the cove. This made Argos Hall one of the most self-sufficient Houses in Argonia. With its own water and food supplies, and only two entry points, the cavern made for one of the most defensible strongholds of any House. Not even in Terrillis was there another noble House as well guarded or safe. In addition, in spite of the size of its resident family, Argos Hall was easily the biggest noble House anywhere in Argonia.
None of these things mattered to the young prince, however. He had long since discovered the secret entrance to his father's personal vaults, where he kept the most valuable treasures from his many raids. Once he had learned how to get past the traps and hidden doors, Lothir had made a game of seeing what he could find among its many glittering treasures. He had even managed to sneak a few of them out, to hide in a small box beneath a stone in the farthest corner of the mushroom grove. Somehow, keeping this secret from his family made him feel less powerless.