That job was almost complete. True, Chelten and the other hand-picked men of his guard, the ones he had trusted to get the Dragon Sword out of the country, had failed to send a message saying they were safe in Tetril but that was a minor matter. Chelten had never failed before. The main thing was the Dragon Sword was gone, the Queen was a prisoner and he was strengthening his hold on the country by the day. No, Norstalos was not his concern now. Instead he had maps of Tetril and Berellia out, and he was trying to decide where he should strike first. Every so often he would walk across to the throne and sit on it, just to see how it felt. The throne room was a special place for him. It had been the scene of happy memories, as well as one terrible one. But that was why he was here now. To wipe out that memory and regain the feeling he had had when he was a boy. He could remember his mother bringing him here, telling him it would all be his, one day. Arching pillars, a soaring roof, the marble floor, massive murals depicting King Riel saving the dragon, towering windows that looked across the rich city, space for hundreds of people to gather—they all spoke of the grandeur of Norstalos.
