A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words - The Tale of Prince Valkyet The Miserable

This post was inspired by an image-based writing prompt in the Freewriters community, A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

This is the wonderful image created by @wakeupkitty -

It was snowing when Mr Dabra rode into Vardin City. That was pretty normal; in such northerly regions, it snowed for more months than it didn't.

The city wall was grey basalt, drab under the leaden sky but high and strong, clearly a serious defence not a decorative cordon. The barbican gates, however, were open, the portcullis raised and the drawbridge lowered.

Four guards lounged under the shelter of the gatehouse, their surcoats and shields bearing the arms of the Principality;

Image created in DrawShield

They may have looked casual, but they were diligent in questioning new arrivals. One stepped forward as Mr Dabra approached.

"Welcome to Vardin Sir. What is your business in town, please ?" The words and tone the guard used were distinctly incongruous, a less welcoming welcome was something Mr Dabra had seldom heard.

Bowing in the saddle, Mr Dabra ran a hand through his long beard, and then replied, "Thank you for your welcome; I am seeking employment. Pray tell me, who rules this fair city ?"

The guard barked a harsh laugh. "You'll have little joy on that score, wizard. We are ruled by Prince Valkyet, called by many of our citizens 'The Miserable'. He's only happy when he's raising taxes or overseeing public executions. He especially detests wizards, so if I were you I'd leave before you join one of his execution feasts."

With a sardonic smile and a calm voice, Mr Dabra responded to the guard, "Oh, I should very much like to meet this Prince of yours. I assume that tall grey building is his citadel ?"

Then without further ado he paid the toll and spurred his horse towards the citadel.

There were guards at that gate, too, but they allowed Mr Dabra to dismount and enter. They hadn't spotted the mild charm he had cast on them as he approached.

Prince Valkyet sat in the throne room, surrounded by guards and suitably terrified courtiers and flunkies. He liked them that way, it made them more obedient. His son Valkar was among them somewhere, but he was a useless little nobody who hid at the back of the crowd trying not to be noticed.

Valkyet was every inch the prince. Still muscular, even in his sixties, with long grey hair and a neatly trimmed grey beard. His piercing blue eyes moved around the room constantly, seeking out dissent, and his face was lined from years of frowning and showing disdain.

When a scruffy-looking man strode into the throne room unannounced, Valkyet rose from his throne with a face like thunder.

"You ! You're a wizard ! I don't have wizards here. Guards, arrest him and prepare him for immediate execution !"

A dozen guards rushed forward to do his bidding, halberds lowered. They didn't get far. With an economical wave of his hand, Mr Dabra cast a Hold Person Mass spell on them, and they froze into immobility.

This drove Valkyet into complete rage. He waved forward his court sorcerer (who had managed to avoid being executed as a wizard on a technicality).

"Gharrak, fireball this wretch ! I want to bathe in his ashes !"

Gharrak the sorcerer raised his arms, and hurled a growing, glowing ball of incinerating flame down the throne room. Mr Dabra dispelled it with a flick of his wrist, then impaled Gharrak with a lightning bolt too powerful for the unfortunate sorcerer to parry.

Then he turned his attention to the Prince.

"Prince Valkyet, I came here to seek honest work, to ply my trade in Vardin, maybe even as Court Mage. But I find you to be a tyrant and a bigot, and I hate both of those things with a passion. I hear your people call you Valkyet the Miserable. It is time to do something about that."

Now Mr Dabra raised both arms to their full extent, and cast a spell of his own devising upon the Prince.

The tyrant's expression changed... indeed, his whole face changed. His flickering blue eyes stilled, the frown and worry lines transmuted into laughter lines, and his permanently scowling mouth twitched and twisted as the Prince helplessly tried and failed to fight the spell. Finally, it settled into the widest, toothiest fixed smile imaginable.

"Perhaps now your people will call you Valkyar the Happy," Mr Dabra announced, before turning on his heel and walking out.

An extract of my Dungeons & Dragons world map (created in Wonderdraft) showing Vardin and it's region

Some days later, Prince Valkyet was in his chamber, sat at his dressing table in front of the great mirror his grandfather had commissioned. Scattered around him were tokens and trinkets, crystal oil bottles and saucers of unguents. None of them had broken the spell. Even the skull of his ex-wife who he'd tortured to death personally after finding her in bed with his ex-chancellor (whose mummified hand rested next to it) had failed to remove the unfamiliar humour he felt.

But the eyes staring back out of the mirror at him told the true story. His face might be smiling, but it was like a rictus grin. Internally, he was in total misery.

He heard the door open and close again, and behind the glow of the mirror's magical light he could see his son.

Even speech was difficult. His jaws were locked together, his lips pulled taut, as he tried to address Valkar.

"Find at izzard. Make im take spell off. Hurt im till 'e does. I can't eat. I can't drink. I laugh when I piss. Make it go."

Valkar approached from behind, a pitying smile on his face. "You want me to find the wizard and torture him until he removes his spell, father ? I've got a better idea."

Valkyet hadn't seen Valkar draw his stiletto, but felt it as the knife slid through his spine and into his heart.

"Vardin needs a better ruler," was all Valkar said as his father died with a smile on his face.

Postscript - Mr Dabra has appeared in a couple of my posts recently, usually as a senile old archmage. This little tale is from when he was in his prime, a decade or three earlier.