Realm Law: Book Two of The Five Realms Trilogy

Knights on horseback, clad in scarlet and silver, seared Roland with their lidless eyes. He could not bear to look into the ghoulish orbs that had never closed nor known a moment’s rest. He hardly dared whisper for fear that Droom ears were as penetrating as their eyes.

On a bright day such as this it hurt his own eyes to stand among the Droom with their burnished silver belts, wristlets, helmets, swords, and buckles all reflecting the flames of the sun. Everything else the Droom and their horses wore was scarlet: saddle blankets, shirts, leggings, and the capes wrapped tightly around their chins. Long dark hair streamed across their shoulders. If not for their demonic eyes, accented with black paint beneath their lower lids, and the bloodless tint of their skin, they might have been handsome. As far as Roland could tell, they were all clean-shaven, although they rarely exposed either cheek or lip.

The Droom patrol had intercepted them just as the travelers stepped from the foothills of the Emperor Mountains onto a great plain where the wind had swept the snow from the grass and had carried it to the doorsteps of the scattered aspen guarding the foothills. Brandishing long, flat swords and reigning in their flaxen-maned chargers, the mounted knights of Droom had performed a precise maneuver at full gallop that split the patrol into four squadrons. As the travelers stood mesmerized, the squadrons weaved a pattern that quickly surrounded the intruders.

Digtry had called to the Droom horsemen that clattered to a halt around them. With considerable flourish, using words such as “the elite of Kal Shadir” and the “majestic Lords of Droom,” he declared that they had urgent business with the masters of the land. The squadron captain had muffled a faint, humorless chuckle before motioning his men to form a moving box around the intruders.

During their march, the Droom displayed none of their reputed cruelty. Yet neither did they offer Berch a mount, no matter how much he slowed their progress.

“Those hellish eyes drill through me when I go to sleep and pierce me when awake,” complained Belfray. “I feel as though they can see past my skin and examine the contents of my very soul. How can I sleep with them hanging over us like vultures?”

The Droom spoke to each other in quick bursts, always just out of earshot. The unblinking stares and low asides made Roland feel as though he were under glass in a laboratory. The strain had become unbearable. Weary as they were, the expedition had eagerly taken to the road well before dawn in hopes of reaching Kal Shadir before too many more sunsets.

After hiking for several days on a level, crushed limestone road, they rounded a barren sandstone hill to find the city of Kal Shadir rearing up defiantly from the dry plain, a fortress of stone daring wind and storm to waste its breath against the colossus.

“I don’t have to ask whether this is Kal Shadir!” exclaimed Roland. “This is the first city I’ve seen in the realms that looks like a city!”

He said it without awareness of the insult he was dealing the Tishaarans. But they were too busy taking in the city’s overwhelming presence to take notice.

Kal Shadir’s wall rose up from the plain like a wedge hammered into the ground. It soared to a height of at least 12 stories, and was so wide along the top that Droom horsemen could be seen cantering along its length. Soldiers stood erect at regular intervals along the wall, motionless except for the scarlet capes snapping in the wind. Brilliant sparks flashed from the gemstones embedded in the bricks and mortar.

The travelers followed the road, a shimmering mosaic of black onyx and green jade that led to the great city. The thin snow cover that in the foothills had survived the warming season evaporated without a trace, as if not even the elements dared challenge the will of Droom.

The road passed through an archway and then ran along a long causeway. Lined by high, immaculately smooth stone walls, it bisected a lake that was teased by the brisk wind into a froth of white-capped waves. The causeway bored straight into a wooden door that seemed but a pinhole in the mountain of stone and mortar that protected the city. But as they drew near, they saw the door was five times their height, framed by massive beams that, as Belfray remarked, could only have come from Big Timber.

The gate swung open. They found themselves entering a world of jutting spires, polished golden domes, and dark watchtowers mounted atop swollen columns of polished alabaster that formed the backdrop for the more finely crafted features of Droom architecture. Staircases spiraled down from massive turrets amid a honeycomb of balconies, arches, and terraces all tied together with green ivy. Willows grew out of the stone floors of the courtyards, and fountains sprayed water to impossible heights.

They passed a large hall glowing from the heat of forges where blacksmiths pounded out the instruments of war. Other than the clanging of steel against steel and the clopping of horseshoes o the cobblestone, there were no sounds. The magnificently polished boulevard held little more traffic than the narrow, rutted street of Tishaara. Roland became aware of the laser stares from behind the cloaks of the passersby, cloaks, and of hundreds more eyes fixed on him from the recesses of hallways and stairwells and from the shadows of windows.

His stomach knotted like a wet, twisted sock. Were those stares of sullen curiosity, accorded to any foreigner who dared defile Droom's sacred soil? Or were they the glares of the conspirators behind the Cold Flames? Were they staring at him, Roland Stewart--the despised one who had stolen the secret of their ambitious enterprise from the Rushbrook island? Did those eyes recognize him, the one they had marked for death?

The travelers followed their escort in eerie silence without incident to a cul-de-sac at the end of boulevard. There a marble stair rose like a giant pyramid to a sprawling stone palace. The Droom captain pointed upwards. “If you have business in Kal Shadir, it will be settled there,” he said, with what could have been a smirk partially hidden behind the scarlet cloak.

He slashed a finger through the air, a signal for the Droom knights to fan out in formation. Roland felt, rather than heard, their uninviting escort sweep behind him as they climbed the long stair. The ascent up the chiseled stone felt endless. His legs turned to rubber by the time they reached the top. Berch rasped noisily as he brought up the rear.

They stepped through an open oak portal and entered a hall lined with swords, shields, maces, and suits of armor. One hallway emptied into another; always there was one door propped open to indicate the way.

At last they entered a room so hot and glowing with flame that Roland thought they had blundered into the boiler room. But it turned out to be a cavernous hall lit up by a dozen blazing banks of fire along each wall. Like the rest of Kal Shadir, the great room was an elaborately ornate but stony shell, lifeless, sterile and empty except for an immense throne that commanded the room from a balcony. Draped with scarlet bunting, the balcony hung far out over the hardwood floor. A stifling, acrid aroma poured from the fires along the wall.

“Wheew!” said Belfray, turning his nose up at the odor. He nearly jumped as the comment echoed off the walls.

“The smell of magic,” growled Sloat.

“Fear Droom cunning more than Droom magic,” said Digtry, studying the scene. “They love to tie a noose around you with your own words. I shall do the talking. The rest of you,” he said, skewering Belfray with a glare, “do not speak!”

“Who whispers like thieves in the midst of the halls of justice?!” boomed a voice that raced around the room, reverberating from one corner to another.

“Please,” said Digtry, coolly deflecting the intimidating challenge. “We do not know how to address you.”

“Prince Lash-Talladon will do,” thundered the voice of a god. “We whom the Droom chose as leaders do not wallow in flattering phrases and inflated titles. Come forth, speak, and answer why you infringe upon the sovereignty of the Empire of Droom.”

As they stepped forward, cheeks scorched from the heat, dizzy from the noxious fumes, Roland saw the prince standing next to the throne, gripping the balcony rail. Dressed simply in white robes, the lord stood still enough to be mistaken for a statue.

The visitors approached to within thirty feet before he signaled them to stop. Even from that distance, Roland could not bear to meet those terrible eyes.

“Prince Lash-Talladon” started Digtry, “we have journeyed here from the Third Realm-”

“Time is precious to the Droom. Spare us the obvious,” said the prince, with scorn.

Digtry raised an eyebrow to Roland. “We bring grim news,” he continued. “The lower realms are disturbed. The Raxxar are restless, the realmlands are crossed in secret, and fires have appeared where they ought not.”

“You are no Lumberjacks. Why does fire alarm you so?” asked the prince. His tone of voice did not imply the slightest interest in the subject matter.

“The flames do not burn as flames ought in the lower realms,” said Digtry. “They burn heatless as befits the mark of the Fifth Realm. Those who tend this flame do so in secret, and in league with such as the Raxxars. They have shown an eagerness to deal in death. We fear the evil this portends and seek the meaning of the Cold Flames.”

“You demand an accounting from us? You dare accuse us of meddling in your puny and utterly worthless realm?” hissed Lash-Talladon, who suddenly appeared far to the left of them, leaning out over the balcony.

“We come in friendship to warn you of the danger,” countered Digtry.

The tension, combined with the heat, cooked Roland as limp as spinach.

“You warn us?” sneered the prince. “So the low realms deem themselves responsible for the welfare of Kal Shadir? How touching! Tell me, where lies the peril to the nation of Droom in fires that burn within the low realms? What have the Droom to fear from anyone, from any realm?”

“Knowing the skill of the Droom scouts, we assume you are aware that such fires have appeared in the Fourth Realm as well.” Roland hoped the prince did not notice a chorus of startled expressions from Digtry’s mates. Digtry had started his fishing expedition.

“Kal Shadir’s secrets of state are not gifts to be distributed to beggars, particularly those from alien lands,” answered the Droom, warily. “Enough of these games! What is it that you demand of us?”

“Thank God!” thought Roland. First round to Digtry. Unless they were playing their cards close to the vest, these Droom knew nothing of Roland or his trespassing on the Rushbrook island. Whatever else they might be, they were not the grand conspirators who had ordered his death. They apparently had no personal vendetta against Roland Stewart. Now the danger, which continued to hang thickly in the room, had been scaled down to a battle of wits. In this combat, Roland had no doubt the prince was up against more than he bargained for.

“Beggars make no demands,” reminded Digtry. “We humbly appeal for cooperation to meet the approaching peril.”

“Your argument has less substance than the white of an egg, and calls into question your motives,” said the Droom. “Why do the Tishaarans cross realms and run to the Droom at the first sign of trouble? We are neither friends nor allies, nor have we ever been. Why approach us as if we were confidants and allies?”

“Tishaara and Kal Shadir have their differences,” agreed Digtry. “They have gone their own ways, for what a Tishaaran may deem proper, a Droom may not and vice versa. But now the perils of the time dictate that all beings of independent and noble spirit explore a short-term alliance against a growing menace.”

“Hmmmm,” said Lash-Talladon.

Roland suppressed a smile. He’s actually considering it. Way to go, Digtry! Having fallen out of favor with the Lumberjacks, Tishaara was in desperate need of an ally--any ally--and whatever else these Droom were, they would be hellacious allies.

Lash-Talladon sighed heavily. “It is tiresome to deal constantly with the wicked and the foolish. The Droom strive to adhere to the highest principles of justice. But that does not mean we leave ourselves vulnerable to those who attempt to exploit our good will. We would be fools to accept blindly your stated reasons for coming here. For the sake of argument, and allowing a generous benefit of the doubt, let us assume you tell the truth as to your purpose. You say you are frightened and seek an alliance for our mutual benefit.

“Perhaps. Even so, there remains a naked flaw in this tale: why are you so far-sighted?” Roland felt sick as Lash-Talladon’s voice grew louder and took on a cruel edge. “How have you come by the skill to uncover plots that no Droom can find? Do you take us for stupid beasts, or Raxxars, perhaps?!”

Lash-Talladon’s shouts resonated loudly off the wall, but Digtry stood his ground. “None would deny that the Droom are an exceptional people. Does it follow that the only truths are those discovered by the Droom?”

The prince vanished, only to burst into view on the balcony close by to their right, with a suddenness and ferocity that nearly frightened Roland out of his skin.

“Can no one else speak?” shouted Lash-Talladon in a fury. “Who do you think you are dealing with? Do you think I have not the wits to see that this pretended spokesman of Tishaara is no Tishaaran at all? Will you all lose your lives standing there, dumb as sheep, while this fool stumbles on his lies, sealing your doom? Can none of you cut your friend loose from the web of deceit he has woven for himself? Where is your evidence that the mark of the Fifth Realm, the Cold Flame, has appeared in the Fourth Realm? Produce it now!"

It may have been the unsettling vanishing act, or the effect of the sulfurous vapors in the room; the powers of Droom potions on the mind were widely feared in Tishaara. It might have been the prince’s sudden switch from grudging acceptance of the petitioners to a raging, life-threatening tyrant that caught him off guard. It could have been simply the ebb and flow of tension or possibly nothing more than the heat. Likely, it was a combination of all of these that drove Belfray into a panic. Just as Digtry opened his mouth to parry the Droom’s latest thrust, the young Tishaaran blurted out, “It may be true that we have no actual knowledge of such fires in the Fourth Realm. Perhaps there have been none at all. That is not the point."

Roland glared at Belfray in disbelief. If only there were some way of turning back time to stop that fluffhead before he uttered those idiotic words! Digtry could handle this prince with no problem. But no! This gullible, self-absorbed, baby-brained blowhard of a Tishaaran had been spooked into jumping in and wrecking everything!

“Well,” said Lash-Talladon, with a predatory licking of his thin lips. “Well, well, well. We have a difference of story, do we not? That is most unfortunate. Let us assume, generously, that one of these fine orators speaks the truth. By elementary logic, then, the other is lying. Ah, this is most serious. Lies may be common currency where you dwell, an excepted expedience. But not so in this nation. For an alien to speak a lie before a gracious tribunal of Kal Shadir means death. Which of you has done this? Who will die?”

Belfray’s crimson face and popping veins showed how far out of his league he had strayed. Unshaken, Digtry set about arranging a defense from the shards of Belfray’s blunder.

“Prince, we--”

“Be still! You come to this audience under the banner of Tishaara; let the Tishaaran speak.”

“Your eminence, I was chosen spokesman for this group,” said Digtry.

“The only purpose in preventing your friend from speech would be to conceal the truth,” said the prince, almost pleasantly.

“But-”

“Your evasive actions betray your guilt,” warned the prince.

Digtry made no response. He appeared beaten at last. In Roland’s mind, the game was over. They might as well make peace with their Maker because there was no way out of this trap. All that stood between them and the merciless might of Kal Shadir was the one person they least trusted in that spot: Belfray. Fear and fury seared Roland’s already scalded cheeks.

“It is hardly consistent,” grumbled Digtry. “We deal with the chosen authorities of Droom. In fairness, you should deal with ours. But ask him questions, if that is the Droom notion of justice.”

Lash-Talladon flashed the torches of his eyes on Digtry, then turned to Belfray. The young Tishaaran gulped. Rather than face those eyes an instant longer than necessary, he rushed to supply answers to unspoken questions. “You see, begging your pardon, we really came up here to speak to the wolves.”

“Ah! Truth, like oil poured upon the water, rises to the surface in the courts of Kal Shadir,” purred Lash-Talladon. “Wolves, you say. The mortal enemies of Droom. You have business with them, do you?”

The speed with which Belfray’s face drained from red to ghostly white revealed that he had, in his panic, forgotten that wolves and Droom had been bitter foes for centuries!

Roland marveled at how efficiently Belfray had disposed of their hopes and secured for them the death penalty. The contest was over. Knocked out in the first round, without landing a punch. From here on out, it was only a matter of how many nails Lash-Talladon wanted to pound in their coffins before internment.

Sloat stared into the fires, hands on his hips. Roland guessed he was berating himself for not holding out against Digtry’s insane notion of coming to Kal Shadir in the first place. In the wilderness, he would have had a chance, trusting in his own skills. Here, totally out of his element in the mysterious halls of Kal Shadir, he had no defenses.

Furious as he was with Belfray, Roland could not help but pity him. Although Belfray was as brave as any in the group, his knees were shaking. He understood that he had just signed the group’s execution papers and yet had no clue as to how it had happened, much less how to get out of it.

“We just wanted to tell them, uh, I mean the wolves,” he stammered. He started over. “The wolves, they, they sent a messenger to us. But the messenger never reached us. It happened that. . .well, we simply wanted to find out. . .”

“. . . what the message was,” finished Lash-Talladon, his eyes glowing deep in his sockets. “And what could that message have been, do you suppose? Or do you surmise it is only a coincidence that at the same time they sent for you, the wolves attacked our southern settlements?”

The noose tightened.

“But the wolves are decent and noble beings,” insisted Belfray. “They mean you no harm. You must be making a terrible mistake.”

Had Digtry uttered such an insult, the prince would have ordered him drawn and quartered before he drew another breath. But Lash-Talladon was content to dangle this guileless youngster on a string a while longer. “Wolves are treacherous,” he said, with paternal concern. “They are base creatures. Marauders, utterly without soul or conscience. However, I can appreciate your feelings. The Droom understand the value of loyalty. A noble virtue. No doubt a people as virtuous as you repay the friendship of the wolves with favors of loyalty.”

“Yes, we do,” said Belfray, with a touch of pride as well as anxious hope.

“Of course. And so you merely crossed into this realm to do your honest duty to a loyal friend.”

“Why, yes! That is so,” cried Belfray, soaking up this unexpected sympathy. It was all Roland could do to keep quiet. Even with his head spinning from the cloying scent of intoxicating incense, he could see the trap the prince had set.

Lash-Talladon allowed a trace of a smirk to play on his lips before he vanished. In less than the blink of an eye, he appeared again on the center balcony.

“Now, if a state of war exists between Droom and the wolves,” said the prince, “what are we to think if an ally of the wolves enters Droom territory uninvited and at great danger to himself? What are we to make of such a person who states boldly in front of a Droom inquest that he will aid the wolves in any way he can?”

Too late, Belfray saw the knot that had been fashioned around him with his own statements. He stammered and fidgeted, but this time no words came.

Lash-Talladon flashed into view on the floor in front of them. “You come with no terms of negotiation, no authority to treat with us. Indeed, no diplomatic status whatsoever, according to Droom law. What, then, can be your purpose? To reinforce our enemy. To wage war against us.”

“That is not true!” cried Belfray.

The prince bowed graciously. “Instruct me in the fault of my logic.”

Belfray could not. Indeed, by this time he was so frozen in panic he could not have instructed anyone as to the direction of “up.”

“Of course you cannot. You see that we have no choice but to execute you as we do all spies and enemies of the state,” the prince said, as if he assumed this duty with the greatest reluctance. “We have heard your confession. May God have mercy on your souls.” With a flourish of his robes, he disappeared altogether as his voice thundered, “Guards! To the gallows! Execute them without delay.”

Roland clenched his fists as soldiers who had lined the room, motionless, sprang to life. Their unsheathed weapons reflected the dancing flame of the fires.

“This is the Droom idea of justice?” scoffed Digtry. He did not even flinch as two strapping soldiers grabbed him by the arms. “The interrogator provides both the question and the answer, leaving the defendants mere spectators at their own conviction.”

As the guards hustled them away, Lash-Talladon called, “Stay!” He materialized in the center balcony, leaned against the railing and sized up the small intruder.

Before the prince could respond to his taunt, Digtry went on. “Come now, can an unarmed party of five be considered a party of war?”

“I have already shown to universal satisfaction how it may be construed as such,” snapped the prince. “Much evil can be accomplished with five, even with fewer than five.”

“Perhaps. But I had been led to believe that the military power of Droom had no equal in all the realms. Have the Droom gone soft or was the legend of their might a lie to begin with?”

“Do you desire a slow execution? How dare you speak so!”

“You speak so. If five men barely armed for survival terrify you, what conclusion can be drawn but that the Droom are pitiful mice, indeed?”

“Five spies may accomplish a world of evil.”

“Spies work secretly. We came openly.”

The prince thought a long while, teeth grinding, while the soldiers kept a tight grip on the prisoners. “Do not bandy words with me,” he snarled. “If you are not spies, then you are a party of war. I see little difference.

“But let us lay that aside for a moment,” said Lash-Talladon, abruptly switching gears and resuming his magnanimous pose. “The merciful Droom, at risk to our security, might be willing to give you an extremely wide benefit of the doubt. But the fact remains that two of your party told directly conflicting stories. One of you reported the sighting of Cold Flames in the Fourth Realm; one of you reported that this was not true; that there was no such sighting.

“There is no possible conclusion other than that one of you lied in testimony before a prince of Droom. That person must die. Such is the Droom law, and though it grieves my heart to withhold mercy, not even I have the power to grant an exception.”

A wicked gleam crackled in his eyes. “Yet, again, I shall be most generous. I shall not attempt to pass judgment in this issue. I grant that privilege to you. You shall determine which person committed the offense of false witness. You shall determine who dies. You have one minute to reach a decision. Upon reaching your decision, the rest of you shall be set free. If you have not decided by the end of that time, all of you shall be executed.”

Roland, who had been ecstatically admiring Digtry’s dexterity in saving them from the trap, turned to the others in anguish. Despite Belfray’s limitations and faults, they could not yield him up to save Digtry. Technically, hadn’t Digtry been the one who made up the story about Cold Realms being spotted in the Fourth? Yet Roland knew well that the Tishaarans could never bear the weight of their consciences if they offered up Digtry.

“If one of us must die, let it be me,” said Sloat.

“No substitutions of the innocent for the guilty!” insisted Lash-Talladon. “Justice demands the life of the falsifier. Which of these two is guilty? Who spoke falsely? Who shall die? Come, time is slipping away.”

“Let us die together then,” said Sloat. “Willingly. I daresay it will give the Droom a great deal less pleasure than to see us bind one of our own over to death in order to save ourselves.”

Expressionless as always, Digtry locked his eyes on the unblinking embers of the Droom lord who faced him. “The Droom notion of justice is to execute a man for being uninformed?” he asked.

“No, for lying!” cried the prince.

“But you, of all people, know that leaders are loathe to tell all they know to their followers,” said Digtry, calmly. “I said that Cold Flames have been sighted in the Fourth Realm. If that is false, then kill me. If it is true, you cannot convict Belfray of lying simply because he does not know all that I know.”

The silence stretched on interminably. Roland brushed his cheeks with the back of his hand and found them almost too hot to touch.

Finally, the prince snapped, ”What do you want from us?”

Roland could not restrain a grin. Indeed, he could hardly keep from pounding Digtry on the back. Good ol’ brainy little Digtry! But a sharp look from Sloat and a curious twitch of Lash-Talladon’s lip warned him that they were not out of the woods yet.

Digtry spread his arms wide. “We stand aside in this quarrel between wolves and Droom. We offer warning to both, and ask both to stand with us should the forces who scheme against the realms prove to be beyond our individual powers to resist.”

“And who would summon us to this noble crusade?” snorted the Droom. “You? Your beastly allies would love that. With you to forewarn them of our intentions and troop locations, they could attack us at will.”

“Please, sir,” said Digtry. “We are speaking of matters far graver than petty border squabbles with animals.”

Again, the prince dissolved into nothingness, leaving only his commanding voice. “We are speaking of fantastic claims without an iota of evidence! Our ‘petty squabbles,’ as you call them, involve well-documented fact. They concern the lives of our subjects, not wild conjecture. The Droom do not, and never will, tolerate animals mocking our boundaries, mocking the rule of law. Why, the whole lawless Fourth Realm would trample us if we stood back and allowed anyone to operate on our lands with impunity. Understand this: animals are incapable of reason. They negotiate only with violence. The only language violence understands is greater force. That is how we defeat evil.”

“Not in Tishaara,” whispered Sloat, under his breath.

Nothing escaped the prince’s ears. He reared up before them and pointed at Sloat. “That is why Tishaara is a useless nation! A cripple! An orphan suckled by wild wolves! You cower in your pitiful mountain hole, letting vast territories waste under the barbaric Raxxars because you lack the courage to stand up to them. Do not expect us to follow that cowardly path!”

“Funny you should mention the Raxxars,” started Belfray. Roland wanted to reach in and cut out the Tishaaran’s tongue on the spot. Could the fool never learn to shut his mouth? Obviously, Digtry had a reason for not revealing what they knew about the Raxxar appearance in Droom lands. Fortunately, something in Digtry’s expression conveyed a warning that even the normally oblivious Tishaaran caught.

“What of the Raxxars?” asked Lash-Talladon.

“Uh, they, uh, really do not control that much area in the Third Realm,” said Belfray, swallowing the end of his sentence.

“My apologies,” said Digtry, before the prince could probe further. “We do not wish to debate or compare the policies of Droom and Tishaara. We simply ask if we may expect the Droom to join-”

“You may expect what you like,” sneered Lash-Talladon. “The Droom are not bound to tell you what they will do. We shall defend our borders if and when they are threatened by any foe. We do not need you to advise us to do that. And you need not hear it from my lips to know that it is so. If the fool who seeks a quarrel with Droom or chooses to trespass its territory happens, also, to be your enemy, so much the better for you.

“But no force in the lower realms can compare with the might of Droom, and whatever powers arise in the Fifth Realm evaporate like dew in the desert upon leaving their realm. Who, then, need we fear? The Droom require no alliance and will be encumbered by none.” He pulled the sleeve of his robe back to his elbow and raised a clenched fist.

“Hear the decree of the sovereign and invincible nation of Droom. You are hereby banished from our lands forever. You have one hour to remove your defiling presence from the city of Kal Shadir, and three days thereafter to be off our territory. Count your blessings that the compassionate Droom have shown mercy in allowing sworn enemies to leave the city unharmed. From three days hence, if you set foot anywhere in the Protectorate of the Droom nation, you will be executed. On the spot and without appeal."

Before Digtry could offer formal thanks for the audience, the prince swirled his red cloak and left the visitors staring at air.