Prince Niklas and the White Spire

A work of Niklas Edlund erotic friend fiction. Enjoy!

Chapter One
The Key and the Stone

Smedley was mixing some very interesting venoms when the door to his laboratory creaked open.

“Smedley?” a small voice asked, “I am in need of a potion, I think.”

The wizard turned to face his visitor. “Prince Niklas! What can I brew for you?”

The boy looked concerned. “I have not been sleeping well for several nights. I have been having the same dream.”

The young boy wandered into the lab, absently touching the bottles and jars that filled Smedley’s many tables, “In the dream…I’m lost in a fog, it grows thicker and thicker until I can’t see or even move. Then, a hand reaches through the fog to help lead me out, but for some reason I am afraid to take it. I wake up startled each time.”

The young prince faced the old wizard with pleading eyes. “Please, can you give me a drought that will give me pleasant dreams? Or even no dreams at all would be welcome.”

The wizard smiled. “Ah lad, I know these symbols. Soon you are to be king, and your sleeping mind has realized this. Manhood is upon you, lad. That is what stalks you in your dreams. No potion will cure that.”

The boy sighed. Niklas was often reminded these days by his mother, his chambermaid, his food taster--the entire castle-- of the duties that would soon fall upon him. But these dreams…? There was more to them than just his misgivings, he knew it.

“And there is another thing, Smedley. In my dream I am sometimes holding that odd key you once gave me. What does that mean to you?”

Smedley paused and stroked his beard. “That crystal key, you say?”

Niklas waited as the wizard affected a serious tone. “That key you would have never remembered again had you not seen it in now your dreams. In the morning you must journey to the mountains and bring it to Randlyn the Mage. He will know what it is for.”

Prince Niklas was startled. He certainly had not expected that his dreams could have meant this much! “Smedley, what is this about?”

“Young Prince, your kingship is in peril!” Smedley said gravely. “Go to sleep now. You must depart at first light.”

Smedley’s stare pushed the boy out the door with no more questions. Alone, the wizard looked down at his hands and sighed. Yes, Prince Niklas would leave tomorrow.

And afterwards, he would never see him again.

…

That night, again the dream of fog. In his dream Prince Niklas held the key tight to his chest. As always, a hand reached out to him from the mist, but this time it only beckoned. Niklas walked forward, not afraid now but curious. Through the fog he saw a keyhole, just a keyhole attached to nothing but air. The boy awoke clear-headed and eager.

The prince dressed, and then took down from a shelf the box that held his strange key, a gift from Smedley when he had turned five. The key was narrow and made of violet crystal. The cross section of its grooved shaft made a star, and the tip was wickedly sharp. Niklas now remembered: he had pricked his finger pressing it against that tip. A tiny, star-shaped scar remained. Smedley was right: Niklas had not thought of the key once since that time.

Prince Niklas departed the castle on his horse without even arousing the stable hands. By noon he had passed the borders of Wineland and was en route to the Mountains of Oblivion. Hours later he and his horse had made their way halfway up a treacherous path to where Niklas knew Randlyn the Mage ought to be, but then the path narrowed. Niklas tied his mount to a tree and went the remainder of the way on foot.

Past many sentinel rocks that nearly made the trail unpassable, Prince Niklas finally reached the hidden plateau that led to the Cave of Glass where mysterious crystals grew and glowed. Here was the source of Randlyn’s power, and therefore, where he expected Randlyn to appear if he disturbed the space.

“Randlyn Darkwolf!” Prince Niklas cried out, “Show yourself!” Niklas touched one of the many crystals that grew from the rock near the mouth of the cave, knowing that Randlyn could feel the presence of any intruder.

An hour passed, and then the sound of feet dashing across stone disturbed Niklas, who had been sitting and contemplating the strange turn of events in his life. When he turned, he saw a large wolf, dark as shadow, but with eyes that flickered like blue flame.

Niklas smiled. “Randlyn! Where were you for so long?”

The wolf now stood on its hind legs, its forelimbs straightening, toes becoming fingers. A shroud of dark wind wrapped around the creature and then blew away. Randlyn the Mage stood before Niklas now, a long-haired boy barely older than Niklas, naked but for a wolf pelt draped over his head and shoulders. Yet the boy’s eyes burned blue just as the wolf’s had.

“I was hunting and killing rabbits in the forest below,” Randlyn said as he circled Niklas, “And I was having a good time of it before someone trespassed in my sanctum.”

Randlyn sounded unexpectedly cross. Niklas decided to let it pass. “Wineland might be expanding. I thought this place might make for a nice tennis court!”

Randlyn crossed his arms. “You are here on a serious matter, I can feel it, even if you cannot. What brings you, Prince Niklas?”

Niklas dropped his humor. He told Randlyn about his dreams and showed him the key.

“So it is this.” Randlyn said after a moment of thought. “Wait here”

Randlyn entered the cave, Niklas could barely conceive how the boy’s bare flesh would not be pierced a hundred times by the sharp crystals that grew in all directions. But minutes later the mage returned, unscratched.

In each hand Randlyn held an opened geode, their surfaces smooth and flat, halos of color spreading from the jagged centers.

Randlyn stood before Niklas, and the stone beneath his feet rose, lifting him a foot off the ground, fresh crystals sprouting around the short pedestal.

“Pick one of these stones. They are your destiny.”

Niklas shook his head, baffled. “What… what do you mean? Randlyn, why are you being so dire?”

Now as Randlyn spoke, his voice seemed to come from all around Niklas, from the rocks and the clouds. “Your kingdom is imperiled. It is imperiled because it may soon be ruled by a cowardly king!”

Prince Niklas felt a lump in his throat, suddenly feeling more naked than Randlyn. It was as if his secret fears about ruling were known everywhere.

“No”, said Randlyn “Your most dangerous fears are those not even known to you!”

Niklas gasped! Had the mage read his mind?

“These stones are your destiny. Both lead to a throne, both lead to your kingdom’s doom, but only one leads the way out of it. Choose.”

Niklas could tell there would be no further explanation, and he now knew that Smedley had expected him to be put to this test.

The geode in Randlyn’s right hand was pear-shaped, the milky ribbons of color spreading like a butterfly’s wings. At the center of the stone, pink crystals formed a vertical split.

In his left hand, the rock was round, rose colored at the edges turning bright red at the center, where a small cavity lay.

Niklas extended his hand, first unclear, then sure that he was meant to pick the stone in Randlyn’s right hand. Sure… that he was meant to.

But not sure that he wished to.

Feeling the shame of Randlyn’s charge of cowardice, Niklas grabbed the stone from the mage’s left hand before he could second-guess himself. He stared at it, his face reflecting in the polished surface. He poked the hole in its center curiously with his scarred fingertip. This was the right stone.

But wait… what was that about his kingdom being doomed?

Niklas looked up. “Randlyn, I…”

He was alone.

The prince stood and called for the mage but heard nothing except the wind.

Niklas stared at the stone, touched it and turned it. What did it mean?

The boy turned to go back the way he had come, but then a thought occurred. He looked again at the stone, the shape of the small cavity. Star shaped.

Niklas withdrew his key and placed the tip of it in the center of the stone. A moment or two of twisting, and then… yes! With some resistance, the key slipped neatly in-between the crystals.

The prince turned the key, and at first a clicking sound made him fear he had snapped it. Instead, the stone split, the surface flipping up like a lid, held to the other half by some cleverly disguised hinge.

Niklas was amazed at what he saw. On the bottom half of the exposed surface, the natural patterns of the geode formed an unmistakable image of a face, a sleeping boy. Niklas thought it must be a painting, but the image was undeniably part of the rock.

On the top portion, the underside of the “lid”, another image, not at all like the one below. Niklas didn’t know who the boy was, but he recognized this likeness. Its twin rose above the horizon, visible even from where Niklas stood now.

“The White Spire,” Niklas whispered.

(To be continued!)