Prologue

Prologue

If when you first step onto the soils of the Desolated Lands, you see devastation and ruin, poor beggars in the streets and children starving, please continue on your way. There’s nothing for you here. Trying to take over one of our kingdoms is simply not worth the trouble—you won’t gain any riches or power, and the people are likely to skip out on paying taxes anyway without being bothered by silly threats like imprisonment or execution. Really, you’re better off moving on to somewhere else.

If, however, you enter our lands and find the people happy and smiling; catch a whiff of baking bread; see the children playing in the streets—chocolate smeared over their faces, little gremlins—then welcome. Make yourself right at home.

Only two generations ago, the five kingdoms were plagued by evil mages. Prosperous kingdoms were always ripe for the plucking, but no one wanted to be harvested. For years, any time an evil mage entered the scene, the kings and queens hunted down a Chosen One—pig farms were always a good place to start—and gave them whatever resources necessary to defeat the evil threatening their kingdoms. It was a long, arduous process and sometimes they barely managed to find the Chosen One in time. After one too-close-for-comfort encounter, the five kingdoms banded together to find a way to deter all future evil mages.

To accomplish this task, they hired a Good Wizard.

The Good Wizard cleared his throat to bring everyone’s attention to the front of the room. Ten pairs of eyes locked on him, and he resisted the urge to hide under the podium. Though he’d attained the title of Good Wizard well over a decade ago, it was the biggest, messiest problem he’d ever faced. The council had tossed it into his lap, declared ‘Good luck,’ and then abandoned him with endless excuses about other kingdoms needing their attention.

“I have—” His voice cracked, and he coughed to clear his throat a second time. “I have reviewed your request and I believe I have a solution.” When no one said anything, he took that as a sign to continue. “I have crafted a spell that will protect your land, repelling all those with true evil in their hearts. For this spell to work, your cooperation is vital. Specifically, there are two components you must all agree on.”

Continued silence. He tugged on his sweat-dampened collar. Usually, his clients had a lot more questions. He couldn’t tell if his audience was respectful or skeptical. “The first component of this spell requires a change of names for your kingdoms and the land you occupy. I have come up with a list of suggestions.” He’d had a wonderful time creating the new names, and now he passed around copies of a small booklet with hundreds of options.

The kings and queens each took one and flipped through them idly. He watched their faces eagerly. Wild ideas filled his head of them fighting over his favorite names, a whole fantasy playing out of a duel and—

“You certainly like X’s and Q’s,” said a red-haired king, his expression bemused as he scanned the pages.

“Are there any in here we can … pronounce?” a queen asked delicately.

The Good Wizard frowned. “All of them should be pronounceable.”

“How do you say this one?” the king closest to his left asked, holding up the book.

The Good Wizard pulled spectacles out of his sleeve and leaned closer. He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice as he promptly replied, “Qagxiliyan.”

“Sorry, can you say that again?” someone to his right asked.

“Qagxiliyan.”

“Um, maybe a little slower?”

“Quag-zil-ian,” he stretched out.

A few of the royals exchanged unreadable glances before rifling through his beautiful creations with little enthusiasm. “Can we … take some time to consider it?” one queen asked.

The Good Wizard rubbed his brow and said, “Yes, of course, though the sooner we decide, the sooner I can cast the spell.”

Wine was called for and the kings and queens began the process of elimination. The more they drank, the less they were able to pronounce, their words all slurring together.

“This is the new bane of my existence,” one king declared after his fifth cup.

“I like that!” another king said, pointing at the other with his cup, sloshing wine all over the table in his enthusiasm. “I’m using that.”

“Existence?” the first slurred in confusion.

“Bane.” The second turned to his wife and demanded, “What do you think, darling, do you want to be the Queen of Bane?”

The red-haired queen hiccupped once, twice, and then slurred, “’Sokay with me.”

“That wasn’t really—” one of the options, the Good Wizard wanted to say, but stopped himself. Technically, they could use whatever names they wanted, as long as they had no association with the old map. Sighing, he scratched out the kingdom’s old name and replaced it with Bane. The map on the wall behind him magically altered to match the change, and the old kingdom’s name was erased from history forever.

“If you’re Bane, I want to be Woe,” the first king announced.

“Really, I suggest—” the Good Wizard tried feebly.

“Oh, oh!” a queen gasped, bouncing in her chair. “I want to be Calamity!”

“You are a Calamity,” her husband replied affectionately.

“Might as well join in the fun,” another king said, holding up his goblet in a toast. “We’ll be Misfortune. Let every evil bastard meet such an end if they step on our lands.”

The others whooped in excitement and banged on the tables at this proclamation. While they celebrated, the Good Wizard accepted his fate and wrote out the new names.

“Oy, no need to be so gloomy, good fellow,” the last king said, giving him a sloppy smile. Then his eyes widened, and he grabbed his wife’s shoulder, shaking her excitedly. “Gloom! Gloom!”

“Gloom!’’ Everyone cheered, clanking their glasses.

“That completes the whole damn set,” the King of Bane crowed triumphantly.

Giving up, the Good Wizard asked in a blank voice, “And what shall you call the lands?”

Several ideas were tossed around until the Queen of Misfortune said, “Why don’t we keep the theme going? We’ll call ourselves The Desolated Lands. No one will want to visit us, no matter how good our spas are.”

More cheering ensued and more wine was called for to celebrate their new kingdoms.

They had to wait until the next morning, eyes bleary and heads throbbing, to learn about the second component of the spell.

The Good Wizard surveyed the leaders of the Desolated Lands with pursed lips, struggling but unable to suppress his annoyance. “Are we ready to continue?” he asked, tapping one foot testily.

The King of Bane, a cold washcloth over his eyes, waved his hand regally in the air. “Yes, of course, tell us what else this spell requires.”

“For this spell to work, your five kingdoms must form an unbreakable bond.”

“After last night, I think we’re quite bonded,” the King of Calamity chuckled.

The Good Wizard had left well before the celebrations ended and he had no wish to understand the looks they exchanged, so he quickly moved on. “You have a few options for this part,” he began, pulling out his second—much smaller—list. “First, each kingdom may choose a champion of royal blood to go on a quest to defeat a great and terrible evil.”

The Queen of Calamity raised her hand. “Is there a specific evil you have in mind? Or will any great and terrible evil suffice?”

Finally, some good questions. “Any evil the wizard council has declared ‘great and terrible’ will do. However, the quest must be repeated every generation to renew the spell.”

“What if our champion dies before the quest is completed? Is that kingdom no longer protected?” the King of Gloom asked, the furrow in his brow suiting his new kingdom’s name.

“So long as they participate fully until the point of their death, and so long as the quest itself is completed, the kingdom will remain protected.”

“I never want to arrange another damn quest in my life. What are our other options?” the King of Misfortune demanded.

“The second option is to sacrifice one royal child from each kingdom to seal the—” Dread shivered down the Good Wizard’s spine. He looked up from his list to find ten furious parents glaring at him. He coughed delicately and said, “No, never mind, not that option. Um, so then, our last one is marriage.” He peeked up at them nervously, then sighed in relief when he saw their anger had turned to contemplation.

“Marriage wouldn’t be so bad,” the Queen of Woe began tentatively. “It would also solidify our alliances …”

The Queen of Bane asked, “How many marriages are we talking about? Or are all five of them expected to join in one union?”

“As long as at least one royal family member from each kingdom marries a royal family from one of the other kingdoms, the spell will hold,” the Good Wizard explained.

“Does everyone have unmarried children?” the Queen of Gloom asked, looking around the room.

“We’ve got twin boys, just came of age,” the Queen of Misfortune offered.

The kings sat back as their wives offered up their children for matchmaking, none of them consulting the children involved. In the end, it was decided that the twin Princes of Misfortune would marry Princesses from Woe and Bane, and a Prince from Calamity would marry a Princess of Gloom.

Once that was all decided, the Good Wizard explained, “Like the quests, the next generation will also need to marry.”

“Won’t that lead to,” the King of Woe trailed off, but everyone heard the word he didn’t say: incest.

“With careful planning, we can avoid that for the second generation,” the Queen of Gloom said. “But the one after that …” They all looked to the Good Wizard with varying degrees of discomfort.

The Good Wizard hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Two marriages will buy you at least fifty years of peace, which will give us plenty of time to find another solution.” He tensed, waiting for someone to complain about him dumping the problem onto their grandchildren, but to his surprise, no one argued.

The King of Bane raised a goblet of water and announced, “To our new alliance.”

The glasses clinked.

“To the Desolated Lands!” the King of Woe shouted.

More clinking, joined by a few cheers this time.

“To no more evil mages!”

As they celebrated their new beginnings, none of them suspected that one of their grandchildren would one day royally fuck up all their careful planning.