Death of a King Read online

  Death of a King

  Book II

  Part I

  By Ed Montalvo

  copyrights © 2009

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  Table of Content

  Death of a King

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Prologue

  The Imperial Duke Dorian chanted in a low vibrating tone as he wrote glyphs on a large pod in his lab. His slight electric blue luminous quill reflected a minor tint against his face. The black dots of his eyes absorbed the glow, making his pupils look a deeper blue.

  Magical low-frequency crimson orbs floated in the upper corners of his lab barely illuminating the room. He leaned back to study his handiwork. With a critical eye, the arch-mage scanned the details of his labor and nodded with satisfaction.

  Amethysia entered her husband’s private laboratory dressed in a revealing light grey spider silk gown, “You still prepare my love?” she slightly adjusted her ornate bracelet.

  “As you say,” he sighed, setting his quill down.

  She approached with an alluring swagger that always made him sigh with pleasure, then rested her inky black hands and caressed his shoulders up to the back of his neck. The Duchess knew her husband the Duke prepared for the coming events and ensured her caressing was gentle, so as not to distract him. She learned of his prescience over the centuries and feared what his foresighted gift may reveal of the empire, more importantly, their son, the prince. Her nerve tingled and tightened, the pit of her stomach grew cold, numb. She bit back her fears but needed to ask for a small measure of her peace of mind, “Is there any other way?”

  He appeared relaxed though grimaced at her question, then gently patted her hand, “I have spent decades evading this finale and every path now ends the same…, forgive me, my love, there are no other options… This is the last….”

  His tone sounded final, it broke her heart. With depleted options and no other way to save their world from what’s to come, lord Dorian was confident his preparations will steer his son. He missed nothing. All now rested in the princes’ hands, once the surface kills him.

  Chapter 1

  Humans have a saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder. I shared with my friend how humans deal with the absence of their mate and show little effect in their separation. In his case, death nearly claimed my dear friend… again.

  Tuke Flaring wasteland wandering high priest

  “Dregouc.” He stirred from the sound of his name, “Dregouc, angia,” the night carried a familiar soft feminine voice. The cold night sky cradled the three-quarter moon. A week passed since Dregous’s incarceration in the academy. His chamber window opened slowly. A chilled breeze fluttered the curtains.

  He lazily opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was a child again. The prince was aghast when he saw his mother as pale as the Ayrian princess Tatiana, “meica?” her grievous expression stilled him. He wondered, why she looked and sounded sad.

  His bedchamber walls melted away, beyond was a void as she hesitantly glanced over her shoulder. The Prince stood from his bed as the void faded. He found himself standing in a familiar forest. The bright sun barely broke through the thick and lush canopy of the trees. His mother blocked his view. Behind her lay hundreds of dead Ayrians and Drouwen knights littering the ground. He stepped passed her and recognized some Drouwens from his father’s service. The bodies extended as far as the eyes could see. His chest caved with sorrow for so many fallen. Among them were humans baring the same crest as the Drouwen Knights.

  His compassion tightened his chest, “Gods,” the horror and pain forced him to his knees as he clenched his fists and shut his eyes. He wished his heart was cold and as hard as his father. The brash thought filled him with regret. If he were, he would have never met the princess. His people lived with death daily in the empire. Many Drouwens saw death as a comforting companion, others saw it like a lover. Even less saw death as a family member they haven’t seen in centuries.

  “Dregouc fa liet, adeh ep fayhan hidez ec’fahtae,” she whispered.

  “What?” he hissed in disbelief. She pulled away shrinking in the distance. He held his anger in check, refusing to accept her accusation, for causing their deaths, “Mother?” The sun rapidly passed overhead and faded as though it raced for the horizon. The shadows moved opposite the sun making them seem alive. It was eerie seeing time move so fast.

  “You caused this,” she repeated, her voice faded in the darkness.

  Her departure made him feel like an abandoned child, lost in a darkened forest. The twilight gave him an unnatural impression. He walked aimlessly amidst the body’s, “Me… …Why?” he wondered. “I could not… this must be a sleep vision,” when he noticed movement. To his horror, the bodies animated. Corpses began to rise like the undead witch that nearly killed him a few months ago. The sky slowly brightened from the dark cloudy day as the bodies arose.

  Dregous stopped as the wailing dead echoed all around him. They howled from all directions, why he killed them. Fear gripped his throat then blindly ran. His body felt heavy as though his weight tripled. He sank knee deep in the earth as though it were mud, struggling with every step.

  In his flight, the Dark Elf stumbled and rolled down the hill. Disorientated, he looked up, to his horror the hillcrest was littered with the undead. When he scrambled to his feet, a familiar voice caught his attention. The beautiful princess Tatiana leaned against a gnarled tree void of leaves. Her soiled white wings didn’t diminish her beauty. She pleaded for his aid as the nightmare closed in. A sudden force held him as he desperately reached out for her. The undead swarmed the Ayrian as she cried out his name. They tore into her as she screamed and struggled. The princess’s agonizing cries shattered him as they ate her alive. One fed on a wing, another, her hand. The lovely white wing trembled with fading life. He shouted at the undead and felt as though he was going insane. A familiar woman’s voice chuckled in the distance.

  Dregous bolted from his cot, covered in sweat. He realized it was only a sleep vision. His wild thumping heart seemed to breach his ribs and caressed his aching chest. The prince tried to sooth away the pain, then buried his face in his hands struggling not to weep.

  Wil caved with guilt as he spied, “Apologies,” he whispered and wiped his eyes. You have done much for my town, and do not deserve this treatment, something must be done, he thought. Then turned away. Gunthar, Wil realized.

  ***

  Dregous marked a fingernail scratch on the table’s leg and studied his tick marks. It’s been a month since his incarceration in the academy. Two weeks have passed since Gunthar and the Curator visited. He spoke to no one in their absence. The mage recalled the dream where his mother abandoned him, it was painful. He tried to harden himself against such feelings.

  The prince was chaperoned throughout the campus and filled his time with the arcane study’s. The academy allowed him to take books back to his chambers. During the days, he studied the town’s history and committed to memory.

  He thought of the curat
or’s message, he’ll be in a distant land. Upon his return, he would visit. Dregous thought it odd, Lord Gunthar too, sent word of his inability to see him.

  The young acolyte felt weary whenever he brought Dregous his meals. The prince rarely ate. He closed the door behind him, “Good morning my lord, and how…”

  With a slight head shake, “Good morning Wil… Dregous will do,” he said gently while Wil set the warm milk and hot bread with marinated meats on the table that served as his desk.

  “Of course, however, I was instructed otherwise, my Lord.”

  “I will say nothing if you will not,” he gave him a weak smirk. “In truth, who will know,” he glanced at the young human. Either he doesn’t wish to speak to me, or was instructed not to, Dregous thought.

  “I empathize, truly, but please understand…”

  A stony mask covered his face, “Explanations are unnecessary…” he said evenly. “My gratitude nonetheless, you may go,” he said flatly.

  Wil excepted his cue and exited. He didn’t hate Dregous, he feared him. Drouwens was supposed to be myths, told in bard’s tales.

  Upon entering his chamber, the young acolyte documented his report and stowed it under his pallet. Wil quickly glanced at all he wrote since his assignment to tend the Dark Elf. He documented everything he reported because he aspired to become a scribe. Since he was instructed to give oral reports, he decided to keep them. A secret hope, that someday the temple would use his reports for posterity or historical reference. He ensured all looked normal, then continued to the high priest’s meditation chamber in the lower levels to give his oral account. It was a recent change he didn’t understand.

  Moments later a door behind the acolyte opened and a wizard entered. An amulet with a glowing purple stone hung around his neck. Wil was instructed not to speak or look, simply wait. The unidentified man stepped close behind him while chanting as the stone grew brighter. The acolyte’s eyes widened in alarm, relaxed, then closed. A few moments later, Wil exited the chamber. The venerable priest entered opposite Wil and found him standing behind the chair. He noticed Wil’s attentiveness a bit stiff, “Are you well?”

  “Forgive me, the Dark Elf is unnerving.”

  Chosen to care for the Prince, though nervous, he was excited…. Why the sudden change, the old priest wondered, “I see…,” he studied Wil knowingly. “Your report.” The young man relayed his oral account….

  ***

  “A divine servant was sent to punish him… What dark forces surface to pursue this prince? For a deity to disburse such wrath, he must have incurred an unprecedented infraction,” said priest Rahwin, leaning forward on his chair. His ornate robes clung to his thin skeletal shoulders. His small frame made his robes look one size larger.

  The mysterious dark deity concerned the council members, but the clergy feared it greatly. They debated for weeks without resolution. “I must agree with priest Rahwin. This does not concern us… if the darkness comes for him, who are we to bar its way. We should set aside and allow its due.”

  “We cannot…” started a guildsman.

  Another interrupted, “Suppose this darkness turns upon us… what then? We cannot challenge the gods… let alone defend against them… …good or evil, do you have an answer for that?” another supported his argument.

  The venerable high priest nodded knowingly, “Regardless what had happened, the prince had been true to his word.”

  “And what word would that be, high priest?” Rahwin mimicked a slightly sarcastic tone.

  The priests’ old eyes seemed to penetrate Rahwin, “He attempted no escape.”

  ***

  Dregous’s fatigue showed in his face and body language. Daily, during noon, he’d visited the rooftop courtyard to stretch his legs and clear his mind. Wil watched Dregous stroll the edge of the parapet overseeing the passersby when something caught his attention. He realized it was the Ayrian princess in the company of a male dressed in light chainmail armor. Someone he has not seen before. The Dark Elf prince looked agitated but said nothing. Wil admired his unfailing devotion to the Ayrian beauty.

  With an aching heart, Dregous studied the princess. But when she giggled, he felt his whole world would end. He wanted to scan her mind but immediately regretted the impulse. It violated his principles, mostly, it would be violating her. Worse, he feared what he may discover. Instead, he tried to call her telepathically. He strained to reach her, then dropped to his knees from fatigue. Wil stepped closer to lend the prince aid. The Dark Elf sensed his approach while leaning his forehead against the parapet and waved him away. Then shielded his eyes as he glanced the bright sky. When he looked back, she was gone.

  Wil patiently awaited Dregous to stand, and ready to aid him as he darted a glance at the crowd. He didn’t see the princess. His displeasure of the Dark Elf didn’t sway his decision. Something had to be done. The clergy seemed to have little concern for his wellbeing.

  Wil regretted what his order was doing and questioned their decision. He wasn’t sure what to do, again he thought of Lord Knight Gunthar Tarbak. He was confident the knight would rectify this injustice. If not him, the Ayrian princess would. Her return could sway the clergy.

  Dusk rapidly approached as Wil rushed through the streets. He dodged around people and wagons. Before the young cleric knew it, he reached Gunthar’s door. By coming to lord Gunthar, he was certain the clergy would consider this a betrayal. If so, his expulsion from the order would be a small price to pay. The acolyte stepped in, “My lord,” and closed it behind him.

  Gunthar gave a quick glance over his shoulder while pouring wine, “Aah Wil, come in, come in. What may I do for you this fine evening?” then gauged the young man’s face. There was a nervousness about him.

  “I bring ill tidings, my lord,” his eyes cast low. Wil’s hands clasped together over his belly, then dropped them in an attempt to appear calm.

  Gunthar’s heart skipped, “Explain,” his smiling eyes faded, and turned to stone.

  He shrugged his shoulders, “I have no one to turn to…”

  The Knight set the wine down and rushed around his desk, “Speak man,” he growled softly.

  With a slight flinch, Wil nodded, “It is the dark one my…”

  Hearing the word dark, made his stomach numbed then interrupted as he grabbed his shoulders, “What happened?”

  Wil flinched involuntarily, “Please my lord,” he hissed, looking into the old knights' eyes. “I fear for his health!” he murmured.

  His eyes widened, as he released the acolyte. “Does the council know?”

  Wil stepped back and straightened his robes, “Aye my lord.”

  “Then what the hell are they doing?” His face changed from angry to confused, “And what of the academy!” he growled.

  “The academy is no longer…”

  Gunthar interrupted impatiently, “No longer… what the hell do you mean?” he stepped back, “Explain!”

  “It was decided between the guilds since the clergy tends to his health, they would take full authority over him.”

  His eyes opened wild with confusion, “When the hell did this happen?”

  “A little over a week ago.”

  “Them and their god damned politics. What are they up to?” Gunthar whispered.

  Hesitantly, Wil continued, “I had no one to turn to. I am at a loss… because…” he drifted.

  Surprised, “because…” Gunthar stretched, then saw the fear in Wil’s eyes, and realized his aggression. He returned to his wine on the mantel and downed it quickly. “I am honor bound to serve the people….”

  Wil stepped closer, “I report to the high priest,” he explained. “We meet in a secret chamber at the clergy’s lower levels.”

  “A secret chamber…, why…, this is supposed to be in the open?” he wondered aloud.

  “I know not my lord,” he managed to still his nerves.

  “Do they want him dead?” Gunthar pondered aloud.

  “I know not.�
�

  “And after all he has done, this is how they plan to reward him,” he crushed his flagon against the fireplace mantel. “Over my dead body,” Gunthar foolishly allowed his anger to get the best of him.

  Wil stepped closer, “Hence my coming my lord.”

  The old knight stared into the fire, “I was informed he refused any visitors….”

  “The Dark one…?”

  Gunthar interrupted with a whirl, “He is a prince… a lord, remember that.”

  “Forgive me…, though I could see it in his face.”

  “See what man?”

  “He wonders why you stopped visiting.”

  “I was told, he declines company.”

  “Who would say such?” Wil wondered who in the clergy would deny Gunthar.

  “It was a different person every time I went. Did you hear anything?”

  “No my lord, but, as you say. He has done much for us and his reward unjust,” Wil replied as he rubbed his hands.

  “Continue as you are, I will tend the rest.” Wil’s actions made Gunthar question is loyalties. He was grateful nonetheless for the information.

  “What do you plan?”

  The old knight recalled a saying he heard in his youth. A chill ran down his spine at the thought, “Ignorance is bliss.”

  ***

  The next day’s mid-morning, the lord Knight and his two escorts entered the grand hall and took their seats. Members of the council glanced at one another curiously, “To what we owe this honor my lord?” asked magistrate Ceron.

  Gunthar discretely studied him, his average height, fine clothing, and portly girth. “I would participate in today’s proceeding,” he addressed the council.

  The hall grumbled and whispered as a robed figure bolted from his seat waving his arms wildly in protest. Had it not been for the railing, he would have fallen over. “I must object. He is out of his authority!” shouted the mage Mozzian.

  Ceron studied both men, “With all due respect, I must agree with my colleague.”

  “I see,” the knight arced a brow. The mage didn’t bother hiding his leer.