by Alan Scott
“Let’s.”
Both women made their way to the balcony and the small table with two chairs that it contained. Sitting, both looked out across the spectacular views. “I will enjoy living here,” stated Tania. “It is a very tranquil place.”
“I never took you for someone who enjoys tranquillity.”
“Sometimes you need to just sit back and relax.”
Plaything arrived and placed two full glasses of wine on the table. Turning without a word, he went back into the room. Banker Maria Clough picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. “There will be very little time to relax in the future.”
“I agree, but imagine the pleasure palace that this place could become.”
Maria tasted her wine as she silently thought about Tania’s idea. Finally, she said, “There are huge possibilities.”
“There are,” agreed Tania, “but, alas, we need to discuss more current and practical matters.” She drank from her glass before continuing, “How goes it in the east?”
Maria answered, “Our forces are continuing to target food reserves and livestock. The idea of dressing up in wolf pelts and bearskins has worked a treat. When attacking at dusk or dark, the simple farming folk believe it is the Dev’ver that are attacking them and, if they do manage to kill one of our men, they say that the monsters have returned to their human shape in death.”
Tania gave a light dismissive laugh. “The fools.”
“Do you want to hear something even more amusing?” asked Maria.
“Go on.”
“The idiot Craktoneons are slaughtering the real Dev’ver!”
“You jest, Maria!”
“No, I don’t,” laughed Clough.
“Oh, that is priceless.”
“I know,” grinned Maria. “The only people that might have a chance of thwarting our plans and the radical Church are slaughtering them.”
“So, tell me, how are you managing that?”
“Oh, it’s fairly easy. Our Lord Gideon Sandhu, who can detect the presence of a werewolf with ease, establishes that a werewolf is present in an area. We then attack the village or farms in disguise, before vanishing and letting the peasants do the work for us by calling in the Craktoneons.”
“That does amuse me,” giggled Tania. “However, what if there are no werewolves?”
“Oh, that is easy. We attack anyway, and the Church has to investigate, hence, spreading its resources thinner and thinner. How about your plans?” asked Maria, playing with the stem of her glass.
“It is on track. I will continue placing pressure on the Queen, via Rab Cregg, to pay their monthly instalments, which, of course, will go up, as they are bad debtors. In order to pay the instalments, they will have to raise taxes, which is never a good idea in the winter or spring –”
“True,” added Maria.
“- as it impacts badly on the people of the kingdom; hence some will rebel against the tyrant Queen and, if we are lucky, Reif Rothgal will increase his campaign for the return of Mortonland. In short, by the end of spring, the entire Twin Kingdoms will be ready to explode into anarchy and chaos, just in time for the return of the Midnight Man.”
“Do you truly believe that His time will be soon?” asked Maria, placing her glass down on the table. “Could we possibly be only months away from His return?”
Tania carefully echoed Maria’s action before staring fanatically into Maria’s eyes. “The signs are all there. Lady Joanna Harris is ready. We have found the dead father. The Brethren of the Night are stronger than they have ever been.” Insanity burned bright in Tania’s eyes as she said, “The Midnight Man will cometh.”
Caught up in the madness of Tania, Maria almost screamed, “-and this world will tremble!”
“Blessed be the day!” intoned Tania.
“-for He shall bring His light to all.”
“-and the unbelievers will burn.”
“-and the land shall be awash with pleasure and pain!” Maria gripped the edge of the table.
“The Midnight Man cometh,” Tania said, her eyes ablaze with devotion
“The Midnight Man cometh,” Maria responded with a wickedly dangerous smile.
“-and nothing will stop Him!”
“-for He lives in us ALL!”
Both women looked at each other for a couple of seconds before bursting out in manic laughter. Both leaned forward and picked up their glasses. Tania raised hers in salute. “To the two most enjoyable things on this earth.”
“Pleasure and pain,” finished Maria.
“Pleasure and pain,” agreed Tania.
***
Rab pinched the bridge his nose and fought back against the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. Shaking his head, he scolded himself, “Don’t be such an idiot. Be a man.”
A sad smile flitted across his lips. The kingdom was heavily in debt, due to war and the rebuilding effort; however, it was keeping on top of the repayments to the Red Bank until the bandit attacks, the poor harvests, the thefts from the royal treasury and, of course, the increasing costs of hiring guards and men-at-arms to guard… to guard... well, everything.
Rubbing his face with both hands, Rab stood slowly and took three deep breaths. If he did not know better, he could have sworn that Banker Tania Stone and the Red Bank was trying to bankrupt the Twin Kingdoms, but what good would that do? They would lose huge amounts of money and the anarchy that would follow would not be good for business. Only a mad man would want that.
Leaving the room and walking like a condemned man, Rab Cregg made his way towards the Queen’s private quarters.
***
Tania stretched on her chair as the dying light cast strange shadows over the lake and the mountains. Maria Clough had left an hour ago to return to her own quarters, before setting off at dawn to return to the Twin Kingdoms.
It was getting very cold now, which annoyed her, as it meant she had to return inside. Standing, Tania took one last look at the view. “Mine.” She smiled before turning and walking indoors.
Upon entering the room, she saw that Plaything was still only half-dressed. Unable to stop, she gazed on his perfect torso and arms. Maybe she needed to do something to warm herself up against the cold of the night?
Walking over to Plaything, she whispered, “Stay,” before disappearing into the bedroom. When she returned, she was gently tapping her leg with a riding crop held in her hand. Sauntering over to stand before Plaything, Tania absentmindedly ran the tip of the crop over his chest. “Mmm,” she purred. She drew back the crop and looked deep into Plaything’s eyes before hitting him hard with the riding crop. Plaything did not wince nor blink. His green eyes continued to stare into her hazel ones. “Do you like pain, Toy? Do you like to be hurt?”
Plaything remained quiet.
“Oh, I do love the strong silent type,” Tania said as she suddenly made to slash across Plaything’s face with the crop. His hand shot out, faster than humanly possible, and grasped the crop, stopping it from hitting him.
“Let’s not forget dominant,” laughed Tania as she stepped backwards, tugging the crop from Plaything’s hand. “What is a girl to do with a tall, silent, and dominant male? Mmm, well, I have a few ideas…”
***
Rab nodded at Captain Philips as he approached the entrance to the Queen’s private apartments.
“Are you ok?” asked Philips.
“No,” replied Rab, before asking, “Is she in?”
“Yes.”
“I need to see her, urgently.”
Captain Philips narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Rab, as if trying to see what was going on in his head. Finally, he said, “Enter.”
Rab nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Inside, Queen Rebecca Rothgal was sitting at her writing desk, going through her daily correspondence with her Chamberlain, Marc Aslo, whilst William was lounging in a chair, staring into space.
As Rab stepped through the door, William slowly turned his gaze upon him and said, “
It did not go well, then?”
“No.”
Rebecca turned in her chair and looked at the despondent Rab. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Rab entered the room, shaking his head. “It does not make any sense. Why would the Red Bank want to push so hard against us?”
“Sit and tell us all,” said Chamberlain Aslo.
Rab Cregg slumped into a chair next to William. “She did not accept our offer. She hardly even listened. It’s as if she wants to destroy us.”
“Surely…” began Rebecca.
“There is no ‘surely’, Rebecca.” Anger started to creep into Rab’s voice. “We either pay up or the Red Bank will demand assets equivalent to what we owe them plus interest.” Rab rubbed his brow. “I apologise, your Majesty; my tone was uncalled for.”
“It’s ok, Rab.”
“NO! No, it’s not.” Rab fought against the tears in his eyes.
“Rab?” queried Rebecca.
“Nothing.” Rab cleared his throat. “Just angry, that’s all. Just angry.”
“Ok.” Rebecca gave Rab a hard look before turning to the room. “Right, any ideas?”
“We refuse to pay,” said William.
“That’s a no-go, unfortunately,” said Chamberlain Aslo.
“Why?” asked William.
“Short version of a complicated answer?”
“Would be preferred,” responded William.
“If we do, other countries will refuse to trade with us. Certain organisations will ban our merchants. In the worst case scenario, there might even be hostilities – hostilities the Red Bank would fund.”
“We will fight.”
“This land and its people cannot take another war,” interrupted Rebecca. “After ten years, we still have not fully recovered from the last one. No, we do not fight.”
“Then what do we do?” asked William.
“We only really have one choice.”
“But it is a bad one,” Chamberlain Aslo said, sadly.
“What choice do we have left?” asked Rebecca.
“Raising taxes will be damaging,” said Rab.
“I know, but it’s the only option we have.” Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep sad breath.
“There must be options!” declared Rab. “There must be something we have not thought of.”
“Is there a secret horde of Dev’ver gold that William knows about?” asked Chamberlain Aslo, hopefully.
“No,” growled William as he stood up. “Your Majesty, with your permission, I feel the need to stand on the balcony. I will be of no use in the upcoming debate.”
“Is there nothing you can add?” asked Rebecca.
“No.”
“Then go.”
“Your Majesty.” With a short bow, William walked out of the room and onto the balcony.
The daylight was just starting to fade away as William gripped the guardrail on the balcony and looked out across the lake. A harsh cold winter breeze swept off the freezing water and made the dead leaves at William’s feet swirl and dance.
Shadow Killer ignored the leaves and the cold. Instead, he stared at the rugged mountains in the distance. “Samuel Cregg dead. Red Claw dead. Black Talon dead. Death Claw gone. The kingdom on the brink of disaster,” he thought, morbidly, to himself, “and me, Shadow Killer –” Shadow Killer snorted, “a shadow of his former self.” A look of deep sadness appeared on Shadow Killer’s face as he spoke aloud but quietly to the uncaring lake. “I am but a shadow of my former self. For the first time in a long time, I feel vulnerable and not in control.” Shadow Killer bowed his head and closed his eyes. “I am all alone. My best friend, Samuel Cregg,” a gentle smile crept onto Shadow Killer’s face, “died this week. “ The smile vanished. “A good man died and only I seem to care.”
Unmoving, Shadow Killer stood lost in his own morbid thoughts as the cold wind blew around him, unnoticed.
Time lost all meaning as he stood there, and it was only with a great deal of will that he finally opened his eyes and stared at the ground, where the leaves continued their dancing. “No one cares,” he whispered. “You live and then you die, and no one cares.” Raising his eyes, Shadow Killer looked deep into the cold dark water. A thought leapt into his head. “Death by drowning is supposed to be relatively painless.”
The breeze seemed to whisper, “Yes.”
Shadow Killer looked around before returning to the water – the deep dark, almost midnight-black water. “I am only half a man.”
“Yes,” the breeze agreed.
“I am vulnerable and tired.”
“Yes… tired.”
Shadow Killer stared into the hypnotic midnight water, as it called to him. “Need to rest.”
“A long peaceful rest,” the breeze encouraged.
“Death, the eternal rest, will claim me soon...”
“Soon,” the breeze repeated.
“...and I am powerless against it.”
“Powerless,” agreed the breeze.
Shadow Killer gripped the rail harder and prepared to throw himself off the balcony and into the beckoning water when a single word, suddenly and quite unexpectedly, popped into his awareness. “Tea?”
Shadow Killer stopped.
The breeze whispered, “Embrace the midnight black.”
An image of roaring fire and a kindly face formed in Shadow Killer’s mind. “More tea, my friend?” said the friendly face.
Shadow Killer took a step back. “Samuel?”
“Leap!” urged the breeze.
Shadow Killer shook his head to clear it of the fog that had taken hold. In horror, Shadow Killer looked at the balcony, then at the water of the lake, in which a shadowy silhouette of a man stared back for a moment before disappearing into the depths.
“You bastard!” growled Shadow Killer as the rage started to build within him. “You fucking bastard! You nearly had me.” Shadow Killer paced the balcony. “I knew! I just knew that you and that cult of yours were back. I may not have the resources I used to, but I knew it.” Shadow Killer slowed his pacing and stole a glance at the door, which led back into the warm room where the Queen and the others were debating the debt.
“Sod it. I’ll only be gone for a moment,” he muttered to himself and opened a shadow-door.
***
100 Miles away – A Monastery dedicated to the Cult of Mancer.
Captain Peter Hazelgrove and Captain Andrew Moore were taking an evening stroll in the monastery garden. There had been a hard frost and all the evergreen leaves glittered silver in the moonlight.
“Quite breathtakingly beautiful,” said Hazelgrove.
“True,” agreed Moore.
“Agreed,” said Shadow Killer as he stepped from the shadows. “Now tell me about the true Mancer Prophecy.”
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” answered Moore, who had recovered first.
Shadow Killer stood in front of the two men, proud and unafraid. “Do you know who I am?”
“No,” stated Hazelgrove.
“I am Shadow Killer, the last of the great Dev’vers. I am he who walks in the shadows and sees all, and not twenty minutes ago, the Midnight Man tried to kill me.”
“You have seen The Midnight Man?” asked Hazelgrove.
“Yes, he and his dark Brethren are very much alive,“ stated Shadow Killer, “and both are poised to return, as prophesied by the Dark Prophecy or to give it it’s more common name – the Mancer Prophecy.”
“You know your prophecy, Shadow Killer,” said Moore, “and, as such, you should know how it ends, and I quote – ‘Nothing can stop Him, for He lives inside us all. We should all kneel and praise Him, for He is the ONE TRUE GOD! He is the Midnight Man and He cometh!’”
“That, indeed, is the ending, according to the Craktoneons and the other elements of the Church, but tell me why it’s called the Mancer Prophecy? In fact, tell me why you were so keen to have any version of the prophecy called the Mancer Prophecy. The more I think about it, the m
ore it does not make sense. I could understand the Dark Prophecy or the Craktoneon Prophecy.” Shadow Killer paused for a moment and cocked his head. “Also, why are you two casually talking to me? I have just appeared out of nowhere, told you that I am a great Dev’ver, and you hardly bat an eyelid.”
Peter and Andrew turned to each other as they silently pondered a reply. Finally, Captain Peter Hazelgrove turned to Shadow Killer and said, “We have been waiting a long time to meet you.”
“Meet me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We need to ask you a question, Shadow Killer.”
***
Rage and anger burned through the entity and it felt good. It had failed in its attempt to kill Shadow Killer and that was unforgivable, although, on the plus side, the strength of emotions following the failure was simply delicious. The rage, the anger, the… sense of failure, they all came together to make it feel alive.
Alive!!! How it so much wanted to be alive again – to touch, to feel, to experience every emotion possible. The entity giggled to itself as it thought, “Soon, I will take what is rightfully mine. Soon, I will return in the flesh to this world, for I am the Midnight Man and I cometh,” the Midnight Man’s thought took a more sinister tone, “and no one will be able to stop me.”
***
“You need to ask me a question,” stated Shadow Killer, taken aback.
“Yes,” replied Andrew Moore.
“Well, then... ask.”
“What was Hubert Mancer really like?” asked Peter.
Shadow Killer studied both men, carefully. “Why?”
Andrew Moore took a deep breath. “The Cult of Mancer has gone through many changes. We started out as a warrior cult with Sir Richard Heart as our leader.”
