The Dark Lord Cecil

by Wade Adrian

  “I’m told you were once a great warlord, Lord Egerton.” Redding slowed his horse a bit, causing everyone behind to do the same.

  The skeleton nodded. “Bragging is beneath a warrior… but many of the skeletons you just marched by were added during my administration.”

  “You recruited enemies?”

  “The dead are all allied to the Dark Lord. Their previous beliefs and desires have nothing to do with it.”

  Redding’s face split into a grin. “Ah, the dream of a peaceful world… only truly obtainable by force. For, as I’m sure you know Lord Egerton, there can be no peace until one man sits atop all others. If even two are equals, hostilities will never cease.”

  “That’s no secret. I’ve said as much since I had skin.”

  “And yet… that’s really not the impression I got from your new Dark Lord. I think he might be, if you’ll forgive my impertinence, an… idealist.”

  The skeleton laughed. It was a little disturbing. “He lacks experience, true, but he is no simpleton. He learns with impeccable speed, and his mind seeks solutions the rest of us would never have considered.”

  Mental gymnastics. Overlooking a weakness by finding a strength. So, it was just as the scholar had said: Egerton was loyal to a fault. Not because he agreed with the boy, or because he believed he would make a good Dark Lord, but because the crown offered him no choice but to be loyal.

  Interesting… and good to know.

  The horses and their skeletal guest crossed into the camp proper. “You’ll find our camp preparations haven’t changed much since your time. Why mess with success?”

  Egerton nodded. “Indeed. I’m familiar with the layout, though I think you moved the mess tent.”

  Redding grinned. “Looking for a drink, my lord?”

  The skeleton chuckled. “If only.”

  Redding dismounted when a short man in a hooded robe approached. He was carrying a wooden box Redding took and held out to Egerton. “Well you’re in luck. A gift, and a sign of good will.”

  The skeleton examined the box before laying his hand on it. He tilted his skull a bit as he moved his hand against the box’s lid, struggling slightly.

  Redding smiled. “Sorry, guess I forgot the latch.” He opened the box, revealing a bottle of wine packed in silk. “A priceless vintage, though I’m sure it’s still a grape compared to you and yours.”

  The skeleton snatched it. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be rude. I didn’t get you anything, though. Unacceptable where I come from.”

  “Nonsense. You brought us great potential. A chance to hit Greater Azul so hard their ears ring.”

  “Hmph.” Egerton turned, casting his red gaze across the camp. “I believe you’ll be out of the way here. And I’ll adjust the excavation schedule to avoid the area at any rate.”

  “Well, thank you kindly.”

  “So you believe Gomer will be back, eh?”

  “Back? My good man, he never left.” Redding lifted his gauntleted hand, pointing at a fuzzy shape on the horizon. “Not only are his people still here, but they know we’re here as well. I would assume they won’t be pleased.”

  “Hmm. No, indeed.”

  Redding held out his gauntleted hand. “Makes it nice to have a friend, right?”

  The skeleton looked at the outstretched gauntlet. “Agreed.” He held out his own bony arm.

  It felt strangely light and skinny, as one might expect, when Redding grabbed hold of the skeleton’s hand. He gave a solid grip as he shook it, all the while slightly afraid he would break something. “Glad to have someone who understands. Nice meeting you. We’ll be right here when you need us.”

  Egerton released Redding’s hand. “I will inform the Dark Lord.” He turned and started back the way he had come, bottle of wine in hand. Redding’s people had instructions to let him go without incident.

  A few minutes later the skeleton was outside the camp and lost in the sea of other skeletons still milling around. The sight of it was still rather unsettling.

  The little scholar returned. “I’d say it works.”

  “Agreed.” Redding handed the box back to the scholar. “He couldn’t open it. You have enough, when the time comes?”

  “Yes my lord. It need only be wood from an oak growing in a desert. Rare, but I believe we will have enough to remove the generals, since they can not be destroyed.”

  “Excellent.” He glanced at the little fat man. “But why that?”

  “Where the crown seems to create life from death, a difficult tree to grow flourishing among death is a truth they only play at. It is said Gandoran used a spear made of this wood to pierce the heart of the second Dark Lord, trusting that the gods guided him when they stuck a tree he slept beneath with lightning. The spear’s point was made from-”

  “I really don’t care.” Redding dismissed the scholar with a wave. “It works. That’s all that matters. Make sure we’re ready.” He turned away so he couldn’t see the little man anymore.

  His voice barely hid irritation. “Of course, my lord.”

  Redding held up his hand. “Oh, one last thing.”

  The scholar sighed. “Yes?”

  “With what you have seen, what my scouts have provided, are you certain this man isn’t the seventh Dark Lord?”

  “If he were, there would be no talking. He would overrun the world in days if he wished. Hours perhaps. Death would become all life. The skies would rain blood, and the seas-”

  “Do you ever stop? A simple ‘yes,’ would suffice.”

  The scholar’s face scrunched up. “Muireach was news. As no signs of the prophecy have surfaced, that means this man, this Cecil, is the sixth. The position of the Seventh Dark Lord, the True Dark Lord, remains unclaimed.”

  “And for there to be another, this one must die?”

  “Yes.” The scholar nodded. “The crown will not accept a second master while its current one lives. The final gem must have a soul.”

  “A shame. I almost like the man, and I get the distinct impression he didn’t anticipate any of this. Oh well, omelet, eggs.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, he’ll be a general under your command.”

  “Oh, right. Well that does make me feel a bit better actually.”

  Cecil sat at the head of the table in the dining area. He was trying to condense his movements to a few given floors they could protect as if they were filled with gold. Incidentally, one of them was filled with gold. At least, he was told as much. He hadn’t seen the treasury himself. He hadn’t found the time. Somehow he assumed it was less amazing than implied.

  Despite the company in the room, it had been quiet for some time.

  Lady Aldora sat at the table beside him. What she pondered, he couldn’t say. She had been quiet since he’d sent Murray off to talk to the scholars. He hoped that she was pondering the “big picture” and how things were shifting about in hopes of finding a winning strategy for them. He hoped that because it was all beyond his grasp, and it felt a lot like what he could grasp were straws.

  Egerton sat opposite Lady Aldora, a bottle of wine in front of him. Apparently the Redding guy had given it to him, which, since he couldn’t drink it, made him assume it was for Cecil.

  Cecil was not about to drink, eat, smell, touch, or spend too long looking at anything from that slimy man. If it wasn’t poisoned, Cecil would be disappointed. He wasn’t going to find out, so he just assumed it was.

  If the man had sent tea he probably would have drank it by now, though. So much for his spies.

  Egerton had returned with troop numbers and placements, his location in the field, and word that he had already sent skeletons to keep an eye on him in nonchalant ways. At least, as nonchalant as a skeleton spying on someone could be.

  Murray sat at the end of the table trying to balance the salt and pepper shakers into a tower. He had several of them, though only one pair was full. Somehow Cecil didn’t think the man truly grasped the gravity of the situation.
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  At any rate, Kenley had proposed to meet them over supper with anything he could find. So here they sat, waiting for supper. It wasn’t all bad. The place had a lot more chairs and all of them were nicer than his throne.

  The general outlook seemed… poor to Cecil. Redding was no friend, despite his insistence to the contrary. Friends rarely walked up and told you you’re their friend now. And even when they did, one was wise to question them on principle alone. It’s just weird, even when the person isn’t a slimy scoundrel.

  But his new friend told him his somewhat-less-than-friend General Gomer was still snooping around, at least with scouts and spies. If news of Redding’s arrival didn’t have a comparable force there by morning with Gomer at its head Cecil would eat a bug.

  So, enemies. Lots of enemies. Lots of friendly enemies. For now. The only fortunate point here was that technically he had more “men,” would have more still by morning, and that his various enemies didn’t like each other either.

  Everyone at the table was supposed to be working on how that helped them. Murray might have made the most progress at this point. He’d stacked up four shakers. It was kind of impressive given the round tops.

  The drape to the kitchen pulled aside. All eyes turned to see Kenley standing in the doorway with a few books and loose papers clutched against his chest. “Umm…”

  Cecil waved at the table. “Come in. Have a seat. We’re talking about how badly we’re going to lose this thing.”

  The scholar shrugged a bit as he crossed the room and pulled out a chair. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve been looking into what you asked about…” He dropped the books onto the table, earning him a sour look from Murray when it knocked over his tower. Kenley did a fine job of ignoring him, or he simply didn’t notice, and flipped through the books to a few marked pages. “The grounds theoretically hold a number of items of great power, though of course none so great as the crown.”

  “Great.” Cecil nodded. “Anything that they’ll buy us wasting time to get?”

  “Oh, several.”

  Cecil frowned. It had been his suggestion, but he really didn’t like the idea that he was sitting on a pile of explosives, either. “Well, I guess then we pick one that’s supposed to be close.”

  The scholar jabbed a finger at an open tome. “The Blade of Savril is the best bet.”

  Egerton scoffed. “Savril? Really?”

  Kenley nodded. “While he was killed in his attempt to overthrow you, Lord Egerton, his legendary blade has generations of history behind it. Its story ends with him but it certainly didn’t begin there.”

  Egerton rolled his eyes and dismissed the idea with a wave. “What else do you have?”

  The scholar frowned. “I’ve been at this for hours. This is the best lead I have. Its relative location should have already been partially excavated.”

  The skeleton sighed. “Fine. I’ll send a team there with the greatest of caution and stealth.”

  Cecil tilted his head. “That kind of goes against the plan of letting them know what we’re up to.”

  Lady Aldora pointed at Egerton. “No, he’s right. We need to look like we’re hiding something to get them to try and find out what and why.”

  Cecil missed the days when things made sense.

  24

  Egerton and Lady Aldora worked up a plan of action with Kenley, using his notes. Cecil listened, but it got fuzzy. General idea, there was a thing that was powerful and they were actually going to look for it to convince Redding they were trying to find it, which they were just to convince him they were trying to. And that would buy them some time. Hopefully. If they didn’t find it too soon, in which case they had a powerful doodad, which was a bonus, but not enough time. At which point they would do it again, going after the second closest powerful doodad buried somewhere in the ruins, but each iteration was less and less likely to be convincing, and at some point arrows and horses would show up.

  As they got up to leave, Cecil stood as well. “Kenley, do you have a moment?”

  The scholar glanced aside at Lady Aldora and at Egerton, but neither of them really had authority to question Cecil, so he nodded. “Of course, my lord.” He handed his notes to Egerton. “I think you can take it from here.”

  “No doubt.” The skeleton flipped through the pages to the other bookmarks, most likely seeing what else was waiting in the dirt.

  Kenley made a sour face at the skeleton as it wandered out of the room with Lady Aldora. “Insufferable.”

  Murray bit off a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

  Cecil pulled Kenley back to the table, his voice hushed. “You said you’ve been looking into what I asked about. I hope that includes what I asked about prior to this.”

  The scholar nodded. “Yes. Well, sort of. It’s more or less the same. The crown can’t pass to a new Dark Lord while you’re still alive.”

  Cecil slumped into Egerton’s chair with a sigh.

  “That’s not bad news, Cecil. It also means if you’re keeping it out of dangerous hands.”

  “Right up until those dangerous hands strangle the life out of me.” He slumped over the table, his head resting on his arms. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not cut out for this.”

  Murray nodded. “Yeah, no duh.”

  Kenley frowned slightly. “I wouldn’t say that. Being restrained with such power at hand shows great strength of character.”

  “That is such a drawn out way to say cowardice.”

  Kenley narrowed his eyes at the skeleton.

  Murray leaned back in his chair. “What?”

  Cecil grumbled a bit. “Murray is right. My plan here, assuming everything works out, is to make everyone who knows about us too scared of our numbers to come close. Then, under cover of darkness, we sneak away and tell the skeletons to just hang out and do nothing, or take a nap, or whatever it is they do when there isn’t a dark lord. Then we go live on an island somewhere and try to forget any of this happened. It should be awhile before anyone comes poking around the tower and realizes we’re gone.”

  Kenley rubbed at his chin. “That is… actually not a terrible idea.”

  Murray groaned.

  “No, hear me out. It means the crown will be somewhere other than the Dark Citadel, just waiting to be rediscovered. As you have figured out, the battles fought here over the ages have left this place a treasure trove of relics, some almost on par with the crown itself. Splitting those dangers up will be a great boon to mankind’s future.”

  “Except for that part where the next guy to put it on is Dark Lord number seven, and everyone is doomed anyway.”

  “Ah… yes. That.” Kenley pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “That is a problem.” His eyes caught the bottle of wine a moment before his hand did. He looked it over.

  Cecil shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Redding gave us that.”

  He dropped it onto the table. “Oh.”

  The bottle rolled toward Murray, who snatched it up. “Want me to try it first? See if it’s safe?”

  Both gave him a level stare.

  “Sorry, forgot. For what it’s worth, I meant it.”

  Cecil scoffed and laid his head back on his arms. “I’m not worth dying for. That’s kind of the problem here.”

  Kenley shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve got a choice in serving.”

  Murray shook his head. “Nah. The way I see it, if I’ve got to serve a Dark Lord, I’m glad it’s you, Cecil. The thought of being made to do terrible things against my will… it may be what Egerton lives for, but I don’t care for it. And I’m rather sure most of the standing bags of bones outside feel the same. Not like this is a volunteer racket.”

  Cecil frowned. “I’m not looking forward to it myself.” He sat up. “So, Kenley…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Theoretically speaking, what happens if we were to somehow… destroy the crown.”

  Kenley frowned. “Destroy it?”

  “Yes. Throw it into a
volcano or something. Super duper completely destroyed. What happens?”

  “Umm…” The scholar blinked a few times. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find a way to get you free of it, not destroy it. Given what I know, I would assume the power it contains would be released, possibly violently. So much power in one place set free… well, there would probably be quite the crater.”

  “Okay…” Cecil sat up in his chair. “So assuming it doesn’t hurt anyone when it goes boom, what’s the outcome? What happens to all the skeletons? What happens to him?” Cecil pointed at Murray. “What happens to me?”

  “The dead raised are not imbued with souls, at least we don’t believe they are. They are constructs that resemble life and retain some fleeting memories, more if they’re a recent corpse. They would most likely simply fall down.”

  Murray scoffed. “No wonder they suck at small talk.”

  The scholar’s eyes turned to him. “Muireach… I don’t know. His soul is contained within the Crown of Command, as are the souls of the other four former Dark Lords. They might be released to whatever lies beyond, though any religious man will tell you they are damned. Or they might simply be destroyed with the crown. Their existence ended as if they had never been.”

  “Bummer.”

  “As for you, my lord?” The scholar shrugged. “Sadly, being the Dark Lord means you’re already tied to the crown. A piece of you dwells within it. The longer you spend with it, the more you do with it, the more it will take from you until the man walking around is truly just another construct. You do get to keep your skin and muscles until you ‘die,’ though. So, there’s that.”

  Cecil slumped back onto the table. “Great. Well, so much for that. Also, I have to say, nobody told me any of this, and I don’t like any of it.”

  Murray nodded. “We should put a warning label on that thing.”

  Kenley’s head shifted back and forth as he rolled a thought around in his head. “Well, it may be bad for you, but if we did somehow managed to ensure the seventh Dark Lord never comes to pass… that would be a great boon for the world.”