*****
Mestel was back in the alleyway with Austen beside him. Austen had just spoken the magic words that were going to teleport him far away from this place.
Mestel felt the magic of the transport spell take hold and knew he had to break the spell. He lunged forward and tackled Austen to the ground. As the old wizard fell to the ground, his concentration lapsed, and the magical energies of the transportation spell dissipated.
Austen looked up at Mestel with hard eyes. “What in the name of Chaos are you doing?”
Mestel pulled Austen up from the ground and said, “I’m sorry, but I had to stop the spell. We need to get to the throne room of Kentar as quickly as possible.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the King of Kentar is about to die.”
Chapter 110: Fate of the King
Rafa walked up the gloomy staircase to the second floor of Yahman’s tower with revolution on his mind. After all, tonight was the night Kentar would change forever. The stairs creaked with each step, and each time his feet fell on a new landing he thought about another element of his plan. He had chosen this secluded tower precisely because it was an old forgotten building on the edge of the Academy, but he swore each time he came to this decrepit tower that next time he would meet someplace else, where he did not have to worry about rotting stairs giving way and destroying all of his brilliant scheming. After tonight the treacherous stairs would no longer matter, since the deed will have been done.
The decrepit wizard’s tower was ideal for a meeting that required this level of secrecy, but in truth Rafa despised the building. It was made entirely out of wood. Wood. Rafa still could not believe it. Any self-respecting wizard knew to make his tower out of stone. Oh, the top floor and the roof might be made out of wood, but the rest was always stone. And if that was not bad enough, the stairs leading to the upper levels of the tower were square. Who built a wizard tower with square stairs? Everyone knew wizard towers were supposed to have spiral staircases. Either of these two crimes should have been enough to condemn the tower to stand empty, but it had not been abandoned until after the wizard Yahman died two centuries ago without any apprentices to continue his work. Since that time, no other wizard had had sufficiently low self-respect to claim the tower as his own.
Rafa’s thoughts unbiddingly turned to the altercation he had with the elves earlier that day in the Administration Building. They had remarkably poor timing, given the circumstances. And what was Nero doing with them?! He was about to pass judgment on all of the elves to get them out of the way, until Nero stepped out from behind one of the pompous windbags. He needed to pull Nero secretly aside to find out what was really happening, but he just did not have the time. There would be time enough on the morrow to figure out what to do with the elves, although by then it would be too late for Austen and his pompous friend who talked too much and had too much skill with the bow.
Students, peasants, and the riff-raff of soldiers at the Academy walked about at night with lanterns and torches to guide their way, but not the Administrators and certainly not him; Rafa cast a simple night-vision spell on himself, and the blackness of night gave way to the whites and grays given off by all living things. He expected his co-conspirators had done the same. After all, tonight was not the time to draw unwanted attention.
As Rafa climbed the square staircase to the third level, he thought back to what it had taken to get here. Gods it had been hard work, and there was still a hard night’s work ahead. It had taken more than a year to convince his co-conspirators that King Renold Benjin was pure evil and had to be destroyed. The Sorcerers organization was intensely loyal to the Crown of Kentar and had been ever since its founding more than a thousand years ago; Rafa had known from the very beginning that in order to turn even a few of the Sorcerers against the King, he would have to make it look like their betrayal was for the good of the kingdom. He and Gram had talked at length about the kind of spell that would be necessary to deceive the most powerful wizards in Kentar. Neither of them had knowledge of such a spell, but Gram had acquired several spell books from past conquests that Rafa thought might contain the answer. Normally wizards do not share such valuable lore with one another, wanting instead to hoard power for themselves, but in the end the Guildmaster had intervened and forced Gram to pass over the ancient spell books under penalty of death. Rafa combed through the irreplaceable tomes and finally found the Deeper Deception spell in a book that Gram had acquired after cleansing the lich Xamm’s tomb underneath Locus. After carefully transcribing not only the Deeper Deception spell but every spell worth having, Rafa returned the originals to Gram with his compliments. Gram had been incensed but said nothing. After the dust settled from tonight, Rafa looked forward to examining the forgotten wisdom more closely.
It had taken Rafa more than a moon’s turn to learn the intricacies of the Deeper Deception spell and even longer to find a time when King Benjin would sit still long enough for Rafa to cast the spell on him without his knowledge. Once the curse was set, it took longer still for Rafa to convince his Administrator allies at the Academy that Renold Benjin had been replaced by Wrath, ruler of the Fifth Hell. Each of his allies had insisted on casting True Sight on the King, but the Deeper Deception spell had held each time. Each of his co-conspirators had seen a demon disguised as the King of Kentar, when in fact Rafa had cast a curse on the real King, making him appear to be a demon disguising himself as the King. The ironies abounded and Rafa marveled at his own genius.
Even after seeing the evil demon with their own eyes, each of his co-conspirators’ loyalty and faithfulness to the Crown had been so absolute that they had been unwilling to remove the evil by killing the demon. Tradition was a strong motivator. It was not until Vanderhoff was removed by Lidea that Rafa finally began to see his plan gain some traction. Without the High Wizard’s calming influence, Rafa was able to whisper half-truths and outright lies about a demon ruling over Kentar and their sacred duty to place the King’s untainted son on the throne.
Rafa reached the third floor and walked out into what used to be Yahman’s library. Three powerful Administrators were already there waiting for him. Each had been handpicked by Rafa for their skill, but more importantly for their loyalty. Each co-conspirator was loyal to him as the acting High Wizard of the Sorcerers Academy.
Rafa walked into the room and immediately took full command of the situation. “Gentlemen, we have a historic night before us. Is everything prepared?”
Bristol was the first to speak. “I just left the King in the throne room with his advisors. We were discussing the war with the elves. His Majesty, if you can call him that, seems most distressed about sending his men off to war; I must admit this demon is an excellent actor. It was all I could do to stand there and talk in a civilized tone. We have had the same meeting on two other occasions, with each meeting going on long into the night. I do not see any reason why this war council should be any different.”
Rafa nodded his head soberly in emulated sympathy and said, “I trust you were able to excuse yourself without any undue attention?”
“Of course.”
Rafa added, “It has been immensely difficult giving him counsel over the last year, knowing the whole time what he is.”
Kyle spoke next. “Yes, despicable, is it not? I still cannot believe King Benjin was replaced by the ruler of the Fifth Hell without anyone noticing. You would have thought his son, or at the very least his wife, would have noticed. Thank the gods Rafa knew him well enough to suspect something was wrong.”
Rafa said, “Yes, when I cast True Sight on what I thought was our rightful King and saw a demon sitting on the throne instead, it was difficult to stop myself from attacking him then and there. None of us are powerful enough to kill Wrath on our own. Only together can we fulfill our mandate as Sorcerers and restore honor to our kingdom.”
Finally, Flint spoke. “I am still not convinced we are doing the right thing.”
Bristol lash
ed out at the doubter. “What is the matter with you? This is the time for action, not second thoughts.”
“Pardon me for considering my options for a final time before we commit high treason,” Flint said.
Bristol said, “We have been over this time and again. You have seen for yourself what the King has become. Why do you hesitate now?”
Rafa had to squash this display of conscience before it grew roots. Initially, Rafa had hoped the Sorcerers would overthrow the King without his direct involvement so he would be free to spin whatever tale suited him. He had told the Guildmaster as much at the last Inner Circle meeting. However, their loyalty ran deeper than even Rafa could have imagined, eventually forcing his direct involvement.
“I told you what happened. After I saw Wrath sitting on the throne, I went to Vanderhoff and told him everything. He hardly let me finish my story before he started yelling at me. I tried to convince him, but he would hear none of it. I told him to go see for himself, but he said he would not dishonor himself and all those who came before him by even contemplating distrust of his king. We four are the only ones who are willing to see the truth. We four are the only ones willing to do what is right.”
Flint spoke again. “What if we are wrong? Maybe we should postpone tonight’s action for another turn of the moon and let a few more of our colleagues know the truth. I take my oath very seriously, and I do not relish breaking it.”
Rafa shook his head, projecting as much certainty as possible. “I told a few others I thought I could trust, but they would not listen. I am afraid we are the last hope.” It was time to end this line of thought with a final ultimatum. “But if you are truly having second thoughts, then why do you not stay here while we three go and fight this evil creature that has replaced our beloved King?”
Flint shifted with uncertainty.
Bristol said, “We are the only ones who are keeping our oaths. When the truth is revealed, we will be remembered as heroes for all time. We are going to destroy an abomination and put the King’s rightful son on the throne. We are saving Kentar from slavery and servitude to a demon from the fifth circle of hell.”
Flint shook his head and said, “No, I know you are right. I cannot let you face this evil alone. I just needed to voice my concerns, but after listening to you I can see that you are right. Now is not the time to stray off course. I have seen this demon with my own eyes, and it must be destroyed. The three of you will need my help if we are to throw down this monster and restore the Benjin line to the throne.”
Rafa clasped him on the shoulder and said, “Good man. I am glad you are with us. Let us go over the details one more time and be on our way.”
_______________________________________
Mestel helped Austen to his feet. Having tackled him to the ground, it seemed like the right thing to do. Austen looked angry and confused. “What do you mean, the King is about to die?”
Mestel said, “You heard me the first time. Do you want me to say it again?”
Austen ignored the joke. “In its thousand-year history, the King of Kentar has never been assassinated. The Sorcerers will not allow a plot like that to unfold.”
“Well, this time it is the Sorcerers themselves who are planning to assassinate the King.”
“What?” Austen yelled out for all to hear and then covered his mouth, forgetting that they had just escaped from prison. He stepped closer to Mestel and whispered, “How do you know this?”
Once again, Mestel was torn between the privileged messages his god sent him and the necessity of telling others what he knew in order to enlist their help. “All I can tell you for certain is that four high level Sorcerers and two Knights of the Order are going to assassinate the King in the throne room, tonight, unless we do something to stop them.”
Austen finally seemed to accept what he was saying. “I will not let my King die if I can help it. What is your plan?”
“Jewlian Castle is just across the street, but by the time we make it to the gate, explain to the guards what is happening, and get to the throne room, I fear it will be too late, assuming they let us in at all. Can you teleport us into the throne room?”
“The throne room and surrounding areas are protected against teleportation, but I can get us close.”
“Then do it.”
“I can only teleport us once. If I use the spell for this, we will need to find another way out of the city.”
“We’ll have to worry about that later. We can’t let the King be butchered by the people he trusts the most. Cast the spell and get us as close to the throne room as you can.”
“Very well.” Austen said the words and Mestel felt the magical energies of the powerful teleportation spell surround and penetrate him. Then the world vanished into a sea of blackness where he was nothing for a sliver of time before he reappeared in the depths of Jewlian Castle.
______________________________________
King Renold Benjin sat alone on the throne, feeling all of his forty years. His military advisors had left a short time ago at his insistence. He wanted to be alone in the throne room with his thoughts for a little while before he retired for the evening. But he was never truly alone. Even now, in his own throne room, there were guards to the left and right keeping an eye on the side doors, two down the steps at the foot of the throne, and two at the end of the throne room watching over the enormous oak doors. And that was just what he could see with his own eyes. King Benjin knew for a fact that there were four more guards outside the oak doors and an additional guard on the other side of the left and right doors that led out to the adjacent hallways. Beyond the throne room and his personal quarters, Jewlian Castle had several hundred guards on the grounds and walls at any one time. The number of guards was fewer than normal at his personal insistence that every available man go with General Donell to Glenmyr Forest to fight the elves.
It seemed like all he talked about these days was the upcoming war with the elves. When he first found out about the attack by the elves on Endwood he had been incensed, insisting on revenge. He still wanted satisfaction for what they had done. Honor demanded no less, but now the need for revenge was tempered with questions. The most obvious being: Why now?
As far as he knew, no one in Kentar had seen an elf in more than three centuries, and he was only able to attach a date to that event because he had sent three scribes to scour the Jewlian Library for answers during the last turn of the moon. When Rafa had suggested building a logging town inside Glenmyr forest, he had enthusiastically agreed, thinking it was a capital idea. After all, he thought the elves were gone. He thought Glenmyr Forest was empty, and Kentar badly needed the wood to expand and survive. The population of Kentar had been expanding rapidly over the past twenty years. His people needed land, jobs, and food. In order to have these things they needed large amounts of wood to fuel their economy. How was he to know the elves were still there?
He found out when the King of the elves sent him a personal letter asking him to stop logging his forest forthwith. Even after receiving the letter, this King did not give Benjin the chance to respond. Before he could dispatch a courier to Endwood, the elves attacked and destroyed the town. Why? Something didn’t add up. Why had the elven King given up the element of surprise by sending a letter, when he planned to attack the logging town only a few days later? Perhaps humans would never understand how elves think. How could he possibly know what these aliens valued when no one alive had ever seen anyone of their kind before?
So the King sat on his throne and reread the latest letter from General Donell for the tenth time. The words were from the General, for he knew him well, but he believed the letter was penned by the Captain he assigned to the General’s staff just before the army departed, the captain of the very logging town that had been decimated by the elves. The letter was dated from the third day after the fifth full moon of the 1043rd year of the Kingdom of Kentar Era (K.K.) and read:
My King,
We made it to Endwood wi
thout engaging the enemy and found nothing new. Indeed, the forest is empty. After consulting our four-hundred-year-old maps, we have decided to press on to the closest elven city of Ash. We don’t know what awaits us, but I have sent scouts out in every direction. We will not be taken unawares. Our force is large, the men are ready, and our cause is just. We will not fail you, my King. I expect to reach Ash in three days’ time and will write to you of what we find.
In Your Service,
General Donell
Other than rereading the letter again and again, there wasn’t much he could really do to help his men. He had placed General Donell in command and given him all the support he could. Tempting though it might be to assert control over his army from hundreds of miles way, he knew he could not competently override his commander in the field. He had told him to go forth and defeat the elves, and General Donell would stop at nothing until he had done exactly that. In truth, even if he dispatched orders with his fastest rider before the end of the day, the orders would not reach the General before the army made it to Ash.
The die had been cast, and all he could do was wait. He let his head fall back against the golden surface of his throne. There were times when a king was much less powerful than he imagined. The day’s events overwhelmed him. He let his mind drift away from the war with the elves and the safety of his men and onto his wife and only son. Someday his son would be king, and he certainly hoped he would have an easier reign than his father. Of course, what kingdom his son inherited would be largely decided by his actions over the coming year. He thought about his family as he sat wearily on his throne, trapped behind the safety of the castle walls. He picked up his cup and finished off its contents, resolved to retire for the evening, when muffled talking came through the large oak doors and carried down the length of the throne room. The guards seemed to hear the same thing as they slowly came out of whatever daydream had been occupying their dull evening. It was probably one of his advisors. A late petitioner, perhaps. Or perhaps a new servant had gotten lost in the labyrinth of hallways that made up the castle. Suddenly, both ten-foot-tall oak doors flew open.
Do the Gods Give Us Hope? Page 39
