Six Heads One Crown (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 3)

by Jason Paul Rice

  Ali-Ster shoved the King in and followed. They stood in the unused storage room of the kitchens and his nephew opened the secret door to go downstairs, way downstairs. He kept Ali-Tersen in front as they descended in total darkness to the Alley of the Heavens. Ali-Ster cracked the creaky door and the formidable stench of decay knocked the King back. He now wanted to stay close to his undead nephew until Ali-Ster’s perfectly still elbow sprang back into his uncle’s chin. The King fell on his back and felt dazed. He checked his teeth and all were still intact, although his entire mouth rippled with pain and he tasted salty blood. The swirling, sparkling diamonds disappeared from his vision after several moments and he noticed Ali-Ster approaching the altar of Ali-Dus Wamhoff.

  Ali-Ster spoke as he looked up at the ceiling, “Great Gods in our heavens, after only a brief stint you’ve deemed that I must return to earth to assist in one last battle. I humbly accepted and now I shall execute the will of the Gods.”

  He put his hand on the dead king’s head with his fingers touching the crown. Ali-Ster said, “Dear Gods, please send us the soul of this great warrior to fight in the ultimate battle. I humbly ask for the return of Ali-Dus Wamhoff to earth.” His hand was blown back from the body as Ali-Dus moved around on the stone slab, stood up and, like Ali-Ster, skin materialized around his body. Smallclothes formed over the nude body. Next came a coat of boiled leather and finally a heavy hauberk of interlinked red ring mail covered the tall, thick body of Ali-Dus. Ali-Tersen heard the troubling rattle of stubborn iron as the First King of Donegal moved around the room, inspecting the chamber. One last transformation took the old man from his mid-sixties to early twenties. Long gray hair returned to the bright red close-cropped cut that the former king had favored during his early reign. He looked like a serious man, not to be questioned, with thick eyebrows, a blunt chin and menacing blue eyes.

  Ali-Ster strode over to the memorial for Ali-Sander Wamhoff. He placed his hand on both the crown and head of the former king. “Dear Gods, please spare the soul of this great warrior to fight in the ultimate battle. I beg for Ali-Sander Wamhoff to return to earth,” Ali-Ster cried to the ceiling. His hand was blown back by an immense, invisible force again and the dead king stood up. His body slowly formed from bottom to top and glorified all the features of the former king before death. A full-suit of white-colored plate armor with rouge foxes addorsed on the chest shaped itself around his short stout body. Ali-Sander had died close to fifty years of age, but his body reverted back to his days as a late teen.

  Ali-Sander’s bones and armor cracked as he stretched, and asked, “Are we here to restore the Wamhoff name?”

  “In a certain vein, yes we are. It appears that my brother needs us. We have been sent by the Gods to protect every man, woman and child on earth. Every person’s lives will depend on us. We will first stalk the earth to uncover all the other preserved Warrior Kings whom we can bring back from the heavens. We will assemble the Noble Army of Undead Kings. We will first stop at the Androsi Isles to see if any of our ancestors might want to join us,” Ali-Ster answered. The curled-up King of Donegal noticed none of the former kings wore their crowns, humbly relinquishing them for battle helms.

  Ali-Tersen cowered as the Undead Kings started to leave. Ali-Sander stopped and looked down at the pathetic-looking excuse for a King, “Can we kill this one for ruining our family name?”

  Ali-Ster swiftly returned, “No, we aren’t here to take part in the internal or external warring of any kingdom, even our own.” He turned his attention to Ali-Tersen, “You should vacate the Capitol right now if you are preferential to keeping that pasty skin attached to your bones. Luckily for you, we haven’t been sent to kill humans, we’ve been sent to kill demons.” Ali-Ster Wamhoff kicked the Albino King as he walked by.

  Damian Doome

  Pandemonium broke loose on Venom Island. Damian Doome had just recited a rousing, rallying diatribe against the humans to the demon warriors. He had received word from Travibero to launch the attacks. Nervous excitement rushed through the leader of the demons. The majority of the army would set sail on the morrow. The higher-ranking demons would fly on dragons when the ships got close to the Gama Traka border.

  “Great speech,” Ephesi said, patting Damian on the shoulder.

  “Thank you. I have something else planned to keep our black blood stirring,” Damian stated. Ephesi still seemed off, so Damian decided not to send him on any skin-changing adventures anymore. The ill effects appeared to have caused irreparable damage to his friend. Ephesi’s memory had suffered the most damage. His closest ally couldn’t remember recent occurrences and Damian felt responsible for sending him on the missions. The mustard-colored demon walked away and Damian looked out at the crashing waves.

  He had secured all the animals and cross breeds to the southeast but now started having thoughts about moving them farther inland as the waves poured in closer to the living quarters cave. The snarling beasts were ready for action, but a long boat ride loomed ahead. The soldiers, siege weapons, animals and smaller arms would travel across the Sea of Green to Gama Traka. The demons hated open water and Damian wasn’t sure how the animals would react to the sea, so he designed boats with a lowered deck and high sidewalls to pen them in. He even had his men craft special ships to carry the enslaved one-eyed giants he had captured from Heldoor.

  This would be a much different attempt than his last. His army was bigger and better trained but he knew little of the prowess of his opponent. He couldn’t be sure if every man on earth would band together to stop his demons. He walked with a reserved air of confidence. The opportunity to become a Plade after death had increased the pressure on Damian. He didn’t want to spend eternity trying to explain an epic loss to his fellow deities. His legacy was on the line.

  Damian found Ephesi and took his friend down to the dragon chamber. They walked into the fiery pit and stood in the center of the room. Two rows of chained-up dragons lined both sides of the enormous room.

  Damian spoke in the old underground tongue. “The time to attack is upon us. We will launch a preliminary strike tonight to let the world wonder which direction we are coming from. My friends, you can set fire to anything you should desire. Find the biggest castles on the highest mountains. The centers of towns or cities. Places full of happy humans. Men, women, children. There are no restrictions. Kill them all the same,” Damian told them.

  The chains started to rattle as the malevolent beasts became excited. “Eat what you want. Pillage what you must. Cause as much destruction in every direction as demonly possible,” Damian instructed.

  He walked around the room, releasing the bonds of his fire-breathing friends. He instructed each dragon about the extent of the area he or she was responsible for wreaking havoc on. He finished unchaining the beasts and led them up through the large crevasse before they went skyward. The dragons fired out celebratory flames as they departed and Damian could hear more excitement among the soldiers. He walked around the hill and back over to his demons with Ephesi.

  The pressure started to build inside him again but he remained strong as the leader. He made his rounds, spouting his usual propaganda against the evil humans. The basic message was that the humans had stolen the earth and were solely responsible for the demons’ cramped life. It always had a great effect on the men, getting them even more ramped up than they were before. Damian needed the men to maintain this energy level for an extended period of time but it didn’t look like it would be a problem. The warriors seemed more excited than the men had been five hundred years ago.

  Damian heard a creaking sound and turned around to see the pens containing humans being wheeled out of the cave. Each pen had four humans crammed into the tiny structures.

  Damian orated over the rowdy bunch as he pointed at the naked humans, “This is our enemy. Nothing is sweeter than eating the flesh and drinking the blood of the enemy. These humans have caused hard times for us. It’s time to get a taste for human blood before we depart.�
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  As soon as Damian finished, the men started hollering again and one cage was opened. The demons poked the emaciated bodies with a stick to push them out of the cage, where the humans were instantly engulfed by demons that proceeded to rip them apart. The humans begged for mercy but their visceral cries fell on deaf ears. The soldiers passed pieces of the bodies around for everyone to get a taste. They opened the seventh and final cage and Damian helped remove a man’s head from the rest of his body. He drank the blood from the messy neck and passed it to Ephesi. Damian became troubled to see the hesitation in his fellow demon and was shocked to see Ephesi gag on the blood and have to spit it out. The yellow demon passed the head to the next man but Damian was alarmed.

  After they sucked out all the ceremonial blood, the demons used their strong teeth to chomp through the skull and bones. The only thing they couldn’t chew was the teeth of the humans. The demons savored the flavor and left to take a short rest before the sun came up.

  Damian went to his small room and looked over the maps of the Sea of Green between Venom Island and Gama Traka. He needed to use the dragons to fly out and survey the sea to make sure everything was safe for departure. He planned to use his dragons to fly over his fleet and ensure the safety of the demons. Damian wanted to time it perfectly so both units crashed the shores simultaneously. He also had the water dragons to worry about. Without sea dragons of his own, he didn’t know what to expect.

  The next day, on his way out of the mountain, Damian heard the mighty flapping of his returning dragons. Every dragon returned unscathed and told stories of causing massive destruction. The warning shot has been fired. Now it’s a fair fight. Hopefully, they will pull all the warriors from that school to save everyone from future dragon attacks. The earth will soon be ours.

  Damian sent the dragons back out to find out if they should set sail. The dragons returned a few hours later and reported that the waters were rough, but nothing out of the ordinary. He walked toward the shoreline and before too long, he stood on the southern coast of Venom Island. Most days were dark and gloomy on Venom Island but the sea was angrier than normal today. Huge waves bounced the metal boats up and down wildly. He watched the entire fleet embark and hoped for the best. Land and the underground were always the comforts of the demons.

  JON

  Jon Colbert’s contingent rumbled toward the Capitol, shaking the earth in the process. Jon rode with Ruxin and the men from Bottomfoot. They kept the horses at a quick trot. Jon had promised Camelle he would keep himself and the family out of direct danger. About five thousand men traveled ahead of Jon and countless thousands more followed behind. Ruxin kept trying to nudge Jon farther toward the front. They were already well into enemy territory and hadn’t hit a bit of resistance yet. The Fox Chapel residents they had passed were all on their knees, begging for their lives to be spared. White flags of surrender had been planted in front of most houses and several had crude drawings of a bull on them.

  Jon Colbert was many things; a husband, father, warrior, Duke, brother and conqueror. He had killed men and given the command to kill but luckily for the citizens of Fox Chapel, Jon wasn’t a human butcher. He didn’t kill for the fun of it. Every man’s life he had taken was because of the oath he took as Duke. He always erred on the side of mercy but knew that laws needed to be enforced or there was no reason for them.

  The Duke didn’t expect much resistance but he was always on guard after the last ambush. As they got relatively close to the Capitol, Jon recognized the familiar area of the Royal Road. He was surprised it wasn’t still drenched in blood. Gone were the lively colors. Vapid brown leaves crackled under the horses’ hooves and even the rolling pastures of green grass looked faded. Some rusty foliage still clung to most branches above despite the swirling fall breeze. The only thing that Jon could still see shining was the burning treachery he had encountered on this part of the road. He could still visualize the scene in his head, but he tried to push the thoughts aside and look forward.

  The stiff wind ruffled Jon’s snowy goatee protruding from the bottom of his golden bull battle helm. Slow rolling clouds tinted the shine on his knights’ plate armor as they bounced up and down in their saddles, majestically charging their way to the King’s Castle.

  The rest of the family traveled near the back of the pack. Jon had some of the best swords available guarding his family. They rode about three quarters of the way to the back of the group with most of the wagons and coaches. Jon had appointed a small army to make sure no harm came to his loved ones.

  His numbers had grown unabated since invading Fox Chapel. Citizens proudly rushed to the usurper’s side and marched along with the infantry. As he got closer to the castle, Jon became extremely worried about an ambush. Even one small uprising on the way would have made Jon feel a little more at ease.

  He started to fear a major sneak attack. Where’s the chicanery? He knows he cannot beat my forces head on.

  He pictured his entire family huddled in the dungeons, trying to kill rats to eat. His mind then flashed to the suckling pig he had seen at the market place. Suddenly, the babe was yanked away from the teat. Then, a vision of Camelle breast feeding Baby Jon had the same pair of hands yank the child from his wife’s nourishment. Jon’s chest stared to tighten and he became short of breath. His clammy hands gripped the horse’s reins tight as extreme dizziness threatened to toss him from the animal. Jon closed his eyes and tried to make the feelings dissipate. Panic continued to attack his body for another minute and then simply disappeared. Other than a full-fledged sweat, Jon seemed perfectly normal again. He didn’t have a clue as to what had just happened, but he knew they were getting extremely close to the castle.

  “You best slow up if you want my help, nephew.” Jon recognized the voice and turned around to see his hypercritical uncle Hambone.

  Jon asked, “And what brings you up here?”

  “Now I know you prolly won’t need me fer nuthin’, but this is the smart way to go see the Wamhoffs.” Hambone pointed around at all the surrounding soldiers and continued, “I gotta warn you now, as old as I am, I prolly aint worth nuthin’ with a sword no more.”

  Jon noticed he didn’t even carry a knife in his waistline like almost every other man in Donegal. His uncle said, “But if battle breaks out, I’ll fight til I die, like I did with your daddy.”

  Jon bowed his head a bit and responded, “That is the greatest honor you can give me, good uncle.”

  The sun escaped the shade of a streaming cloud and Jon heard a ruckus up ahead. Finally, the King is going to stand up for himself. If he fights with honor, I will grant him an honorable death.

  Jon had the urge to forge ahead to assess the situation but he practiced restraint. If it was a real threat, Jon knew someone would have sounded the horns. The prospective king did realize that it would be foolish to serve in the vanguard. He remembered when he had rushed into action like the cavalry members streaking by. Jon looked over to talk to Ruxin but the young man was gone. Straight ahead, Jon saw the fluttering surcoat of Ruxin, speeding toward the front. What am I to do with my overzealous son? How would I explain this to Camelle if something happened to him?

  Anger ate at the Duke of Mattingly. He had repeatedly warned Ruxin not to go ahead. He has a child of his own to think about now. The boy is brave, I’ll give him that, but he must use better judgement. He is a true Colbert, but I need to put a stop to this before he kills himself. I have to teach him the difference between smart-brave and dead-brave because it tends to be a fine line. Jon began to calm down until the noise ahead grew louder and he began to worry about his overenthusiastic son. Jon was stopped by three guards that said they needed to talk to him.

  A-TERSEN

  “We cannot wait any longer,” pleaded King Ali-Tersen.

  Sir Oliver ignored him and looked at Queen Alvyra. The royal couple sat on a small bench behind one horse with a small, linen covered wagon hooked to the wooden seat. The Albino King could hear the enemy clos
ing in and had started sweating profusely on the brisk autumn day. He loved his son, Neron, but above all else, Ali-Tersen loved himself and was terrified to have to answer for his sins after death. His spies had told him that Jon Colbert was less than an hour away. He wanted to leave but his wife wouldn’t acquiesce.

  How did all this happen? I was King. This is rooted in the time Alvyra convinced me to kill my father. It all culminated when she convinced me to kill Ali-Ster and take the throne. Why didn’t I say no? How could I let a woman tell me what to do?

  King Ali-Tersen’s final days of rule had consisted of blaming everyone including himself. He stared at the castle’s north facade as the disturbing noises got louder. He pulled the black hood over his chalky eyebrows to deflect the sun’s dancing rays. The King wore a modest woolen cloak, rough spun and night sky in color, scraping the ground. The tunic and breeches underneath protected his ghostly skin from the scratchy cloak. Sir Oliver had ditched his King’s Guard attire for simpler, unaffiliated protection. Ali-Tersen’s wife wore a plain black dress without any berets or jewelry. Ali-Tersen knew that Oliver’s father would pay a fortune for the contents of their wagon even though there were only a few bare hides and food. The plan was to stop by First Foot and sell the items to the High Lord Wedgeword, then set sail for Gama Traka.

  The King tried to hide as the citizens ran by in their tattered duds. He wished he were as filthy as the peasants’ faces so he could avoid detection from low- and high-born citizens. Ali-Tersen actually felt bad for the displaced poor but his mind quickly shifted back to himself and survival.

  “Can’t believe we’re just going to let someone take it,” remarked Sir Oliver as he looked at the King’s Castle.