Morgan made his way through the castle, now mostly cleaned from the battle. He heard the squeal of a girl and turned to see his younger sister, Anne. He had not seen her in a year. She rushed to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. He embraced her. Then she took his hand in hers and led him to a lonely nook down the hall where they could speak in private.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, but something in the way she asked the question told Morgan that she already knew.
Morgan smirked at her. “The Wizard is to make me King of Avonvale,” he replied.
Anne’s eyes widened and then she threw her arms around him once again. She would be the King’s sister. Not as good as queen, but better than lacing up Terrwyn’s boots. Anne pulled back. “I have met him,” she informed her brother.
“The Wizard?” he asked.
“Yes. He is looking for our cousins. Apparently, King Alexandeon is claiming Erec is dead, and Terrwyn and Taite were sent to you for safe keeping.”
Morgan stared at her blankly. “If they were, they never arrived,” he said.
“Well, of course they were not,” Anne said. “It was deliberate misinformation, and I told the Wizard that.” She paused and then bit her bottom lip and smiled mischievously. “He likes me—I can tell,” she said. “A lot.”
Morgan laughed out loud. Of course the Wizard liked his sister. She was beautiful, but not in the off-putting way some women were. She was soft, adorable, yet sensual at the same time. Approachable, but distant. She had perfected the art.
“You will be King, brother,” she giggled, “but I intend to be Empress of the Middle Realm.” Morgan smiled at his scheming little sister. He often thanked his fortune that she was on his side. She could be a powerful enemy. “He asked that I pass on some instructions to you when you arrived.”
“Instructions?” he asked.
“Yes, for when you are crowned King of Avonvale,” she smiled at her brother. Morgan shook his head. Of course Anne already knew. She always knew everything.
***
King Alexandeon slept on a straw bed, which was all that separated him from the cold, stone floor of his cell deep in the castle’s dungeon. It had been a long night and even longer morning and exhaustion had finally caught up with the King. He slept soundly and dreamlessly. He slept so hard, in fact, that he was not awakened by the sound of two drakmere walking down the halls, nor by the clank of the lock or screech of the metal door as it opened. Alexandeon slept through all of it and was only awakened when one of the drakmere kicked him in the leg with a hard, sharp-clawed foot. Alexandeon awoke suddenly and jumped as he saw two drakmere looming over him.
“The Wizard want to see you,” hissed one of the draks.
The King sat up and rubbed his eyes trying to clear them. He still wore his crown as if he believed that removing it would truly mean he was no longer king. He was not moving fast enough to satisfy the drakmere and the one that kicked him reached down, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him to his feet.
“Faster,” it snapped at Alexandeon and then shoved him toward the door. Alexandeon stumbled forward. He was still not quite awake. He walked between the two draks out of his cell and down the long, dark corridor to a stairway which led up to the main floor.
Alexandeon had to squint from the light as he emerged from the dungeon. He was escorted through the castle to the throne room. The great doors opened and he followed the drakmere inside. He saw some of the nobility there, most notably his brother’s children, Morgan and Anne. The Wizard was not on the throne, but stood at the bottom of the dais, hands hidden in the flowing sleeves of his satin robes. The King continued forward. When he came to Morgan, he looked his nephew in the eye. Morgan looked away. Alexandeon looked down at Anne. His niece met his gaze, refusing to look away, and smiled a knowing smile. He did not like it. Anne had been a lady-in-waiting to his daughters. What had she told the Wizard? What did she have up her sleeve?
Finally, Alexandeon came to stop in front of the Wizard. The Wizard smiled at him then looked at the drak behind the King. The monster shoved Alexandeon to the floor in front of the Wizard. “That is better,” he said. The Wizard reached down and removed the crown from Alexandeon’s head. Alexandeon tried to stand, but the drak behind him kept him on the floor.
The Wizard walked past Alexandeon to look at the gawking faces of the nobility. He held the crown in the air. “Alexandeon is no longer King of Avonvale,” he shouted. “The truth is,” the Wizard sneered, “that it has been revealed that Alexandeon was not the King’s son, but was a bastard, and therefore, never was the rightful King of Avonvale.” There were murmurs through the crowd. Everyone knew the Wizard was lying, but he was also justifying his next move. It would give the nobility an excuse to abandon Alexandeon and follow Morgan. The Wizard stopped in front of Morgan. “That means that Lord Morgan is the rightful King of Avonvale.”
Morgan stepped out to stand before the Wizard. He then bent his knee, placing his right knee on the ground. The Wizard smiled as he placed the golden crown upon Morgan’s head, pressing it over Morgan’s curls. Morgan looked up at the Wizard. “As the rightful King of Avonvale, I swear fealty to his Imperial Majesty, Tamesis, Emperor of the Middle Realm.”
Anne then stepped out beside her brother and lowered herself to both knees. She had changed clothes, since meeting him earlier in the day and now wore an elegant gown of green velvet embroidered with golden silk. The sleeves came slightly off of the shoulders revealing her soft, milky-white arms and the collar was cut very low exposing her firm cleavage. Her soft, reddish-gold hair was braided around her head in a circle like a crown.
“I, too, swear fealty to Your Imperial Majesty,” she said as she looked up meekly staring into his eyes. She then took his hand in hers. He felt the softness of her palms as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his bony knuckles. He smiled down at her, then lifted his head to look at the others gathered. They exchanged glances with one another and then slowly one-by-one began to drop to their knees before the Wizard.
The Wizard smiled, ready to show them all the kind of power he wielded. He had kept Alexandeon alive long enough to watch the nobles kneeling to him. Now it was time to end the King’s life, but not before tormenting him just a little bit more.
“You may rise, my loyal subjects,” he smiled as he turned and walked back toward Alexandeon. The Wizard stopped as he stood over the former king who laid on the floor at his feet while a drak’s powerful leg held him there. The Wizard motioned for the monster to lift Alexandeon up. The drak reached down and grabbed Alexandeon by the back of his doublet and jerked him to his feet. It held Alexandeon by the arms to secure him and ensure that he would not be able to attack the Wizard this time. The Wizard stepped up to Alexandeon and looked him in the eyes.
“Oh Alexandeon, did you really think you could deceive me?” he laughed. Alexandeon did not answer. “You sent your children to Dracengard, along with your Dracenstone.” He paused letting Alexandeon realize that the Wizard knew the direction his children were headed. That would make his story that much more believable. “It did not take my drakmere long to catch them. They were ambushed south of here on their way to Lattingham.” Alexandeon’s expression did not change. “All you had to do was kneel before me and your children would still be alive,” he said. “What has your stubborn pride accomplished? The true King of Avonvale has knelt at my feet. The Dracenstone is in my possession,” he lied, “so nothing was gained by your refusal. Nothing! But everything was lost. Your children were eaten by my drakmere,” he sneered. Morgan looked down at Anne, but she was watching the Wizard intently, her eyes sparkling with delight. “And now it is your turn to die,” the Wizard snarled.
The Wizard glanced around the room to make sure all of the nobles were watching. He reached up and placed his hand on top of Alexandeon’s head. The former king opened his mouth and tried to scream, but he could not. No sound came from his lips but a hoarse rasp. His mouth hung open and his eyes were
wide. He could feel the life draining from his body and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His skin began to gray and wrinkle. The Wizard felt Alexandeon turn cold and released his head. Alexandeon’s lifeless body fell limp, supported only by the drak holding it.
The Wizard looked at the drak. “Take his body out and burn it,” he said. The drak threw Alexandeon’s lifeless body over its shoulder and turned to walk away.
Rayfen stopped the drak. “No,” he hissed. “Take the body to the dungeon and leave it there. I may still have some use for him.” The Wizard laughed. The nobles all looked at each other in terror.
Anne smiled to herself. She had never seen such power. To kill a man simply by touching him. She licked her lips and then walked over to the Wizard. He turned to look at her and she began to drop to her knees, but he reached out and took her arm stopping her. “No need for that, my dear,” he said. She lifted her head and smiled up at him. He started to pull his arm back, but she held it.
Morgan watched as his sister spoke seductively to the Wizard. “I was hoping that Your Imperial Majesty would be my escort and that you would allow me the privilege of supping with you tonight.”
The Wizard had completely forgotten food. He had not slept either for that matter. The adrenaline from conquest had sustained him. But now, with Anne’s reminder, he was suddenly famished. And he needed his strength, for as he looked at this young, supple girl practically throwing herself at him, he knew he wanted one more conquest before the night was through.
“It would be my honor, My Lady,” he said with a delighted smile.
Chapter 13
The sun was setting when the mash boat carrying Erec docked at the port of Lattingham. One of the mash traders climbed from the boat up onto the quay and began tying the boat off with a long hemp rope. Erec looked up and down the port. The port at Lattingham existed primarily because pirates and smugglers did not want to dock at Avonvale. The King allowed the sailors there somewhat of a free hand in order to keep their sort out of Avonvale. Because of this hands off approach, business boomed. Many businesses had grown up along the quay to cater to ships and sailors. There were cargo and shipping companies, trader offices, and stores where goods could be bought to provision ships. Dry docks and other ship repairing and building facilities were situated at the far end of the quay. And, of course, there were also brothels and taverns which lined the quay.
Erec now wore a long fur coat which helped him blend in with the other mash traders and concealed his sword. He had traded his silk tunic for it. It was a good deal for both sides. Verd approached him as the boat was tied off. “Come have a drink with me at the Ale Sea, before you shove off,” the old man said.
Erec smiled at him. “I appreciate what you did for me, Verd, but I need to be going,” he replied.
Verd nodded his understanding. “Well, at least help these blokes unload the mash before you go running off. Otherwise you might draw suspicion.” He slapped the Prince on the shoulder. “Remember you’re just another mash trader.” He offered his hand to Erec who shook it. “Best of luck to you,” Verd said.
“You as well,” Erec replied.
Verd climbed up onto the quay and Erec watched him hand each of the three mash traders a gold pince. Seemed a lot for a trip south on a mash boat, but perhaps Verd had secrets he wanted kept just like Erec did. Erec watched the old man walk down the quay and disappear into the Ale Sea.
After the boat was secured to the dock, the traders began unloading their barrels of mash. Erec helped them, pretending to be just another member of a mash boat crew. He stood in the boat and passed barrels up to the next person in a long chain until the boat was completely unloaded.
***
The Ale Sea was situated on the quay overlooking the river. Above the door was a sign depicting a ship sailing in a cup of frothy ale. It was a rough sort of alehouse, as most along the quay were, packed with sailors, cargo workers, traders and quite a few pirates. Inside, sounds of music filled the tavern and a merriment band—complete with piffero, lute, and citrole—played joyfully in the corner. The air was thick with smoke and stunk of burning leaf, sweat, and stale ale.
Captain Dillan sat at a group of tables by the far wall. He was accompanied by most of his crew and their boisterous laughter filled the tavern. The drink was flowing, the whores were plenty—if not pretty—and everyone was having a lively time. Dillan captained a double masted ship which was docked down the quay. The Vagabond was small and fast carrying of a crew of just twenty sailors, plus their captain. Barely into his twenties, Dillan was hardly the most seasoned seaman aboard his ship, but he looked every bit the swashbuckling rogue in a white shirt open at the collar beneath a dark green vest, buttoned to cover his stomach. He wore dark pantaloons and high leather boots. Upon his head rested a black tricorn hat, completing the buccaneer image.
Dillan took a long swig from his cup of ale. He slammed the cup back down on the table and wiped the foam from his goatee with the sleeve of his shirt. He looked up at the whore perched on his lap wearing a plain dark dress that left her shoulders and cleavage exposed. She stunk of cheap perfume that was sprayed on much too heavily in a failed attempt to cover the stench of sweat and ale. Though far from comely, she was probably the most attractive “lady” in the Ale Sea. Her face was painted with thick make-up to hide the numerous deep lines left behind as mementos of her rough life. Her looks mattered little to Dillan, as the more he drank the prettier she became and he planned on drinking quite a bit that night.
Dillan cupped her left breast with his right hand and gripped her neck in his left hand, pulling her head to him and kissing her deeply. He tasted the ale and smoke on her breath, but did not care. He intended to bed her—and a few of her friends, too—until he either sobered up enough to care or passed out. Dillan and his crew were in port for the sole purpose of drinking and whoring. They wanted to enjoy themselves for a few days, and Dillan had more than enough coin to pay for it.
The girl moved her hand under Dillan’s shirt and stroked his chest while she kissed his neck. She thought she might actually enjoy this one. He would definitely be the prettiest man to ever bed her. She nibbled on his ear and then whispered, “I’ll do whatever you like, m’lord.”
“Captain,” he corrected her.
She stopped and looked at him. “Pardon?”
“I’m not a lord,” he said. “I captain a ship.”
She smiled at him. “My apologies, Captain,” she said. “The way you were tossing coin around we all took you for a silk-britches.”
Dillan laughed and looked down at his pants. “Actually my britches are wool,” he said with a smile and then pulled her close, kissing her again. When he pulled away he saw Verd standing in front of his table. At first he was surprised to see him, but the shock wore off quickly.
“Verd! Glad you could join us,” Dillan said to the old man. He then looked at the sailor across the table from him. “Ramo, let Captain Verdid sit down,” Dillan said using a title that Verd had not heard in quite a while.
“Aye, Cap’n,” Ramo said as he pushed his chair back and stood. He towered over Verd standing about six and a half feet tall. Ramo wore no shirt, only a brown vest which hung off of his shoulders, unbuttoned. His skin, dark and leathery from his many years at sea, was covered with tattoos of all kinds. They covered his visible skin, from his forehead and face, down his arms and all over his chest. His long, black hair hung loosely down just past his shoulders. Ramo stepped aside and offered his chair to Verd.
Verd sat down and pulled the chair closer to the table. He looked at the woman sitting on Dillan’s lap and kissing the captain’s neck. “Lose the whore,” Verd said to Dillan.
Dillan thought about resisting, but instead relented without a fight. “Go get a drink,” he told her and handed her a gold pince. She smiled as she stood. He had given her enough money to buy drinks for a week. Dillan grabbed her butt as she walked away and she slapped his hand away playfully and shot him the most sed
uctive smile she could manage through missing teeth. Once she was gone, Dillan turned back to Verd and leaned forward, his arms resting on the table in front of him. “I take it this is not a social visit.”
Verd shook his head. “I’m afraid not, lad.” Verd paused and glanced around ensuring that only Dillan’s men were within earshot. “Riversmeet has fallen to the Wizard, Dillan,” Verd said. There was suddenly silence around the table as Dillan’s crew mates overheard the old man and ceased their own jovial talk and laughter to listen.
Dillan glanced up and down the tables at his men. His mouth was suddenly very dry and he found it very hard to form words. “What happened?” he asked in barely more than a whisper, just before he took a sip of ale. Verd slid a wooden box across the table to Dillan. Dillan set his cup down and looked at the box before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
***
After the mash boat had been unloaded, Erec climbed up on the quay to join the boy who now sat on a mash barrel. The two other men climbed onto the quay as well. One of them, Verd had called Jasper, walked up on Erec’s right and put an arm around Erec’s shoulders. “How ‘bout we go to the Ale Sea and have us a drink,” he said.
“I would, but I must be leaving,” Erec replied. “I do appreciate the lift.”
The other man, whom Verd had called Thum, came up on Erec’s left. “One drink won’t hurt nobody,” Thum said.
“Really, gentlemen, I must be off,” Erec said, but the men grabbed each of his arms and before he had a chance to fight them he felt a knife in his back, as the boy came up behind him.
“C’mon, silk-britches,” Jasper said. “This here’s Lattingham. We could slit your pretty little throat and let you bleed out on the dock and no one would give it a second thought.”
Erec swallowed hard as he felt the point of the knife dig into his back. “In that case, let’s go have that drink.” The men smiled at Erec and pushed him along the quay toward the Ale Sea.
Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series Page 11
