by Philip Blood
The cheers of joy sprang forth from the assembly of nobles and as the doors opened at the back of the Great Hall the cheering spread from the palace across the city like a cresting ocean wave until the whole city celebrated the crowning of the new heir.
One of those celebrating in the Great Hall, who dressed in the fine clothes of the upper nobility, smiled and cheered with the rest, yet his thoughts were far from celebrating the new heir. He knew that before the sun set Lord Jatar's soul would be forfeit. The picture of what was about to befall Jatar so amused the man that he laughingly grabbed at the nearest noble and turned the man around. “Isn’t it a wonderful day!” he proclaimed and clapped the man on the back in celebration.
“Yes it is!” the surprised noble replied. “Wasn’t it a grand idea to appoint all six Knight Protectors for young Michael?”
The conspirator continued laughing as he placed his arm on the other noble’s shoulder and replied, “Oh yes, Michael should be well protected now,”, but he added in thought, at least until I have him killed later today.
Both nobles walked out of the hall together, heading to celebrate for two totally different reasons.
A full bell later Gavin, Jatar’s personal household servant and old friend, stood before the door of the Ardellen’s sitting room and stated, “Your coach is here milord and milady.”
“Thanks, Gavin, that’s good timing,” Jatar responded. “Elizabeth has just finished getting Michael ready for his church blessing. Are you the only household staff member still here at the palace?”
“Yes milord, I thought you might need something, so I stayed to help.”
“That was very thoughtful of you Gavin, but the rest of today is for celebrating and I expect to see you out having a good time with the rest of the household staff. Go ahead Gavin, enjoy yourself, I promise you it won’t hurt.”
“But what if milord or milady is in need of something?” Gavin asked with a furrowed brow.
Elizabeth spoke up from where she was leaning over Michael’s crib, “Then we can fetch it for ourselves. Besides, we’ll be out of the palace for the rest of the day anyway, so there’s no need for anyone except the outer guard to remain. Now go out and have some fun!”
Gavin’s stern face looked so completely unhappy at the thought of having fun that both Jatar and Elizabeth burst into laughter. “Oh stop it, Gavin!” Jatar exclaimed. “Now I order you as your ruler to go out and not come back until you have drunk five cups of ale at the nearest tavern, kissed at least one girl, laughed at three jokes and told at least one of them to someone else.”
“Three jokes, milord?” Gavin repeated with a look of concentration, he had taken Jatar far too seriously, “What if they don’t make me laugh?”
“Then you’ll have to listen to more until you find some that strike you as funny, now out you go to start your merry making assignment,” Jatar ordered in amusement.
Elizabeth held Michael wrapped in a purple blanket as Jatar accompanied them down to the coach waiting in the courtyard. Four of the Knight Protectors stationed themselves around Michael; Hetark and Becaris took the lead while the diminutive Drake and towering Gustin followed. As they neared the Grand Entranceway they came upon two of Jatar’s boyhood foster brothers; Lord Pellev Welter, ruler of Tazlany and Lord Verdew Kestle, ruler of Belorn.
“Pellev, Verdew, are you both going to Saint Helen’s church for Michael’s service?” Jatar asked.
Lord Pellev smiled and replied for both of them. “Of course Jatar, we wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A palace guard approached in such an obvious hurry that Hetark and Becaris stepped between him and Michael, just to be safe.
When he was near the guard stopped and spoke quietly to Jatar, “Lord, Captain Fintok sent me to find you. There has been trouble with Lord Tysol’s departure at the city gate. The captain requests your counsel on what action should be taken. A meeting of the military and guard officers is convening in the strategy room to discuss our response to this provocation.”
“That must be handled with care, Jatar,” Elizabeth cautioned, “we may be at war if we give Tysol a rallying call that unites the people of Datoria. Perhaps you should see to this personally.”
“But I don’t want you going to the church alone Elizabeth; the meeting will have to wait.”
“I have the Knight Protectors with me, I’ll be fine,” she assured her husband.
“I will follow her Jatar, and I promise to look after your wife and son,” Lord Pellev offered.
“And I too will go with them,” Lord Verdew added.
“I would appreciate it greatly, brothers,” Jatar said with relief.
“Don’t mention it Jatar, after all, what are foster brothers for if they can’t escort their brother’s lady to safety?” Pellev asked with a warm smile.
“Then if you’re sure you will be all right?” Jatar’s voice trailed off.
“I’ll be fine,” Elizabeth reassured him, “I'm a Kirnath sorceress and I have four brave Knight Protectors and two ruling Lords to protect me. If I'm not safe then we're in more trouble than threats from the Lord of Datoria. They need your wisdom to handle that idiot. This is another one I owe Tysol; there will be a reckoning some day.” Elizabeth gave Jatar a quick kiss on his cheek and walked out with Pellev, Verdew, and the Knight Protectors to the waiting carriages.
Jatar headed for the west wing for the meeting with his officers.
Major Harland Von Dracek entered the palace sleeping chamber and found CAracusS seated next to a table where a gagged man lay bound. The captive’s eyes darted around wildly looking for unlikely help. The Merc major ignored both his struggles and his pleading eyes and spoke to the seated necromancer. “I see that the antidote has taken effect, are you fully recovered and ready to begin?”
The voice of CAracusS replied in his raspy monotone, “Yes, the last effects of the pollen are gone. Is everything going according to plan?”
“The Kirnath sorceress has taken her child to the church and Jatar is busy in the palace handling the prearranged Datorian disturbance. As we expected, all the servants have gone into the city to celebrate, so for all intents and purposes the inner palace chambers are empty,” the major answered.
“What if we’re disturbed while I use our subject to open the bridge to the Dark Plane?” The necromancer asked while gesturing with his dead gray hand toward the bound man on the table.
“I ordered your two underlings to stand guard at the entrance to the guest hall. They will attempt to keep anyone from disturbing us."
“Excellent, then we are ready to begin,” CAracusS replied as he walked over to the fireplace and grasped the hot poker embedded in the coals. When he pulled it out the end of the rod glowed orange from the intense heat stored within the ugly metal.
The bound man’s eyes widened as the necromancer approached. CAracusS slowly lifted the searing hot poker toward the poor victim’s straining face. Fear exuded from the bound man’s eyes like the sweat that seeped from his pores.
The necromancer brought the hot iron near the terrified man's face until his victim could feel the heat on the very surface of his eyes. CAracusS used the tip of the heated metal to follow the contours of his victim's bound body. The slow movement of the hot poker allowed his victim to feel the heat, yet not know where and when it would touch him to burn. When he reached the man's chest he suddenly brought the poker down. The material of the man’s shirt burnt through almost instantly. Then the red hot tip reached the tender skin and the unprotected flesh sizzled against the hot metal.
The poor man screamed in agony and writhed with intense pain as he strained against his bonds. The gag muffled the sounds of his screams. A pitiful mewing sound began after the hot iron was lifted from his chest and began the inexorable trip back toward his horrified face and his wide, terror filled, left eye.
When the burning metal reached its next target the muffled sound of excruciating pain again filled the room and his bound body arched with insu
fferable anguish.
“Is it the pain that attracts the Darknulls to the bridge?” Von Dracek asked in a controlled voice, he didn’t enjoy the man’s pain, but he’d seen men tortured for information before.
The necromancer replied in a conversational tone as he applied the hot poker to another part of the poor man’s body, “No, it’s the suffering of the spirit, the anguish of the person’s soul that comes with the understanding of his total helplessness without hope of succor. The Darknulls feed upon the aura spirit of the living and the agony of a soul is like the aroma of a succulent roast. The greater the spirit writhes the farther the aroma travels within the Dark Plane.
“I have found that torture brings about the greatest anguish of the spirit and that attracts the most powerful of the Darknulls. I have seldom opened the bridge after the successful mutilation of a conscious subject without finding at least a Baron or an Earl waiting to bargain for the tortured soul of my damaged bait.” To punctuate his speech the necromancer dispassionately applied the hot metal to the inside of the victim’s right ear.
Lord Jatar stood at the head of a long table in the palace strategy room with his top military and guard officers seated on either side. After discussing the Datorian situation for nearly a full bell Jatar concluded the meeting. “Then it is decided, Captain Fintok will command an honor guard to escort Tysol’s party to our borders. Your men must be well briefed on their necessary conduct; under no circumstances are they to begin a skirmish with Lord Tysol’s guards. They’re to ignore any provocation or insult, their main purpose being to act as a buffer between the Lindankar populace and Tysol’s people."
Jatar's longtime Knight Protector answered, "It will be as you command, milord."
The ruler of Lindankar placed his hand on his knight's shoulder as a symbol of his support, “I trust you to take care of this, Fintok. If Lindankar ends up in a war with Datoria, I don’t want anyone saying that we caused it with the poor treatment of their worthless ruler. This way any declaration of war may be somewhat unpopular, and his troops would not be as motivated. We will have to make sure that the correct story of his treachery and oath breaking is spread within Datoria; honorable men will not wish to follow an oath breaking coward."
The officers all nodded or made comments of agreement.
“Those of you who have an assigned job know what to do. So unless there are any other questions this meeting is concluded. Now I must attempt to rejoin my wife and son in the city. Thank you, Gentlemen.”
The smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh permeated the room. It all originated from the bloody mass of flesh on the table next to CAracusS, the necromancer. Suddenly the man stiffened and then relaxed as his heart finally gave out from the pain. Major Von Dracek was watching and spoke up immediately, “He died, is that supposed to happen?"
CAracusS scowled, “No, I need his soul in his body to attract the Darknull. I've experienced this problem while torturing men previously if I hurry I can often restart their hearts.”
The necromancer placed his hand, palm down, a foot above the singed chest of his now still victim and reached for his powers from the darkness. A small jolt of power arced down and struck the man's chest. His muscles convulsed in a sudden spasm and he took in a ragged gasp of air. "There, you see? I've had much practice at restarting a heart; it takes just the right amount of power," the necromancer explained.
The once sound human body was again alive, but the wrecked human flesh would not cling to life much longer.
CAracusS lifted his bloody fingers and closed his eyes to concentrate as he again drew on his connection to the corrupt powers of the Dark Plane. A rift in the fabric of reality tore open between the Dark Plane and the palace in Lindankar. The necromancer only opened a small rift so that nothing could squeeze through, but communication was now possible across the void.
Something dark of color, indeterminate of shape and alien to this world waited on the other side. To Von Dracek, it felt as though a sickness welled up within his body. He felt weak and ill as if he had been on his deathbed for weeks.
The necromancer spoke to the foulness within the rift in a commanding voice: “Who comes to bargain at my offering?”
The voice that replied was not audible in the way humans hear, it reached within the minds of those in the room. If Von Dracek had been asked to describe the voice he would have said it sounded like the bubbling gurgle of a wounded man choking on his blood, but it really made no sound. The Darknull communicated within the listener’s mind, and a human’s mind lacked the means to properly understand the alien information. The words were clear, but the form of the perceived sound was foul. In an attempt to make sense of the alien intrusion the imagination associated the information with the most horrible and disgusting experiences it could conjure up. No two humans ever heard a Darknull exactly the same way, but it always sounded horrific.
“I am Baron Qyrmswav; who wishes to bargain for the souls of humans?” Von Dracek heard the disgusting words formed from the sounds of wet crunching bugs under bare feet.
The necromancer spoke in a hurried voice to Von Dracek.
“We’re in luck, a Baron has responded!” Then louder, to the Darknull, he croaked, “I, CAracusS the necromancer, possessor of powers from the Dark Plane, called you to this place to make a bargain for the soul of this human.” He pointed a deathly pale finger at the tortured wreck on the table and then added, “And for the soul of Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of this land.”
“What do you ask for in return?” the horrid voice asked.
Von Dracek shook his head as he tried to clear the disgusting sounds from within his mind.
“That you destroy no one else; unless I give you leave and that you depart when your task is done or when I command. Finally, that you come once more to my call if I wish to try and bargain with you in the future,” CAracusS demanded.
“Then I accept your bargain, human; open your bridge,” the Darknull commanded.
CAracusS was so pleased with the bargain and so accustomed to the touch of the Dark Plane that he ignored the sound of the Baron’s voice in his brain even though it sounded of ripping skin being torn from living flesh.
“Our bargain is sealed by the power of our souls, Baron,” intoned the necromancer, and then he concentrated his power into the rift and tore it open wider.
The grotesque amorphous shape of the Darknull oozed into the room. Instantly the feeling of sickness spread to gigantic proportions. Looking at the Darknull caused Von Dracek’s mind to do the same to his vision as it had done to his hearing. Trying to make sense of the foul creature caused his brain to form countless shifting visions of horror as it tried to compensate for the alien presence. Squashed human heads dripping brains, floating eyeballs that rapidly swelled into explosions of dripping gore, huge black teeth that were broken and pointed with bits of bloody flesh caught between, open sores with oozing yellow pus running down to drip on the floor. Just as it seemed to take one disgusting shape, the Tchulian merc’s confused mind shifted it into a new grotesque vision.
Major Von Dracek had calmly held a conversation with the necromancer while an innocent victim had been brutally tortured, yet upon the entrance of the Darknull, he backed up against the wall and then vomited on the floor. Unnoticed bile dripped down his chin and onto the lapel of his uniform.
The foulness of the Darknull has no compare.
The necromancer spoke harshly to Von Dracek, “Get a hold of yourself before you excite the Baron with your fear. Besides, it’s time for you to find Lord Jatar and send him here to meet the Baron.”
With visible effort, the Tchulian merc gathered the reins of his emotions and straightened up. He wiped the bile from his slim beard with the back of his hand. “Yes, I will go do my part, and I’ll post your guards to make sure he does not get out of these rooms once he enters.”
With the squashing sound of steaming guts bursting from a slit stomach the Baron broke into Von Dracek’s thoughts, “Do not fear that
he will escape me once he comes within my grasp.”
Von Dracek did not answer, he didn't trust his voice. He nearly gagged again, so he left the room as quickly as his dignity allowed.
The interior of G’lan’s Temple was constructed of white marble. Three large pillars stood along each wall to the left and right of the entrance. Pews lined the hall divided by an aisle that ran straight to an altar at the front. The pungent fragrance of incense filled the air.
The young heir to the throne of Lindankar, Michael Ardellen, lay on top of the white altar surrounded by colorful flowers.
Ordained Followers of G’lan, in their white robes and red sash, hovered around like a flock of hummers with only one flower to service. The High Follower was reciting a benediction, and sprinkling fragrant red rose petals on the child. Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood to the side watching the proceedings with the careful eye of a mother. The church overflowed with the city’s populace who tried to get a glimpse of the young heir. They knew he represented the future of their proud country.
The follower continued his benediction, “May holy G’lan bless this child, anointing his brow with wisdom, his hand with mercy and his heart with compassion. In the name of the Good Son, we bless Michael Ardellen, on this, his first celebration of birth.”
Elizabeth's mind wandered to her husband as she listened to the ritual words of the Follower. Jatar was so proud of his son; she wished he were here to see the way his people loved their young shaard. The sorceress sent her aura searching toward the palace for signs of her husband's familiar patterns. Suddenly, as though the wind blew the smell of rotting corpses into the church, Elizabeth sensed foulness; she knew that somewhere nearby a Darknull beast had just entered the world. At another time, with her mind this occupied, even her finely trained Kirnath abilities might have missed it, but her mind was tuned toward the palace and that was the direction of the foul feeling she sensed.
