The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  As midnight approached, she dressed as a charwoman and slinked across Konnotan by dim back roads. Unobserved, she snuck through the palace to the nursery tower. At the base, the spider bottle clinked against the buckle of her girdle’s sash. She froze. The dozing guard snorted and rubbed his eyes open as Earwig slipped into the shadows behind a column.

  “Who’s there?”

  The sentry scanned the hall for anyone who might have caught him asleep. He rose and staggered to the door, his spear poking around the frame. Pressed against the pillar, Earwig slipped out of sight; her heart raced. Finding no one about, the guard returned to his station by the stairs and was soon asleep again. When he snored, Earwig crept past him and climbed up the tower staircase to the landing on Saxthor’s floor.

  She released the traumatized spider and drummed her fingers on the stair rail as the creature meticulously spun a large web across the narrow stairway. It seemed to take forever. Her nerves knotted; she chewed her dirty nails. The spider had almost completed the web’s radiant strands when a sound far below made the witch freeze staring down the circular stairwell. She scrambled to find a hiding place.

  I’m exposed here, she thought. If they discover me at this hour in the children’s tower, I have no excuse for being here. After the well incident, this would be too incriminating.

  Earwig barely breathed. She cocked her ear, trying to discern if the footsteps were approaching or receding. The spider’s delicate movements across the web seemed to be in slow motion. She bit a gnawed fingernail and winced at the pain.

  “What to do… what to do?” Earwig mumbled.

  The footsteps shuffling on the stairs below receded. Relieved no one was climbing up to discover her or destroy the unfinished web; she took a deep breath. The spider was spinning sticky circular filaments on the web’s radiating threads when a lark shattered the quiet, and she jumped.

  If this eight-legged irritant doesn’t get on with the web, I’m going to smash the creepy thing, she thought.

  Moonlight from a high window crossed the wall marking time.

  “Come on, you stupid bug, spin faster,” she muttered under her breath. “Dawn will awaken the staff in two hours. I have to be far away.”

  Once the spider completed the web across the narrow staircase, Earwig clasped her hands in triumph. She thumped the spider, splattering it on the wall so it wouldn’t roll up the web at sunrise, as was its custom. The delicate gossamer remained undamaged. The witch chanted the visionary spell and stood back to admire her work. Another spell and the trap disappeared from sight but remained intact.

  I’ve done the deed, she thought. When Saxthor comes bounding down the stairs and into the web in the morning, the magic will distort his vision. He’ll tumble down the stairwell, breaking his neck. No one should suspect a thing other than a misplaced step. So tragic.

  Earwig chuckled then withdrew from the palace and into the night. She reached the Earwighof at dawn and went straight back to the black tower, with Radrac shuffling along behind her, to await the news of her poor nephew’s death. Her enthusiasm was infectious; the rodent seemed in agreement. Radrac noted a bone as they walked and stopped to investigate. Earwig turned and failed to glimpse the rat enraptured with his culinary delight. She tripped over her pet, and anxious, her temper exploded.

  “You stupid rodent.” Earwig’s eyes flashed a venomous orange fire. “Get out of my way.”

  The rat stopped, but the witch’s unrestrained kick sent him flying through the air. He smashed against the far wall and knocked unconscious; he plopped to the floor with a thud.

  “The stupid creature should stay well behind me.”

  Fretful, she ambled about piddling with chipped bric-a-brac throughout the morning as she awaited news. When it came, the report wasn’t what she expected.

  * * *

  “Memlatec! Memlatec, grave news from the palace,” Tournak said as he woke the sleeping wizard. The disheveled white hair seemed less intimidating without his master’s hat. Tournak was aware he’d better go slowly; the old magician was testy when awakened. Befuddled by the untimely intrusion, the wizard propped himself up on a pillow and cleared his throat.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “A servant was bringing Saxthor some things for his journey early this morning. The man toppled down the stairwell.”

  “Toppled down the stairwell, you say?” Memlatec frowned. He sat up, took his hat from the bedpost, and plopped it on his head.

  “Is he badly injured?”

  “Broke his neck. He’s dead.”

  The old wizard’s gaze trailed off in the distance before he combed his mustache and beard in silent concentration.

  “First Augusteros, then the incident with Saxthor in the garden shed, now this. I’m certain Earwig’s behind these attacks. This was no accident.”

  Tournak nodded. “Too many ‘accidents’ of late.”

  “Whatever the cause, the witch meant the disaster for Saxthor,” Memlatec said, putting on his robe. “Saxthor will want to visit the man’s family today, but he must leave first thing in the morning for Vicksylva. Earwig’s desperate enough to attempt harming Saxthor even at the risk of discovery.”

  Memlatec found Saxthor in his tower bedroom, his head buried in his pillow. The boy turned around, red eyes prominent in his puffy face.

  “Saxthor, I realize you’re grieving, but you must visit Bodrin at Vicksylva right away. I want you to meet me at the Sentinel Pine near the river.”

  Saxthor sat up and faced the wizard. “I gotta go pay my respects to my friend’s family. He was devoted to mine. I didn’t think you knew about the Sentinel Pine. I’ve told you about the place before, but you never seemed to hear me.”

  “You must leave as soon as possible. Tell no one I told you to go.”

  Saxthor nodded, got up, and started for the door. His whole body slumped, drained with each step. He turned back to his mentor.

  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you, sir?”

  The lanky boy’s green eyes sank with his drooping head. “You’re the only one who seems to care I’m around. I’m sorry I let you down. I know you said not to allow anyone to see Kak, but he wanted to investigate where I live and we … I thought we could sneak him in for a quick look around.”

  “Mistakes happen, Saxthor.” The wizard patted Saxthor’s short hair. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll fix everything, son, try not to worry. Run along; I’ve preparations to make. The attendant’s death wasn’t your fault, either.”

  Memlatec followed behind Saxthor’s labored gate to the staircase.

  “Memlatec’s worried,” Saxthor said to Battara. The dog’s short legs bounced her rump as she focused on each step beside Saxthor. “I’ve never seen him so uptight. It’s more than someone catching me with Kak. Real trouble is brewing, and I’m at the center of it.”

  * * *

  In her elegant private office in the royal palace apartments, Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin’s attention focused on a provincial report. When a familiar little knock at her door broke her concentration, the monarch knew the source before the door opened. From her disturbed deliberations, the queen looked up at her younger son’s slow approach. Aware she frowned upon anyone who interrupted her at business, Saxthor shuffled in, head downcast.

  “Are you okay, Saxthor?” the queen asked.

  “I’m fine. Mother, may I visit Bodrin after the funeral?” Saxthor glanced up at her and inched his fingers along the edge of her desk, twitched, and lowered his head. “I get underfoot here, and we like to explore the woods around Vicksylva this time of year.”

  “You may go if Bodrin’s mother says it’s no trouble. I’ll send word to the Vicksnaks and ask the countess’ permission. If she assures me the visit is no trouble, you may go visit Bodrin.”

  * * *

  At the Wizard’s Tower, Tournak reported to Memlatec.

  “I’ve monitored the area around the children’s tower. A crow lurked on the parapets outside Saxth
or’s chamber, observing things, not a good omen.”

  “No, Saxthor must go tomorrow,” Memlatec said.

  “Memlatec, a small sweet sat close by, but the bird wouldn’t touch the treat.”

  “Poison?” They exchanged glances. Memlatec’s eyes flashed.

  “I’m not sure, but I buried the tart before Saxthor found it.”

  *

  Memlatec stood tall above the other courtiers later that afternoon in the palace audience hall. He seldom appeared at formal receptions, so Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin noted his presence right away and nodded to her wizard, who withdrew into the shadows. She finished with the current petition, settled the dispute, and ended the official audience for the day. As soon as the queen dismissed the court, she hurried to her private office, where Memlatec awaited her. He bowed as she entered and took her seat.

  “Majesty, Saxthor is in danger,” Memlatec said. “He must go to Vicksylva without delay or fanfare.”

  “What did you say?” Eleatsubetsvyertsin asked. She leaned forward, eyes locked on the old man. Her knuckles turned white, clutching the armrest. “Just this morning, he requested to go to Vicksylva to be with Bodrin. We thought the request was to get his mind off the deceased servant. We suppose you’re behind this. How can our son be in danger in our own palace?”

  “Irkin, Your Majesty.”

  “This has to do with the servant’s accident in the stairwell, doesn’t it?”

  Memlatec nodded. The queen gasped but said no more. She rang for a trusted lady-in-waiting.

  “Countess, Saxthor is upset by his attendant’s death. We’ve decided to send him to Vicksylva for a few days. The change of scenery will do him good.”

  The queen dismissed the countess to make the arrangements and turned to Memlatec; her brave face dissolved.

  “Bodrin’s mother loves Saxthor like a son, even though she has quite a brood of her own. She’ll welcome him, as always, and won’t make any special commotion over him. He’ll feel at ease at Vicksylva.” She sighed. “I fear for all our guards, you alone can protect him if Irkin’s rumored witchcraft is involved. I dare ask no questions. How can I believe she would harm my children?” The queen’s eyes were a mother’s not a monarch’s. Then she hardened. “Should we arrest the duchess?”

  “We’ve no proof of her involvement. Arresting her would make it appear your deposing your brother was a grab for power rather than a political necessity. Such an interpretation might create sympathy for the former king and queen destabilizing the kingdom.”

  “We’ll do as you say, Memlatec, but my son’s life is in your care, remember. You cannot fail me.”

  *

  At Vicksylva, Bodrin greeted Saxthor in his room. Alone together, he observed Saxthor double-check the hallway to be sure no one listened.

  “What’s the matter, Saxthor? Why so, secretive?”

  “Bodrin, Memlatec sent me here and asked – well, more like ordered us to meet him at the Sentinel Pine tomorrow afternoon. We can’t tell anyone where we’re going. He says no one should see us leave.”

  “I’ve never seen you so serious,” Bodrin said. “You worry me. You’re scared; you can’t hide your fear from me.”

  Bodrin knew his friend better than anyone. They thought alike being best friends from the age of five. From what he heard, Bodrin considered the situation more serious than Saxthor envisioned. He saw goosebumps on Saxthor’s arm.

  “Is this about the man who fell on the stairs?”

  “Could be. They don’t tell me anything.”

  “We’ll go to the Sentinel Pine after a good lunch tomorrow and find out what Memlatec wants. Don’t keep thinking about this. Let’s do something to get your mind off all the bad stuff. Want to drop water on my brother when he comes in with his girlfriend?”

  Distracted by analyzing the day’s events, Saxthor didn’t respond. The evening passed without event.

  “No one followed me to Vicksylva. The coachman made sure of that,” Saxthor said as he drifted off to sleep later.

  Bodrin had overheard the coachman whisper to the steward. Something or someone did follow… something dark in the cloaking forest.

  *

  Saxthor fidgeted the next morning. “You’re gobbling down a lot of food, Bodrin. Leave something for the rest of your family. You sure do like to eat.”

  “Saxthor, you’re possessed when you’re working a plan. I barely chew my food. If I don’t eat now, I’ll starve today so hush.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “We’re taking plenty of snacks, too.”

  Saxthor fidgeted. Bodrin assured himself his hunting knife was at his side. With rations packed, the boys set out for the Sentinel Pine and told no one of their plans, as was their custom.

  * * *

  Earwig stormed around on the Earwighof’s battlements, worried more and more about Saxthor. The wind blew through her wiry hair and whipped her scorched curls into her mouth as she raved on. Even the vultures circling the estate took note, rose higher on thermals above the sun-heated turrets, and soared off to the safety of The Crypt in the distance.

  “He was born prematurely, isn’t an attractive child – too skinny,” Earwig said to Radrac. Both paused as Earwig stared at a large blob of vulture poop splattered on the balustrade beside her. She snarled at the feisty birds and continued her rant. “He’s never shown notable leadership among the court children. Yet he has a small but loyal following, strength of will and purpose I’ve failed to acknowledge, too.”

  Glaring at the rat, her head jerked, her eyes narrowed, and she kicked at him. He ducked. Radrac waddled along behind the raving witch but kept his distance in her shadow.

  “I have an idea.”

  The hag stooped low to discern the small worn steps of the spiral staircase leading back down into Earwighof’s cold, stuffy gloom. Anyone in the palace could hear her big boots scraping on the steps all the way down to the subterranean basement where Minnabec spent his days. She crept up to the door like a cat stalking a wary mouse.

  Minnabec was in his office, a cramped room behind the wine cellar at the back of the Castilyernov Earwighof’s basement. His dried-up shell sat dwarfed in a dusty, oversized chair at the enormous desk. He drooled as he counted and caressed his gold, stolen through his office as Administrator of the Royal Estates. Black smoke from tallow candles in wall sconces mixed with the ever-present dust. The resulting smog swirled around the desk and the solitary lamp. The room’s haze veiled his spouse as she approached. Earwig spotted Minnabec through the door crack.

  Sheer greed drew this weak creature to the evil controlling him, she thought.

  His spineless nature made it easy for her to bend his will to hers. They’d become as one, with Minnabec as devoid of feelings for his sister as she was. While she’d crippled his niece and nephews psychologically, Minnabec robbed the family and kingdom without remorse. She was certain even his withered self must be ashamed, but he continued to plunder unrestrained and seemed content to do so.

  Her eyes narrowed and focused on the door opening. A slight creaking fractured the silence. Minnabec had let the hinges rust so the sound would warn him, but absorbed with the gold; he failed to notice. She spit on the joints and nudged the door enough to slip inside.

  Today was different. Earwig needed Minnabec’s unwitting compliance in her attack on his nephew. Spells of this strength required the victim’s blood or a close relative’s, and a convenient uncle would do, the witch decided. She passed through the door with her sterile smile plastered across her painted face.

  “Have you had a nice day dusting your gold, my dear?”

  Startled, he jumped and gasped in reaction to her syrupy tone of mock endearment. The telltale fake smile and unnatural pleasantry gave Earwig away at once to her delight and his horror.

  “What do you want?”

  Earwig plunged her dagger into Minnabec’s gnarled hand. It writhed like a skewered spider; the wrinkled fingers scratched in vain. The blade nailed his hand
to the desktop before he could bolt, but he shot up, shrieked, and sank back down. The dragon-tooth handle swayed, protruding above Minnabec’s pasty, cold hand clawing to free itself. Earwig patted his wispy-haired head while she held the bowl in the other hand to catch the blood dripping off the desk’s edge.

  “There, there, the bloodletting will be over soon.”

  The miser gaped at his swelling hand. “Why must you drain my blood all the time?” They watched as his thin, pale life force pulsed from the wound into a waiting earthenware receptacle. He knew better than to resist.

  “Other than gold, what else are you good for?” the witch asked through the hideous smirk, which always followed a vicious comment.

  “You’re plotting some spell to damage the family further.”

  “Like you?”

  Minnabec’s gaze remained fixed on his wound. When she plucked out the dagger, he snatched back his fouled hand and slunk to the room’s far corner.

  “You’re so perceptive,” Earwig said over her shoulder as she left. She chuckled and glanced down at Radrac, her face relaxed in a victorious sneer. The witch overheard his whimpering until the door shut behind her.

  The specimen bowl in hand, Earwig returned to her black tower. She placed an iron cauldron with its coagulating contents on the tripod before the fireplace to warm the cold blood. From the table, she took a dingy scroll and reread the requirements for the spell. Satisfied, she peered down at Radrac.

  “I’ve honed my magic skills through the years, even before Minnabec abdicated. Here before me is a large collection of the recorded knowledge of how to corrupt, hex, and subvert good to evil. Don’t you just love it?” Earwig sighed and clasped her hands, glanced at the head-bobbing rat, pinched her chin, and bit her lip. “This is quite an old, dark, and powerful spell. I’m confident I can control the thing responding to my summons. Let’s hope the layers of protective charms and veils of spells I took years to weave will protect me from the foul horror I’m about to conjure. If not, at least tearing you apart and devouring your pieces will give mommy time to escape, my pet.”