by Rex Jameson
He recognized King Aethis immediately. Ashton had seen posters of him since he was a boy but being in the man’s presence in real life was awe-inspiring. Aethis wore fine furs and jewelry, including a long golden chain with a large, round locket dangling to his chest. He was deep in conversation with an older man next to him, a man Ashton also recognized as the chief adviser to the realm—a balding man by the name of Jurgen.
When Ashton finally turned to look at Mekadesh again, her skimpy dress had morphed into a modest but tight dark dress that covered her body from neck to ankles. A high white collar framed her face, and fashionable slits cut through the top of her dress. She looked like a noble aristocrat in mourning.
“Where is my spymaster?” Aethis asked.
Jurgen read a piece of parchment in his hands. “He followed the Necromancer as far as an inn in Hell’s Edge, but something drew him south. A fleet, it seems.”
“The Visanth envoy?” Aethis asked.
Jurgen cleared his throat as he noticed the presence of Ashton and the other intruders.
“I don’t know how you gained access here,” Jurgen said, “but the King prepares for war. Guards, remove these persons!”
The guards rustled toward the party of three that had entered the throne room.
“If the King prepares for war with undead and demons,” Mekadesh said, “then my being here is most appropriate.”
Aethis raised a hand and his guards stopped in their tracks. Each held their pommels and appeared imposing along the carpet.
“Who are you?” Aethis asked, looking up from his contemplation on the throne.
“It’s my understanding that Valedar introduced me as Queen,” Mekadesh said. “So, for now, that’ll do.”
“You are not Queen Jayla,” King Aethis said dismissively. “You’re not even an elf.”
“Introduce yourselves,” Jurgen stated, “or be removed from the throne room.”
“Very well,” Mekadesh said, a smirk spreading across her face. “In your kingdom, I am most often referred to as the Holy One, the patron saint and benefactor of the paladins.”
“The Holy One?” Jurgen asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“And the man in all of the plate armor behind me,” Mekadesh said, pointing with her thumb, “is none other than Frederick Ross, the champion of Surdel.”
“This is a joke,” the adviser said. “Frederick Ross died weeks ago in combat.”
“If this is a joke,” Aethis said, “it is far from humorous.”
“You are quite correct,” Mekadesh said. “Frederick Ross died some time ago, felled by a young lord south of Perketh—”
“The champion of Surdel,” Aethis said, “was killed by bandits of the Red Army.”
“Frederick,” she said, “the King here says you were killed by bandits. Is that true?”
Frederick shook his head slowly. Dark vapors leaked from his visor and joints in his armor.
“Strange,” Mekadesh said.
“This is preposterous!” Jurgen exclaimed.
“Perhaps I have the wrong man,” Mekadesh said, feigning shock. She turned and pointed to Frederick. “Take off your helmet, good knight.”
The demon obeyed. Frederick’s skin was pale and white, but his face was known by every citizen who had ever attended a tournament. The twelve guards in purple-and-black ceremonial armor gasped. The King’s hand went to his jaw and his adviser’s mouth fell open, his gaze shifting from Mekadesh to Frederick and back.
“It can’t be!” Aethis said.
“How is this possible?” Jurgen asked.
“Ah,” Mekadesh said with exaggerated pomp, “that brings me to the third man in my company, the one in the gray hood, the cloak and simple clothes. His name is Ashton Jeraldson… and he is the Necromancer.”
“To the King!” Adviser Jurgen exclaimed in alarm.
The guards obeyed, forming a line quickly in front of the throne.
“What is the meaning of this?” the King demanded of Mekadesh.
“Must I repeat myself?” Mekadesh asked.
Her hair turned blonde, and her dress morphed into the same tight fitting high-collared dress she had on but pure white. The guards became visibly restless, pulling their swords from their sheaths.
“Your Highness,” a captain said, “this is magic. We must move you to safety!”
“I’m not abandoning my throne room to a magician,” the King declared.
“I’m called the Holy One,” Mekadesh said. “I come to you in your direst hour, despite the insults your ancestors have hurled at me by banishing my order. I come to you, as the undead rise from their graves and the demons pour out of Xhonia, with hope for your world.”
“What do you want?” Aethis asked.
“I want what you want,” Mekadesh said. “The destruction of the demon lords who invade your lands from the underworld. The permanent banishment of the naurun—the very demons who killed your son outside of Mallory Keep.”
The King appeared to stop breathing when his son Magnus had been mentioned. Ashton felt a pain in his heart at the knowledge that he had a hand in unleashing the demon that waylaid the prince and killed Lord Janus Mallory.
“You can do that?” Aethis asked.
“I can help,” Mekadesh said. “I seek to empower your world—to give it the tools it needs to fight the demon apocalypse.”
“The demon apocalypse?” the adviser asked skeptically. “We know only of a second incursion of undead.”
“An incursion?” Mekadesh scoffed. “The demon lord Orcus is roaming your kingdom. He has taken Foxbro. His legions are invading as far south as Perketh.”
“Perketh is a dead town,” Jurgen said, crossing his arms.
“No,” Ashton said. “It’s an undead town filled with loyal subjects to the crown.”
“Loyal subjects who attacked Mallory Keep?” the adviser rebuffed.
“Loyal to the King,” Ashton said, “as I am. But not loyal to Lord Mallory, who abandoned his people and allowed a bandit army to murder them. I raised them so that they might seek justice.”
“Perhaps this undead army at Foxbro seeks the same justice,” Aethis said.
“No,” Mekadesh said. “The army of Orcus seeks only his dominion over this world, to link it to his realms through the Abyss so that souls may be harvested and used for wars elsewhere. The naurun race is a plague that must be stopped.”
“And how do we do that?” the King asked.
“By helping me acquire the artifacts that might save your world,” she said. “I need the Eye of Maddox.”
Jurgen and Aethis looked at each other and then conversed in whispers. The King shook his head.
“We’re not familiar with this item,” Jurgen said, exasperated. “What is it?”
“The Eye of Maddox,” she replied, “is a powerful artifact—capable of seeing through lies and manipulation. Long ago, many millions of years actually, my general wielded it against Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons. It gave Maddox the vision needed to best that demon lord in every major battle.”
“If it can beat a demon lord,” Aethis said, “then it’s worth pursuing.”
“The Eye’s true power,” she said, “lies not in physical combat but in its augmentations and its ability to guide its wielder toward other precious things.”
“You think we need valuable trinkets in a war against demons?” Jurgen asked. “We need weapons, not baubles. Are you only here to waste the King’s time? His Majesty must plan for the conflict with the undead!”
“If you do not value such trinkets,” Mekadesh said, “then give them to me. I will find use for them.”
“We’ve already told you,” Jurgen said from behind the line of knights. “We do not have this item.”
“Ah, but you do,” Mekadesh said. “It’s around the King’s neck.”
Aethis and Jurgen both looked surprised. The King lifted the locket at the end of his gold chain.
“This is not the Eye of Maddox,”
he said, “This is the Eye of the King. It has been within my family since before our earliest records.”
“A curious name for a locket,” Mekadesh said, “and so similar to the named item I seek.”
“A coincidence and nothing more,” Jurgen said.
“The Eye of Maddox is mine,” she said. “I gave it to my greatest general. He was killed, and his body ripped into pieces and flung across the heavens. His skull landed in Surdel over a million years ago, in the very place that Mount Godun rose from. The Monks of Godun felt its power shortly after I arrived on this world 10,000 years ago, because the skull reacted to my arrival. Within 500 years, they had located it in the heart of the mountain. They passed it to your ancestors, and now you will pass it to me.”
“I cannot part with this,” Aethis said. “It is priceless to me and my family.”
“A new general must be created,” she said, “or your world will fall.”
Ashton coughed into his hand. “Perhaps, the King can use it.”
She looked at the middle-aged man on the throne. She shook her head slowly.
“Give me the Eye,” she said menacingly, “or die.”
“Wait!” Ashton said.
“There is no time,” Mekadesh said, pointing toward the south. “The undead are almost here.”
“We can kill them with fire,” Ashton said. “The paladins can smite them.”
“The paladins are too few,” Mekadesh said, “because of this man and his forefathers. More importantly, my next general is not the only person who will benefit from me acquiring the Eye. The paladins and any force under my command will also be augmented.”
“Guards,” Jurgen commanded. “The King has been threatened. Cut them down!”
“Your Highness,” the captain of the guard again protested to Aethis, “she’s a magician. My priority is to get you to safety. Please, Your Highness!”
“Orcus is almost here,” Mekadesh said, “and we haven’t even found the Sword of Maddox yet. You’re not leaving this room, and I’m not leaving this room until I have the Eye.”
“Kill them,” King Aethis ordered.
“Wait!” Ashton pleaded again.
The guards grimly advanced, swords and spears in hand. Any hesitation was gone.
Mekadesh turned toward Frederick. “Retrieve the Eye.”
The shadow demon controlling Frederick crouched and leapt forward like a cat on hind legs. It slashed through the throat of the Captain of the Guard but left no visible marks on his neck, as if a ghost had passed harmlessly through him. The man fell to the carpeted floor, dead. The King gasped and Jurgen’s eyes grew wider.
It had happened so fast that the other guards didn’t have a chance to register the supernatural agent they faced. They lowered their spears and swords and advanced towards it. In a fluid motion, the creature tossed aside its own sword and leapt atop the closest man. Purple and black ethereal flames broke through segment boundaries of its armor, licking at the victim’s face and shooting through his breastplate. This second man fell to the floor as well, his eyes and mouth wide open, frozen in a state of terror.
The next man thrust a spear at Frederick, but it glanced off the plate armor—not that it would have made any difference anyway. The creature grabbed the spear and pulled the man to it, blackness again invading the brave soldier’s body and leaving a lifeless corpse.
“No!” Ashton begged. “Stop this madness!”
But the creature had its orders and so did the guards. A third fell and a fourth, within seconds of each other. The durun cracked its plated glove against a fifth’s helmet, knocking it from his head, and then sucking the man’s soul into its mouth.
“Gods, be merciful!” Jurgen shrieked.
“Not today!” Mekadesh said pitilessly.
The creature’s black soul ate through soldier after soldier in quick succession.
“Please go, Your Majesty!” a guard shouted in panic as he backed toward the throne.
The creature devoured his soul with a dark kiss, and then ran its fingers down Jurgen’s face and torso. If viewed from afar, the act might have seemed innocent, had Jurgen not limply fallen to the floor as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“No,” the King said, lifting his hands between Frederick and himself. “No, no, no, no!”
“Bring it to me!” Mekadesh demanded.
The creature grabbed the golden amulet and pulled as it pivoted to return to Mekadesh. To Ashton’s horror, the head of King Aethis came with it. A stream of blood spurted from the slumping torso clad in a purple and black tunic lined by white furs. The blood streamed down the beautiful white throne and across and down the marbled stairs.
The creature shook the amulet, and Aethis’ head fell to the floor. It rolled beside the durun for several seconds before it came to a rest, looking downward at the floor. Ashton stared at his king in disbelief.
“I can’t—”
The demon handed the Eye of Maddox to Mekadesh, and she smiled wickedly as she looked down at the locket. She knelt down to the floor and slammed the golden amulet against the stonework. Within a few violent strikes, the metal container had broken and a yellow stone rolled out.
“Oh, Maddox,” she purred. “You are needed once more…”
She looked at Ashton.
“Pick it up,” she said.
Ashton shook his head. He pulled his hood up and turned his back on her.
“This item is no ordinary jewel,” Mekadesh said. “It is my original power, given to me as a Watcher by the Creators themselves. This power enabled me to see past evil and lies—to see inside the hearts of men and demons. I gave it to Maddox as I give it to you now. Take it. Use it.”
Two women entered the throne room from a side door, and Ashton turned toward them. One was a middle-aged woman with dark, straight hair. She dressed finely in the same kinds of fabric and fur as Aethis. She looked at the throne, only partially comprehending the ghastly stream of blood down the steps. Ashton recognized the Queen of Surdel from her portraits. The other woman was younger and wore a pair of finely-crafted reading glasses beneath a shock of curly red hair. She held three or four books across her forearm with a scroll or two wedged between them. She wore a simple light-blue dress that might have been fit for royalty once, but it had been neglected. She gawked in confusion between her mother, the throne, and the party of three with Ashton.
Frederick picked up his sword, looked at Mekadesh and then marched toward the two new women.
“Wait,” Ashton begged again.
Queen Shea fell to the floor grabbing her chest.
“Mother!” the younger woman said, rushing to the Queen.
Shea writhed on the floor, reaching toward her husband’s headless corpse. The young princess scooped her mother up and scowled at the approaching demon.
“Wait!” Mekadesh commanded the demon, and it stopped.
“Ashton,” she said. “Look at her.”
Ashton looked at the young woman who glared at him with intense venom. Tears streamed down the young woman’s face.
“I see her,” Ashton said. “She’s angry. I’m angry too. You just killed the King!”
“Through the Eye!” Mekadesh said, pointing at the yellow stone now soaked in a pool of blood that was still pouring down the steps.
Ashton timidly picked up the Eye of Maddox, trying not to look at the princess. He wiped the blood off on his cloak and fumbled with the stone.
“You’re all sick!” the princess yelled. “I’ll kill every last one of you!”
“Hold it up,” Mekadesh said, beckoning for Frederick to come to her and then lifting her hand up to her own eye to indicate what she meant to Ashton.
He mimed her movements, bringing the Eye of Maddox between his eyes and the princess.
Through the lens of the stone, the insides of this young woman were a swirling energy—like a red fire that pulsated.
“You are angry, my child—” Mekadesh said.
“I will end
you!” the princess promised.
“Good,” Mekadesh said. “Harness that hatred. Let it burn you inside-out, and then unleash it on the demon lords who seek to end your world and its people. The best of King Aethis lives on, Princess Cassandra—inside of you.”
Princess Cassandra seemed torn between hatred of Mekadesh and confusion at her words. Ashton rushed across the floor toward the Princess and the Queen. Cassandra dropped her books and pulled a three-inch knife from a pocket in her well-worn dress and pointed it at Ashton.
He slowed down before he reached her. He attempted to placate her with his hands in non-threatening downward motions.
“I think she’s having a heart attack,” Ashton said. “Is there anything we can do?”
At the main entrance to the throne room, Mekadesh waved Frederick into the hallway and looked at Ashton queerly. She turned to leave, and Ashton noticed a small smile at the corners of her mouth.
“She’s a wicked woman,” Ashton said.
“And what are you?” Cassandra asked, practically spitting out every syllable. “You, who have taken both my father and mother away from all of us in our time of need!”
“A demon killed your father,” Ashton said.
“And I will kill you,” she vowed.
He looked back at her decapitated father. There was no hope for him. He could wait for the Queen to die and try to bring her back, but he expected the sight of her husband dead like this might send her into another episode. The only thing left to do was empathize.
Ashton sat on his haunches and shook his head. He teared up as he watched the Queen convulsing. Cassandra began to rock Shea on her lap and dropped the knife to the ground. She cooed to her mother, trying to hush her and stop the convulsions.
“Princess,” Ashton said, “I have no idea what I’m doing. Everywhere I go, there is chaos. An army of undead and demons march toward us, killing every man, woman and child in their path. And I don’t know how to stop them. Do you?”
Cassandra continued to whisper and coo to her mother, telling her she would be alright. Ashton looked at her books and scrolls scattered across the floor.
“I’m not a smart man,” Ashton said, “not like you with your books. Perhaps, you know how to stop them.”
