The Dark Lord's Demise

by John White

  Again the queen cringed. "No, my lord. I believe you." But within herself she doubted that Lunacy had all the power or knowledge he claimed.

  Though for hours the children watched for Lake Nachash through the trees, the large body of water surprised them when they came upon it. A sudden drop in temperature, the roar of strong wind in a stand of pines, and they were out of the woods and on top of a long, grassy slope dotted with pink and yellow wildflowers. Below them stretched blue water where sunlight sparkled and whitecaps streaked along. Lisa breathed, "I'd forgotten how beautiful it is."

  "We haven't had many chances to stand around and admire it," Wes reminded his sister. "We've usually been sailing across it on some urgent mission. Speaking of which, I don't see any boats."

  It was tnie. The ancient stone pathway had brought them out at a spot where there was no sign of a dock or watercraft of any kind-sailboat, rowboat or canoe. They looked out across the lake. Far offshore was a solid form that they knew well. It was a small, rock island topped with a straight-sided structure. At one end of the structure rose a pointed tower-the tower they had seen on one of the TV screens in the attic.

  "The fortress is there, all right-and the tower has been rebuilt," Wes said. He then frowned. He thought of the top room of the tower and the wharf in the cave below it. "Gaal said that it's in the Garden Room where we'll see what we are to do."

  "But how are we going to get there Kurt asked.

  For the first time since they arrived at the lake, Philo spoke. "My friends, I have served you faithfully on land. My time of usefulness to you will soon end. Allow me to do you one last service. I suggest that you look down by the lakeshore."

  "What do you mean," Lisa asked.

  They stared but saw nothing. Philo heaved a great horsy sigh and trotted down the slope. As he went through the long grass, a few weaver bees buzzed up from wildflowers, flew in circles but made no threat. Near the bottom of the slope Philo slowed to a walk and whinnied. At a stand of cattails by the lake's edge, just vis ible through the stalks, they saw a log raft that was halfway on shore.

  "Uh-oh, that looks like Ildreth and Shamith's raft," Wes said after a quick glance. "The one they used to transport us as criminals."

  "It is similar," said Lisa. "This one needs some repair on its rope lashings. But there are two paddles and another at the stern to use as a rudder. Still, I wish we had a sailboat. It would be so much faster and easier."

  "A sail would be too visible," Wes said. "It would show up in moonlight or even starlight."

  Then Kurt said, "Hey, you two are missing what's most important! Look inside this." He was opening a basket that was also on the raft. "It's lunch! A regular picnic." He started to pull out all their favorites. Huge ham and biscuit sandwiches with all sorts of extras hanging out the sides. They sat on the ground around the rock.

  "This has got to be from Gaal," Lisa said as she ate. "It's as good as what we had in the Gaal tree."

  Philo, who had been busy grazing, mumbled a complaint about his itchy back and took a long, luxurious roll.

  When Kurt had finished eating, he stood up and gazed out at the Island of Geburah. The fortress made a dramatic sight, with its straight walls and high-pointed tower rising from jagged rock. "It looks so strong and-I don't know-noble. It's hard to believe it's the headquarters of evil."

  "Everything in Anthropos is like that now," Wes said. "It all looks so good. Everything works smoothly; everybody seems well offuntil you look beneath the surface. That's when you see the falsely accused prisoners and the street kids who are going to ... oh, gosh, I'd forgotten about them!" Wes squinted across the lake in a vain attempt to see all the way across it to the royal lodge. "It's a terrible lie that they go to the lodge. We need to get started repairing the raft." And the three of them began the task.

  Hazilon the priest sighed with relief as he stepped from the woods into a weedy field. He lowered the heavy banner with its embroidered Tower of Geburah. For miles he had carried it upright before him. His feet and legs ached. He had not hiked this far in years. And to have to keep up an energetic pace for the mob of fools behind him-it was almost too much!

  He called out, "Friends! Good servants of Gaal! We have arrived at the royal lodge in obedience to our Shepherd!" Then he got out of the way. A long line of eager figures stampeded out of the woods. They ran out across the field, shouted, pointed, laughed and generally acted like children on the last day of school.

  Hazilon sat down on a rock. "These stupid followers of the Despised One," he muttered. "They adore him as a dog adores its master. All along this miserable journey they talked of nothing but their desire to see him. I would gladly have lost them in a swamp." He raised his voice a bit too much. An elderly man limped past and looked at him sharply. Hazilon pasted on a smile. Well, so what if the old man heard him? It would all be over soon anyway.

  The sun slid toward the western horizon. The priest was hungry and knew the others must be also. Good thing lie didn't have to find some way to feed them all. These simpletons did not even know that they had already eaten their last meal.

  He sat and watched the crowd. Some peered through the broken windows of a rustic cottage. The building still showed decorative touches, but its roof had a jagged hole where a tree limb had crashed through it. Others in the group inspected the rest of the buildings: stables, servants' quarters, kitchen, springhouse. The priest heard them exclaim over the poor condition of the lodge. "Like nobody's used it in years!" A few poorly dressed children wandered in circles and looked puzzled. Most of the children ran and dodged among scattered saplings in the unused grassy field. Beyond the field, a high cliff overlooked the sunny blue waters of Lake Nachash.

  Hazilon closed his eyes and enjoyed the sun's warmth. A childish voice jolted him back to awareness.

  "Mommy! What's that soldier doing here?"

  "Many soldiers follow the Lord Gaal, dear."

  "But he's got it sword! Didn't Gaal tell us not to bring things to fight with?"

  Hazilon's eyes opened wide to a nightmare scene. A soldier with breastplate and sword crouched by the trunk of a large tree. A small girl stood before him and stared in wonder. Apparently the child had discovered the soldier hiding behind the tree. Her mother stepped forward to grab her hand. Hazilon scrambled to his feet. "Madam, perhaps your daughter would like to join the other children in a game on the field. I see they are playing-"

  "But why's he got a sword, Mommy?"

  The priest said more sharply, "Please go, madam. I shall deal with this matter." The woman considered it moment and led her child away. The girl looked back over her shoulder and asked questions until she and her mother were beyond the ruined cottage.

  Hazilon turned on the soldier in rage. "What folly brings you here?"

  The soldier was undaunted. "Where are the children?"

  "What do you mean? Do you not see throngs of children? Oh, no! You idiot! Surely you do not believe the tale of the abandoned ones!"

  "No, not the abandoned ones. The three. The three whom the queen has sworn to kill."

  Hazilon reeled slightly. He put his hand to his forehead. "Those three? Were they not slain days ago?"

  "No. We tried to find them, but they escaped us. An eagle told us lies. We knew they were bound for the lodge, so we came here to lie in wait for them."

  "What do you mean, we? You are not alone?"

  The soldier scoffed, "Alone? Do you think I would face those three and their powerful magic alone? We are a whole company. Look!"

  Hazilon turned to see where the soldier pointed. He closed his eyes but forced himself to open them again. An armed soldier had just stepped out through the broken cottage door. Several of Gaal's followers surrounded him and badgered him with questions. Another soldier crept from behind the stables, only to be met by a crowd of curious children who begged to play with his sword. Far across the field, sunlight glinted off what had to be the breastplate of still another soldier.

  In rather unprie
stlike terms, Hazilon told the first soldier what he thought of him and the situation. The priest did not wait for a reply. He ran to the group at the cottage door, calling out, "My friends, I see that more soldiers have joined the ranks of Gaal! We welcome them gladly!" The priest embraced the startled soldier and whispered fiercely in his ear, "Say nothing! Leave!"

  The soldier answered full voice, "I cannot leave. I am under orders-"

  "I cancel your orders!" Hazilon turned to the curious watchers. He made a wide, generous gesture. "These good fighting men are new to the ways of Gaal. I must instruct them. I shall gather them to myself, there by the edge of the forest. The rest of you will go and watch for the arrival of our Shepherd. Surely he comes soon."

  "What madness is this?" demanded the soldier when the others had left. "We were sent to dispatch three fugitives. What is this noisy herd you have brought? If the fugitives were here, either you have frightened them off, or else they hide in the crowd." He started away but turned back abruptly. "What did you mean, `watch for the arrival of our Shepherd'?"

  "Do you know nothing? These are followers of Gaal. The Dark Lord lures them here with promises their leader will appear."

  The soldier looked over the celebratory crowd. They talked, laughed and played like people at a fair or party. "All these wait only to see Gaal?"

  "Yes. They are his fanatics. They love him-the fools!"

  "They may be fools, but they are happy fools. Never have I seen the servants of Lord Lunacy so eager to see him. They dread the sight of his face." The soldier gave Hazilon a quick look. "And you, priest? For what do you wait? Are you one of the fanatics?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Then what business have you here? Never mind. I shall not go to any forest edge to be instructed by you."

  The soldier walked away. Hazilon fumed a moment and hurried into the mob of Gaal's followers. Everywhere he looked, armed sol diers mingled with the crowd. He heard it young man tell it soldier near his own age, "I left my plow in the field when I heard that Gaal would appear here. Nothing could keep me away."

  "But why are you so eager to see him?" the soldier asked.

  "Because he alone is our Master. Queen Hisschi claims that Gaal and Lunacy are one. We cannot endure this lie. We worship and serve Gaal alone."

  The soldier surveyed the crowd in amazement. "I was told that only a few such fanatics remained. I did not know there were this many in all Anthropos!"

  "We are only the ones from the area of Nephesh. Many more will arrive from other regions. Together we shall see our Lord and Leader. I warn you, if you do not serve him alone, you may not be able to stand the sight."

  Hazilon wanted to pull the two apart and end their conversation. But he did not know what to say. If he told the soldier not to listen to such rubbish, the young man would say, "But aren't you the priest of Gaal?" and the soldier would say, "Then why have you come?" He walked on and overheard more conversations between soldiers and worshipers of Gaal. The talk was fast spinning out of his control. "Gaal is the Lord of Far and Near. He was killed by the Dark Lord, Lord Lunacy, but he came back to life." "Killed by Lord Lunacy? I thought they were allies." "Never! Stay and you will know the truth about Gaal-and about Lunacy."

  Near the cliff edge, Hazilon spotted the old man who had limped past him. The man conversed with an armed soldier and two young officials in (lark-blue tunics. The priest recognized those two as underlings of the Commander-now minus their swords. He walked forward briskly to catch their conversation, though he was almost afraid to hear it.

  One of the officials said, "Charaban, I longed to save you on that terrible day in the hall of inquiry. I knew they arrested you only because you love Gaal. I was afraid. Forgive me."

  Charaban put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Do not trouble yourself. Had you spoken, you would have put your own life in peril."

  "But is not Gaal worth such a risk?"

  "He is. But no one wishes to die young. You might have sacrificed both your life and mine."

  The bewildered soldier listened and shook his head in astonishment. "The two of you should be sworn enemies. Has this Gaal made you into friends? This is not the Gaal of which I was taught in the queen's service."

  Charaban's eyes burned. With a quick, unexpected motion he snatched the soldier's sword from its scabbard. The soldier, unprepared, stood in shock before the old man. Charaban held the sword before the soldier's face. "I wielded a sword like yours for King Kardia. His son, Tiqvah, wed a woman who led his heart down it different path. If Gaal lets me wield a sword again, I will use it against Queen Hisschi!"

  Charaban handed the sword back to its amazed owner. The soldier stammered, "Are you not afraid I will kill you for your words?"

  "I am afraid only that you will waste your life in the service of this vile queen."

  The soldier sneered at that. "Do you think I do not know her true character? She rules by cruelty and fear. Gaal, the Gaal of whom you speak, would rule by love and kindness." His eyes narrowed. "If you ever fight, good Charaban, I will fight alongside you."

  Hazilon wanted to cover his ears. Everywhere he listened and looked, Gaal's fanatics were winning over the soldiers of the queen. It was impossible! He turned to walk back to the edge of the woods to think. Before lie could sit down, trees at the forest edge shook and brush snapped. Another mob, dressed in rough country clothing, burst out of the woods and ran and whooped all over the lodge grounds. Hazilon's group hurried to welcome then. They all mingled on the field and laughed, played and told stories of Gaal while the priest thought wildly of what to do.

  "Betty Riggs, go into the tower. Once you enter the ground floor room, go up two floors. Wait there in the room just below the top floor until someone summons you."

  Lord Lunacy's command was sharp and cold. Betty knew no way to disobey him. She wanted to run, but how do you run away from an island? "Wh-what's wrong, sir?" she asked.

  "Go! I command you to go!" he snapped.

  Betty trembled as she walked away. She would have broken into a run except for her long skirts. She walked as fast as she could. Unbidden, the strange words of the man in the bluish robe came back to her: "You must walk toward me. You must walk in your heart." Silently she cried out, I am, Gaal. I am walking toward you in my heart. Lord Lunacy thinks I'm walking toward the tower. But do you see me? Lunacy scares me. I'm walking toward you. The sun was low, and the long shadow of the tower lay on the dusty courtyard like a corpse. She stepped into the shadow. All warmth left her. How could Gaal hear her when he wasn't even here? She opened the heavy door to the Tower of Geburah.

  She had never been inside the tower. She expected a creak or groan as the door opened. Instead it swung on silent hinges. Betty stepped into a large square room that smelled of oil and sawdust. Fading sunlight poured through leaded glass windows of rich ruby red. The windows held strange designs that she didn't take time to try to figure out. The thick carpet was woven with intricately intertwined images of animals, vines and stars. While the design looked ancient, the carpet itself was brilliantly colored and looked-even smelled-brand new. Wooden bookshelves were the only other furnishings in the room. Traces of fresh sawdust lay on the shelves and floor, but the bookshelves themselves were empty.

  Up one of the side walls ran a stone stairway. Betty climbed the stairs, careful of her awkward skirts. She had learned to handle them well, but suddenly her skill left her. She wobbled as she neared the top of the stairs and entered the room, which had only a few pieces of ordinary furniture. A balcony ran along the wall. It led to an enclosed stairway that she took on up to another room. There she stared at the closed door. A cold shudder went through her. The stairway led on to the top room. Somehow she felt she would be safer up there. Safer from what? she wondered. No, she couldn't go on up. Lunacy had told her to wait here. She pushed the door open.

  The very air of this room was crowded. It was filled with a long table, bookshelves, chairs, heavy tapestries and paintings. Betty wanted de
sperately to see outside. There was only one window. Would it look out on the lake or on the courtyard? She peered out and saw the shadowy courtyard below. There Lunacy stood where she had left him.

  A shriek echoed in the courtyard and penetrated the room. Three struggling figures emerged from a doorway below. Betty stifled her own scream as she recognized all three!

  In the royal bedroom at Nephesh Palace, King Tiqvah's head rolled back and forth on a sweat-soaked pillow. This was his worst spell of weakness yet. He groaned and looked toward the window. From here he could see one of the towers on the city wall of Nephesh, where a long, bright banner streamed in the wind. Broad daylight, vital work to be done in Anthropos, and the king must lie in bed! He tried to roll over, but the effort exhausted him.

  Never had he known such a strange weakness. It had a terrible strength of its own. It was like a conscious enemy. It pressed him down onto his bed and drained his vigor like a spider that sucked life from its victims. It was stronger even than the silk of weaver bees.

  Tiqvah reached toward the glass vial of honey and spoon that stood on a table by his bed. A small bell was next to them, but he was determined for once he would not ring for a servant. He was King of Anthropos! At least he could administer himself a close of medicinal honey!

  Tiyvah struggled to a half-sitting position in the bed and braced his head against the massive carved headboard. He propped himself on one elbow and managed to grasp the vial of amber liquid. But one hand was not enough for the task. He would have to remove the vial's glass stopper and pour the honey into the spoon.

  The king rolled over further and removed the stopper. He fumbled for the spoon. He was alarmed at how numb his fingers had grown. The spoon fell from his grasp and landed beyond his vision next to the bed. He heard the clatter of metal on stone, for the bedroom carpet ended several feet from the bed. Tiqvah leaned over the edge of the bed to reach for the spoon. His head swam with dizziness and he closed his eyes.