The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  Wyvern stopped when he reached the outer band of gold-carved symbols, and there, he went down on one knee, bowed his head, and pressed his fist over his heart. “I am here in answer to your summons, oh, Horned One. What is your will?”

  He heard the sound of fire whooshing up from the pit. Quickly jumping to his feet, Wyvern backed away to avoid getting singed.

  A column of flame blazed up from the depths as Shemrazul rose from the pit. Wyvern lifted his head and found his father towering up out of the flames.

  Looming over him, Shemrazul’s face was not easy to look upon. Grotesque, long, and cruel beneath the span of his horns, it was the stuff of nightmares. Especially those yellow eyes, with their pupils slit like a serpent’s.

  The eyes glowed with pride as the demon gazed at him. “Nathan.”

  “Father.” Wyvern bowed with a reverence that he showed no mortal on Earth. “You wished to see me?”

  “Yes…”

  Wyvern looked up attentively at the huge, ghastly face in the flames.

  “I have read the stars, my son.” Shemrazul flexed his tattered, leathery wings. “Your time is almost at hand.”

  “Sire?” Wyvern lifted his head, startled but eager.

  “My son, I’ve summoned you because, this very night, my servant Zolond will make a…remarkable announcement.”

  “Oh? What sort of announcement?”

  “You’ll see. The point is, when he does, you will take it as your signal that the power I have so long promised will soon be yours. I hope you are ready.”

  “I am, sire.” Wyvern stepped closer, amazed. He had not been expecting this at all!

  “Good.” The cruel face in the flames shimmered and twisted. The horns buckled and the cheekbones warped in the shifting orange blaze. “When Zolond makes his move, that shall be your sign to begin—quietly—setting up your palace coup. For, soon, you will supplant him.”

  Wyvern could scarcely believe his good fortune. He’d always expected to overthrow Zolond one day, but so soon?

  No matter. He was Nephilim: he was ready. He stood up tall, his heart thundering with the lust for power. “What must I do?”

  “I will guide you, never fear. But, of course, in the final moment, it must come down to you. Only a warlock powerful enough to seize the Black Crown can bear to wear it, my son.

  “Likewise, just as Zolond once wrenched the Master’s ring off the dead hand of his predecessor, you will have to do the same to him. But you must be as subtle as a snake.” A rattlesnake sound from inside the pit emphasized Shemrazul’s point. “If the old man discovers you are plotting to overthrow him, he will crush you.”

  Wyvern was not afraid of anything, but the thought of having to kill the mighty warlock who had ruled the Dark Druids for the past three hundred years did give him pause.

  “How shall I begin?”

  “First, you must gather your allies, consolidate your base of support. And trust no one. Not yet. The other members of the Council still fear Zolond. Some may hesitate to cross him. You cannot risk allowing them to betray your plan.”

  “Right,” he murmured, his thoughts sweeping over the list of formidable super-villains on the Dark Druid Council. “Do I have your blessing to destroy those who refuse to join with me?”

  Shemrazul smiled. “I would never punish anyone for murder. Of course you may kill them if need be. But I will tell you this: Duradel is already with you.”

  “Is he?” Wyvern murmured, surprised—although he shouldn’t be. Blind from birth, the dark elf, Duradel, prophet and priest of the Dark Druids, saw all. “Well, that is good news.”

  The tips of his horns nearly scraped the high ceiling as Shemrazul nodded. “Unlike Zolond, the priest’s full loyalty is to me. Duradel already knows I have chosen you as the next leader of the Council. But you will need more allies than just the Drow prophet. Securing their loyalty will be your first task.”

  Wyvern pondered the awesome chance he was being offered, if he was strong enough to seize it.

  Then he looked up with a troubled frown. “Father, if Zolond has offended you somehow, then let me punish him to defend your honor.”

  Shemrazul let out a sinister laugh. “Ah, dear boy, you’re such a comfort to me. Overthrow him, and that will be punishment enough—until he joins me down here. Then I will see to him myself. For all eternity.”

  Wyvern shuddered at the thought. “I beg you, Father, tell me what he’s done to lose your favor so that I never make the same mistake.”

  The demon’s cynical snort nearly singed Wyvern’s eyebrows off. He jumped back but did not complain.

  “Suffice to say that Zolond’s loyalty to his Horned Lord has been wavering of late. Merely do as you’re told and that will never happen to you. Now, forget about Zolond. He’s the past. You are the present, my boy! But we must also see to the future.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A king must attend to the succession of his throne, Nathan. When you take the Black Crown, you will also need an heir, a son to train up in the ways of our line. One to follow in your footsteps.”

  Wyvern’s heart fell. “But Father…”

  “Don’t fret, son.” Shemrazul smiled almost gently.

  It was terrifying.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Because of…what you are, you can never have children of your own,” the demon said.

  Wyvern lowered his head, both pained and shamed by the fact. But it was true. As a half-blood, he could never reproduce. It was apparently just a fluke of Mr. Darwin’s evolution. Same with mules.

  As the offspring of two different creatures—horses and donkeys—mules were something else entirely, born sterile. So it was for all the half-demon Nephilim. He kept his head down. He might despise children, but even more than that, his great pride hated this flaw in his design.

  “Shall I steal a child, sire? Or…I suppose there is Zolond’s great-great nephew, that horrid young what’s-his-name—”

  The ghoul scoffed. “Don’t be silly!”

  Wyvern looked up in surprise. He did not have one silly drop of blood in his body.

  “Come, Nathan, I am surprised at you,” Shemrazul taunted. “Is the answer not plain?”

  Wyvern gave him a blank look.

  Shemrazul lifted his fiery eyebrows and gave him the answer: “Your heir is the boy from Duradel’s prophecy, of course. Jake Everton shall serve as your son, and his title shall be the Black Prince.”

  Wyvern’s mouth fell open, flashing both rows of teeth while Shemrazul’s shocking words echoed around the black stone chamber, surrounding him.

  Like a curse.

  “But sire!”

  “What?” the devil asked.

  “Surely you can’t mean—the Griffon heir?!”

  “Certainly!” Shemrazul let out a volley of ominous laughter. “Who else could I mean?”

  “Anyone b-but him!” Wyvern found himself sputtering. “Jake Everton? Th-the boy i-is impossible! He’s un-unruly, impatient, destructive. Utterly disobedient! Impulsive and stubborn, ill-mannered and rude. Sneaky as blazes. Not to mention—a thief!”

  “Precisely. He already takes after you!” Shemrazul was laughing with that bellowing chuckle of his that sometimes caused earthquakes.

  “But Father!”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Nathan. Every ‘flaw’ you’ve just listed explains exactly why the young ruffian is perfect for our needs. He belongs on our side.”

  Wyvern stammered and huffed, but he did not dare protest outright.

  “Oh, don’t be obstinate, Nathan. Let me open your eyes about this…” With a swirl of a clawed finger, Shemrazul sculpted the smoke, causing thick gray billows to begin revolving over his palm like a globe.

  He blew on the smoke with a puff of his sulfurous breath, and the gray clouds parted, revealing a vision to Wyvern.

  “Look,” Shemrazul ordered.

  Wyvern ignored the smoke making his eyes sting and stared…

  There, in the billows, he saw
Shemrazul’s vision for his future and went very still. By the Furies, it was so far beyond even his own grandiose dreams that he could only stand there in awe.

  In the vision the demon had spun for him, he saw a dark royal family: king, queen, and prince.

  Wyvern stood tall in the vision, dressed in flowing midnight robes, the jagged Black Crown on his head, armies bowing down at his feet. By his side stood a beautiful queen with long, wavy hair, blue-black as the sea. Her white skin glistened like an iceberg, and her red lips crooked in a treacherous smile.

  But at Wyvern’s right hand stood…his son. The Black Prince, as was the traditional title for the heir apparent.

  Wyvern stared at the boy with his heart in his throat.

  He had never dared hope for a son of his own, knowing the limits the Enemy had placed on his kind. But this brash, handsome lad was nothing short of magnificent.

  Lightning flew from his fingertips. Phantoms fled from his glance. He could call swarms of flesh-tearing gryphons down upon an enemy.

  Dressed all in black, the proud lad wore a simple iron circlet adorning his bright golden hair. His chin was high with lordly pride, his shoulders were squared, and his blue eyes burned like he’d gladly stomp down the world if it crossed him.

  Or if his parents told him to.

  “Do you not see?” Shemrazul whispered. “He is a boy with no father. You will soon be a king with no son. Tame the wild lad to our ways, and he will be yours to command.”

  Wyvern’s heart cried out when Shemrazul whooshed the vision away with a wave of his hand. He had never hoped for a family. Never realized a creature like him could want one.

  He could hardly find his tongue for a moment. “But Duradel’s prophecy, sire. This boy is dangerous.”

  “Indeed,” Shemrazul murmured, his tone ominous. “That is precisely why you must get control of him soon. After the feats he’s already accomplished, imagine what he’ll do at age twenty or thirty. You must bring Jake over to our side…lest the other half of the oracle comes to fruition.”

  Wyvern looked away and was silent for a long moment, shaken by what he had seen. “I understand.”

  “Best take good care of that Gryphon, son. It’s the key to my grandson’s heart.”

  Grandson… Son. Wyvern tasted the strange words in his mind. Could he really become the impossible boy’s adoptive father? Would he one day dote on cheeky Jake Everton like Shemrazul doted on him?

  “A-and the woman in the vision?”

  “She is waiting for you, though you’ll have to rescue your damsel. She is locked in a tower that not even she can break out of. Trust me, she’s earned our regard. Besides, she has a history with Jake.”

  “Yes…I see. M-my son will need a mother.”

  “Precisely,” Shemrazul said. “And she’s very beautiful. Well—sometimes.”

  Wyvern could barely wrap his mind around this. Then he looked up at the demon and gave him a smile full of wonder. “You are truly great, sire.”

  “Aren’t I, though?” Shemrazul whipped his dragon tail with pleasure at the praise, and the vertical slits of his snakelike eyes glowed. “I always look out for my own. Now, go. And prepare to lay hold of your destiny—son.”

  With that, he sank back down into the fire pit. The flames followed him, and their bright orange light vanished as the demon returned to the darkness.

  Why, I’m going to be a father. Still marveling at the news, Wyvern wondered if he ought to break out the cigars.

  CHAPTER 3

  A Right Plum Lass

  “Mesopotamian Marshes?” Maddox echoed as the boys marched down the stairs, heading for the ballroom.

  “Aye, that’s what the ghost said.” Jake shrugged. “Any idea why the Dark Druids would want to go there?”

  “Not the foggiest,” Maddox said with a mystified frown.

  “Well,” Jake said, “maybe tomorrow I’ll try the Merlin Hall library. That place is huge. Old, too. They must have something. I’ll see what I can find.”

  The older boy looked askance at him. “You, at the library? You must be desperate.”

  Jake snorted, and the two strode on.

  The frolicking Renaissance music grew louder as they proceeded down three flights of stairs and arrived in the soaring white marble lobby of Merlin Hall, beneath its domed ceiling.

  From there, they headed to the wide entrance of the ballroom, where the Harvest Home was in full swing.

  Jake had to admit that the whimsical autumn theme made the elegant ballroom look decidedly quaint. Sheaves of wheat flanked the doorways, while the cinnamon smell of mulled cider spiced the air. Cornucopias strewed small gourds across the dining tables. Scarecrows and corn dollies had been affixed to the ballroom pillars and stared at the guests with painted-on smiles.

  Overhead, rustic garlands of woodland boughs covered in bright autumn leaves crisscrossed the dance floor, and everywhere dangled little, hollowed-out turnip lanterns.

  Their warm glow twinkled over the hundreds of magical folk milling about.

  Jake looked around, businesslike, assessing the situation. “Right. You start with the merfolk.”

  He nodded toward their friend, Princess Sapphira, and the contingent from the royal court of Poseidonia. The gorgeous mermaid and her entourage had come ashore for the occasion, thanks to the Landwalker spell that turned their tails into legs temporarily.

  Maddox followed Jake’s glance and nodded. For a second, both boys stared at the glamorous Bellissima, as they had nicknamed her before they had any idea who she was.

  Tonight, the mermaid was transformed into a proper human-looking princess, from her glittering gown to her tiara, elbow gloves and all.

  “She looks good,” Maddox said wistfully. He had always got along well with the strong-willed royal and her trusty bodyguard, Captain Tyndaris.

  “Looks like she’s been practicing her walking, too,” Jake replied, giving his friend a wry look. The first time they’d met Sapphira, she had been the clumsiest walker they had ever seen, lurching along like a hunchback, knocking over furniture. Little had they known the reason why. The haughty mermaid had been a fish out of water, indeed.

  “I’m sure she’ll help,” Jake said. “Especially if you’re the one asking.”

  “We’ll see.” Maddox shrugged, but he was a good-looking lad and he knew it. Older girls were always fawning over him.

  Jake found it annoying. “Once you’ve talked to the merfolk, see if Finnderool will introduce you to any of his relatives from the wood elf court.”

  Maddox frowned. “Why don’t you talk to him? You know him better than I do.”

  “Because Finnderool’s a Lightrider, and we’re not supposed to be doing this,” Jake said oh-so-reasonably. “I don’t intended to be passed over for the Lightrider program on account of our snooping. You need to handle this one.”

  Maddox eyed him skeptically. “Fine. But he’s going to know you’re the one behind it.”

  “Then try to be slick!” Jake said.

  Maddox gave him a sardonic look, and Jake realized the futility of that request. Tough? Sure. Brave? Yes. Stubborn? Very much so. But slick?

  Not Maddox. Not at all.

  The brusque young Guardian seemed to enjoy being brutally honest.

  “Just do your best,” Jake said. “Better yet, take Sapphira with you and let Her Highness do the talking. The wood elves are snobs, but she’s a princess. At least they’ll be polite to her.”

  Maddox looked relieved at this suggestion. “Very well.” Then he glanced around at the crowd. “Who are you going to talk to?”

  Jake braced himself and looked around. “Everyone else.”

  He was dreading it, frankly.

  To a boy of thirteen, the task of mingling with strangers at some fancy party and trying to chat up adults had to be some special form of torture.

  Oh well. It was worth it if it could help Red.

  Then Maddox, who was a few inches taller than Jake, nodded toward the cen
ter of the ballroom. “Here comes your wife.”

  Jake blushed at once. “Shut up.”

  “Who did you assign her to spy on?”

  “Nobody.” Jake sent him a grim look. “I’m keeping Dani out of this.”

  Maddox glanced at him in surprise, and Jake’s blush deepened.

  But he would not change his mind. What they were doing was risky, and he didn’t want her involved.

  Dani O’Dell had already risked her neck enough times for him. Besides, Jake wasn’t taking any chances on the adults sending her away.

  She was a commoner, after all; Dani had no magical powers, no family connections, only Jake and his cousins. Technically, the cute, cheery redhead was only here as lady’s companion to Isabelle.

  The Elders neither knew nor cared that, for all her humble origins, the Irish lass was the only thing keeping Jake sane through all this.

  She was his best girl, and the only aspect of his life that was going right these days.

  Then the crowd parted and there she was: the carrot-head in all her glory.

  Her freckled face lit up when she saw him.

  Jake felt an easing in the tension that had gripped him all evening as Dani joined them, nearly skipping over to the boys in her enthusiasm for the night’s festivities.

  “You came!”

  Jake could not resist a rueful smile in answer. “Aye, I’m here.”

  “Even Maddox? I’m amazed.” She gave the older boy a pert look. “I thought you for sure weren’t coming.”

  “Hullo, Daniela,” the gloomy Guardian replied, for not even Maddox could resist her lively Irish warmth. He nudged Jake. “This one talked me into it.”

  “Well, good! It’s fun here,” she said with a twinkling smile.

  Jake tried not to stare, but he was stunned at how pretty she looked this evening.

  Soon to turn twelve, Dani wore her shoulder-length auburn hair smoothed back from her face with a black velvet headband.

  Her green silk frock matched her emerald eyes. A small ruffle of white lace trimmed the collar, the sleeves, and the skirts that hung to her shins. Below them, her white tights disappeared into fancy black ankle-boots.