by Jason Parker
Shadow and Shroud were standing near the stable watching Lassernan fuss over the three rental horses. They turned toward him expectantly but remained silent.
“I’ve decided to go to Corava,” he announced. “I don’t need or want an escort, but I also don’t have the energy to try and lose you guys either. So, if you’re going to follow me, so be it.”
Nightlocke shook Lassernan’s hand. “Farewell…tell Arletta I’ll miss her.” Then he hopped on one of the rental horses and galloped toward town without looking back.
CHAPTER 31
“Where is he?” Wexworth yelled as he slammed his fist against his desk.
The door to his office opened and Stell poked his long blonde-haired head in. “Did you call for me sir?”
“No, I did not call for you,” Wexworth mockingly intoned as he tugged on his black and violet striped waistcoat. “Go back about your business of watching the door.”
Stell shrugged, pulled his head back and shut the door. Worthless simpleton, Wexworth mused as he stared at the door. He had sent the remaining six members of his personal security team to find Jurg. The insipient Triumvirate Guardsman, Skenan was dead. Wexworth assumed Jurg had done the deed, but Skenan was truly responsible. Skenan brought the noose to his own neck when he told a member of the clergy Wexworth had poisoned him. As the saying went, dead men tell no tales.
But where was Jurg? Skenan was found with his throat slit ear to ear. Jurg’s imprint. Authorities were saying the death was being attributed to a robbery. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Jurg would not have performed the execution and then disappeared to parts unknown. He paid Jurg more than any coin he would have found on the guardsman.
Wexworth smoothed his waistcoat and began pacing. In addition to the Jurg situation, he was still waiting to hear from Lancia about accompanying him to Delon. After their meeting with Lady Sennara, she said nothing to him upon returning through the portal—she had hastily departed the lab. The deadline for satisfying Vladrik’s demand with the portal device was tomorrow night. Wexworth’s assistants were, at this very moment, safely dismantling the device into transportable pieces and packing it into crates. Arrangements were made to transport the cargo to Egenton on an early morning train. He was prepared to go with or without the High Priestess but desperately hoped she would join him.
As he paced, perspiration began to form upon his forehead followed by the familiar lightheadedness and the parade of dark spots dancing across his vision. He grabbed his desk to steady himself and closed his eyes. The spells were becoming more frequent but thankfully they were brief. Once he relocated to Egenton he would find a means of eliminating them, but until then, he would have to endure the episodes.
As his strength began to return, he opened his eyes and resumed his pacing. He froze in his tracks upon hearing the muffled sound of Stell’s voice within the main lab. He cocked an ear toward the door and stood silently. He could not decipher anything intelligible, but felt certain he heard a second voice. It had to be either Jurg or Lancia or at least he hoped so. Not having the patience to wait and find out, he thrust open the door and entered the main lab.
“High Priestess,” he said with a tilted head. He was confused to see her clothed in the black and red livery of a Castle servant. The poor cut and practical design of the serving woman’s dress did nothing to conceal her exquisiteness. The modest dress actually revealed more of her creamy skin than her usual white clergy robe. Combined with the elegant bun her radiant dark hair was swept up in, the overall effect was quite titillating.
She looked at him with an amused smile as she adjusted the large woven bag on her shoulder. “You seem surprised, Wexworth. Is it because you didn’t expect to see me or is it due to how I’m dressed?”
He hurried toward her and kissed the back of her hand with a flourish. “I had little doubt you would be paying me a visit. However, your outfit did catch me off guard. I don’t believe I’ve seen you in anything but your clerical robes.”
“I thought it prudent to try and make my way here without being noticed in light of the delicate matters we have to discuss. Depending on how things go, you may see me in…other outfits,” she said with a wink.
The subtle pause in her words and the wink made his heart race. He fought to restore a measure of calmness. “Shall we go to my office?” he asked, gesturing the way.
Lancia nodded and began walking. Before joining her, Wexworth turned to Stell, “See that we are not disturbed unless you hear word of Jurg.”
“Yes, sir,” he droned.
Lancia waited a few steps away and he hurried to reach her.
“Some sort of problem?” she asked as they walked past a lab bench with an orderly arrangement of beakers and flasks.
Wexworth resisted an urge to put his hand on her elbow. He crossed his hands behind his back. “My chief of security, Jurg, has gone missing—but it’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” he replied.
She stopped when they reached his office door. “I understand why you might need a security team considering the potentially dangerous options you are exploring in Delon. I saw Jurg the last time I was here, then there was the man who just greeted me, and another gentleman who met us outside the portal in Delon. Exactly how large is your team?”
“As much as it pains me to say it,” he pressed a hand to his heart and continued, “there are many who are jealous of my abilities and talents.” He reclasped his hand behind his back. “Some of those who resent my success have attempted to steal my work and claim it as their own. The castle watch is largely inept, so I thought it wise to hire a few capable individuals to protect my interests. I have augmented my team in recent weeks and now have eight, including Jurg.”
“Aside from Jurg, they’re all here?” she asked sounding surprised.
“No, just Stell,” he answered, “he’s a capable soldier, but not overly bright or subtle. I’ve sent the others to find Jurg.”
She nodded and looked past his office toward the entrance to the auxiliary lab. “Could I take another look at your remarkable portal device before we begin our more…serious discussions?” she asked as she tilted her head back then forward.
“Ah…ah, of course,” he stammered, “but, first let’s go into my office. I should go over a few things with you.”
She glared at him, but finally acquiesced with a curt nod.
Wexworth stepped behind his desk and Lancia seated herself in the visitor’s chair across from him. She crossed her legs.
Wexworth spoke quickly, “With Vladrik’s ultimatum looming tomorrow night, it was necessary for me to begin making preparations. My assistants are disassembling and packing the portal device now.”
“So, you’ve already made your decision, then?” she asked in a cool tone and a furrowed brow.
Suddenly, he felt ill and on the verge of panic. “No,” he assured her, pressing his hands in a slight downward motion. “I’ve been waiting for you, but time is short. I’m hoping you will see the wisdom in casting our lot with King Vonador and Lady Sennara.”
She sighed, shifted her bag, and folded her arms. “It would seem our serious discussions have begun. Answer me this, are you prepared to leave even if I say no?”
“I...I...,” he looked down at the ground, unable to face her. His heart felt as if it would explode through his chest. The acrid taste of bile tickled his throat.
“Don’t lie to me, Wexworth,” she advised coolly. “I’ll know if you are lying.”
“Yes, yes!” he exclaimed, resting his hands on the desk and leaning toward her. “I desperately want you to join me, but I feel I have little choice. The Triumvirate does not respect me. They pander to me when they have need of my talents, but otherwise I am little more than an afterthought. In Delon, I can have a fresh start and be in a position to dictate my own destiny.”
Saying the words brought an instant flood of relief. His heart quieted as he smiled at Lancia, but the expression on her face was unreadable. She just
stared at him as if she was trying to peer into the essence of his soul. He shifted uncomfortably and smoothed his waistcoat. His heart began to race again as the silence persisted.
“Tell me,” she finally said, “where is the infected person Vladrik so graciously provided you?”
“What? I…uh,” he fumbled for words, surprised by the abrupt change of subject.
“Your infected person,” she repeated with exaggerated enunciation. “Where is he?”
“Oh,” he said raising his eyebrows. “He’s locked in a lab down the hall.”
“Is he alone?” she asked.
“No, several of my assistants are monitoring him,” he responded. “He’s sedated and well secured if you’re concerned about safety.”
She nodded and stood. She walked around the desk to stand next to him. “And what have you learned from him?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” he said enthusiastically and inhaled her delicious scent. He was pleased to be able to discuss his findings with someone. “The infection is carried in the blood. Medical science is not my primary area of expertise, but it is unlike anything I have observed before. It’s unnatural. I’m not sure how else to describe it. Interestingly, the infection cannot be transmitted from the blood. It is surprisingly inert once outside the body of the infected. The virulent pathogens exist within the saliva. Introducing even the slightest amount into the bloodstream of another will cause instantaneous infection.”
“Would you be able to develop a cure?” she asked and placed a hand on his shoulder
Chills ran down his spine. “Hmm…I suppose it would be possible,” he said tapping his index finger to his cheek. “However, I see greater potential in the development of an immunization to eliminate the spread of the infection. I was hoping to direct a few of the best clerics from the Church’s Clinical Research Center in this endeavor. This is an excellent example of how we could work together to achieve greatness in Delon, free from the heavy hand of the Triumvirate.”
“Perhaps,” she mused. “You make convincing arguments, but this decision weighs heavy on me. I would still like to see the portal device, even if it is not able to be activated.”
“Of course,” he said, relieved she was still open to his endeavors.
He opened the office door for her and admired the shapeliness of her figure as she strode into the main lab. The livery dress did not hide her allure. If she were clothed in trash, she would still look extraordinary.
As they approached the auxiliary lab housing the portal device, Wexworth glanced toward Stell. He was seated near the main entrance absently flipping a silver coin in the air. Simpleton. Upon entering the auxiliary lab, he was pleased to see considerable progress made in the dismantling of the device. The portal frame had been separated into four sections. One section already stood in a crate. His assistants, Daak and Lenien, were carefully packing a second.
Lancia meticulously scanned the room, her expression was neutral and revealed nothing about her thoughts. “Could we have some privacy?” she asked.
“Daak, Lenien,” he called to the technicians. “Give us a moment but don’t stray too far.” They obediently complied and closed the door behind them.
“Do you have any of the girl Belene’s brain fluid left? The substance you mixed your own brain fluid with to enable you to control the device?” she asked and observed the room from side to side.
The question struck him as odd. “Yes, it’s in an icerator over there,” he said, pointing toward the back right corner of the lab behind the dismantled portal device. He was willing to play along with most anything she asked or wanted if it would influence her decision.
She quickly walked toward it and he quickly followed. When she reached the icerator, she opened the door and observed the contents. There were a handful of flasks inside and each was clearly tagged and dated with descriptive notes as to the subject matter. Everything was fastidiously marked. Wexworth observed Lancia as she scanned the flasks. Her eyes stopped on the one whose label indicated it contained Belene’s brain fluid.
She nodded and closed the icerator. She stepped to where the pieces of the portal device lay and inspected them as if trying to determine how it would all fit back together. She remained silent and moved toward the center of the room near as lab table. Wexworth watched her, held his tongue, and then waited for a cue from her.
She halted, turned to face him, and let her bag slide from her shoulder to the floor. “You know if I do decide to join with you, the Church cannot be picked up and relocated overnight. In time I may be able to convince the High Council, but there will be lengthy debate. Lord Markov has considerable influence within the Church and will offer resistance. In addition, a new Cathedral will not just appear on command. This is not as simple for me as it is for you and if Vladrik is provided access to the portal device, Corava will be under attack within days.”
“You are correct,” he agreed and maneuvered around an empty crate to stand next to her. “And I understand what I am asking of you poses several obstacles. Lady Sennara has agreed to provide a large structure on the grounds of Castle Delon for your use. It is not a Cathedral, but I hope you will find it adequate on a temporary basis. Construction on a new Cathedral will commence as soon as you approve the design.”
“That solves what is probably the least of my concerns,” she said folding her arms and offering a sardonic grin.
“As for the other matters, I can only offer suggestions which I hope you will consider,” he said, tugging on his waistcoat. He was suddenly filled with desire noticing how her arms, neatly folded beneath her breasts, accentuated how spectacular they were. He cleared his throat and focused his attention on her eyes.
Lancia took a deep breath. “What else, Wexworth?”
“I believe I can delay Vladrik for a week or two,” he continued. “After reassembling the portal, I can make a dramatic show of its failing—complete with sparks and smoke. I will assure him I can quickly ‘fix’ it and make excuses as long as I can.”
“I’m listening. Go on…” Lancia dropped her arms and then leaned on the table.
Wexworth noted her moves. “During this time, you can speak to those most loyal to you and begin assembling the things that are most indispensable to the Church. Then we will start transporting them through the portal. Try to do this without the Triumvirate’s knowledge.”
What he proposed required considerable sacrifice on her part and he was concerned how she would react—but she just smiled at him. He had no idea how to interpret this and smoothed his waistcoat.
“Oh my dear Wexworth,” she said slowly unbuttoning her dress, “you truly are unique.”
He stared in disbelief as she pulled her arms through the sleeves of the dress and let it slide down to her ankles. Clad in only a black bra and panties, her body was more exquisite than he had ever imagined. Her pristine skin, toned muscles, and delicate curves—she was perfect in every possible way. He did not bother trying to hold back his arousal.
“Lancia, you…you are amazing,” he stammered with eyes wide.
She motioned for silence as she gracefully stepped out of the dress and sauntered toward him. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck and pulled him close. He could feel her breasts against his chest as she pressed her lips to his. Her tongue hungrily searched for his.
He closed his eyes and imagined their bodies melding together. He ignored the faint click near his ear and pulled her closer. His eyes shot open as pain flashed in his neck. Then, like lava, fire erupted throughout his body.
CHAPTER 32
Daria Darkmoon felt Wexworth go limp in her arms. She released him then gave him a slight shove and watched as he folded to the floor like a crumpled piece of linen. He landed a few feet away from his greatest creation, the wondrous portal device. She smiled. Even dead he continued to be a source of amusement as he had been in life. She would miss him. He had been a useful toy. Unfortunately, greed and ambition consumed him t
o the point where she could no longer safely control him. She could not allow Vladrik to have the portal device. Never.
She let the sapphire-jeweled ring slide off her right index finger into her left palm. She was careful—avoiding the small spike protruding from the band. She loved the irony of killing Wexworth with his own ingenious weapon. She flashed to the scene in her mind when they were entering the Triumvirate audience chamber several weeks earlier. She caught a glimpse of him using the clever device on a guardsman stationed by the door. She kept the knowledge to herself and was excited to see the ring lying on his desk during her previous visit. Snatching it while distracting him with a jostled pen and a flash of her breasts proved easier than she anticipated—and ultimately fatal for Wexworth.
She pressed on the side of the gem to retract the spike back into the band and tossed it in her bag. Then she withdrew a folded piece of canvas which she shook out into a large duffle. Setting it aside, she reached into her bag again to retrieve a foot long iron rod. She slipped off her heeled sandals and walked toward the closed door of the lab. She could sense a mixture of irritation, impatience, and boredom emanating from the other side of the door. This confirmed Daak and Lenien, the two lab assistants, were waiting right where she hoped they would be.
She cracked the door enough to poke her head through but was careful to conceal her state of undress. Holding the iron rod behind her back, she said, “I need your help.” She added a note of panic to her voice and stepped back a few paces to the side of the door.
The two technicians clamored into the lab. Then they abruptly halted as they stared at her with mouths agape. Shock, embarrassment, desire, and confusion oozed from them like a thick cloud. Her scant clothing had produced the desired effect.