“So, is it true?” she sourly asked.
Dra’kor looked up into her eyes and saw the hurt. “Yes, it’s true. Men’ak and I are both wizards.”
“I see…” she replied. “Like those in the stories and songs?”
“The same…mostly.”
“Well, then…how are you different?”
“We don’t know much magic,” he quietly said.
There was a shocked look on her face. “I don’t understand.”
“The old wizards had powerful magic. We grew up while the Keep was under a spell. The magic we knew was not powerful. I only know two spells—the one that keeps me alive, and the one I used on the wolven.”
“I see…” she said, somewhat relieved. “When you are ready to tell me the whole truth, we can talk.”
“I’m sorry. I was under orders to keep all of this a secret. We don’t like to advertise what we are, makes people uneasy…as you can see!”
“I’m sorry too,” she said, right before she left the room.
Seduction
Lord James Killoroy, exhausted from their multi-hour romp, snored loudly with the covers wrapped tight about his head. The dark mage, Quinn, watched him sleep. She wanted to make sure he was well under before she began her spells. A good shove on his shoulder was answered with a staggered snore, nothing else. She smiled and placed her face near his and started her weave, allowing the vile dark magic to flow from her mouth into his. It wafted like sick tendrils of oily, soot-laden smoke from her lips to his, penetrating his body as he rested. The dark, inky, magic spread in his veins, causing them to appear blackened and his face took on a pale gray tone. Although he slept, his mind was filled with vile thoughts, paranoia, and terrors. His body was wracked with convulsions and spastically twitched as the magic poisoned his judgment…and his soul. She was patient, feeding just enough to do the job. She had been working on him for several months and believed he was finally ready.
She rolled to her back and stretched, curling her toes. She had enjoyed their love-making and lounged under the fine linen sheet, feeling it glide over her smooth thighs. She felt the snakes that inhabited the bells that were embedded in her skin hiss. Truth be told, she felt no love for the man. He was a tool; a means for her to get what she wanted—and for now, that was war.
She slid to the side of the bed and stepped out onto a thick fur rug, feeling the fine hair squeeze up between her toes. She didn’t bother wrapping herself, the room was warm, although the sudden change in temperature still caused her nipples to harden.
The sun was well up and she could feel the warmth through the lead-glass windows that bordered his room in the high tower. His castle wasn’t large like hers, but it was well built—made of granite quarried from the local hills. She didn’t exactly mind the endless miles of thick trees that mostly blocked her views, after all, this was the lowlands—it was just that she preferred the wide-open vistas of the mountains.
Lord Killoroy was one of the seven nobles of the near realms and she had been plying her trade trying to convince him it was in his best interest to lay siege on his nearest neighbor, Jonovan. Killoroy, a tall solid man in his early thirties, saw himself as a king, not a lord, and had fallen easy prey to her wiles and subtle spells. He was unmarried, lonely—the only son of his stern father—and had been easily persuaded through manipulation, seduction and magically empowered words. He promised her that he would battle his neighbor to elevate his status. For her part, she agreed to send one of her dark mages to help him, although he thought he was more of a military advisor. The corner of her mouth turned up.
Killoroy had not been her first choice. His realm was small, surrounded on all sides by rivals, but he was approachable and had ambition, and more importantly, he was vulnerable. The others had been older, and married. Most had sons. She supposed it didn’t really matter where she started the war only that it flourished and expanded. He had been easily swayed; loneliness will do that—make one susceptible to temptation and blind to the truth. She snorted and chuckled. She too had been a fool in love once; she recalled her dark mage lover, Aareon. He was a tall, rugged and serious man, consumed by ambition. In the end, it had cost her dearly.
She pulled her long black hair back and let the morning sun fall across her back as she watched him sleep. She would be busy today. There was the need to talk to Solgar about her plans. She was certain that her dark mage would see to it that Killoroy’s conquest of his neighbor went according to her plan.
A smile spread across her lips as she turned to stare out across the forest. She was eager to put her strategy into motion. Now that the Keep was busy with the demons and had been distracted, her window of opportunity presented itself. By the time the neighboring Lords figured out they were being threatened, they would all be severing her—or dead. In which case, they would be serving her anyway! She sneered, the corners of her mouth pulling tight.
Killoroy rolled over and opened sleep-filled eyes. He watched her standing naked in the sun. His eyes traced the outline of her upper thighs and waist, lingering on her toned ass. The sun shined between her legs as she stood with them slightly spread, with hands on either side of the window frame, staring out. He felt his lust building.
“Good morning,” she said, sensing his stare, but not bothering to turn around.
He pulled the blanket back, revealing his excitement. “I was hoping you could help me with an urgent need I seem to have…”
She knew without turning what he had in mind. Laughing, she came to his bed and mocked him. “Again? What is it that my Lord desires this time?”
“You!” He reached for her hand and pulled her deep under the covers. “Ride me like stallion!”
He was met with her soft moans as he filled his hands with her breasts. He felt his urgent need being fulfilled as she arched her back and road him like she were breaking a wild horse. The snakes hissed and bit into his thighs, feeding on his frenzy. Unbeknownst to him, their magic heightened his ecstasy and prolonged his pleasure. Quinn smiled; it was more for her benefit than his…
Killoroy dressed in his field clothes and walked purposefully down to the throne room. His advisors were already waiting—he was late—but they didn’t say a word. The table in the center of the room was draped with a large map that marked the lay of the land and his battle plan. Solgar was leaning on his arms as he concentrated on the drawing. He had not noticed that Killoroy had entered the room.
Killoroy put his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.
Solgar turned and immediately bowed deeply. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I didn’t hear you enter.”
Solgar was from the far south. His skin was slightly darker and his hair black. He wore it in a long tail that trailed down to this rear. He was thin and had an odd, garish, way of dressing. Today, he was wearing bright purple, a yellow belt and gold shoes. His shirt billowed, at least that was the way Killoroy would have explained it if anyone asked.
Killoroy nodded curtly. “How goes the battle plans?”
“See for yourself. I have begun to move troops under the cover of darkness to the ravine here, and the high ground here.” Solgar said, as he pointed to the features on the map. “Castle Jonovan should be surrounded in another day or so.”
“Have we spotted any of their scouts?”
“None that venture in our direction. They only guard the main road and the valley. They are careless and foolish.”
Killoroy grinned, agreeing. “With luck, they will never know they are under attack until it is too late.”
Solgar nodded. “The archers are preparing on the high ground. They will provide cover-fire for the ground-troops whilst they breach the portcullis. If they get the gate up before we gain advantage, we will play halla trying to get into that castle, but we are prepared for that outcome.”
“Have we built siege engines!”
“Yes, but they will take several days to move into place. I’m afraid we would suffer huge losses while we attempt to build a b
ridge to cross the moat. Although I have not personally witnessed it, the moat is rumored to be one of the widest and deepest in the realms.”
Killoroy growled. “Then we had best see to it that they are caught by surprise.”
“Certainly m’lord, but that will depend on how many we have to attack with and how close they can get to the castle without being seen.”
“I have already given you over five-hundred fighters,” said Killoroy.
Solgar looked him in the eye. “I know. We will see if they are enough.”
“Perhaps I could spare another hundred, but no more. Even those would leave my castle vulnerable.”
“I would not expect an attack here. It seems unlikely that another schemes such as you.” Solgar shrugged, “Besides, you have the Lady Quinn…”
Killoroy smiled. He had seen her powers. She seemed to have mastery of incredible skills and powers, but he didn’t trust the lives of his men to just magical tricks. Nothing beat steel and muscle!
General Hastings strode into the room, a frown on his face and his lips drawn tight. His eyes had bags under them and lines of worry filled his face. He nodded tersely and unenthusiastically bent partially to a knee before he made it to the table and threw down his gloves and broadsword in the corner, making a loud clatter.
Killoroy turned to his general. “Hastings, I’ve decided to move another hundred men into the field. Place them where Solgar instructs. This campaign must succeed without too much bloodshed on either side.”
The general nodded weakly.
“You must excuse me, Quinn calls,” Solgar abruptly turned and exited the room.
Both men looked up. They had not heard any call. Their attention soon returned to the map spread out before them.
“Is something wrong?” Killoroy asked.
Hastings brows were knit and his lips thin. He didn’t agree with the maneuver. As a matter of fact, he didn’t agree with the attack at all and wondered what had brought about this sudden change of heart. They had always lived in peace with their neighbors. The kingdoms had been split up fairly. None held advantage, and none were threatened.
Killoroy watched the old man. He had served his father, the King, as his Hand before him. He was old, and worn, but wise in battle strategy. He had led them through some very rough times. Killoroy wasn’t sure he was ready to just dismiss his advice, but his head would cloud when he thought too hard on the matter. He chalked it up to needing a good night’s sleep—but who could sleep when their bed was filled with a beauty such as Quinn. And her skills, well, he had never had such pleasure...
Hastings shook his head as he rubbed his goatee-bearded chin as he drew his fingers across the battle map. The battle plans were well drawn, but they felt…wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was his lack of formal training or just a hunch, but he just couldn’t see how they could achieve surprise with this plan—and surprise was the only way they could win the day. A long drawn-out campaign would tax their resources this was true, but the bigger risk was that Jonovan’s neighbors would get word of the attack and come to his aid. He knew that they would be slaughtered if that happened; they would show no mercy, although Killoroy may be able to call upon his friend Rauch in the east…
The treaty that kept the peace in the realms was…delicate. None of the seven lords held domain over any other. They were equals, and this invasion would tip the balance in Killoroy’s favor. He took a step back and surveyed the board. The lords were not likely to sit by idly and allow that to happen. If this didn’t get executed with speed and precision, they would be in a full out war. He was afraid that such a war that would end very badly for them. Halla, they may end up in a war of the realms regardless! It was unlikely any of the lords would take kindly to this kind of treachery.
Hastings blurted. “This wide open field will leave all of our troops exposed.”
Killoroy looked at the map and followed Hastings finger.
“The cliffs here do not have egress other than the narrow road. And see here? This road is too narrow to move the siege engines down. The travel will be slow and many trees will need to be cut. Surely Jonovan’s scouts will hear the racket and come to investigate.”
Killoroy nodded. Inside he felt the same, but just when he was ready to delay or call off the battle, he felt an irresistible urge to continue—an impulse he couldn’t ignore.
“I don’t trust Solgar.” Hastings voice his mind as he scowled and motioned to the board. “Between you and me, I just don’t see how we can win or catch them by surprise!”
Killoroy nodded, “Frankly, neither can I, but Solgar and Quinn seem to think that it can be done. She thinks that her magic can help us win the day, and she trusts Solgar.”
“Aye! She does at that.” Hastings grumbled. “She seems to be overly concerned about this battle.”
That bothered Hastings almost as much as the thought of going to war. At his age he had witnessed much. She felt wrong. Her motives were unclear. No matter how hard he tried to come up with an explanation as to why she chose his lord and why they should go to battle when they had plenty—he could not. Not that he didn’t like his lord, but a beauty such as Quinn could have any she desired. He would not call Killoroy a catch.
“As she should be,” Killoroy shouted back. “Her future husband’s realm is at risk.”
“It is not at risk if we do not chose to fight enemies we do not have…” Hastings whispered, surprised at his lord’s choice of words.
Solgar smiled to himself from just outside the door. He had overheard the entire conversation. He cleared his throat and entered in a rush.
Hastings face paled and he coughed, wondering how much of his conversation with his lord had been overheard. It was too late to take back, but just the same, he wondered. He knew he should have lowered his voice.
Killoroy said, “Very good Hastings, then we shall have to wait and see how the battle matures.”
Hastings picked up his sword from the table and strapped it about his waist. He gave it a tug and adjusted it proper. “By your leave,” he said, “grabbing his gloves in a huff, and bowing. He held the half-bow and impatiently waited to be dismissed.
Killoroy motioned with his hand and listened as Hastings walked across the room and left to give his orders. The sound of his boots on the floor slowly faded as he disappeared down the long hall.
“He is an overly-cautious man,” Solgar commented.
Killoroy’s voice rose in anger. “He is my Hand, and I trust him. Hastings has lived a long time and fought many battles. If he thinks our chances are slim—they are. It is your job and Quinn’s to make sure you can carry out what you have promised.”
Solgar bowed shallowly. Hastings was going to be a problem. He made note of it. When he met with Quinn later in the morning, he would bring it to her attention.
Warder Rule sat atop his horse, perched on a cliff and watching the encroaching army. His horse stood silently as he pushed back the branches and watched as the rows of men followed the ridge. Rule didn’t understand what could have provoked this deception. The realms had been quiet for decades; treaties had been honored by all the seven Lords. He recognized the coat of arms patches as those of clan Killoroy, but there were strangers among them who wore no emblems, who didn’t blend in. They did not appear to be cutthroats—hired men—they were too well organized and were dressed in a similar fashion, down to matching boots.
A rustle in the brush just down the trail caught his attention and he pulled back on the reins forcefully causing his mare to backup into the shrub. She did so silently, carefully placing her hoofs to the ground. He pulled his dark green cloak with the light green fabric pieces tight to his body, pulled up his cowl and put his hand on his dirk. The enchanted blade whispered to him, take me out…we can kill it! His eyes searched the horizon for the source of the disturbance and his eyes narrowed as he spotted a scout of Killoroy. We should kill it now! The man was crouched low with his bow in hand and arrow nocked. He walked not ten paces
to his side and never noticed him hiding in the shrubs.
Rule released his hand from his dirk and let go the breath he had been holding; he stayed motionless a good five minutes after the man wandered on. We should have killed it… Rule ignored the requests of the blade, where a weaker man would have given in. Rule had pulled the blade off of an elf assassin sent by a competing house to kill him. The house of Wantæ did not like the other houses training warders. They sent assassins; Rule was lucky to be alive. After he had killed his seventh assassin, they stopped coming. Rule supposed it was why there were so few of them left.
Finally, he nudged the horse forward and let her walk the trail in the opposite direction, down the hill.
He contemplated whether he should notify Jonovan of the coming attack. A frown filled his face. He didn’t like getting involved with politics. His job was of noble cause, he guarded the realms against the unseen; he hunted and killed the beasts with which nightmares were filled.
For as many generations back as were recorded, the males in his family had been warders; recruited by the elves to watch the borderlands and guard against creatures from the planes. The veil between the planes was not solid—as once believed—there were weak patches. As of late, more of the creatures had been roaming the realms than he could recall since the great battles eons ago. His blade and bow had been busy.
He wandered on his own, fought the battles of his choosing and bent a knee to no king. There were fewer of them now than in the old days. Warders didn’t marry often—the life they chose was tough and fraught with danger—they were a dying breed. It seemed to him that they had outlived their purpose, but mayhap not…given the current state of the realms.
Why he changed his mind, he couldn’t say, but he did. He grabbed his bow, dismounted and ran off down the trail in the direction of the scout. He only needed to check the ground twice before he found the trail. The scout had made no effort to hide his path. Rule’s doe-skin boots made no sound as he ran effortlessly after the scout, keeping low and using the trees and shrubs for cover. Soon, he was within sight. He nocked an arrow and kept low as he looked for his shot. He whipped the bow up, drew the string tight to his chin, took aim and listened for the voice. He exhaled slowly and relaxed.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 24