Mad Lord Lucian

by West, Shay

  Copyright 2012 Shay Fabbro

  * * *

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  * * *

  Cover Design by Eric Malbone

  Edited by Katie Flanagan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-935961-88-8

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-092-4

  For further information regarding permissions, please contact

  info@booktrope.com.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923083

  This book is dedicated to Jen Seversen. Thank you for the idea to expand on the legend of the Mad Lord Lucian.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  EPILOGUE

  MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE

  PROLOGUE

  MASTER BROK WAS ABOUT TO GIVE UP his search for Jon and Saemus when he heard Captain Thrace Morden's voice echo through the narrow passageways of Lucian's Fury. He suspected the boys would be with the captain. Brok had been keeping a close eye on his Chosen ever since learning of Jon's ability to use the dark magic. The others wanted to know about this forbidden magic, and none more so than Saemus. His studious nature desired information, especially about things that weren't often found in books and scrolls.

  Brok peered around the doorway and into the room. Jon and Saemus stared at a large map covering a wooden table, their heads nearly touching as they pointed to the location of Haunted Island. Captain Morden stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, a sliver of wood jumping around between his lips.

  “I thought anyone who visited the island never came back alive,” Jon said.

  “Aye, ‘tis true lad, for the most part,” Morden said.

  Jon and Saemus shared a glance. “So what did you see?” Jon asked.

  Morden stared at the map, his eyes glazing over as the sliver of toothpick moved even more quickly. “Some things are better left unsaid.” The man turned and nearly ran into Brok, who'd still been lurking in the doorway.

  “I guess we'll never find out what happened.” Jon sighed.

  “Morden is right. Some things are better left unsaid.”

  Jon and Saemus jumped at the sound of Brok's voice.

  The old Mystic shooed Jon and Saemus out of the room, shaking his head when the two gazed back at the map longingly, as though they could see the secrets of the island in the charcoal drawings on the faded parchment.

  Perhaps I should tell the boy.

  Brok watched Jon as he made his way up the stairs to the deck. After all, what happened on the island had a direct connection to evildoings and dark magic.

  Jon may know how to call on the forbidden power, but he has no ounce of evil in him.

  Brok walked to the quarters he shared with Jon and Saemus and rummaged through his knapsack; he pulled a thin book from the depths. Brok turned it over in his hands, remembering the first time he had come across this piece of history.

  He was new to this world and diligently working to build his new identity. Brok had traveled to Vis Rellisa soon after arriving through the portal from Gentra. He needed to establish himself there for a short time before traveling to Heart Stone to meet his Chosen. His studies back home had made it possible for him to quickly blend in and become nothing more than another Mystic, another learned man waiting for the call to serve a village or town of his own.

  The invitation to attend a banquet by Lord and Lady Stoneworth had given him the perfect excuse to mingle. Torches, cheerfully keeping the dark at bay, surrounded the manor house. Brok handed his invitation to a servant who then escorted him to the main hall.

  “Lord and Lady Stoneworth will be here shortly. Please enjoy the refreshments.” The servant bowed and disappeared back to the front door.

  Brok's hand dipped into the pockets of his robes and stroked his wooden pipe. He pursed his lips, wondering how long it would be before the Lord and Lady of the manor would make their appearance. He spotted a door at the back of the main hall.

  Just a quick smoke is all I need.

  Brok shuffled quickly down the darkened hall, hoping to find an exit that led outside so he could have a few puffs on his pipe.

  He passed a partially opened door and peered inside. He paused when he saw the shelves full of books, his love for them warring with his love of pipeweed. A quick glance in either direction showed that he was alone. Brok darted inside and closed the door softly behind him.

  The light from the single lamp was enough to reveal the luxury of the Lord's library: the warm glow of the honey-colored wood, the richness of the leather-bound volumes. Brok touched each one as he made his way slowly along the length of the shelves.

  What's this?

  Nestled between Lady Arie and The Secrets of the Blasted Lands was a thin book, shoved so far back as to be almost invisible. Brok pulled the volume out, brow furrowed when he was met with a blank leather front.

  Curiosity not to be ignored, Brok opened the book and read. Within a few sentences, his hands began shaking and he slammed the book closed, eyes darting to the closed door, certain someone was about to come bursting into the room to take the book from him. In seconds, the book was tucked into a pocket sewn into the inside of his robes.

  Brok left the library and wandered down the hall, feet taking him somewhere his conscious mind wasn't aware of. His hand reached out and opened a door, and Brok left the manor house, pipe and pipeweed forgotten.

  He reached the dormitory and walked to his rooms, ignoring the greetings from fellow Mystics. He grabbed his belongings and left that same night, heading for the village that was to be his home until the signs appeared that would lead him home.

  * * *

  Brok shook his head and gripped the book until his knuckles turned white. The events of that night were surreal, as though they had happened in a dream or to someone else and he had only witnessed it. Something else had been at work, something that needed him to find that book and take it.

  It's for the boy.

  He took the tiny volume and headed on deck to find Jon. It was time the lad learned the truth of what the dark magic could do. It was time to tell him the true tale of the Mad Lord Lucian.

  ONE

  “MYSTIC ANALI HAS ARRIVED.”

  “So soon?” Lord Lucian's manservant shook his head sharply. “Show him to his rooms and I will ready Lord Lucian. And please have some food sent up.”

  The messenger bowed his head and turned on his heel.

  Senda closed the heavy wooden doors to Lucian's personal chambers. He padded to the large fireplace and added more logs to throw off the early morning chill. The curtains were dragged open to let in some sun. All this room had seen of late was the pale light of a few tallow candles.

  Senda moved to the wardrobe to find something fitting for his Lord to wear to greet the Mystic. It wouldn't do to have one of the most powerful men of Astra goi
ng to a meeting in naught but his nightclothes.

  The maroon doublet will do nicely. He laid out the clothing before knocking softly on his Master's bedchamber door. Not expecting an answer, Senda pushed the doors open.

  Lord Lucian lay in his enormous four-poster canopy bed. The tops of the posts bore the carved likenesses of shadowcats. Their claws held the pale blue curtains in place.

  Senda tried to hide the bitter disappointment as he gazed at the Lord. Why do I hide it? He isn't even aware I am here.

  The once strong and powerful, the Lord had been reduced to a twitching, pale, skeletal remnant of his former self. His decline had been rapid and frightening, his body succumbing to the brain sickness. However, there was no cure for the disease, and none of the potions or poultices seemed to bring him any relief. Lord Lucian's faculties slipped day by day until it was decided that his most trusted advisor, Lord Suasor, should take over the running of the kingdom.

  Lord Lucian's wife Malorie had died in childbirth many months ago. They had been deeply in love; her death snatched all of the light from his once merry, grey eyes and weighed heavily on his shoulders. He managed to get through the tedious details of running a kingdom, but he took no joy in anything.

  The smattering of Lords and Ladies who shared his island kingdom had tried to subtly mention the need for an heir. Several widows positioned themselves at his elbow day and night, trying to wheedle their way into a throne.

  Lord Lucian would have none of it. He was polite but distant, his tone and posture speaking volumes to these old vultures. His heart and soul still belonged to Malorie. He confided in Senda that he could still feel her spirit wandering the stone halls of the castle.

  “How can I marry another when she is near?”

  Senda had tried to get his Lord to see reason, but the man refused to hear any talk of marriage.

  “If something happens to me, Suasor will rule in my stead. He is a good man and will treat you well.”

  Senda sighed as he stared at the mere shadow of the man he served. It broke his heart to see him lying in the bed, eyes open and staring at nothing, a fine line of spittle hanging from his open mouth. His breath rattled in his chest.

  While he gave his Lord a quick cloth bath, a servant arrived with some boiled eggs, bread, and cheese. Senda sent the man to bring Mystic Anali to the main audience chamber. “Wait for a bit to give me time to get Lucian situated.”

  “Yes, Senda.” The servant nodded and scurried off.

  Senda dressed his Lord with as much dignity as he could muster. This man was still the King of Lucian Island and would be until the day he stopped drawing breath. Senda prayed to the good spirits that the day would be far off. The arrival of the Mystic gave him hope, hope he dared not feel for quite some time.

  He fetched the special chair the blacksmith had constructed for Lucian when he could no longer walk on his own. It had wheels, thus allowing someone to push the Lord wherever he needed to go.

  Senda could not say why he did not wish the Mystic to come examine Lucian in his own bedchamber. He felt as though it would diminish the man somehow. Lord Lucian never held audiences in his private quarters. He'd always chosen to talk with people in the main audience chamber.

  He coaxed Lucian to his feet. The emaciated man was able to stand and walk a few steps, as long as someone held his hand to lead him. Otherwise, his weakened muscles would give out and he would stumble and fall.

  Senda slowly pushed the chair down the dim hallway. There were no windows in this part of the castle. Lord Lucian built his chambers against the face of the mountain with only the one hallway leading in or out. His bedchamber would be where he and his soldiers would make a final stand in the event the castle was ever attacked.

  There were no tapestries, and only a few torches in metal sconces, along the wall. His footsteps and the squeaking of the wheels echoed in the emptiness. Senda greeted the guards. They addressed the servant rather than their Lord. Lucian's condition made everyone uncomfortable. No one seemed to know what to say.

  The Mystic will make Lord Lucian strong again.

  Senda had sent word for a Mystic when it was clear the local herb women were unable to help. He had received word rather quickly that a Mystic residing in the Forbidden Territories was available and would arrive within the week.

  The servant was a little nervous about having someone from the Forbidden Territories on the island. Everyone knew the people living there filled their bodies with various drugs and poisons. It seemed as though anything that grew or lived in the swamp was toxic or hallucinogenic in some way. The inhabitants sold their wares in many villages and towns. The rare potions and dried herbs were worth their weight in gold, and anyone lucky enough to come across a merchant from the Forbidden Territories often spent all the money they had to obtain the treasures.

  Senda was relieved he'd arrived at the audience chamber before the Mystic. He pushed Lucian next to the high-backed chair at the back of the room. It, too, was topped with carvings of shadowcats and was made of very dark reddish-colored wood. Senda had always thought it made the chair look as though it was covered in blood.

  He took his Lord's hand and pulled him toward the chair. The man came quietly, eyes vacant, mouth agape. His white hair stuck out in wisps around his gaunt face, giving him the look of one who is dead, or close to it. Senda arranged his Lord's robes and placed his hands on the arms of the chair. He gently wiped a line of spittle from Lucian's face with a handkerchief. He is as Lordly as I can make him look.

  When Mystic Anali entered the audience chamber, the air grew visibly chillier. Senda frowned, then shook his head. The man is here to help.

  Anali walked slowly, yet purposefully, toward the chair where Lord Lucian sat slumped to the side. The man stopped and lifted his hood, bowing before the Lord of the island. The light from the torches reflected from his bald head.

  “Welcome, Mystic Anali.”

  The Mystic straightened, a slight smirk curling his lip. “I live only to serve. May I examine him?”

  Senda nodded and stepped to the side, allowing the Mystic to circle behind the chair. Anali put his fingers on the side of Lucian's neck, then placed his fingers on the Lord's temples, closing his eyes and mumbling under his breath. He raised Lucian's arms and legs, pinched him in several places, nodding when the Lord would flinch or even cry out.

  “That is a good sign. The mind still has some function.”

  “Can you help him?” Senda wished his voice hadn't sounded so desperate.

  “I can.”

  Senda breathed a sigh of relief. “How soon can you get started? Are there any herbs or potions you require? I shall send someone…”

  Anali lifted his hand, shaking his head. “I said I could help. I never said I would.”

  Senda opened and closed his mouth, incredulity and anger keeping him from blurting out exactly what he wanted to say.

  “Most people do not understand what is required of a Mystic to heal someone in this condition. They tend to interfere, making my job impossible.”

  “Lord Lucian will die if something isn't done. We have exhausted all of our options. If you can save him, then I beg you, please do so!”

  Anali gazed hard at Senda. He nodded slowly. “Very well. But I warn you, any interference, and I will leave. You can't question my methods, and you mustn't tell anyone else what you observe. Lord Lucian must be kept isolated during his treatment. Only you and I will be allowed to see him.”

  Senda nodded, willing to sell his own soul to the dark spirits to save his Lord. “I will do as you say.”

  “I must be close to the Lord. Please have my things transferred to Lucian's chambers.”

  “As you wish.”

  Anali stared hard at Senda and cleared his throat.

  Senda took the hint and left to see to moving Anali's possessions into his Lord's chambers. Before he closed the door, he turned and felt that same chill as before. Anali had his hands behind his back and was staring at Lucian
, much like a butcher gazes at a haunch of beef.

  You agreed not to interfere.

  As he made his way down the hall, he wondered if he had made the right decision in sending for the Mystic.

  TWO

  SENDA TRIED TO IGNORE THE WHISPERS of the servants as he made his way through the kitchens. The sun had not yet risen, and the head cook, Neli, lit several beef tallow candles to ward off the darkness. Most servants were bleary-eyed, jaws creaking with the force of their yawns. When they spotted Senda coming, they perked up, watching him as he placed the components of the morning meal on a silver tray: teapot and three cups, a plate with boiled eggs and mounds of bacon, some sort of dish made with tubers fried with small green onions and bits of ham, two loaves of bread, and a silver bowl with butter.

  He left the kitchen, wishing to be away from the accusatory stares. He held his head high as he walked briskly to Lucian's quarters. Anali and Lucian would be wanting their breakfast. The tray was heavy and Senda's muscles began to fatigue. It's no wonder! There is enough food to feed five men!

  Send did not know what Anali had been doing to Lucian but in a matter of days, but the man had life in his eyes again. As the days passed, the man's appetite grew by leaps and bounds. Anali said his healing body needed the extra nourishment.

  Lucian became stronger, able to move without assistance, though still unable speak. He wasn't able to form sentences, but Anali and Senda could make out what the man wanted to convey. The Lord's frustration was evident with every thrown goblet, every scream of rage.

  “Give it time, my Lord. You have been under the thumb of a deadly disease few live through. You will have to learn how to speak again,” Anali would say after one of Lucian's temper tantrums.

  The guard at Lucian's chambers hurriedly pulled the doors open when he saw Senda coming. Senda tried not to huff and puff as he breezed past the guard.