Warrior of the Void

by M. R. Mathias

  "Just me!" the prince shrieked and spun his head to look at her. It took him a moment to remember himself, but seeing the color of her eyes, and the lack of fear in her expression, did the trick. It irked him that she was more powerful than he. In that moment, if he could have, he might have ordered her head removed.

  "Yes, just you, fool," Darka-Xera hissed at him, showing her fangs and her flaring orange eyes. He shrunk back from her, but only slightly. Just enough to show her that he knew his place. "You are too hasty in your desire, Prince Venom. Your father is riding through the gate as we speak. He comes to discipline you for the attack on the Ormandin refugees. Be glad Skallin failed because now we can have it all, and you can be my king."

  It took a moment, but her last words sank in. His vanity was so stroked by the thought that his anger was quickly forgotten, as was the fact that it was her who had wished the refugees killed in the first place, not him.

  "What do we do with him then?" the prince asked, gesturing towards Skallin. He wanted this business dealt with so that he could find out how she planned to make him king so swiftly.

  "Leave him to my darkas." She purred.

  He nodded his agreement, then she gestured for two of her nearly naked, orange-haired cohorts to escort Skallin away. Heal and feed him, sisters. Feed him well, she said into their minds. She knew that Skallin could hear her, too, but Prince Verdin could not. He is the one the Drar has chosen to lead the darkon until he comes. The prince is but a pawn on the board for us to use to aid Lord Skallin and our master.

  The words did little to comfort Skallin's pain. His remaining human eye was a ruin, and he now had six deep slices, three below each eye that almost perfectly lined up with the black scars running back across his head. The darka lead him to a candlelit room, with windows covered by curtains so thick that no sunlight shone through, not even sound could penetrate in or out of the chamber.

  As before, the darka stripped him naked and bathed him in the thick, black, oily goo. This time, when one of them pushed her finger into his empty eye socket, Skallin didn't scream. Instead, he yanked one of the other darkas down to his face by her hair and bit into her throat. He filled his mouth with her magical blood and felt it coursing through his veins. It burned like a wildfire just like the black oily goo was burning into the cuts on his face. The darka who had fingered his eye stepped back aghast when Skallin began to devour her sister, but her own hunger quickly overpowered her fear, and soon she was feeding with him. When their feast was done, she loved him there in the sweaty soup of sticky blood and viscous black goo. So powerful was the lust he evoked in her as she rode his manhood that she welcomed his teeth into her breast and after he came, he ate her body like a starving dog on a fresh cut of meat.

  He didn't bother to chew the big dripping pieces of torn flesh, he just tilted his head back and choked them down his gullet.

  His hunger sated, and his blood full of strange tingling magic, Skallin curled up into the wet, sticky pile of viscera and bones and slipped away into a deep, unnatural sleep.

  Outside in the daylight, Prince Verdin welcomed his father, King Valdier, and his retinue. There were a hundred plate mail-armored, warriors shining, a score of archers, and two dozen scouts and riders who came with him into the courtyard of Greenswatch.

  The green and gold banners of Perdun flapped everywhere around them as the members of the noble class rushed out to show their respect to their king and his unexpected visit. The prince thought they looked like rats scurrying to scavenge a carcass.

  It was all Prince Verdin could do to hold back the hatred inside, but he managed it. This wasn't the time to show his Darkonian features, not in the daylight.

  "Your Grace," he said through clenched teeth as his father approached. Everyone around them went to a knee except for the prince and the king. But when the king's angry eyes locked on his son, the prince knelt, too, and he hated himself for it.

  "It's a long ride from Kingston, sire," the prince said as he rose. "Would you like a bath and a bit of refreshment before we speak?"

  "Shut up, boy," the king said, but quietly so that none but them could hear. "Private chambers, now." The king brushed past the prince, nearly knocking him over as he went. When they were both finally alone behind a well-guarded door, the king slapped him so hard that Prince Verdin’s knees buckled, and he found himself on the floor.

  "What do you think you are doing attacking Grey Rock? And don't try to tell me it wasn't you behind it. I know more about you than you do, boy. This farce has gone on long enough. You are coming back to Kingston with me so that you might learn what it means to rule like a man."

  On the floor, hidden from his father's eyes, Prince Verdin flicked open the bottom of the ring Darka-Xera had given him. A small needle protruded from under his knuckle and a bead of amber liquid began to form at the tip.

  "As you wish, Father," he said meekly, holding out his hand for his father to help him up.

  "I had to send two hundred men to Grey Rock to appease King Stronick," said the king. "He is withdrawing his people from Perdun now, and his gold and ships as well. As soon as he has finished defeating Pelonia, he will no doubt seek vengeance for the life of his son."

  Finally, the king reached down to help the prince up from the floor. "Do you not have any idea what you've caused-– Ouch," the king yelped and pulled his hand back.

  "What I've caused," Prince Verdin said with a smug grin, while looking into his father's wide opened eyes. "Why, I've just become the new King of Perdun. And since there are two hundred of our soldiers headed to Grey Rock, it will be all the easier to hold the wives, mothers, and children of the lords of Ormandin hostage. King Stronick will not win his war with Pelonia. He will yield to King Noffa, or his lords will never forgive him for what I do to their families."

  King Valdier sucked violently at his pricked palm, but it was no use. He was already fading. "You're a fool, Son. King Noffa will betray you," his father said while the Prince pulled a pouch from his belt and emptied its contents onto the floor beside his father's slumping body.

  "Not if I betray him first," the prince whispered, knowing those were the last words his father would ever hear.

  "Guards! Guards!" Prince Verdin yelled, his voice full of feigned terror and grief. The door burst open and two armored men rushed in. "Find a healer. He has been bitten by a red-tail, look." The prince pointed to the crimson tailed scorpion he’d dumped on the floor, which was trying to crawl away. To one of the guards, he turned. "Kill it, damn you. Kill it. Oh, Father, no," he wailed. His eyes were full of tears and his expression full of sorrow. "Where are the healers! Hold on, Father. No. Please! No!"

  It was all King Verdin could do to keep from screaming out in protest as the leaders of the royal church droned on and on about his father. His contempt was plainly visible on his face, as was the contempt of nearly all the higher lords of the noble houses of Perdun. Only their contempt was for him, not for the cardinal's eulogy.

  King Venom, they all called him now, and he liked it. He couldn't wait to inform them what he, his darkons, and darka had done. He couldn't wait until tonight's feast to let them all know where they really stood.

  King Stronick had already sent the powerful orb the darka needed. It was on its way to Perdun to exchange for his daughter, but now he would be forced to lay down his swords altogether. King Noffa of Pelonia would gain control of Ormandin unless King Stronick wished to see his daughter and all the noble refugees sheltered at Grey Rock slaughtered. The princess was supposed to be on a ship to Ormandin already, but King Venom had taken a trick out of Ormandin's own book and sent a look alike in her place. The princess was Darka-Xera’s, now. Once he gave Darka-Xera the orb, the girl would serve her truer purpose.

  Soon, Darka-Xera would make him the Drar reborn, as she had promised, and he would then kill King Noffa and take control of the whole realm, not only as a sovereign ruler, but as the Master of Pain reborn, the God of Darkness. Yes, he began to nod. All of that s
ounded so much better than this bleating crap.

  "Enough!" King Venom stood to the ghastly astonishment of the whole noble and upper class of Greenswatch, and a good number of nobles from Kingston, who had come to bury their good King. Over four hundred lords and ladies, knights and merchants, and the wealthier common folk had come. "Cardinal, see that my father is buried properly back in Kingston, but if you wish to bleat on to the sheep some more, you have my permission to do so there. Here, it is time to move on."

  He gestured toward a young man holding a rather long scroll. "If the crier calls your name, you are commanded to attend my crowning feast this eve. If your name is called and you fail to attend then, tomorrow, your head will decorate the western gate for all to see. If your name is not called, there was no mistake. You simply were not invited." He nodded to the crier again. "If you would."

  "Yes, Your Grace," the terrified young man said and stepped up forcing the cardinal out of the way. "Master of Ships Lord Cramer, Master of Coin Lord Gallagher, Master of Arms Sir Rhodenburg, Lord Commander Prior, Master of Horse Lord Hambrick, Lord Cather, Lord Velta, Lady Ava Rikardson, Lady Marcusten, Lord Greenwood, Lord Moeller— " and on and on the names came.

  King Venom left them all in the cathedral, staring at the crier and the empty throne behind the red-faced cardinal. The old king's body lay exposed in a casket before them all, not even four days dead. Not a single mouth was closed, save for the cardinal's, whose teeth were clenched to the point of breaking, and the dead king's, which would never open again.

  No sound could be heard save for the steady voice of the crier, each person listening in dumbfounded horror for their name. Some were hoping to be called, but most were praying to be spared from this disrespectful and inappropriate crowning feast for the spoiled rotten new king. The crier called out name after name after name, over a hundred in all, and then began again at the top of the list as he had been instructed to do.

  A servant girl told Princess Trava the news of Prince Venom's sudden rise to king. It only seemed to make her dark little cell drearier. They gave her a lit candle once a day, but it only lasted a while, and she used the light from it to write letters to her father, to Lord Amicuss, and even to Lord Braxton. She had no idea how to get them to who she intended, but Darka-Xera promised her that the letters were being carried to Grey Rock by bird. Princess Trava wasn't sure if she believed the woman or not. They told her that her twin had been murdered, but she already knew that in her soul. She'd felt his loss but, nevertheless, the confirmation of it hurt her deeply and she spent most of her nights, or maybe days, she wasn't sure anymore, crying herself to sleep. She poured out all her hopes into the messages she wrote, day after day, but if they weren't getting anywhere, then that was just a waste.

  The darka also told her that her father agreed to send the ransom for her, and that gave her a little hope. Maybe they would let her go home soon.

  She decided to send a letter to Lord Braxton at Grey Rock, hoping that her uncle Amicuss would forward it to wherever the young lord was. It was silly to think it, but somewhere deep inside, she felt that he would come save her if they didn't let her go soon. Maybe he would kill King Venom, too.

  That night, as she did with all letters, she rolled the parchment up and slid it under the door. That night, though, instead of crying herself to sleep, she drifted away on hopes and dreams of the young dragon lord coming to her rescue. She didn't realize it, but in her message, she had put a name to the thorn in Lord Skallin's side.

  With dark magic, like that which coursed through Skallin's veins now, a name was all that was needed to do great harm. When Darka-Xera read the letter to him as he lay there in the rotting guts of her former sisters, the anger that flared from him took her back a step.

  Skallin had turned into something greater than Darka-Xera had intended, something stronger and darker than even she was. He filled her with fear, and she knew Skallin could smell it on her as if it had been sprayed there by a skunk. He knew now that he was the one in control. He was the greater beast of Drar, the chosen, as she put it, and as she submitted meekly before him, he learned without words all that he wished to know, and more.

  His new eye was as black as the other, and his blood red pupils radiated hatred for this Lord Braxton Bray. The scars below his eyes looked like black tear stains left from the sorrow his mortal life had been. This Lord Braxton had ripped up his face twice now, and he needed ask no one to seek revenge. Skallin pushed Darka-Xera down onto her back and mounted her there on the slimy filth of the chamber floor. As he slid inside her, she cried out in a mixture of horror and lust, for her hand had found the matted stringy hair left on the skull of Darka-Shen, but he felt so good thrusting himself into her that her revulsion was soon forgotten, as was the stench of the remains they lay upon.

  When he was done, he rose and finally spoke. "Play with your toys for now my pet and enjoy the feast you've planned for the new king," Skallin's voice was controlled thunder and gravel. "Soon, I will return with a finer meat for us to savor, the meat of a dragon, and its rider, and the heart of the one who did this to me." He ran his index fingers down the scars below his eyes.

  Suddenly, Darka-Xera's awe and love for her master, the Drar, was shadowed by something darker, something more powerful, something that had just been quickened deep inside her. She knew it was something far worse than Drar could ever be.

  The guests at the crowning feast were nervous to say the least. Already, one who tried to skip out on his royal invitation had been caught doing so and beheaded in front of all in the gathering hall. Lord Prior, Master of something or another, was now a head shorter, his blood a growing pool in the corner of the room.

  The others were ushered into the great feasting hall and seated. Everyone picked at their food like weary crows, awaiting the next wolf to come stir them from the corpse they were eating. A few dared to whisper their thoughts to their neighbors or across the table, but none were brave enough to say what they were truly thinking. The pale men, all dressed in black, standing as still as statues along the walls, looked dead to the world, but their eyes said they could hear everything.

  The new king finally appeared, having left to personally place Lord Prior's head on the west gate, or so the rumor spread around the table. A smear of thick dark blood ran from the corner of his mouth across his cheek and down his chin. From behind the high seat he took at the end of the table, an exotically beautiful alien looking women bent to whisper in his ear. It was then that the new king finally stood to address them.

  "Lords and ladies of Perdun and Kingsport, tonight begins a new era, but it is also an ending of sorts, for this is the last night any of you will be merely human. You have been chosen to be born again into the power of Drar."

  A murmur of confusion and fear spread through the room as the men along the walls began extinguishing torches. Behind the new king, the strange woman’s eyes glowed orange and she raised her hands high letting loose a magical darkness that left the few remaining torches looking like candles in a storm.

  Shouts and screams erupted as the darkons and Darka-Xera began the changing. Some of the nobles began to feed on the others, and the king laughed.

  "Sorry to say, ladies and lords," King Venom chuckled, "some of you won't survive the hunger of your table companions, but that is all for the best. We only want the strongest of you to serve. The rest of you are merely food for the feast."

  Part IV

  The Island of Skorch

  Chapter Sixteen

  Braxton woke with a start. He dreamt that something dark and raspy was chasing him. It had been calling out his name. He was glad that it was only a dream. Sneak and Cryelos were still awake by the smoky fire, watching the high grass sway like rolling waves in the moonlight. The village of Shoresight was only half a day farther east, and the Lake of Life a half-day beyond that. Signs showing the presence of vast herds of buffal and wild horses were everywhere. Ahead of the group, and to the east, the dark knot of a herd could
be seen at the end of the giant swath they trampled and forged as they passed through this part of the Green Sea.

  Chureal said that the herd looked like a giant brown snake with a head that always changed shapes. Of course, she had seen them from high above on Cobalt's back. Hunter explained that the animals stayed close to the lake during these warmer months. Only in the early spring and late fall did they venture very far away from the water. Braxton deduced this was why it was called the Lake of Life.

  Hunter told them he grew up in a village a few days ride south of where they were now. He tended herds and traded horses in the small city of Hillside, and even as far south as Kingston. Sneak had been a thief in Kingsport, and when Hunter talked of visiting there, they broke into a conversation in the harsh Perdunese language. Of the group, Sir Monster was the only other one who understood it, well. He barely spoke common and couldn't communicate very well with anyone save for Sir Jory, Hunter, and Sneak.

  To Braxton, the language sounded like grunts, curses, and a bit of body language more than anything. Chureal said it was like watching two bears covered in steel trying to talk by barking and growling at each other.

  Taking Zyken-Whay's advice, Braxton asked for a sword so that he would have some steel to use with his wits when they faced the thing called the Rokkan. Lord Amicuss had given him an exquisite long sword that wasn't gaudy with ornaments, but was razor sharp and well-balanced for one of his size.

  Sir Jory and Sir Monster put Braxton, Cryelos, and even Chureal through their drills every morning before they got underway. They said Braxton was at least learning to hold the sword correctly. It amazed him that he'd killed the demon Pharark with a sword. Back then, he'd not even been comfortable carrying one.