The Dark Lord's Demise

by John White

  "And you, Andron," the chief jailer continued. "Were you not guarding the young males?"

  "Well ... yes, I was, sir," conceded the boys' jailer.

  "And what took place that they escaped while you were on watch?"

  Andron shifted his feet. His sandals were only inches from Kurt, but he appeared to have forgotten Kurt was there. In fact, all the guards ignored the children in their quest to uncover blame. Andron grumbled, "They were a bad pair. Strangest prisoners I ever saw. Ate every crumb of the garbage I gave them. Licked their plate clean. Is that normal?"

  "You wander from the point, Andron. How did your prisoners escape?"

  "I-I don't know, sir. I swear the door was locked. You see I have all the keys here on my ring." A metallic jingle sounded above Kurt's head. A similar jingle sounded above Betty's head. Dominicus must have produced his own keys to prove his innocence.

  The chief jailer let out a scornful snort. "Your keys prove nothing. Both cell doors stood wide open. They could not have been opened unless they were unlocked. There is only one explanation. You-and you "-the children imagined him jabbing his finger at Andron and Dominicus-"neglected to lock the doors."

  Dominicus ventured, "Sir, if I might point out one fact ..."

  "It may be the last you point out."

  Dominicus gulped but went on. "We all know the punishment for letting prisoners escape. But may I point out that the prisoners have not escaped. They're right here. Still in our custody and still inside the prison."

  Kurt rocked back on his heels and cheered. The jailers with torches nearly dropped them. All reached for their swords. Wesley hissed, "Shut up, Kurt! You want to cause even more trouble?"

  "Sorry, but-what I mean is, Dominicus is right," Kurt explained. "We haven't escaped. There's no penalty for not escaping, is there? And there can't be a penalty for not letting prisoners not escape, can there be?"

  The chief jailer scratched the back of his head. He squinted at each of the four captives. Wes thought, He doesn't know what to do, but he needs to look decisive in front of these underlings. With a short nod the man ordered, "Bind them and take them to the hall of execution! Dominicus and Andron, you will go with me to give a full report to the Commander. He will decide your fate. Do not expect him to be merciful."

  A jailer approached with a coil of the same cord the Marmon used. He was about to tie the children's hands behind their backs when Betty stopped him with a yell: "Don't tie me up with that weaver bee stuff! I'm allergic!"

  The jailer froze with the loop of cord still in his hands. He looked at his superior. Wes saw the man blink and scowl. Here we go again, Wes thought. He's got to decide fast, and he doesn't know what to do.

  The head jailer squatted down directly in front of Betty. His face was partly in shadow and partly illuminated by torchlight. He demanded, "What is allergic?"

  Betty fumbled for an answer. "Allergic is ... it has to do with reactions."

  The man seemed interested but wary. "Reactions of what sort?"

  "Bad. Real bad." Betty picked up momentum. "Very had. Terrible! Terrible things will happen if you use that stuff on me!"

  The situation was serious, but the Friesens had to snicker. By accident, or maybe by cleverness, Betty Riggs had stymied a whole crew of armed officials.

  The chief jailer stood up. He asked the others, "What do you know of this allergic?"

  "I fear it is some type of magic, sir," muttered one.

  "I have heard tales of children who exercise magic," said another.

  "They say children with strange powers came to Anthropos long ago," recalled a third. "Perhaps these are of the same clan."

  The other jailers joined in. The discussion got louder. It turned into an argument. "Foolish rot! I say execute them tonight!" "It does no harm to take precautions." "How do we know it's magic? Perhaps it's some form of illness." "Put them back in their cells for tonight." "It's magic. I'm sure of it! I can tell by the sound of the word. Allergic. "

  The voice of Andros, who had guarded the boys, rose above the others. "Of course these prisoners possess magic. How else could their cell doors open of themselves when they were securely locked?"

  The rest went silent. They looked down at the kneeling children. The children looked up into their faces. Several jailers stepped back. Andron plowed ahead with his argument. He gained courage with every word. "If we execute them, who knows what powers of revenge may be let loose on our heads? And if we lock them up in their cells, they will only escape again. We must take them from here-unbound-and hand them over to the palace priests. Their powers are stronger than any arts these simple children possess."

  The jailers studied the children, who studied them back. Lisa thought, They like the idea ofgetting rid of us, but they're not so sure we're simple children.

  The head jailer said slowly, "Never in my years of duty have I known it prisoner to escape. Tonight I have seen four. It is indeed strange."

  Betty said very confidently, "Allergic." She said it almost like a sneeze: "Ah-h-h-LER-gic."

  The jailers were eager to be rid of their captives. They prodded the children to their feet and hurried them along a maze of corridors and up it flight of stone steps to a heavy door. Quick muttered consultations took place among the guards before the door opened and they all walked out to be blinded by sunlight.

  Nothing blinds you like daylight when you expect total darkness. The jailers blinked, rubbed their eyes and formed a loose circle around the prisoners. They wanted to perform their guard duties from as safe a distance as possible.

  This door did not open into the narrow lane of the night before. Instead it brought them out at the edge of a dusty, open space like a minor town square. The area was full of people and animals. A farmer herded several donkeys close to the group. Clouds of dust rose to make the brightness more confusing. Dominicus coughed. "Can't see or breathe," he choked out. Andron wiped his eyes. Another jailer said, "Hate doing service in those wretched dungeons. Can't tell if it's day or night. Ma-a-a-" The man cursed loudly as Betty Riggs ducked through the circle of jailers and took off at a fast mu.

  In a loud whisper Wes said, "Run!" The Friesens took off in different directions. Donkeys and Nephesh residents and poultry scattered before them. They dodged and shoved through the crowds. Already they were separated. They didn't know which way to go, but they kept running.

  Lisa's side ached. The air she sucked in hurt her throat. She dared to stop by it stone bench and catch her breath. She ran it hand through her hair and was horrified to find prison straw clinging to it. Straw stuck to her clothes too! It would mark her as an escapee from the dungeons. She brushed it off and looked around. She thought of Dominicus and hoped he wouldn't be punished too severely. Maybe they shouldn't have made a break for it. They shouldn't even have left their cells. It was all Betty's fault. Betty had pulled the cell door open; she had trusted the light person; she had ignored Lisa's pleas to stop; she had taken off running.

  Still, freedom felt good. Lisa wasn't about to go back and turn herself in. She plunged into the crowd again. How could she get out of the confines of this small square where she could easily be trapped? That dark space between two buildings-was it an alleyway? It was! Lisa started down it, but it looked like it dangerous (lead end. She stopped and went back. Twice more she encountered similar alleys and rejected them. Across the square she saw an archway that appeared to lead into it larger open area. Would it lead to safety or would she only be more exposed there?

  The crowd decided for her. They surged toward the archway and caught her up in a current of bodies. She couldn't tell what the stir was all about. Probably a big sale at the market, she thought. Special on duck gizzards. She giggled nervously. As she passed under the archway, she looked up and caught her breath at its height. She didn't remember the arch from their previous time in Nephesh.

  Trumpets sounded in the distance. The crowd surged and pushed Lisa forward. Then her way was blocked by-a soldier! She cast her eye
s on the ground and was glad she had brushed off the prison straw. "Keep back there," the soldier snapped. He didn't recognize her as a fugitive.

  Other soldiers moved people out of the way to open up a route in front of Lisa. With a shock and a sense of privilege she realized she had a front-row seat (or standing place) for whatever would soon pass by. Everyone began to cheer. She was afraid she would attract attention if she didn't cheer, so she joined in. The parade route, if that's what it was, turned a square corner through the crowd a few yards away. Waves of hurrahs and trumpet fanfares came from that direction.

  The musicians came into sight. Long banners fluttered from their shiny trumpets as they made splendid brassy tones. Four of the wolflike Koach appeared next. Two were silvery gray, one was white, and one was charcoal gray, almost black. Their great heads swung from side to side as they paced along, eyes watchful and suspicious. Their mouths were slightly open to show glistening teeth. Their bushy tails drooped slightly. Lisa wanted to call to them. Maybe they were descendants of Whitefur or Garfong or other wolves who had fought alongside them in battle against Lord Lunacy's forces.

  Four soldiers came into view. They were dressed in decorative uniforms and bore swords in long, engraved scabbards (though nothing like the Sword of Geburah). All four looked straight ahead; yet Lisa sensed they also watched the spectators as the Koach did. The noise of the crowd rose. Lisa caught her breath at what came next.

  A beautiful, white horse pranced down the parade route. It tossed its long mane and shook the golden reins of its bridle. Mounted on the horse, head held high, one hand on the reins, was-

  "Kardia!" Lisa called out. People gave her strange looks. No, it wasn't Kardia. But it looked like him. Here was a man perhaps in his forties, the most dashing and at the same time the most distinguished man Lisa had ever seen. Long curls of hair, lighter than Kardia's, fell about his sharp features. His clothes were richly colored but surprisingly simple for a king. He was not handsome in a movie star way, yet Lisa could not take her eyes off his face. His eyes-she couldn't make out their color-darted about the crowd to focus on one face and then another. He didn't wave like a politician in a motorcade. He only smiled slightly and nodded to acknowledge the cheers of the citizens of Nephesh. He was a man in command-of his horse, of this crowd and of himself.

  What had the Matmon said? Thirty years they had served King Tiqvah! Of course-this wasn't the father but was the son! She struggled to abandon her image of Tiqvah as a boy about Wes's age.

  A jolt shot through Lisa. The man looked familiar not only because he resembled Kardia. He was the man she had seen in the television screen, the one who walked away down the stone hallway. True, that man had appeared more frail and weak. But it was the same man.

  A second horse walked at the flank of Tiqvah's horse. Mounted sidesaddle on a lovely bay was a woman in a long dress of richly embroidered fabric. She also smiled and nodded at the crowd. Surely she was Tiqvah's wife, Queen Hisschi, the one everyone talked about. Lisa shrank back a little. The queen's face was full of gracious kindness. Lisa thought, I must have gotten the wrong impression of her. Still, appearance isn't everything.

  The four soldiers marched past Lisa. In a moment the king and queen would pass by also. With no definite plan or thought, Lisa stepped out of the crowd and stood in the path of the horses.

  In a room some distance away a disturbance took place. The room was large but felt densely crowded. Heavy, ornate carved chairs surrounded a long rectangular table of dark wood. Some chairs were snuggled up against the table; others were pulled out and stood at disorganized angles. Bookshelves climbed to the high ceiling, sagging with large, leather-bound volumes. Here and there a book had fallen off the shelf and lay half-open on the floor with pages ripped or crumpled. Where bookshelves did not cover the walls, framed paintings and tapestries depicted violent battles between strange creatures.

  The room had one window. Though in Nephesh it was daytime, here the light of a full moon shone in and cast shadows in the silence. Nothing moved.

  Soon a soft hum broke the silence of the room. It emanated from every surface: walls, floor, ceiling, chairs, table. Books on the shelves began to vibrate. A few shifted so far that they fell with a loud clump to join the other neglected volumes. The humming sound increased. Paintings rattled against the walls.

  Near one end of the table a portion of the air (that is the best way to describe it) distilled into translucent mist. The mist darkened and became opaque. It trembled at the edges in harmony with the monotonous hum. Abruptly the hum ceased. Now the sole sound in the room came from the gray mass of mist. It was the gasp of labored breathing, as from exertion or extreme fear. The desperate inhalation and exhalation continued with no relief for several minutes.

  At the other end of the table another mist gathered. Pale light to rival the moonlight glowed from deep inside it. Unlike the first mist, this one took a definite shape. It formed itself into a manbut no ordinary man. The man who emerged was too enormous to fit inside the room. He appeared to be seated, yet he occupied none of the chairs. He sat on the air itself-or on an invisible seat at the level of the tabletop. A long, pale robe hung over his long frame in graceful folds of light and shadow. From his form radiated deathly pale light, which obscured the more bluish moonlight.

  The man was so huge that his legs projected down through the floor, as though the wide boards of the flooring were no more solid than fog. His head reached the ceiling and beyond, for the top of his head appeared to pass through the ceiling yet remained visible. The man's size, impressive as it was, was not his most spellbinding feature. What dominated his appearance was his waxlike face. He was hideously beautiful. You could not say that any of his features were ugly or malformed. Yet taken as a whole, his face had the power to terrify. His eyes, as they gazed down from near the ceiling, glittered with a hard, cold light. His expression was one of cruel humor.

  The dark mist shuddered. The monstrous figure spoke. His voice had an icy music, like faraway bells across a snowy field. "I thank you, spirit, that you answered my summons. However, you could have done so more promptly."

  The dark mist shifted slightly. "I would never fail to come when summoned by the Dark Lord, disturber of moonlight, his majesty, Lord Lunacy. I was delayed by the interference of an enemy patrol. I destroyed them quickly."

  "Very well. I will accept your pitiful excuse. More important matters are at hand. I must speak to you about recent events that have come to my attention."

  "Say on. My lord's words are as gold in a setting of silver or as water to a

  "Save your flattery, wretched spirit!" Lord Lunacy thundered. "I have but one thing to say to you. You have failed your assignment most miserably!" The misty form at the other end of the table flinched. A painting tilted and another book fell. Lord Lunacy's voice dropped to its previous level but now carried the hard edge of threat. "Do you deny that you stand before me an utter, dismal failure?"

  The dark gray spirit expanded itself and appeared to stand straighter. "Your majesty, I have carried out your wishes. The young Regenskind Betty Biggs-"

  "Riggs, you idiot," said Lunacy.

  "The young girl Betty Riggs is safe. We liberated her from the dungeon as commanded by my lord. She is now securely in the hands of our forces. She has responded well to our influence. Soon she shall trust us completely."

  Pale light shimmered from Lord Lunacy's robe as he impatiently shifted position. "I have no doubt Betty Riggs is safely in the power of the Mystery. I am glad for this. She will prove most useful to us. Indeed, in many ways, she has already proved more valuable than I had hoped."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  "I thank you for nothing. The girl was captured in spite of your mistakes. You are aware that the original plan called for all four Regenskind children to be extracted from the dungeon?"

  "Which took place, my lord!"

  "Which took place, although it nearly failed because of the unforeseen wariness of the contemptible
young Lisa and the foul young Kurt. Are you not aware-no, you are probably not awarethat the three called Friesen are of the family of John the Sword Bearer, who did us so much harm in ages past?"

  "The family of John the Sword Bearer? No, majesty, I did not know. We will watch them even more closely."

  "Watch them? Your instructions called for you to extract all four of the little fools, remove Betty Riggs to our domain and destroy the other three."

  The spirit swayed from side to side. The sound of labored breathing once more came from its form. "Yes-well-all does not always go as planned, your majesty."

  "Will you explain to me why, in this particular case, almost nothing has gone as planned?"

  The gray spirit paused to summon courage. Lord Lunacy had made no direct threats. The conversation, though close to the edge, was not yet dangerous. The spirit replied, "My lord, I know your plan was that the three followers of Gaal-"

  Lunacy stood up and spread his arms wide. His action sank his long legs deeper into the floor and thrust his head further beyond the ceiling. His giant yellow hands swept through the books on the shelves. The spirit cringed as the Dark Lord bellowed, "You have been warned repeatedly! You shall not speak that accursed name in my presence!"

  In two steps Lunacy strode around one side of the long table. The gray spirit rushed around the other side. It enjoyed the Dark Lord's furious reaction to the name Gaal. Since the destruction of Bamah, Lunacy could not stand to speak or even hear the name of his enemy.

  The spirit said, "Forgive me, my lord. What would you have me call our enemy today?"

  Lunacy thought a moment. "I feel charitable today, spirit. We shall call him only He-Who-Must-Be-Defeated." He sat once more (suspended in the air) and gathered his robe of pale light about him. His rage settled into smoldering hatred. "I despise everything about that accursed one. He mocks my power and my authority. I will not rest until he is defeated."

  The spirit hurried to agree. "Yes, and the defeat shall happen, majesty! The victory shall be ours-that is, yours. Our enemy has not dared to show himself in Anthropos for some time. He whose name we will not dirty our mouths to speak-"