by James Fuller
Dagon’s growing army was made up mostly of peasants and farmers - not many of his real soldiers remained. The aid of six hundred fresh troops and two wizards would assist him greatly… but even if he did take back his castle, the majority of his army would be killed or could be easily dealt with later. Not that Astaroth cared what happened. Kinor and Valka could deal with that problem if it arose and his side of the deal will have been fulfilled.
He smiled again, stepping away from the window before grimacing as he walked by one of the rooms many mirrors. He hated this form, hated having to hide his true visage from these pathetic beings. Not for much longer now - once Dragon’s Cove fell, the barbarian armies would begin to gather closer to Draco Castle. With his help, Draco Castle would fall quickly, then Kinor would give him what was agreed upon and he could finally go back and claim what was rightfully his.
Worry touched him for a moment; what if Kinor refused to keep to their agreement and betrayed him? His lips quivered into a snarl. He would kill him if he was betrayed. He could feel his Gift flowing throughout him in eager anticipation. He had to be stronger to fight Kinor.
He turned from the mirror and caught sight of Keithen, standing silent and awaiting his orders. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had forgotten he was there. He stared at the wizard intently. If he was to keep him around, he would need to be stronger and more useful with his powers.
“Tonight, Keithen, I will give you the greatest gift you have ever received.”
“Are you going to teach me to take the Gift from another?” Keithen asked eagerly, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Yes, Keithen I am, and so much more,” Astaroth replied. “But before I do, I must know one thing.”
“Anything, my Lord! If I know it, I shall tell you,” Keithen answered, slavish devotion in his stance. His eyes were glowing, worshipful, and that brought a smile to Astaroth’s thin lips, for he already knew the answer.
“I need to know I can trust you fully, that you will never betray me. That you will never lie to me or stray from my will or command.” Astaroth’s eyes burned into Keithen’s soul, searching for any hint of insincerity.
“Of course you can; I will do whatever you ask!” Keithen replied without a moment of hesitation. “I swear it to you.”
“A man’s word only goes so far…I need proof, Keithen,” Astaroth told him, making his way over to the large armoire and opened it. There in front of them was one of the female kitchen maids, one that Keithen had been seeing for some time now.
“What are you doing?” Keithen asked, trying to stay calm.
“Prove yourself to me, Keithen,” he smiled coldly. “Kill her!” He pointed to the dagger upon the table.
“But why!? What would be the point of killing her?” Keithen asked, retrieving the dagger reluctantly.
“Because I told you to! That should be more than enough,” Astaroth hissed. “I must know I can trust you, Keithen, I must know you will follow my will and always do as I tell you! Now kill her!”
Keithen walked over to the girl, staring into her eyes, his hands trembling.
Astaroth sensed his pondering and decided to provoke him further. “What do you want, Keithen? Do you want power? Do you want control? Do you want everything that you ever dreamt of?”
“Yes. I want it!” Keithen barked back, gripping the dagger hard, his teeth clenched rigid.
“Then take the life of this bitch!”
Keithen could see the fear in the girl’s eyes; tears of terror rolled freely down her soft, rosy cheeks. Averting his eyes from her pleading stare, he took another step closer. He knew he had to kill her, he had no other choice now - if he did not, Astaroth would kill them both. His palms were sweaty as he gripped the dagger’s wire-wrapped handle, his knuckles white from the effort. He lifted the blade up, not knowing where he should plunge it; he wanted her to die quickly and not to have to suffer. His eyes met hers again and he nearly dropped the blade as guilt washed over him. Her only mistake had been showing him affection.
“What are you waiting for, Keithen? You can have a hundred more bitches, better than her. King’s daughters will entertain you in your bed when this is over,” Astaroth promised.
“I am sorry,” Keithen whispered only loud enough for her to hear.
He gritted his teeth and his eyes closed tightly as he plunged the dagger forward. He felt the blade sink into soft flesh and heard her cry out, even through the thick leather that gagged her.
He had missed her heart.
Panic forced his eyes open and he drove the blade into her chest again and again until her body lay lifeless and bloodied on the carpeted floor. He stared down at her inert body for several moments, the dagger still gripped tightly in his hand. His mind swirled with so many thoughts he could barely control them. He was angry at Astaroth and yet… a certain thrill was there - a different kind of lust, something Keithen had never felt before. It was a feeling he liked.
“Now I know I can trust you, Keithen,” Astaroth said, breaking the eerie silence. “Now I know you are in this to the end and will not stray.” He walked back to the balcony window. “Now clean up this mess and do not be seen. I have some business in town I need to see to.” Astaroth grinned to himself. “Meet me back here before the sun goes down - make sure there are horses ready.”
“Lady Tora, Lady Angelina, I am glad you came,” Master Mervyn said, closing the door to his private chambers behind them.
“You said it was important,” Lady Tora replied, “and about Berrit.”
“I am afraid so.” Mervyn said, gesturing for them to sit at the table in the room where Regis was already seated.
“What about him?” Lady Angelina asked, taking her seat. “Beside that he is a snake and is acting very strange of late.”
“That is just it, my Lady - I have reason to believe he is behind what is happening,” Mervyn said.
“What do you mean?” Tora asked with a raised brow.
“Do you not find it a little odd that he has been in the middle of everything, all the time?” Mervyn started. “During King Borrack’s unfortunate death and Princess Nicolette’s ‘so called’ kidnapping, Prince Berrit was there in the room when it happened - him and only him. Everyone else was either dead or trying to escape the castle.”
“He said it was Master Ursa and Meath who kidnapped the princess and killed Borrack,” Angelina said. “As much as I do not want to believe it, it seems true, given the other things that have occurred after.”
“Yes, I see why you think that, but you all know Ursa as well as I - he would never have shared in such a deed, and if he did, it would have been flawless… executed with more cunning,” Mervyn added. “But not only that, Lord Tundal’s murder…Berrit again was there, with the assassin that was already dead, but not before he killed Tundal.”
“Convenient that all the possible witnesses are always dead or marked as the enemy and he seems to make it out, spotless and blameless as always,” Regis muttered bitterly.
“The man that killed my husband was identified as an assassin,” Lady Tora replied, on edge.
“I know this, my Lady - and I do not mean to upset you - but it is possible Berrit himself hired the assassin and set the whole thing up, to help take the suspicion off of him,” Mervyn quickly added.
“What he is saying, my Lady… it all seems a little too well-planned and put together to be coincidence,” Regis sighed, knowing she did not want to hear it, but needed to.
“And now with his lack of participation and concern in all that is happening with the kingdom - when not long ago he wanted to lead every topic and every meeting - it’s odd. Now he barely says a word, if he even shows up at all,” Mervyn said, running his fingers through his thick curly beard.
Lady Tora and Angelina both sat bewildered for several moments, the accusations coalescing in their minds. Everything began to make sense.
“But how?” Angelina muttered. “Why would he do this? How could he plan all t
his?”
“And for what purpose?” Tora added.
“We do not know that yet,” Regis said, leaning back in his chair.
“What about the barbarians?” Tora asked. “Do you think he is behind their movements and strategic strikes?”
Mervyn and Regis both sighed deeply - that question had been playing on both their minds as well.
“The possibility is there,” Mervyn said gravely.
“It is a good possibility he is behind all of what has happen since Borrack’s tragic death,” Regis added. “There is something odd about him; I get a very strange vibe from him.”
“This is treason! Outright treason!” Lady Angelina fumed, jumping to her feet. “Let us go to his room now and arrest that heathen bastard and hang him this very night!”
“I am afraid we cannot do that,” Mervyn replied, gesturing for her to calm her voice.
“Why not? We are in power, not him, we overrule that whelp!” Angelina raged and Tora put a hand on her dear friend’s shoulder.
“What if we are wrong?” Tora said. “What if it is all just fate this has happened and he has no connection to it at all.”
“Then accusing and punishing him would invite open war between our kingdoms yet again,” Mervyn finished for her.
“Then what are we to do?” Angelina asked bitterly.
“We must catch him in the act,” Regis answered. “We must keep our eyes and ears open for anything that will give us answers and just cause to accuse him.”
“I think we may need to confront a certain young wizard about the subject,” Tora said, getting a nod of agreement from everyone.
“But we must do it carefully. Keithen seems to have taken a liking to Berrit, for whatever reason. So we confront him cautiously, so he does not realize what we are doing and inform Berrit. He already knows I am suspicious of him - he does not need to know of your knowledge of any of this,” Mervyn explained.
“Should not be too hard to fool Keithen; he is not the sharpest sword on the rack.” Angelina laughed, trying to ease the tension.
“A sword does not have to be sharp to deal a fatal blow, my lady. Do not ever underestimate a potential enemy,” Regis added, taking her smile away with his seriousness.
Astaroth and Keithen rode their horses northwest, in the dark of night. The moon was almost full and sitting high in the clear night sky, providing plenty of light for them to see their way down the road. They traveled lightly, for their journey would not take long if the information they found proved to be true.
Astaroth had sent Keithen to spy throughout the castle - to find information on the other wizards on their way to Draco. Two groups were on their way; one group of three coming from the northwest, and another group of five from the northeast. As vain as Astaroth was, he knew well he could not take on five experienced wizards, not alone. How he wished Vashina were here now to aid him, but Keithen would have to do. Hopefully after this night, Keithen would be of more use to him.
They slowed their horses to a trot so that the beasts could catch their breaths. Astaroth inhaled deeply, catching the scent of burning wood in the air. He knew they were close to where the wizards had set up camp for the night. Excitement coursed through his veins, as it always did when the prospect of becoming stronger was at hand.
“I smell fire,” Keithen announced eagerly.
“Do you remember the plan?” Astaroth asked, his eyes not leaving the light glowing through the trees, a small distance down the road.
“Of course I do,” Keithen replied, excitement running through him. “I will not fail you.”
“If I had any doubt you would fail, you would not be here.” Astaroth smiled back, the false expression tight at the edges, preparing himself for the worst. “Now, we should go.”
“Stop where you are and state your business, strangers!” One of the wizards - a tall, skinny man – commanded, as the two riders slowly came into view.
“Please, please you have to help us!” Keithen cried, stopping both horses, tears running down his cheeks. “Please!”
“What is it? What is the matter?” Another of the wizards called out, coming over to stand beside his companion to better view the scene as he scratched at his dusty beard.
“My family was on our way to Draco city,” Keithen huffed out between tearful sobs, “We were camped several miles up the road, when we were attacked by savages. They killed… they killed everyone, me and my father barely escaped,” Keithen bawled, his acting nearly flawless. “My father was injured badly, he needs help. I think he is going to die!” Keithen finished, looking over to the dirty farmer that was slumped over the horse beside him, blood dripping from his tattered clothes.
Both wizards fell for the tale, having seen and heard many such stories in previous months.
“Quickly lad! Bring your father here, we will do what we can for him,” The first wizard instructed and Keithen rode into their small camp at the side of the road, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Eager excitement and petrifying fear began warring in the pit of his stomach.
Keithen climbed down from his mount, his feet touching the ground, uneasily searching the shadows while two of the wizards helped the limp farmer off his horse and carried him over to the campfire where they could examine him. The third wizard had prepared a blanket for the farmer.
Keithen realized that the third wizard was slightly younger than him, and must be an apprentice. Jealousy flashed through Keithen’s mind at the thought of this boy having two wizards to help him learn, when up until Astaroth, he never even had one to take the time to teach him fully.
“You look hungry, do you want some stew?” the young wizard asked Keithen politely.
Keithen looked over to where Astaroth, still playing wounded, had the full attention of both older wizards. “I would, thank you,” Keithen replied, going over to the iron pot by the fire, where the apprentice was already filling a small clay bowl.
Keithen looked intently over to where the two wizards were huddled - he knew something had to happen soon - the wizards would soon realize that he was not actually hurt and become suspicious.
“It is okay… your father will be fine. They are both very powerful wizards and will be able to heal any wounds he sustained.”
Before Keithen could reply, he noticed a tension fall over the wizards and knew the time was fast approaching. He licked his lips nervously, taking the stew from the apprentice.
“What happened to your father, where are his wounds?” the tall wizard called back to him.
“Where is all this blood coming from, I cannot find the wound,” the other said, looking back to Keithen.
Keithen knew this was the moment - he sprang to his feet and threw the steaming stew at the young wizard’s face. He dove over the log seat the boy had been using and began raining vicious fists down on the poor boy’s scalded face.
“What in the Creator’s name are you doing!” the taller wizard screamed, standing up.
Both wizards felt the exotic tingle of power in the air and quickly turned back to the man they had been trying to help. Astaroth stood before them, grinning maliciously.
“Treacherous dog!” the shorter wizard cursed.
A bright flare of fire flashed between the two wizards. The swift intense flames consumed the air between them, pilfering the very breath from their lungs with its merciless heat. The two wizards threw themselves back, covering their faces against the assault but the cruel flame had already seared and blistered exposed skin.
The taller wizard rolled around on the earth - what breath he did manage to find was quickly expelled in anguished screams. The shorter, bearded wizard was quicker in recovering from the surprise attack and was back on his feet within moments, knowing precious seconds meant life or death. The blackened, cracked skin across his face was healing already and two icicle blades were gripped tightly within his hands.
Astaroth grin wickedly at the wizard and began to walk towards him, completely unafraid, his own hand
s glowing deep red with hungry flames.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” the wizard asked, taking a nervous step backward, avoiding his partner who still was on the ground trying to recover his breath from his burnt lungs. “What do you want from us?”
“Everything!” Astaroth hissed back, the crimson orbs of fire in his hands growing larger.
Both ice blades erupted from the wizards hands as he knew talking would get nowhere. Astaroth anticipated the move and his powerful fire met the ice shards, evaporating the deadly blades into harmless steam.
“So very predictable,” he smiled, the wizard’s fire being replaced with crackling energy.
“You bastard!” the tall wizard wheezed out from the side as he unleashed a molten sphere of fire.
Astaroth barely had time to counter the attack. His hand released a violent surge of air that collided with the vengeful orb, forcing the flames out in every direction, defeating its strength. But following behind the fire was a bolt of energy. Luck alone had been on Astaroth’s side, for he barely avoided being killed by the attack. As he flailed back, it sizzled past him, merely scorching the flesh on his side.
Astaroth looked down at the shallow, blackened wound and his anger flared. He sprinted for the shorter wizard, short blasts of power releasing from his outstretched palm nearly with each step, forcing the wizard to dodge and flail defensively, giving him no time to counter. Before Astaroth could close the distance and score a mortal blow, something slammed into his back, throwing him into a nearby tree, taking the air from his lungs.
Astaroth rolled over, waves of agony pulsing through his torn shoulder as he looked up to see the wizard who had hit him charging, fire springing to life in his fist and hatred radiating on his blistered face. Astaroth closed his eyes and heard a loud crack and groan. He opened his eyes again and there stood Keithen, thick branch in hand. He swung time and time again, down at the wizard.
“You wretched whelp!” the other wizard cried, seeing his friend face down in the dirt. Two ice spikes closed the distance and impaled Keithen’s midsection with enough force to knock him from his feet.