by Ronald Craft
Chapter 9
Rodach woke once more from his sleep, soaked in sweat. His body had been wracked with pain for three long days, ever since he'd opened the chest. The thing inside of him snaked and slithered through his veins, but the voice from before hadn't returned.
The chest it had emerged from sat on his nightstand and gleamed in the moonlight. Each ruin now lie dormant, but they had all been alight with a fire of their own when the chest had opened. Rodach had tried to open it again, but the lid wouldn't budge.
It denied him.
He washed his face in the water basin. Sleep wouldn't come to him again on this night; not with the constant waves of nausea and the cramping in his stomach. Rodach donned a pair of slacks and a light tunic and wandered from his room towards the kitchen.
Might as well grab an early breakfast while the keep still lies dormant. Owen would be furious if he knew I was wandering around the keep unattended.
A brittle smile formed on his lips and was gone.
“My lord?” A night watchman emerged from a nearby shadow.
Rodach stopped and faced the night watchman. “Yes, Greggory?”
The night watch wore blacks cloaks and supple leather shoes that allowed them to be whisper quiet in the halls. They were masters of stealth, taught to blend into the shadows and vanish from sight. One could be standing right next to one and never know it, so long as the watchman didn't move. It kept his enemies on their toes, and had proved to be a valuable intelligence gathering technique in the past.
Greggory bowed, his expression hidden by the black veil that covered it. “Lord Rodach, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Rodach forced a smile. “Quite fine, really. Is there anything else?”
Greggory hesitated for a moment, his body betraying his thoughts.
He was one of the best watchmen Rodach had, but his over-protectiveness had proved to be irritating in the past.
“Don't worry, Greggory. I'm fine. I've just been having trouble sleeping.” Rodach patted him on the shoulder.
Greggory bowed once more. “As you say, Lord Rodach.” He vanished back into the shadows.
Rodach strode down the hallway with clenched teeth. It was becoming more difficult for him to hide the pain. Each time the creature moved around inside of him, his legs weakened and a multitude of colors swam through his vision.
Was the power I sought worth all this? It feels like it's devouring me from the inside.
He didn't dare let on to anyone that he wasn't at his best. Though the keep might be well protected on the outside, one could never be sure who their enemies were on the inside.
The keep was full of guests at any given time; those that would seek his favor from around the kingdom. However, there had been word of a rebellion amongst his lesser Lords and Dukes. Rodach weaved his webs and watched for their treachery, but royalty were taught at young age the skills they needed to lie their way out of any situation.
It wasn't going to be easy to find out who he had to kill.
Relieved to have finally arrived at the kitchen, he found Shermin, the head cook already up and about shouting orders and taste testing his workers product. The smell of eggs, sizzling bacon and fresh bread greeted his nose. Also, one other scent that he had come to loathe; poultry. Duke Lindan insisted on it for both his breakfast and dinner.
Rodach made for the small table in the corner. He'd been taking his breakfast here every morning since the pain had began.
Shermin set his tasting spoon down, grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it to the brim with fresh broth from a huge pot. He picked up a spoon and large slice of bread as he wandered over to Rodach's table.
“My Lord, the roosters will become jealous if you continue to wake before them.” A smile beamed on his face.
Rodach grinned through the pain. “They'll have bigger problems if Duke Lindan doesn't stave his appetite.”
Shermin grimaced. “Right you are, m'lord. It's said that one can cook chicken any number of ways, but even I'm running out of recipes.”
Shermin was special to him. His keen eye and attention to detail had once saved Rodach's life from a would-be assassin. There had been several attempts on his life over the years, and food poisoning certainly wasn't beyond those that would have him dead.
“I figured you'd return.” Shermin handed him the bowl and bread. “Don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” The cook nodded and turned back to his staff. “Keep stirring that pot,” Shermin shouted as he stomped across the kitchen. “If it burns, I'll take the cost of the food out of your wages.”
The kitchen buzzed with renewed vigor as Shermin continued his rampage.
Rodach shook his head and smiled. Some things never change.
He broke the bread into bits and dropped it into the broth. The muscles in his stomach tightened in response to the smell of food, but he had to make himself eat something. Rodach scooped a saturated piece of bread out and chewed, then swallowed.
The broth was lightly spiced, but the distinct taste of black pepper and cinnamon danced on his tongue. It was a simple dish one could make with any number of meats and cheeses, but one that matched his taste more than the fancy dishes most of the nobles craved.
His thoughts returned to the chest as a wave of nausea hit him. Years ago, when he had finally discovered it, there was a simple inscription on the altar the chest rested on.
He who seeks this power shall find more than he sought and less than he desired.
Rodach had thought it someone's pathetic attempt at a joke at the time. Now though, now he knew exactly what they meant. The foreign entity swam around inside of him as if to reaffirm its presence. He had been seeking an answer to an age old question. One that all the scholars in Terrasul couldn't answer.
What really happened in the depths of Escitor?
As many before him, Rodach had delved through ancient books, scrolls and combed the old ruins from top to bottom. Even so, he was no closer to figuring out the mystery than those who came before. How did an entire civilization vanish? Not a single body was ever found and their cities lay devoid of life to this day. No animals, birds, or plants dared ventured into those corrupted lands.
Their only legacy was the silver chest he had discovered.
"Not much of an appetite today, sire?" Shermin's brow was creased and his lips pressed together as he bent to take the bowl.
"Seems so." Rodach took care as he lifted himself from the chair.
He returned to his chambers and changed into his formal attire. Rodach waited until, as with every morning, he heard the same two knocks at his door.
And thus, his day officially began.
"Lord Rodach?" Owen said through the door. "We have an early meeting with the minister of Belport, and then it's straight to the agricultural committee. Please hurry."
Rodach opened the door, his expression blank. "Let's get this over with.” He fell in pace with Owen as they walked down the hall.
Owen held a piece of parchment in front of him and read down the list. “Duke Lindan is—erm—insistent about getting an audience with you.”
Rodach shook his head. “He can keep waiting.”
“All right...” He ran his finger to the next item on the list. “We're going to have a shortage of produce this winter. The committee is probably going to suggest we—“
“Yes, yes, I know what they're going to suggest. Next?”
Owen gulped and fiddled with the parchment. “The royal coffers are being drained by our, erm, guests. It would be best if we—“
“Made them pay for their own food and drink?” Rodach interjected. He rubbed the wrinkles from his forehead. “No, I don't suppose we can. Those that have outstayed their welcome shall be sent away, and those that fancy the good wine and rich foods will be reduced to a more reasonable pallet.”
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Owen shook his head. “Duke Lindan as well, sire?”
“Especially Duke Lindan,” Rodach growled.
“OK, so now...”
Owen's incessant rambling nearly drowned out their footsteps. Every day was always the same. He would attend an assortment of meetings, the various ministers and nobles would argue with one another and then the day would eventually end with nothing accomplished. He sometimes wondered why he even bothered attending such drivel.
"My lord, you seem distracted. Are you all right? Should I summon the healer?"
"I'm fine, Owen. Go and keep Duke Lindan occupied before he causes any more trouble."
Owen blanched. "B—But surely my lord needs me more."
Rodach grinned. "I think I can manage on my own. Now, off you go." He waved Owen away.
"Yes, m'lord." Owen said, his voice flat and his shoulders slumped. He turned and ambled stiffly down the hallway.
Though Owen hid it well, Rodach could always tell when he was angry. Freed of his escort, he continued on towards the courtyard. The chill throughout the castle had been more noticeable of late, and he found himself craving the warmth of the sun.
It was also a good excuse for him to avoid wasting his time in the council of fools.
With the approach of winter, the trees had shed their fruits and leaves. The grasses and shrubs were covered in an early morning frost and crunched beneath his feet. His breath misted in front of him as he walked towards the rear of the courtyard.
An unfamiliar voice startled him from behind. "Lord Rodach?"
He turned and faced the man. "Indeed. And, who might you be?"
The man standing before him bore the blue and white robes of a high scholar, black hair speckled with white and dark-brown skin. The robes this man wore represented a life long dedication to the research of history, for only the most prominent of scholars were able to obtain them.
Rodach raised an eyebrow. What's a scholar doing here? They couldn't possibly know about the chest. I made sure of it.
"Forgive my rudeness, Lord Rodach.” His hazel eyes bore into Rodach's own. “My name is Lochien. I am a representative of the council of scholars, sent here to retrieve a certain item I'm told you possess." Lochien's eyes narrowed and his forehead creased with wrinkles.
Rodach returned his gaze, deciding to humor the man. "Oh, a certain object? I have many objects in my possession. Which one of them are you looking for?"
He knows. How did the scholars find out about it? Damn it! I was so careful.
Lochien frowned and titled his head. "The Arguros Chest. It wasn't until recently that we found out you had it in your possession. You must return it to us, Lord Rodach. We can't allow such a dangerous object to remain in inexperienced hands."
"Must return it to you? Watch your words, scholar. You may be a member of the scholars, but I won't suffer your insults. You will show me the respect I deserve.”
Lochien dipped his head and averted his eyes. “Please forgive me, but it is of the utmost importance that the chest is returned to its proper place.”
He crossed his arms. “I've spent years studying the chest and, as you can see, there's nothing amiss here. It's harmless."
The entity inside of him slithered around as if challenging his lie. Rodach's stomach cramped and the colors swam across his vision in response.
Lochien tensed. "My apologies, but could we talk somewhere more private?"
Rodach placed a hand on his stomach and took a deep breath. "Private? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown out of my keep right now?"
"I understand your apprehension, my lord. However, I don't believe it'd be in your best interest to let our conversation be heard by, should I say...” Lochien stroked his chin, “lesser minded people."
You want to go somewhere private, do you? Fine. You'll be easier to deal with away from prying eyes.
Rodach walked past the scholar. "Lochien, was it? Fine, come with me."
The walk up to his personal quarters was a tense one. How had a scholar gotten into the castle? He had specifically ordered the watch to prohibit them from entering. There was more to this scholar than he let on, he was sure of it. Rodach had always prided himself on his excellent hearing, yet this man had approached him undetected.
You shan't leave as easily as you came in. I have a fresh cell in the dungeons available for you, scholar.
Some of the servants were already up and about running around the halls as they went about their daily chores. He thought he heard Duke Lindan's voice at one point and took a quick turn down a side hall. The silent version of the keep that he walked on his way to the kitchens each morning appealed to him more than this frenzied variant.
Once inside his quarters, Rodach fetched the Arguros Chest from beside his bed.
Lochien watched his every move.
"As you can see, it's quite safe." He held the chest just out of reach from the scholar.
Lochien looked from the chest to Rodach and back at the chest again. "Did you open it?"
Rodach shifted his eyes. "Of course not."
"Then why is your shadow gone?" Lochien's hand shook.
"My shadow? What are you talking about?" Rodach tightened his grip on the chest.
Lochien walked over to the window and pushed the curtains to the side. Rodach threw his hand up at the sudden brightness. Shadows from flasks, tubes, chairs, tables and various other objects stretched across the room.
Only two things in the room cast no shadow.
Lochien pointed at the ground by Rodach. "Neither you nor the chest casts a shadow.” His voice deepened. “That means you have indeed opened it."
He launched himself across the room, and grabbed Rodach by the collar. "This is why nobility should stick to their own affairs,” Lochien hissed. “You can't possibly imagine the terror you have unleashed!"
Rodach pulled himself free of Lochien's grasp. "Get your hands off me.”
He blinked against the sudden pain in his chest. The darkness that had taken nest inside his body quivered and throbbed with excitement.
Lochien jumped at him and snatched the chest from his hands. "This chest should have never found its way to you, foolish lord. There is no man that can harbor the curse inside. It will destroy you."
Something inside of Rodach snapped. He felt a rage he had never known well up inside the core of his body. His skin felt hot and his fingers balled into fists. "Give...it...back." His voice was raspy, foreign to his own ears.
This isn't my voice. I don't sound like this. What's happening? I'm so—so—angry.
Lochien shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. You shouldn't have gone to Escitor. Nothing good has ever come from there." He tucked the chest into the satchel at his waist.
“What do you know of Escitor? Tell me,” he rasped.
“No.”
“Tell me now you bloody scholar.”
Lochien crossed his arms. “You're not ready for the truth.”
His insides felt like they were on fire. The darkness thumped harder and harder against his chest. Rodach's vision blurred, and each breath came harder than the last. The same voice was inside of his head.
The voice from the day he had opened the chest.
Hate, kill, destroy, it hissed into his mind. Desssstroy him!
Rodach tried to resist, but the creature was in control. The darkness seeped from his body and coalesced around him. It seared his insides and his mouth shot open in a soundless scream.
Lochien took a step back, his eyes wide. “It's already gained this much power? You're a bigger fool than I thought, Rodach.”
He pulled a medallion from underneath his robes and held it aloft. "You shan't have my soul
this day, creature. I know what you are."
The darkness spoke through Rodach. "That medallion... who are you?" Its voice was deep and gravely.
Lochien shook the medallion. "It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is that you're a skiima, a vile creature that should've been eradicated long ago. I will not let you have this man."
“There's nothing you can do,” it hissed. “He's mine.”
Lochien took a step forward and began mumbling a sort of incantation.
“No, I won't let you,” the creature shouted. The dark mist swirled around his arm and burst towards Lochien.
"Augeô! Begone, foul beast.”
The amulet burst into a ball of white light. A shrill scream escaped from the void inside Rodach and the darkness receded within him. Rodach's body collapsed onto the floor. His vision was blurred and his body ached all over.
Lochien knelt over him. “That should hold it, for now. I need to get you—”
The door slammed open. Sounds of steel ringing throughout the room met his ears.
There was a blaze of light and a window shattered.
"Don't let him escape,” Owen shouted. “Catch him and throw him in the dungeons. Now."
Armor clanked and footsteps echoed off stone as the guardsmen ran from the room.
It'ssss only a matter of time, the voice whispered inside his mind.
Rodach's descent into blackness was accompanied by laughter, dark and throaty.
—
"What are you going to do about this?" The black-clad man leaned against the wall and fingered his knife. His features were hidden beneath a cowl.
Owen paced the room. "You can't blame me for this. I had no idea a scholar would interfere."
The dagger vanished up the man's sleeve. "That man wasn't a scholar. The medallion you described... it hasn't been seen in centuries. No mere scholar would be able to wield it.”
Owen stopped. “What do you mean?”
The man shook his head. “It's not important. This is your last chance. If we can't trust you..."
"I will not fail you." Owen gestured with a flick of his hand.
The hooded man walked silently to the door. "I trust that you won't. He will be watching." The door clicked shut behind him.
Owen's hands shook. He rushed to the desk and grabbed a bottle of brandy. The liquor slopped across the wood as he poured it. He emptied the glass several times before collapsing in his chair. His throat burned and his clothes were soaked with sweat. There was only one thing he knew for certain right now. Time was against him.