Prince Kristian's Honor

by Tod Langley

Chapter 4

  The Prize And The Gift

  The halls in the Belarnian palace were dark and cold. The servants had finished their chores hours before and quickly retired for the night. Many of them felt an evil chill penetrate their clothes, and they quickly abandoned the darkened hallways for the safety of their small chambers. Several windows were ajar, swinging in the heavy gusts of cold wind that blew into the castle. The only sign of movement was the heavy curtains that flapped like war banners into the center of the hallway. The only sound was an evil whisper in the wind, warning the frightened to stay in their rooms and keep the doors bolted.

  There was one, cloaked in darkness, who took pleasure in all of this. Prince Ferral casually walked down the main hall that went through the royal family’s living chambers while everyone else hid and prayed that the evil would pass them by. He smiled like a man that had finally gotten his hands on the prize he had always sought. Tonight was his night. Tonight he would begin to change the world. Soon everyone would know and fear him. Only one thing remained undone. He stopped and turned to the door on his left. The two guards standing to either side of the door looked at him nervously. After only a moment’s hesitation, the last of the king’s loyal guards stepped aside. “You have saved more than just your lives tonight,” Ferral replied darkly.

  Black clad men emerged from behind the columns and drapes near the prince as soon as the door was unlocked. Their shadows quickly slipped into the room. The Prince of Belarn smiled and then entered and shut the door quietly behind him.

  His father appeared to be asleep, unaware of what was coming. Pulling the silk screens aside, Ferral could see that his father was awake, quietly awaiting his son. Ferral smiled in anticipation of what was to come.

  “My last act as king is to curse you, Ferral. May you die never realizing your plans. May you die the type of death you deserve. May you die and go to hell! Now do what you came to do and kill me quickly.” The king closed his eyes and patiently waited for Ferral’s henchmen to finish him. He was surprised to hear Ferral’s voice instead.

  “Yes, Father, you will die tonight. A new age is upon the land, an age that I will usher in, but I’m afraid you will not die as soon as you wish. This will not be an easy night for you.” With a small gesture of his hand the shadows swarmed around the bed. The king tried to sit up but was quickly pushed back down. A hot cloth containing a pungent, sticky substance was shoved into his face. The king gasped for air, the substance filling his lungs and burning his nose and lips. Finally, the king’s body went limp.

  The king awoke in a poorly lit room he had never seen before. His wrists were strapped down to the sides of the cold stone table he was lying on, and he could not sit up. Looking around him, the old king found many disturbing artifacts decorating the room. Hundreds of bones, including dog, snake, and even human skulls, littered the many shelves. Acrid orange smoke from an incense burner filled the air making other observations difficult, but he could at least see one other terrible sign of his son’s unholy magic. On the wall to his left, a faded symbol painted in blood clearly represented the dark god, Belatarn.

  It was a symbol of everything the surviving people of Belarn had tried to forget about their dark past; the rise of Belatarn and his lesser gods represented a time when devout loyalty to the demon-god was expected and fear controlled the country. The symbol on the wall was the classical representation of the Dark One in his treelike form. Five points made of branches and roots formed the outline of a face within an oak tree. The eyes were replaced by ancient letters; they were in a language that Farras would never have known existed if his son had not mentioned it in his fervor for the cult. The letters stood for Belatarn and his closest demon, which Ferral claimed to be the god’s most favored servant. The ancient symbol for chaos replaced his mouth, and the king could foresee that Ferral’s “new age” would represent chaos very well. The king finally tore his eyes away from the evil sign, hearing footsteps approach from a door on his right.

  The door opened, and Ferral and Rebenna entered the round room. The woman had on a simple, yet revealing red dress that accentuated her curves. She carried a covered tray over to the cluttered table next to him. After setting the tray down, she leaned over to examine the king’s bound wrists and feet, making sure he could not get free. She smiled, confident that he could not move; Rebenna knew what was about to happen. She ran a finger seductively along his leg and up to his chest where she smoothed out his sleeping garments and then bent down to kiss him. Rebenna continued to tease the old man despite his refusal to return her kisses. Moving to his neck, she nibbled on his ear until she found his ear lobe. She bit him, laughing naughtily, and then with the viciousness of an animal, she bit deep into his ear with her front teeth and jerked back as hard as she could. The king cried out in pain as she pulled the flesh from her mouth and licked her lips.

  Ferral laughed in genuine amazement as he continued to make preparations around the room.

  “Oh Rebenna, you naughty witch! I’m sorry, Father. It has been a long time since I properly disciplined her. I’ll make sure to do that tonight.” Rebenna laughed as she held the king’s ear in one hand and tauntingly flipped it with a finger.

  Farras let out a sob. “She’s a perfect match for you, Ferral. She’s just as evil as you are. You will both burn in hell for your witchcraft.” Ferral chuckled as he turned away from the shelves at the far end of the room and looked at his father.

  “Witchcraft? Please, Father, give me a little credit.” Ferral walked over to the covered tray and removed the red scarf. “Do you think a simple witch like Rebenna could bring a beautiful girl back from the dead and keep her from rotting?” He cringed as he thought of what rotting flesh might smell like, and then he smiled.

  “No, Father, you will be proud to know that your son is a true sorcerer. I am the first in a new order of magi. The most powerful one in the world. What? You doubt my abilities? You need a demonstration?” Ferral let out an exhausted sigh. “Very well, but I don’t think you are going to like it.” The prince took a jeweled bone dagger from the tray and held it before the king. The bone blade was dull gray and came to a curving point. The handle was also made of bone but inlaid with gold and rubies. Ferral seemed very fond of the knife. “This will hurt a little.”

  Suddenly, with a force that matched the hate in his soul, Ferral raised the dagger high above his head and plunged it into his father’s heart. The king gasped for air as if he were drowning, reaching out for Ferral. The king fixed his eyes on his last remaining son; blood was smeared over his lips and teeth. There was no hint of despair or fear in his eyes, only anger, as he tried to reach his son’s throat. Then he died.

  Ferral was furious. In his greatest hour of triumph, he wanted to feel the elation of taking the throne. He wanted to see his father suffer; he wanted to see fear in his eyes. The prince had waited patiently for so long, studying his dark magic, and now, the power would finally be his … but the old man had been stubborn until the end. Ferral pulled the dagger free of the king’s chest and stabbed him again and again.

  Rebenna stood next to him watching in glee as blood flew from the dagger to hit the skulls on the walls. The mad son abruptly stopped, realizing how critical his timing was, and unfurled the scroll he had laid on the tray. The prince nodded and smiled, quickly scanning a passage. He grabbed a golden goblet and filled it with his father’s blood. Ferral looked into the cup and swished the blood around contemplating what he was about to do and then took a deep gulp. Ferral began to pray as blood dripped from his mustache and beard.

  “Oh, mightiest of all gods, know that I am your most faithful servant. I live to serve you, and I will be the one to restore this world to the chaos you have long waited for.” Looking to the ceiling, Ferral raised the cup in a toast and implored Belatarn. “Give me the strength I need to destroy our enemies. Give me the strength to conquer this world and claim it for you!”

  The sorcerer began to chant in a long dead language, his w
ords a blur of guttural phrases followed by high-pitched whines. It was a queer mix of the barbaric with the elegance of a sad song. Ferral did not know how his god would answer his prayer, but he expected something grand, something that would show him he was favored above all others. He waited several moments in anticipation. Nothing happened. Ferral began to tense, unsure if the spell would actually work.

  When nothing happened, he became angry. Ferral threw the goblet at Rebenna. She barely dodged the cup as it flew past her head, shocked by the turn against her. The cup hit the wall and spilled the blood across the stone surface. Ferral shouted at her as the red liquid ran down the wall. He ran around the table and grabbed Rebenna, slapping her across the face.

  “Bitch! You lied to me. You lied. I’ve killed him and risked everything I had to gain because of you and your prophecies. You know how hard it was to get that knife and scroll. You were there. It took me years to decipher their language.”

  Ferral threw her across the body of his father and began pummeling her as she struggled to get off the bloody corpse.

  “You kept telling me I would obtain unlimited power, and that I would control more than just this pathetic kingdom. All I had to do was wait for the right moment.” Ferral slapped her again.

  “Wait, My Lord. Just wait. All the signs pointed to this moment,” she implored.

  “I should have known better than to trust a skulking whore. What did you have to do to get the scroll and dagger, I wonder? How many of those cursed folk did you sleep with? ‘See the glorious future’, you said. ‘Take the throne and pledge your allegiance’, you said. I could have killed him as soon as my brother was dead. I could have taken control then, but you kept urging me to revive the religion. Your prophecies are all lies.”

  He pushed her back down when she tried to get off the altar; the blood from the cup still ran down the wall as he continued beating her. Much of it had already dried, turning from red to brown, forever staining the stones.

  Where the blood first hit the wall the color continued to darken. The spot changed to an even duller stain until its edges could no longer be defined. The color changed from red to brown to black. The bloody spot grew darker and darker until the depths of the wall were no longer discernible and it looked as though you could fall through it into another world. Then the blackness began to swirl, becoming a fluid whirlpool swallowing more and more of the wall.

  At first, the prince did not notice the changes as he continued beating Rebenna. A gust of wind emanating from the black whirlpool hit Ferral in the face and he stopped to look. Ferral threw Rebenna away from him sending her crashing into a bookshelf.

  A soft buzzing followed the wind out of the blackness, growing from a low whisper to a loud swarm of angry insects as the sound increased. Voices within the buzzing cried out in agony and terror, their eternal pain causing everything in the room to shake.

  Rebenna screamed as the voices wailed louder and louder. Some warned them to run while others screamed that it was already too late.

  From inside the darkness, an image emerged, rapidly approaching the surface of the whirlpool. The image became the shadow of a human and grew larger and larger as it approached the portal. The evil aura the creature projected made even Ferral cringe as he stared at the winged and horned monster that was preparing to enter his world. A clawed hand reached out from the wall, grasping for something to cling to. The demon pulled itself free by clutching at the edges of the stone surrounding its magical doorway.

  First, the other hand appeared probing the air in front, making sure there were no obstacles in its path. Then slowly the creature’s horned head emerged. Its face was contorted in pain as it struggled to pull itself free of the abyss. Yellow glaring eyes rolled back in the creature’s head as it screamed in anger and pain from the agony of crossing over the barrier between its world and Ferral’s. The naked monster lay crumpled on the floor, hugging itself and trying to forget the pain.

  Rebenna vomited as the disgusting fumes and ooze dripping from the demon reached her.

  Finally, regaining some of his composure, Ferral cautiously approached the creature. “Has my god answered my prayers and sent you to serve me?” he asked warily.

  The creature chuckled menacingly as it attempted to stand. Ferral was then able to discern the monster was a female. Although she was built more like a Herculean man than any woman Ferral had ever seen, the creature definitely had other features that were common to all women. The demon stood and looked at the sorcerer, though it was still bent over from pain.

  “I am here because my master commands me to assist you. Do not even begin to think that you have any control over me, mortal. If my master wishes that you have what you desire, than I shall grant it.”

  Looking at Rebenna, the demon smiled revealing its many razor-sharp teeth, “Very pretty, Ferral, very pretty and … frightened, too. Leave us, wench.” With a snarl that made Rebenna cry in fear, Ferral’s lover backed out of the room and ran down the hallway out of sight.

  The demon smiled in satisfaction. Turning her gaze back on Ferral, the demon said, “Killed your own father in the hope that my master would help you advance your pathetic skills? You risked a lot to gain something you have no idea how to control.”

  “I am the greatest magi in the world. I brought you here, and I can send you back. I demand greater respect from you,” Ferral declared.

  “You will demand nothing,” the demon snapped, advancing on him. “In fact, I may not help you at all if you do not complete the ritual and give me the gift.” She turned her glare away from the prince and eyed the king’s body hungrily.

  “What do you mean? According to the scroll, I have done everything required for the ceremony,” he claimed, defending his new skills. He then saw her staring at his father’s body.

  “Your translation was incomplete,” the demon snapped. Frowning in disgust, Ferral turned away from the demon giving into her demands. He could hear her tear and rip at his father’s body as she hungrily devoured bits of flesh. Once the sounds stopped, he looked back, but the hideous creature was gone. The horned skull was replaced by long waves of blonde hair. The leathery wings had turned to ash and fallen away, and the yellow eyes had changed to a piercing blue. Where the evil demon had been there was now a slender, beautiful woman standing before him.

  She is much too frail to be the same monster just threatened me, he thought. Ferral stared in astonishment at her beauty. Standing there naked, she wiped the blood from her chin and pulled long blonde hair from her face.

  “You think I am disgusting don’t you? You think that I am just a lowly minion of our master. Remember that when you become like me, there will be many things you will have to do that you will hate yourself for. Call it … punishment if you like.” Her body began to shift back into the monstrous demon again. The woman grabbed her middle in pain.

  She quickly turned back to Farras’ body to consume more flesh. Again Ferral heard her lips smacking as she bit hungrily into the corpse. Events were unfolding too fast even for him. He left the room for a breath of fresh air, but he disagreed with the demon. He would regret nothing.