Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

“Tell me,” he said, savoring the sight of her.

“I’ve stolen a princess,” Shaella said. “Cole is bringing her to me. I will trade her for the head of the High King, or maybe for his sword. With either, I gain the power to rule the entire realm. And if those fools are afraid to cross him, then I’ll dangle her as bait and draw him into a trap. Either way we will win.”

“You cannot underestimate the power of his blade, love,” Gerard rasped, not sure how he knew to give the warning.

Shaella cocked her head. Gerard had been weak and barely alive for so long that she’d once thought he would die in his hellish prison. Now, though, he had grown into something huge and powerful. He wasn’t scrabbling to survive anymore, he was thriving. The proof was hanging from his bloody mouth. She knew from his previous ravings the demon that had possessed her father was now somehow inside him, but she could tell that the demon was no longer in control. Gerard was mastering what he was, and that made her curious as to what he might have learned that could help her. She wanted to rid the land of the young king who had killed her father and would soon come to reclaim his Westland throne.

“Is there nothing that will help me defeat the blade’s power?” she asked. The hem of her gown had inched its way up to her belly and her fingers were now probing her depths for her lover’s eyes. Her breasts heaved and strained against the silky material of her gown as her breaths quickened.

“The priests of Kraw,” Gerard rasped. The knowledge came from the memory of the devils he had consumed, or maybe from Shokin. “On the Isle of Borina, Kraw has a sect of priests. Their knowledge of necromancy and sorcery might help you.” Gerard’s voice was harsh and deliberate. “I will find Kraw in this blackness. Once I’ve questioned him, I might be able to tell you more. I will try to persuade him to guide the priests in the direction you desire.” His voice became a low primal growl as Shaella arched her back and bucked with the power of her passion. Through husky breaths, Gerard continued. “Seek them out and let them set a trap with the bait you’ve taken.”

Her moans of pleasure sent rippling tingles through Gerard. He wasn’t quite human enough to be physically aroused by her anymore, but in his mind and heart she filled him with a certain kind of satisfaction-a feeling that he could never find anywhere else. She was his, and he loved her. If this so-called Kraw wouldn’t help Shaella, he would devour it and anything else he came across.

“My love,” she whispered. Sadness had come over her now that her lust had been quelled. “Your brother dallies in his quest for Zorellin’s skull. If I knew where it was I’d have it already, and you could kill King Mikahl yourself.”

“Hyden will find what he seeks,” Gerard rasped with absolute confidence. Fleeting memories of his brother danced across his mind. They were so strong that, for a moment, they even obscured the vision of Shaella in his head. Only a strong jealous feeling, the knowledge that Hyden wanted to take his ring from him, could force the joyous thoughts away.

“When he does find it, take the skull from him any way you can,” he growled. “Be patient, love. Soon I will be strong enough to take on the entire world, and when I am, I will conquer it and give it to you.”

Shaella felt the heat rising in her belly again. Her sadness evaporated as the warmth spread through her thighs. Gerard, it seemed, had come into his new self. His words, and the confidence behind them, made her body purr with delight, but more than that, the look of sincerity and longing in his eyes cut right through her.

“I love you,” she gasped as she tore her gown from her body. “Give me the world, Gerard,” she said as she opened her legs to him. “Come give me everything you have.”

Shaella’s sweating body glistened as she slowly brought herself to climax again. She found her herself fantasizing about Gerard’s huge misshapen member thrusting painfully inside her, and the hot breath of his hideous face on her neck.

“Soon,” she heard him rasp huskily. “Very, very soon.”

This time when she came she was engulfed in an explosion of ecstasy. She slipped away into a dreamy blackness, leaving Gerard thirsting to seek out Kraw, and maybe even the Lord of the Hells, the Abbadon himself.

King Ra’Gren sat upon his throne seething. His bulking muscles clenched, unclenched and then clenched again. His normally almond-skinned face was a deep crimson and his thick white brows were split by a throbbing vein on his forehead. His hair and goatee beard were long, wavy, and white as snow. The golden spiked crown atop his head was heavy with gemstones. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires all sparkled with the light of the dozen torches that lined each long wall of his crudely opulent, high-ceilinged throne room. Like the crown, the throne was made of solid gold, but it was hard to see. It was draped with the furs of several different wildcats. Black and red striped tigren fur, and the bright yellow spotted hide of a rare marshland saber cat, was prominently visible underneath the well-built king.

To any of the few subjects who were standing in his hall, he could’ve passed for forty years of age, but he was nearer to sixty. A half dozen golden chains hanging around his neck, and the size of the jewels dangling from some of them, kept the eye from noticing the wrinkles on his weathered face. He wore a white, sleeveless shin-length robe fastened at the waist with a golden chain, and leather sandals that laced up to some point higher than the hem of his robe. In his clenched right hand he held an ancient iron trident, oiled and black; it was the only thing near the man that didn’t appear to be worth its weight in wealth. Being that it was the generational symbol of his house, it was probably worth more than all of the precious jewelry he wore combined. The rumor mongers said that at least a hundred men had felt its three not-so-sharp tines inside their bodies since Ra’Gren ascended the throne. Ra’Gren knew the truth: ten times that many had died by his trident in private.

Before him lay an old wooden chest. It was a gift from King Jarrek, the third of its kind to arrive in a handful of days. Inside the chest were the heads of three of Ra’Gren’s overlords, bringing the total to seven. The message that came with the chest was the same as the others: ‘Release all the citizens of Wildermont from their bonds of slavery or heads are going to fall.’

The group of six concerned overlords who carried the chest into the room was standing nervously behind it. They were obviously worried that the Red Wolf would come for them next.

“Who were they?” Ra’Gren asked.

“Overlord Ra’Estes of Kahndan, and two of his six underlords, Ta’Ligad and Am’Estal, I believe.” Overlord Ta’Ken bowed, and added a “Your Majesty,” for good measure. “Kahndan is rather close to O’Dakahn Your Highness. Some of us are starting to worry. Already Overlord Pa’Perryn of Oktin, and his brother Pa’Pallyn have been shortened. And as you know, just last week the overlord of Lokahna was killed as well.”

“Do I need you to advise me, Ta’Ken?” King Ra’Gren snapped. “I asked you whose heads are in the box, not for a list of the dead, or where they’re from. The towns these dead men were from all sit along the Kahna River. They all border Valleya. Obviously King Jarrek survived the fall of Wildermont and thinks he can scare us into freeing his people.” Ra’Gren took a deep angry breath.

“Odava will be next, if the pattern holds,” the King growled. “Bring me the witness to this absurdity, the one who was there when these heads came off.”