The King Speaks

 The king before whom they were summoned was as much a shadow as the land over which he was sovereign, a gaunt man haunted by some inner turmoil known only to himself and which no outside power could assuage, pitiable even in his aspect of terror. He wore a crown of black iron into which were set ten dragon's horns as well as innumerable gems, a form of ornamentation that well suited him, echoed as it was elsewhere in his dress, the bat-skin cloak and chainmail corselet and belt of tightly bound cord that could as easily have been a garrote. He held in one hand a brass scepter topped with a globe filled with gently billowing smoke, with a snake of glass coiled about sphere and scepter both. He beckoned with the other, a gesture transformed by a flick of the wrist into dismissal of the guards. With their departure the small audience room near the castle's entrance contained only Neteth, Asphodel, Menepatros, the king, and one sorcerer who lingered by the door. Gorice XIII looked at him impatiently with brooding, deep-set eyes. There was a tinge of madness to them that compelled men to obey his commands, yet this one seemed singularly unimpressed. This stranger cast aside his robes with casual contempt.

“I'm back,” said Tex.

Menepatros drew his sword, but the king bade him stand aside.

“And who is this that darkens my door?” demanded Gorice XIII.

“He is an outsider,” said Menepatros. “I thought him dead.”

“Not dead enough.” Tex nodded to Neteth. “They'll be leaving with me now.”

“You would deprive me of my guests? Surely not now, on the cusp of such a momentous ceremony as I have prepared. Come, observe,” said the king. “Even now work proceeds apace below the great temple in anticipation of our god's return.”

“How?” Neteth asked, only beginning to realize the significance of the state of emptiness in which he found Nar.

“We shall appeal to Erebaia as we did in days of old. How providential that you should arrive when you are most needed. You and her both,” said the king as he stroked one of the talismans hanging from his neck. Asphodel looked to voice some objection but hesitated.

Gorice continued: “Already this ancient fane resonates with voices once lost. Come, observe. When the empire was torn asunder the very object of our adoration was lashed and burned with terrible puissance, a maimed corpse hurled into the deepest pit of this world and left to molder in darkness. Yet it stirs, weakly now, soon with growing strength. Our tribute has not been in vain. Come and see what life we breathe into that body.”

“How can I refuse a king's hospitality?” Neteth said, an answer that surprised and pleased the man who should have been his enemy.

“How indeed? And as for you, outsider, what say you?”

There was no way for Tex to know what the other intended. All he knew was that it was a grim situation for all involved. A place deep in his unconscious told him to wait, even if just for a moment, and he listened to it.

“Under the temple, huh?”

“Just so. Take him there, my son,” commanded the king, and Menepatros complied, leading the way without complaint, though his heart rebelled against the order. Only trust on each side delayed the bloodshed threatening to engulf them, trust extended not the slightest bit toward the other camp. With this last departure all that remained were Neteth, Gorice, and Asphodel between them.

“Perhaps first you would like to say something of your journey here. I feel a mighty curiosity about lands abroad yet seldom have the privilege of traveling beyond my own realm. Tell me, young prince,” said Gorice XIII, “of the place from whence you came and by what course you arrived here. Your young country, after all, has tormented us severely as of late, your father in particular. For what purpose did he send you?”

“In truth, I left without his knowledge.”

“Is that so?”

“At first my concern was to spare the life of one I am indebted to. It seems some hand has drawn me here to some fate I never intended,” the prince answered. “Like you, I was overcome with the need to know about things I've never seen. I thought a king should understand as much as he can of the world and those forces that shape it and said to myself that I must gather what knowledge and strength I can if I am to serve my people. Or maybe,” he went on with a small, self-deprecating smile, “I only lied to myself to justify some foolish adventure.”

“And here you find its end.”

“So it seems. I wish it could be any other way. There are many wonders in this world and you're right to seek them out. How ironic,” said Neteth, “that the only one I would tell you of was already here.”

The king's eyes narrowed as he sifted through the statement for its meaning.

“This city is indeed a marvel. A reasonable answer, albeit boring.”

“Not the city,” said Neteth, and in the same breath lunged like a lion after its prey. He struck the king on the cheek and as the man reeled snatched the sword from his sheath. Gorice's face twisted with rage to see his own sword turned against him.

“Arrogant whelp,” he spat.

“I'll not be sacrificed to your dead god.”

“You have no choice in the matter. The least you could do is face your demise with dignity befitting your station. Should you persist in this course-”

Neteth thrust for the king's neck, forcing him to scurry backward. Gorice XIII withdrew swiftly through a door that opened onto a larger chamber where preparations had already begun for a feast to celebrate Erebaia's return.

“Very well. Then you shall die like a dog!” Green fire burned in ghastly halos about the king's hands, for he had long ago added sorcery to the usual rubric of generalship and statecraft and had soon discovered his true aptitude was in matters of the arcane. He released his power with all the strength of vengeful joy he could muster, hurling bolts of lightning and tongues of flame at his enemy. Neteth ran, for it was all he could, and amid the storm found a small island of protection behind a stone pillar. He did not know the king's own skill had saved him, for the sword he had taken was charmed to protect its wielder from harm, and though his clothes were burned he had been fast enough and fortunate enough for that enchantment to turn aside those attacks that might have killed him.

He caught his breath, cleared his mind, and prepared himself as best he could to eliminate this menace, even if the attempt cost him his life.