Chapter 12: Preview
55 Years Before the Present Story:
The castle was in turmoil. The first-born of the deceased Lord of the Western Lands had just been tried and found guilty of attempting to poison the heir to the lotus crown. The sentence for such a crime against the future ruler of the West was death; however, in the interest of maintaining stability and peace within the realm, and in memory of the love the past lord had bestowed upon the unfortunate cub, the sentence was commuted to permanent exile by the regent of the heir. Those who'd always loathed their dead liege's murderous offspring celebrated a victory, while those who had loved and supported the condemned secretly mourned.
In the depths of the night following the banishment, a slender figure hidden by a simple dark cloak and hood navigated the less traveled corridors of the palace. Reaching a servant's entrance, the mysterious wanderer slid back the bolt securing the door and raised the latch. The phantom shadow slipped through the revealed opening with alacrity, making sure the portal was closed, tight & secure, behind it. The figure glided across the expansive grounds, the cloak rippling about it in the gentle breeze adding to its ghostly appearance. The full moon bathed the fields and broad stone path in silvery light; but even if it were hidden by clouds, or vanished from the sky in its cyclical sleep, the traveler would have been able to discern the way.
Soon, the person stood before an impressive stone entranceway set into the mountainside. Huge, honed blocks framed a set of massive iron doors that soared easily far above the visitor's own height. Stepping up to the intimidating gate, a slender arm draped in pale blue silk emerged from beneath the raven mantle to press on one of the great doors embossed with strange designs on its surface. Words in a language unknown to any human ear rolled off the being's tongue in a low murmur. A faint glow outlined the pattern of the engravings for the span of a breath, then faded. The delicate hand applied pressure. Despite its gigantic size, the door gave way with but a light push, swinging open on unseen hinges. The obscure form swept from the pale night, across the threshold into the deeper dark beyond.
Just passed the entrance, the cloak was drawn back to bring forth the lantern it had veiled. The lamp was hoisted so that its warm beams could drive back the stifling blackness. The intruder may have had eyesight sharper than most living creatures, but not even such extraordinary vision could pierce the eternal shadows of the cavernous sanctum. Only steps away proceeded a long corridor through the mountain, its walls and ceiling lined with flagstones and supported by soaring arches of honed granite as delicate to the eye as fine lace. With a light as their guide, feet swaddled in deep blue silk slippers started their journey along the inlaid walk. Minutes passed before the lantern's brightness was no longer contained by the passage. A wall of inky midnight lapped at the fraying ends of radiance. The source of light was lifted higher, and the figure stepped from the arched hallway into the heart of the mountain.
Here lay the final resting place of the blood of House Royal!
The darkness slunk away before the pale glow that disturbed its everlasting dominion over the great chamber. In its wake were left bare to the luminous trespasser rows of large sarcophagi. Made from stone excavated to form the mausoleum, each repository protected the bones or ashes of a lord or lady of the ruling family, entombed in their coffin or urn. As was tradition, an effigy of the monarch to sit upon the throne, at the height of their splendor, rested upon the top of their crypt. Without a pause, the lantern-bearer strode down the aisle between the double rows of silent observers, golden eyes brighter than the lamp's flame focused on two of the stone containers sitting quietly on their raised bases against the back wall.
Once standing before the pair of sarcophagi, a disgusted scowl was bestowed upon the one on the right adorned with carvings of intertwining vines dancing around the edges of the lid, leading to a lotus in full flower at the head. The symbol of House Royal. Amber irises flared with a malignant light from the depths of the hood, and their owner had to, once again, restrain the urge to smash the casket into dust and scatter the bones to the four winds. It was an insult that sow's grave should bear the sign of royalty, and that she should lie interred in a place of honor beside the former Lord of the West. A low, threatening growl broke the stifling silence. That spot was reserved for the true mate of the ruling lord, not for the likes of that bitch. Not only had she been of lowly stock, but she'd also been a filthy…
Well, at least the regent had succeeded in expelling the wench's little monster that she'd whelped, even it wasn't in the way planned. Even the Master of House Protectorate, and Captain of the Guard, had been forced to show his true loyalties in a public display before the court in light of the "evidence" of the creature's crime. A sadistic smile of triumphant glee contorted the unseen features into a sinister caricature of their usual elegance with the nearly complete victory over the whore. Cruel heart warmed with thoughts of the orphaned brat meeting its end in some ignoble way beyond the border, the intruder's attention turned to the primary reason for the visit. Now that the authority upon the throne was unchallenged, it was fitting that the treasure consigned with the regent's predecessor to take to the next life be exhumed and placed at the disposal of the new, rightful ruler.
Soft footfalls thundered in the oppressive quiet as the figure mounted the dais to stand beside the sepulcher. The imperceptible gaze roved over the image forever reclining in eternal sleep. The sculptor had not done the former lord justice. Shown in his humanoid form, the stone twin exhibited a man in the prime of his life. High cheekbones and a firm, strong jaw accentuated the face, highlighted by a straight, regal nose and broad brow adorned with a widow's peak hairline. The muscular neck flowed into wide, square shoulders and a broad chest covered by a coat of chain-mail armor such as he wore in life, each link masterfully rendered. Corded muscle frozen in time rippled along arms left bare, elbows bent to allow hands powerful enough to rip flesh from bone to rest on the still abdomen. Clutched in the grasp of those deadly talons was a chiseled version of one of the three great swords that he'd wielded: Sou'unga, the Sword of Final Judgment. What the muted grey stone could not capture were the subtle details that breathed life into the man: the long, dark mane as black as a moonless winter's night that fell without a single wave to well below his shoulder blades; skin that held a purplish hue in this form, a reflection of the midnight fur that covered his entire being in his natural state; the deep green eyes currently hidden behind rocky lids that could pierce a person's soul and demand their complete loyalty and obedience.
He had been the greatest of his line, his might unrivaled. He could have gone on to conquer all the nations of the world and taken hold of the reins of ultimate power. But then…she had come along, the strumpet, with her notions of love, compassion, fairness…concepts used by the weak to bring down the strong. Her idiotic nonsense sapped the will from the mighty Lord of the West, bound him until he was content with mediocrity and the mundane. Such would not be the fate of his son. The heir would finish what his sire would not, the regent would see to that. Starting with the heirloom meant for him.
The light scrape of metal on stone resounded off the soaring rock walls, as the lantern was set down by the sarcophagus. Arms rose to roll back long, flowing sleeves before pale hands settled upon the lid. The graverobber paused only to take in a deep breath for the task ahead…then threw the body's strength against the massive stone! Refined muscles unaccustomed to such heavy labor flexed and strained to shove the great block aside. High-pitched grunts and utterances gave voice to the amount of effort being applied, yet the seal remained stubbornly in place. The thief was not deterred. Each failure was met with a withdrawal, only to regroup for another attack. Perspiration soon beaded on the noble brow, and the shapely chest heaved lungfuls of the stale air. Finally, after the fifth attempt, the effort was rewarded.
The distinct screech of stone grinding on stone traveled to oval-shaped, pointed ears. Hidden orbs gazed down…to see a wedge of deeper darkness slowly revealing itself. Panting, the sight caused the eyes' owner to continue the job with renewed vigor. Several minutes later, the opening was deemed wide enough. The interrupter of the dead's peace remained leaning over the disturbed crypt for a moment, gathering strength and breath, before backing away and retrieving the lamp from the floor. The lantern was swung over the sepulcher until it dangled above the breach. Light cascaded into the darkness. The world halted for the span of a breath. Then…
"AAAAKKKIIIIIRRRAAAAAAA!"
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Within a small guardroom of an upper tower in the castle, the anguished roar of a dream denied flooded passed the leaded glass of the solitary window.
"Well, it seems our little ruse has been discovered, " a deep, male voice commented with amusement.
On a wooden table laden with scrolls, ink and pen, and the remains of a late evening meal, a lone form no taller than the smallest fingernail stood, listening with trepidation to the terrible cries being delivered by the wind. Turning, the spectator addressed the speaker, "Are you sure this was such a good idea, Captain?" Though the tone is rough with advanced years and at the lower end of its range, the voice is undoubtedly female.
Her male counterpart left the map he had been studying. A mere two strides had his much taller frame at the aperture, staring out through the diamond pattern of the pane. Resting taloned fingertips on the thick wooden top, he answered gravely, "There was no other alternative. Our young master is not yet ready to inherit our lord's legacy. And until he is, this is the safest way to protect our lord's gift." He turned away from the continuous angry screams, back to his map.
"The regent's wrath will be terrible," pointed out the tiny female, crossing four stubby arms over a chest that lacked any feminine characteristics. "I don't envy you in the coming days, Captain."
"I've survived the regent's tantrums before," the surveyor of the parchments said, without looking up. He gave his would-be admonitioner a satirical smirk, adding with a self-assured air, "I am Master of House Protectorate. Any action taken against me would cost the regent the loyalty of much of the armed forces."
His companion was not so optimistic. "I wish I had your confidence."
The Captain allowed his presumptive grin to slide from his face. Returning to the window, he watched as a cloaked form stormed across the courtyard—as threatening as a thunderhead in spring. He said, his tone low and serious, as if speaking more to himself, "All we can do now is wait and hope for the one our lord intended to have his keepsake to someday be strong enough to return."
Author's Note: hello, everyone. Thought I'd go ahead and give my readers a preview of the next chapter. This is a very early draft—I don't even have a title for it, yet—so some things may change a bit (I'm not definite whether to have the crypt inside a mountain or under the castle). This may take me some time to work on, as I'm also researching/preparing to remodel my home. So, please, be patient with me. Thanks to my newest reviewers. You keep me going.