Ebon Askavi

A handsome, aging Hayllian sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face, then rolled shoulders stiffened by hours of peering at old, faded papers.

Enough for today. Getting to his feet, he left the study.

As he passed through the hallways, the servants bowed, then pressed themselves closer to the walls.

It wasn't from fear. Just respect, a great deal of it, mixed with a healthy amount of awe.

Unlike some of his caste he didn't appear immediately threatening. True, he had the unmistakeable psychic scent of a Warlord Prince, but there were laugh lines etched deeply around the eyes and mouth. He moved with a natural grace that many a younger man might have envied.

Most would have mistaken him for a languid aristo who did nothing more energetic than attend high-class dinner parties. He might stroll down the city streets to shop, or gossip with others of his kind over a glass of vintage wine.

They would be wrong...dead wrong.

He was, despite the modest title he often used, the dominant ranking male at the Keep of Ebon Askavi, Witch's Lair, and one of the two most powerful Princes ever.

Saetan Daemon SaDiablo.

Born in the gutters of Hayll more than fifty thousand years ago, he had raised himself to the ranks of aristocracy by a combination of boldness, wealth, and the Power of his blood.

As a young Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he fought his way up through court politics. Handsome, ruthless, charming, seductive, dangerous, he became Consort to Cassandra, Black-Jeweled Queen and Black Widow.

He loved her, and for a time they were happy together.

The Blood can be slow to mature. The darker the power, the more time it takes, especially for the long-lived races.

When Saetan finally made his Offering to the Darkness, he came away with Black Jewels darker and stronger than his Queen held.

Her love for him, never as strong as his for her, began to ebb under an increasing unease. Warlord Princes are natural killers, leashed only by Protocol and the Queen they served. But no Blood male had ever shown such dominance as this Prince.

How could she control him, as his caste are meant to be controlled, when that Black power was greater than her own?

He was the first Blood to walk freely in the Dark Realm, giving him the title of Prince of the Darkness. The demon-dead were so terrified of this Warlord Prince, they bowed down and named him the High Lord of Hell.

With his Black Jewel, he was lethal on the killing field, a cold, vicious predator and unforgiving enemy. Many people called him the Executioner.

The Darkness called to this Prince. He could sense the delicate, dark strings of power stirring in the Abyss, unlike most Blood.

No male had ever become a Black Widow. It was a dangerous and rare ability even among witches, but Saetan insisted his Queen teach him. He wanted this, he knew it was meant to be.

Troubled, she wove a tangled web that promised the daughter of his soul would come some day far in the future. Saetan must be there for her. But there was only one way to accomplish this.

Her price for teaching Saetan the craft of the Black Widows was to insist he become a Guardian like herself, one of the Blood who accepts a half-life to extend their years. Becoming one of the living dead would ensure Saetan still walked in the Living Realms when the girl was born.

Reluctantly, he accepted the exchange. Cassandra broke with tradition and taught him the secrets of the Hourglass.

Saetan's confidence was not misplaced. His weaving of tangled webs was so skillful and his Black Jewels so feared, a century later the coven voted unanimously to give him the title of High Priest of the Hourglass.

The bastard son of a street whore had achieved rank and position far beyond anyone thought possible for him to achieve.

Not long afterwards Cassandra faked her death, hiding herself away. She wanted to avoid a man who was now too powerful to control, too dangerous to live with.

Believing his Queen dead, Saetan mysteriously disappeared from Terreille's courts for several centuries.

When he returned, he had a new family name as well as having amassed a fortune. No one knew where the money had came from, nor would he give any details.

Saetan merely raised his eyebrows, smiled coldly, and did as he pleased.

None of this made him any more socially acceptable to Hayll's Hundred Families. But they could no longer ignore him.

To demonstrate his dominance, he raised the greatest Hall ever built, one that stood in all three Realms. Something no Hall had done before or since.

All his life Saetan had yearned for the idea of a home, sought a woman to love who would love him in return. He wanted children to raise, in peace and safety. Things he never had while growing up.

But soon after building SaDiablo Hall, he made his first, terrible mistake. Fooled by a scheming, sly seductress, Saetan married Hekatah, a Red-Jeweled Priestress.

Some good had come out of it – his sons Mephis and Peyton.

So much bad had come out of that mistake. He never should have married the bitch, never given her a taste of Dark Power. If he hadn't been so lonely, envious of what others had that he never knew when growing up, perhaps the future taint of Dorothea could have been stopped before so much blood was shed on both sides.

After Zuulaman, he realized his marriage was over. He divorced Hekatah, keeping the boys. But her lust for power continued, until she provoked a war between Kaeleer and Terreille.

By the time it finally ended with the death of tens of thousands, the swollen ranks of the demon-dead included his son Mephis, his best friend Andulvar and Andulvar's grandson Prothvar.

Peyton's body was never found. He died defending Kaeleer, never reaching Hell for Saetan to say good-bye to his son.

Something inside of him shattered, and broke.

His dreams, his hopes – died.

Saetan was still powerful, still feared. But he was alone again, except for the demon-dead.

Hekatah was one of those, but Saetan could not bring himself to end her existence. She had given him his sons, and for that he owed her something.

She continued her ambitious, greedy schemes. She eventually found a protégé, a Red-Jeweled Priestess named Dorothea. Together, they schemed to bring all Terreille under their control by weakening the bond between Queens and their Warlords.

Instead of war, the two women used court politics and deceptive lies as their weapons. Slowly, insidiously, Protocol in Terreille was altered, even perverted, and strong Queens broken or destroyed.

Court by court, their influence gained hold.

Then one more responsibility, one more title, fell upon Saetan's shoulders.

Terrified by the carnage that devastated the ranks of the defenders of their Province Queens, both Dhemlan Terreille and Dhemlan Kaeleer petitioned Prince SaDiablo for protection against the continuing ambitions of Hayll. He was elected Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.

Saetan refused to interfere with other Terreillean territories. He couldn't. The Old Ways forbid him to interfere with any Territory that wasn't his to defend.

He could keep Dorothea's and Hekatah's rot out of Kaeleer and the Dhemlan territories. That would be enough.

The years continued to crawl by. First decades, then centuries, then millennia. Crushing him under their weight, their pain. The faces changed, but the details were always the same. Complaints, endless minor conflicts, the gradual weakening of the Blood as they turned away from the Old Ways, all began to weary him.

Still, there was the long-ago promise he made to Cassandra. Waiting for the daughter who had never come.

But seventeen hundred years ago, he was maneuvered into fathering a child – Daemon, his fourth son. A few months later, not realizing he was still fertile, he fathered Lucivar.

Accidents or no, he rejoiced in their births. They were bright, active, happy boys. He loved both of them with all his heart, despite the fact they were as different as Summer and Winter. He spent hours with his boys, playing and teaching them the Ways of the Blood.

Then disaster struck.

The day he lost Daemon, denied paternity by a smiling Dorothea, Saetan destroyed the study in Tersa's cottage in blind anger. But it hadn't been enough, not enough at all.

She had planned perfectly, the damned bitch. The very next day he lost Lucivar as well, as Luthvian fell victim to Prythian's whispered lies.

He would never see them again. Dorothea would use her pet Black Widows to blank his sons' memories, erase him completely from their lives. They were too young to have sufficient barriers against the spells of the Hourglass.

His boys were gone, entangled in the vicious politics of Terreille's twisted Courts. Where torture was a spectacle for dinner entertainment, and every perversion was celebrated that could corrupt what the Blood had once stood for.

But he kept them from death.

Dorothea and Prythian received the only message he would ever send to them.

Because of Zuulaman, they understood he meant what he said.

And because of Zuulaman, Terreille could remain standing – for now.