His blade was dripping with the blood from those he killed. He was losing his grip on the hilt. He moved the sword to his left hand so he could wipe his right on his pants – long bloody marks mixing with the dust already there, staining his leggings. Butch never thought when he left Dragon Mountain that he would be fighting the enemy from the ground and not the air. He thought his quest was to be relatively easy. Find the fabled Dragon Master and be trained by him. Well, he did find Carl, the Dragon Master and he was a living, breathing person and not just a myth from bygone years. But even though Butch found the Master, he was not learning anything and he certainly wasn’t battling from Shadow’s back. In fact, since he had come to Meneldur, he hadn’t been with Shadow but for a few nights. His days and nights were wrapped up with this massacre. He grasped his weapon again and turned slightly to his left. Butch swung his sword and connected with yet another body. As he withdrew it from the orc’s chest, the body plummeted to the ground inches from Butch’s feet, splattering orc blood over the tops of his dusty boots. Butch had become numb to the death and destruction that surrounded him. He just wanted this to end. He wanted his education to begin.
It was hard for Butch to not say anything about Shadow. But he remembered the urgency in Carl’s voice about remaining quiet and the piercing look in Zigaroth’s eyes. That look from Zigaroth still made Butch shiver with its intensity – almost as if the battlemage could see through his skin and bones and view his every thought, his essence, what made him who he was. It seemed years ago since he and Shadow had flown across the night sky. When you go from nightly rides to none at all, the days dragged by making it seem twice as long as it really was. Butch knew that if he wanted to work with Carl and learn all of the knowledge the Master had to share, he had to first help the Angels defeat these orcs. He really hadn’t gotten the time to get to know many of the town’s people before the fighting began. They seemed to have certainly had their share of battles between Corvintheus and now this one. If this was going to be the normal activity, this never-ending battling, perhaps he might have to rethink his life’s calling to be a dragon rider. As soon as that thought entered his mind, he pushed it away. Butch felt he was called to be a dragon rider – it was his destiny. That was the reason he left his home and all he knew and loved at Dragon Mountain and came here – to the home of the only man who could teach him that which he craved. The thrill he experienced every time he was on Shadow’s back hammered that calling into his very being, deep into his soul. It had become his passion. Butch would much rather try to defeat this horde with Shadow, but since Carl was also in hand-to-hand combat, then he could do it too. After all, Butch had absolutely no choice in the matter.
He looked over at Carl. It was hard to see him with darkness blanketing the battlefield. Butch sensed there was more to be told since Carl was also not using Baroness. He would have to be patient before he could sneak away and visit his friend. By the looks of the butchered enemy bodies littering the ground, Butch couldn’t believe there could be that many more left alive. His gloved left hand felt like a dull ache reminding him of how much Shadow was also missing him. He needed to connect with Shadow. Shadow needed to connect with Butch, too. However, he knew that Shadow and Baroness were keeping each other company. That would just have to calm Butch’s spirits until he could make his getaway. He knew he was just feeling frustrated at the forced separation, knowing that the person that could help him most was within his sight and he had learned absolutely nothing since he arrived at Meneldur. Meanwhile, he needed to concentrate on this job of killing and help the Angels beat these monsters. THEN, and only then, would he and Carl be able to talk! Butch threw his frustrated energy into his next swing. The blow solidly connected with yet another orc warrior sending a painful throbbing up his right arm. Die, you bastards, die!!
Bone Face was quite careful making his way back to the battlefield. He certainly didn’t want to have to explain his presence so close to the Keep. Although he wanted to have a name to go with the other voice, he didn’t want to meet anyone before speaking with Deamon. Bone Face and Sly often went to Deamon for help when they were growing up in spite of the closeness in age. Perhaps it was because Deamon was at an age that he remembered more and had to grow up faster than the twins. They were only two and he was almost six when they lost their mother. Bone Face never remembered either of his parents or the events that led up to Larien finding them. He knew that Deamon protected Sly and him from the worst part of the ordeal. And, because it was so unpleasant, they never discussed it and never compared notes. Deamon had always been protective of them — the consummate big brother. Deamon also had a unique quality where he always knew just what to say, when to say it, and when to keep quiet.
Bone Face smiled. Deamon even knew how to get around Larien. Larien had taken on the responsibility of all three of the boys after she found them. She brought them into her home and treated them like people and not like the orphans they had become. Not once had she made them feel they didn’t belong or that their circumstances made them inferior to the other village children. That’s not to say that everyone in the village thought or treated them the same as Larien. He could remember many a scrape that the three of them got into over the other children calling them names like: beggers and outcasts. But the one name that bothered them the most was: bastards. Bone Face felt himself getting tense in remembrance of the taunts of that hated word. He knew that they had parents at one time but he could not control the fact that they had both died. He could not control the fact that he had no memory of who they were or what they were like. Therefore, unless they made up stories to prove they once had parents, they couldn’t counter with remembered stories or parental descriptions. Children could be so cruel and spiteful when they don’t understand the circumstances that others are powerless to govern. However, he didn’t want to think of those times right now. He had other, more pressing matters facing him. Perhaps the fact that Deamon knew how to handle himself in difficult situations was one reason he rose to the rank of Master of Whispers. As a grown man, Deamon didn’t care what anyone said because he didn’t care what they thought. Besides, he had the ear of the Queen and that, in itself, was powerful. Deamon had the uncanny ability to quietly take care of any problem that arose. His rank was a very important position within the Castle and village. A very crucial position! That alone struck fear in the hearts of those who use to cause problems for the three boys.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath – in and out, in and out. Deamon always was telling him to breathe. Bone Face knew that the Angels were in for a very large shock! Problems – that was putting it mildly. Catastrophic was a more accurate word if there was any substance to the news he had overheard. Bone Face stood by the copse of trees not far from the battlefield. He hesitated, his eyes scanning the battlers looking for his brothers. He felt certain that if he found one, the other wouldn’t be too far away. He realized that he would be in trouble for leaving the battle, but he thought whatever reprimand he would receive was worth the risk in exchange for information that he was prepared to impart. As he scrutinized the area, he noticed Carl was making a swath through the enemy lines with the help of the new fellow — Butch, he thought his name was. Finn and a few of his elven warriors were also in combat below. After a few more minutes, Bone Face was able to find Sly. And, just as he thought, Deamon was not far away. The enemy numbers had dwindled in this sector. Now to talk to Deamon. He inhaled for strength. He exhaled for courage. Then Bone Face picked up one of the leather pouches filled with water and began his trek to offer it to his brothers.
Deamon caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and could make out the figure of his wayward brother picking his way over the dead bodies. The setting sun was already gone and the moon was making her way slowly up into the night sky. It was big and bright tonight. As Sly slit the throat of the enemy warrior, Deamon gave him the sign to follow him. Slowly, the two men made their way towards Bone Face. Deamon watched the bodies lying lifeless on the ground, making sure to not stumble and come face-to-face with their lifeless eyes. The stench of decay was strong enough to turn a seasoned warrior’s stomach from a standing position that he did not want to meet it staring so close to his, too. While he didn’t mind his brothers seeing his reaction should he fall, he didn’t want any of the Angels to be witnesses should they happen to look over and see him on his knees retching. He and Sly continued their cautious journey. They both needed a break. They had been battling since noon day without much of a break. Besides, he needed to interrogate Bone Face. Deamon felt that now seemed as good a time as any other. Deamon couldn’t comprehend why his brother would leave like that when Bone Face knew the Angels needed every strong arm available. When Bone Face noticed that both Sly and Deamon were making their way towards him, he stopped his forward movement and waited, watching for any sudden enemy advancement coming towards their location.
As Sly and Deamon came within ear shot of Bone Face, he stretched out his hand holding the water bag saying, “Here’s some water to drink. Sorry it’s not stronger stuff.”
Sly took it, placed the pouch to his parched, cracked lips, and gulped the much needed liquid. One, two, three long pulls of liquid gold gushed into his mouth. The gulping sound was loud to the men’s ears. Sly didn’t care that the others heard his need. He wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand as he passed the bag to Deamon. Deamon, too, took his share of the water. It wasn’t ale but it did taste good going down. It wasn’t until now that he realized just how thirsty he had become. Battling in the hot sun did take a toll on a man’s body! His body was starting to ache – the muscles objecting to the strain that had been placed on them these last few days. His eyes burned. He closed them to ease the sting. Now that he had his sword sheathed, his right hand started to cramp. He handed the water pouch back to Bone Face so he could massage his hand and fingers. Deamon let very few people see him hurting or in pain; his brothers were two, Larien was the third, and there was no one else. If he were to ever let his guard down around anyone else, even slightly, his effectiveness as Master of Whispers of Meneldur would be compromised. He would never let that happen. He would die before he ever admitted any weakness to anyone!
Deamon gestured to the tree line where Bone Face had stood. “Let’s go over there. I need to talk to you.”
His tone of voice alerted Bone Face to the fact that Deamon knew he had not been battling all afternoon. It was just as well they have this confrontation. He had prepared himself for it. But he knew that Deamon was not going to like what he had to say. Perhaps he should suggest a more secluded location for their talk. Bone Face countered with, “Actually, Deamon, I think we need to have more privacy. There is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you first. I cannot chance anyone overhearing what I have to say to you right now.”
“Does this have anything to do with you leaving the battle this afternoon?”
Bone Face lowered his head and answered quietly, “Yes and no. I had hoped to return to the battle before either of you noticed I was gone but I guess that was not the case. You always did seem to know what was going on even though Sly and I never figured out how. But what I have to tell was the result of my being gone. In hindsight, it would seem to have been good timing on my part. So, hear me out, Brother, before you let your anger get the better of you.”
Deamon looked questioningly at Bone Face. This didn’t sound like the Bone Face he knew. He was speaking softly but with a hard edge to the words. Deamon couldn’t help but wonder just what he had to say. As the men walked further up the hill, Deamon veered to his left and took them closer to the lake. There were some boulders the men could sit on and still be able to see anyone approaching so they would not be taken unaware. They positioned themselves on the stones and let the night surround them. Being this far away from the sounds of death and destruction, the night soothed the men. Bone Face took a swig of water and then cleared his throat as he recapped the pouch.
“I take it you saw me leave this afternoon.” Both brothers nodded their heads. “Well, I am on a personal mission that I am not ready to share with you at this time.” Bone Face raised his hand to quell any comments from his brothers. “I was exploring the Castle’s…dungeons.”
Deamon exploded. “Mon dieu, Bone Face! Whatever for? You know they haven’t been used in ages.”
“I told you, it is personal. That is not the important issue here, Deamon. Let me finish.” Deamon subsided. “I was coming up from the dank bowels of the lower level when I heard voices at the top of the stairs. I was very shocked at hearing anyone there during that time of the day knowing the battle was still going on. I was very cautious as I crept closer so I could hear what was being said. I was quite sure that no one knew I was there. But after hearing the voices, I figured that this was a clandestine meeting. Therefore, I was extremely curious. After all, who in their right mind would meet at the top of the dungeon stairs, right? One of the voices was raised in anger and quite adamant – trying to make his point, urgent sounding. The other man spoke more quietly and was hard to hear at first. Normally, the fact that they were arguing wouldn’t have been that important to me. What got my undivided attention was the subject matter. I was on full alert then and was more cautious not to give away the fact I was eavesdropping. I certainly didn’t want to be discovered!”
As Bone Face took a breath to gather the rest of his thoughts, Deamon jumped in and asked, “What did you hear, Bone Face? I get the feeling that I am not going to like this.”
Bone Face looked first at Sly and then Deamon as he delivered the next sentence. “I heard them plot an assassination.” He had their undivided attention. He looked at Deamon’s face as he played his trump card: “The assassination of Larien Arcamenel, our Queen!”
Deamon’s face blanched white, all color drained making him ghostly pale in the moonlight. He whispered, “So, my informants were right! There is a plot afoot to kill her!”
“Dammit, Deamon! You KNEW? When were you going to tell us?” Bone Face and Sly both jumped to their feet and stared at Deamon, their bodies rigid as if they wanted to take a swing. Bone Face continued in shocked amazement, his voice rising in volume with each new question. “I can’t believe that you’ve known about this and said nothing!! Absolutely, nothing! Mon dieu! Why? You know how we feel about Larien. How long have you been aware of this plot? Why have you kept us in the dark?”
“SILENCE!!” Deamon delivered his next words slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word very clearly. “Lower your voice! I do not want everyone to know about this. Sit back down.” Deamon drew his hand across his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He continued in a tired, halting voice, “I was told by one of my very reliable informants that someone was going to try to kill Larien during this orc battle. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Larien and battle at the same time. Until tonight, only two other people suspected that her life could be in danger. Finn, because I was trying to find out what special magic Larien had for protection. He has no idea as it has been kept from him since his father’s death. I told Zigaroth at the Council meeting so we would have another set of eyes to keep track of her. My problem all along has been that I don’t know who has been contracted to murder her or by whose order it was issued. All I’ve seen are orcs and the informant mentioned a high ranking commander as the assassin. I know nothing more than that, dammit.” Deamon continued, “I’ve asked Finn to report to me with whatever information he can glean, but I have heard nothing from him.”
Bone Face’s slight chuckling got the attention of both brothers. They looked at him as if he had two heads. This was not a laughing matter and yet, there he was standing with a lopsided smile on his face. “Well, then it was a good thing I was where I was this afternoon regardless of my true reason. There were two voices. I was interrupted by you, Deamon, before I could tell you that I recognized one of the voices. The one raised in anger, the one a bit crazed. You won’t believe when I tell you who it was. I am sure that he is ordering Larien’s death. The high commander would mostly likely be the other voice and just a hired thug.”
“Spit it out, Bone Face.” Deamon’s voice dripped with pure menace. “Tell me so I can kill him before he has the chance!!”
Both brothers leaned closer to hear the culprit’s name, the vile person who wanted Queen Larien dead. Bone Face lowered his tone, “The voice I recognized and the man who I’m sure has ordered Larien’s slaying is,” he paused, took a breath, and lowered his voice to a bare whisper, “King Sylvain of Meneldur.”
