"You! Come here."

Orgeeg's steps halted. The grime from his face, hands and feet had been hastily washed off at the fountain, leaving behind a mess at the fountain that the groundskeeper would definitely hurl obscene words at. He'd dusted the silk grey robe he wore to the best of his ability and had been surprised at the material's ease at shedding away coal dust. He'd left his head as it was, his short hair that was naturally blond had taken on a dirty brown hue that was necessary to obscure recognition from those who might know him. Orgeeg turned around slowly to meet the eyes of the man who'd addressed him.

A short man with a glistening pate motioned eagerly for him with pudgy fingers the size of sausages. He wore a yellow silk robe and a grey scarf which meant he belonged to both the medic and servant faction. Two positions meant he was of great importance, probably a major figure in the servant faction's hierarchy though Orgeeg doubted the man was ranked high in the medic faction.

The short man with too wide lips on his pinched face, making him resemble a toad, observed Orgeeg from behind heavy lids. Orgeeg approached and bowed with his hands pressed to his midriff.

"Master."

The short man's pudgy hand landed a hot slap across Orgeeg's face, hard enough to have the former Rank one stumbling a step back. That was not expected. Orgeeg thought.

"What is this?" The man started. "We have had this meeting regarding midnight loitering how many times? How many times was this discussed in the meetings?" Spittle rained from the man's mouth as he shook with rage. "HOW MANY?" It was a moment before Orgeeg realized the man demanded an answer to what he'd assumed was a rhetoric question.

The hallway they were in that connected the Meeting Room to the EastWing was empty save for them. Three torches fought off the full gloom of darkness since the moon's glow was barred by the windowless walls and the long distance to the hall's exits.

"HOW MANY?"

Orgeeg had to curb the man's shouts lest he drew unwarranted attention. He leaned forward and bowed once more in the same fashion. "Countless times, master. But, if it pleases you, I have a valid reason as to my loitering."

"Which is?" The pudgy man inquired. His rage giving way to curiosity.

"The Rank One of the Royal Black Guard, she has taken me as her mate and requests I attend to her at this time."

A silence ensued where Orgeeg risked a glance at the man. The toad like face observed him as if he were a fly.

"The Rank one?"

"Yes." Orgeeg confirmed. His words had been a gambit, things could go either way but time was running short and he needed only to be pointed in the right direction.

"What are you doing heading to the EastWing then? Isn't the Rank One glued to the Princess?"

Orgeeg lunged. The man's fat coated his vital organs from any blunt strike, only Forms of Pride could be applicable to yield the desired result. A punch to the throat negated his ability to scream, a double palm hit followed to either side of his face right on his ears so as to disorient him, a knee to the groin had him bending over for a follow up knee to the face. Within seconds the man's body lay in a motionless heap upon the ground.

Orgeeg peered around from where he stood beside the body, confirming that there had been no witnesses. He grabbed the three burning torches at either end of the hall and at its midst from their stands on the wall and stepped on them beneath his feet, putting the flames out and plunging the hallway into darkness. Orgeeg judged that it would take three to four hours for the body to be found due to the scarcity of those roaming about the Palace. There was still time.

Orgeeg walked back in the direction from whence he'd come, his destination the SouthWing where he was certain Dahli resided. Where he was guaranteed to find Masutap. And where he knew his life would soon come to its end.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

An alarm sounded, he found himself halting in his tracks once more, the ring of the bell was a familiar rhythm that all Royal Black Guards well understood. There's an intruder within the palace. He struggled to move, frozen in place as it dawned on him that there was far less time than he'd thought there would be. How did this happen? Orgeeg retraced his steps and realized the mistake he'd made, the simple assumption that the cart of coal and the ox outside the Southwing that had remained unattended to would be overlooked. Orgeeg shook himself of his reverie before he forged a chain of thought that looped with regret mingled with shock over his blatant shortsightedness. He sprinted for the Southwing, sticking to the shadows as all around him the whole Royal Black Guard rose to answer duty's call.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leba wanted to throw the Old Kolotian into the chasm, he was one incantation away from doing so and only the fact that his servants who were crowded behind him looked to him for any semblance of meaning regarding all that was going on had kept him from flinging the old man into the darkness before them an hour ago.

The Old Kolotian stood beside him while ruffling between beads, raising the stringed and marked beads to the torchlight and running his fingers on them while squinting at the marks. The ritual had been repeated by Leba close to three hundred times so far and not once did it bear any fruit. At the fiftieth repetition he'd been understanding, he knew that the Kolotian was piecing together an ancient ritual using his own premeditated assumptions as a guide to how it was suppose to work. But at the two hundredth repetition Leba's understanding had started to run as thin as his patience.

The ritual was a sort of prayer to the bringer of the endless night, showing familiarity in the first part by mentioning the bringer in all his names. The Old Kolotian had even gone as far as improvising some of the names and Leba had found himself shouting names like "Void man." "Harlot of darkness." and "King of Depression." Into the chasm at the end of the cave. The names had sounded so silly that Leba had started to suspect the Old Kolotian was having himself an inside laugh at the humiliation he was putting Leba through.

The second part involved sounds. Random guttural sounds that he made while standing at the edge of the chasm while peering into the darkness below. "When a man has a spear sticking out of his gut, he does not speak of his pain in words but in groans and moans, thus, you must do the same. Sound your pain through your mouth, make it unintelligible yet present, voice it into the chasm to lure the Bringer so he may ease your pain." The old Kolotian had said before gently nudging Leba towards the chasm at the end of the cave where he was expected to moan and groan and basically imitate a birthing barnyard animal until deemed necessary to stop by the Kolotian.

A variety of rituals were carried out next, each of them as sordid as the last. Then came the last part, where Leba was to stand before the chasm once more and speak of what he is to give the Bringer in exchange for what he desired. "Locha, take my love!" He'd said during the first ritual and was answered by silence. "Locha, take my desire!" He'd said on his hundredth repeat of the ritual to be answered by the same silence. ".. Take my sanity." "... Take my joy." "... Take my..."

No matter what he gave, the same silence answered him. Leba assumed the servants who'd followed him so eagerly with his promises of rebirth and glory now viewed him as a fool and as he saw the Kolotian squinting at more beads while leaning into the torch he wondered if they were right.

XXXXXXXXXXX

They watched as King Gans approached the Binorian King. The latter sitting upon a Telinete Rhino that was larger than Carrot. The Binorian Legions spread out to the Eastern and Western ends of the Ganidan Plain and to the South for as far as the eye could see, their numbers dwarfing those of the Talisi who'd gathered behind their King, compacting their Forty thousand strong army into a narrow mass of shields and spears that had a snow ball's chance in hell of ever winning against their foe.

Gans had decided that spreading the Talisi Army out too thin would have left them susceptible to isolation and tear in the hands of Binoria. A collective fighting body would have a chance of surviving a little longer than if they had been spread out and hence the reason the Talisi joined in a narrow formation that might resemble an arrow from above with King Gans as its tip.

Edda had aired her skepticism regarding the tactic, pointing out that Vayin Vigon's Telinete would plough through them easily but Ishar had countered that he would handle it. As it were, both Ishar and Carrot were nowhere to be seen. Edda stood beside Rehny at the edges of what would pass as the barb of the Talisi Army's arrow head. The former Commander wore the armor of the man Ishar had killed and dragged to camp, he'd jumped at the opportunity of stripping the corpse with glee as he laughed about the irony of him dawning the armor.

"Where do you think Ishar is? And Mairek?" Edda asked with her eyes still fixed on King Gans in silver armor who stood before the golden armored man on his Rhino. Silence met her question.

She turned and looked up at Rehny, the scar running down the left of his cheek and his rough stubble gave him a rugged look that she might have thought attractive if death didn't loom ahead. The former Commander had his eyes pressed tightly shut, crinkles forming at the edges as he appeared to be struggling against something.

Edda reached out and grabbed his vambrace, turning Rehny to face her. "What's wrong?" She demanded.

Rehny opened his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing, I'm just... I'm just hearing this really loud whistling in my head and.." He abruptly turned away, facing forward and pulling his arm free from her grasp.

"Nothing is wrong." He concluded and Edda found herself doubting his words.