Shira - Chapter Twenty-three

The pebbles on the path shone silver. Shira felt herself being pulled, tugged gently toward it. Some other woman had been a magic holder here. She could feel the feminine feel of the power. Male magic was blunt and warlike. Women’s power spoke of green living things. It also spoke of death. Death here nurtured life.

Shira had never felt power this strong.

Her amble down the path became a fast walk. She stretched her legs. The trees were glazed by the power in the grove. Once she passed the first tree sentries, she could see a small stone altar. A fluttering transparent veil stood above it. She could see a small cat’s paw come through the veil and feel the altar. It patted it.

Once the cat came out, it changed shape into the most beautiful woman Shira had ever seen. The woman’s hair was patterned black and white. Her eyes were dark. She was dressed in hunting gear with a bow near her hand. She looked steadily at Shira. Her eyes were deep wells. Shira knew she was standing before an old goddess. She felt deep awe. Shira bowed.

“I am Diana,” said the woman. “Why have you called me?”

Shira's eyes widened. “You called me.”

“Well, where is the woman that usually attends me?” asked Diana.

“The house and area round about are deserted. I think she is long gone. What can I do for you?”

“Help me down from here,” Diana said. Shira hid a smile as she helped the goddess down from the altar. “I don’t know why I personify in this outfit. I look ridiculous and cold.”

Shira laughed. “I know what you mean. I think it was men who designed women’s costumes.”

Shira found a log for Diana to sit on. After Diana's ice-breaker, they chatted like old friends. Shira talked about the Councilor and her mission to save the Ahrah from extinction. She knew that she had to make a treaty with Corsindor, but Corsindor was in turmoil. Diana was interested in Corsindor. She explained that she used to have an oracle with the king. She mentioned a date that was two hundred years in the past. Shira’s eyes widened.

“I don’t think they remember you,” Shira said. Diana was quiet. It was apparent that she had not realized how long it had been since she had interacted with this world.
Diana explained to Shira that with her job, it was hard to keep track of all the worlds. Some worlds had forgotten her influence entirely. They had old myths of her powers. In other worlds, she was called on daily. “Really annoying,” she said.
This world had been an exception. She had enjoyed interacting with her oracles. Shira told her that the last king had lost his son. Diana was quiet.

“The king is dead.” Diana touched Shira's arm. “And you have the son with you.”
Shira had not wanted to believe the journal. But she could feel the truth in her gut.

“I need to talk to this would-be king,” Diana said.

"I'll get him."

“No, I have already called him from his sleep.”

At that moment, Silas stumbled into the grove. Diana motioned Shira away. Shira supposed that a goddess needed to talk to her soon-to-be servant.

Silas, silly boy, was stunned by her glowing beauty. He listened carefully to Diana, and then Diana motioned Shira back.

“Sister, will you make sure he gets to Corsindor?” Diana asked.

"Yes," Shira felt calm about her decision even though it was in an instant.

“Good,” said Diana. “You will have a visitor in the next two days. You need to wait for him.”

Silas put his hands together and boosted Diana up to the altar. The veil returned.
She split it with her hands and walked through. The veil closed.

Shira walked around the altar. She could not see where the veil had been or even where the goddess could have gone. Miracle or magic, she didn’t know.

Two days later, Cedric Youngblood rode into the corral. He jumped off the horse, rubbed him down, and walked to the cottage. Both Shira and Oor were waiting for him. Cedric gave them the Ahrah messenger bag. He then sat down with a glass of tea that Oor had brewed earlier.

Oor kept a close eye on Cedric. Even if a goddess had told them he was a messenger from the god, he would be suspicious. Cedric slumped. He was dirty, cold, and tired. His whole body language was of a man who had ridden hard and fast. His horse looked rundown as well.

Shira finished reading the message and handed it to Oor. After reading the message, she was not as suspicious of Cedric. Silas kept himself in the house. Until Oor was sure Cedric was safe, it would be better not to have Silas in view.

After Oor finished reading the letter, he asked Cedric, “Is it really true that Malkiah is king?”

Cedric grunted.

“Oh something else,” said Cedric. He passed Shira a package. In it was a band with a piece of crystal in the middle of the band. “It’s a communication device. It will only work about three to five times and it goes directly to the king.”

She put the band on her left arm. It fit perfectly above her leather arm bands.

Cedric asked if he could stay there until his horse was ready for the ride back.

Shira glanced at Oor. “You didn’t read the letter,” she said.

“Why would I?” said Cedric. He paused. “Is that normal?”

Shira handed him the letter. After the explanation of the crowning, Malkiah asked Shira to take Cedric with them because they had closed the boundaries.

I have closed the boundaries because we have been infested with nightstalkers and other demons. Cedric will be unable to break through our traps. No one will be able to go in our out of here until we have secured the land. Good luck.

Your King,
Malkiah

It was the first time that Cedric looked upset. He loudly told Shira and Oor that the king needed him. He needed to help kill the nightstalkers. Why would he be with a bunch of adventurers?

They let him yell until he slumped.

"You'll see demons here," Shira tried to assure him. But he stayed slump and unhappy.

The problem with a larger group Oor had always taught Shira was the need for food and shelter. With one or two people, shelter and food was much easier to find. With four people, they almost needed a supply chain.

At least with Cedric, their guarding duties would be less onerous. They introduced Cedric to Silas and sent him in to rest. Cedric fell asleep and was snoring before Orr and Shira discussed their plans for the next few days.

Shira, Oor, and Silas plotted their route to Corsindor. When asked what the goddess had said to him, Silas was tight lipped. He would only say that she told him to take the back roads and to be careful of whom he trusted. Nice generic advice. Shira was certain that the goddess had said more. She kept this thought to herself.

Placing a king on a throne of a rival country was an impossible task. That Silas’ allies were from another country would not help his bid for the kingship.

When she thought of Malkiah, she also had a pang. How could their way of life fold so fast? They had had several years of independence and now a king. She could hardly get her mind around it. Malkiah could easily shape himself into a tyrant if he was not careful. With that much power.

So it was decided, they would wait a couple more days to leave. They needed to harvest some food and prepare it for their travels. There was an abundance of animals and vegetables around the grove. Once they were ready they would travel through the backwoods and into the small villages and towns. Since Silas needed to either have noble supporters or instead of nobles, a lot of peasants, he would have to cleanse the grounds and wells. It had happened before. The first Corsindoran king had walked into the city with thousands of peasants. It could be done again.

If it didn’t work. Well, Shira could not think of many ways that an illegitimate heir could find a kingship. Not with so many fighting for this power.

Silas was not too sure of it himself. He had spent most of his life as a woodcutter and partial woodsman. What did he know of ruling people? Most kings had a lifetime to prepare as princes for this job. He had one journal, one goddess, and two allies. It was a very small start.


Cedric snored.

The fire flickered in the pit. The smell of cooking food expanded in the small house. Cedric opened his eyes. For a moment, they were red.

Sunday Scribblings: Adult

I suppose that I am not the only one with mixed feelings about this subject of adulthood. I remember my mother giving me a task to complete and when I cried "It's not fair," she would answer, "life is not fair so quit being a baby."

At the time I was a baby or at least a child at six years old. This pattern of mother daughter dialogue continued until I left home. Then I was an adult. But then my mother would say "you will always be my child."

How confusing is that?

It has been twenty plus years since I left home. I managed to recoup my teenage play years from twenty-thirty. In my thirties I married a wonderful man. But, it wasn't until I became ill with Wegener's Granulomatosis that I realized how tenuous adulthood can be. I was a child again, taken care of, but unable to make decisions that affected my own life. I was a child because I couldn't think and act on an adult level. The medication took away my ability to think like an adult.

So what is the main difference between adulthood and childhood besides size (oh yea, and all the biology gibber gabber). Memory is the difference. My meds scrambled my memory and made it hard for me to access my knowledge. There were even times that I forgot who and what I was. A child is learning how he is and is adaptable. An adult in the same situation has a hard time adapting because she knows she was something else, but she can't quite remember.

I give a lot of kudos to children and to childhood. It is a fun and dangerous time. But, I like being an adult. I like being able to do what I want, when I want. I like being able to believe what I want, when I want. I like knowing the rules and sometimes I like knowing that I can break them.

I like being an adult.

Shira - Chapter Twenty-Two

The birds yelled, squawked, and fought in the trees. Amyl had told Mal that the large black birds were ravens. To Mal, ravens were omens of battlefields and other evil occurrences. Amyl told her that these birds actually cleaned the forests so that there would be less decay and maggots. Even so, Mal looked at them suspiciously.

She liked the jays even though they were sneaky birds. They reminded her of courtiers and others who had followed her for tidbits. At least these birds were honest; they wanted food.

She spent a lot of time scrubbing pots, cleaning vegetables, and preparing stews. Amyl had told her that stew was one of the easiest meals to make on the road. She could sit in the wagon and prepare vegetables. The sway of the wagon and the bumps in the road were not helpful when she had a knife in her hand. She had almost cut her wrist. But peeling was easier. She kept the vegetables and potatoes in a bucket, covered in water. After being on the road for at five or six days, her routine was getting better. At breakfast and dinner, Amyl helped her cook and clean. They talked while there hands were busy. Since they were the only two women in the camp, they learned a lot about each other. And, Mal was sure that she had given away much about herself although she tried to act and speak like a lowly cook.

Amyl wanted to know all those things that young girls sixteen turning seventeen wanted to know. What were the latest fashions? Who was in the queen’s court? And, gossip. Mal had enough gossip from watching her ladies-in waiting. So she spun stories of romances and heartbreaks. She told of hairstyles and laughed at some of the ladies with their hair piled on their heads trimmed in feathers.

Mal learned to braid her hair and pinned it up. Amyl found a woolen scarf to keep Mal warm in the late autumn afternoons. Amyl had pressed her lips together when she realized that Mal had only the clothes on her back. Amyl found little odds and ends to help her.

Medus kept his mouth shut and treated her like an employee. He stayed away from her knowing that it was better that they had little to do with each other. It would be strange if the leader even acknowledged the cook except when he was eating her food. He was grateful that Amyl was teaching her how to cook. At least the food was palatable and even tasty.

Mal had one problem: Daris. Daris, Amyl’s brother, acted like a star-struck teenager. He was constantly trying to help her. He would come up behind her and place a wrap or a totally ridiculous coat that would get in the way of her duties.

You look so much like her, he would say. She knew he meant the queen. Well, she wasn’t the queen now. The teamsters would laugh at him. Are you going to see your maiden now? They would ask him in mocking voices. Although when she dished up the food on their plates, they were quiet and respectful.

She had had a few offers from the drivers for a late night tryst. They were very good-natured when she refused. But they teased Daris unmercifully. He had been a red rusted color on his face and neck for the last few days.

She was flattered, but Daris was a young man of only nineteen. Too young, even if she was looking. At this juncture, she did not know if she was married or a widow. It hardly mattered. Her safest bet was to stay unmarried. She could not afford to breed—not while the crown was still in question.

Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. And there was Daris sitting on a rock. At least he helped with the peeling and wasn’t like most of the noblemen's son she had met.

“My lady,” Daris started. His clothes were traveled-stained with the dust from the road. He had washed his face and slicked his hair back at the stream. His face had a young earnest expression. She could remember those painful days of youth.

"I have written poem for you.”

“And a fine lady would have use for a poem. I do not.”

He looked startled. “I thought all ladies liked poems.” He started to blush. If Amyl had not told her stories of Daris' success with the ladies, she would of thought he was inexperienced.

“If you are courting the young ladies,” she said. “They would love a poem. I am neither young nor a lady and I have work to do.”

She was rolling flat bread for the men. It would be put in the tins soon. It was the easiest bread to cook on the trail. Another gift from Amyl.

Daris stood up and backed away. “Amyl thought…”

Medus took his son by the arm. Daris blushed again and turned towards his father.
“I’ll talk to him,” Medus said to Amyl. He marched Daris to a grove of trees far away from the drivers. She could not hear even a murmur.

They came out of the grove. Daris, red again only this time with mortification, went to the main wagon. He stayed in it for the rest of the evening until he was called for supper.

Medus went back to the fire with the drivers. They went over the route with the maps. No one mentioned Daris.

Amyl had not been feeling good that day. She had a little nausea. So in the quiet Mal finished cleaning up and then went to the wagon. She would have to tell Amyl the truth and impress upon her the importance of secrecy.

But not now. Her shoulders and neck hurt. Se rolled out her bag and slept under the stars. It was better than closed in the wagon. She noticed that one or two of the men took watch. She fell asleep watching the stars.

The next morning Daris tried to get Mal alone to apologize. She ignored his efforts. She was too tired with her work. He mentioned words like loyalty. He was a good boy, but not versed in court manners. In a way it was sweet. If she ever had her power back, she would find him a noble wife. It was the least she could do for the family.

~~~

Cedric Youngblood galloped down the road. As it became darker, he had become uneasy. The King had taken time with him, showing him the route that would take him safely to Shira and Oor.

It was vital, the king had said, that you get this package to them. He was very explicit that he be out of the forest and across the border before nightfall.

The wind blew across his shoulders. Suddenly, he saw huge rocks in the way. He stood in the stirrups and pulled the horse. The horse refused to stop. It shook his head and continued running towards the boulders. Cedric could see the boulders clearly. He bent over the horse’s neck, trying to help the horse jump.

If he was to make it, he needed to save the horse and himself. The horse thundered down the path. Lift. He could feel himself flying with the horse and then clump. The horse slowed down and then stopped. It was breathing extremely hard.

Both Cedric and the horse had made it through the border. Cedric looked back. There was a dark image on the rocks. Cedric jumped off his horse and led him a little ways. He felt the horse’s knees and legs. Thankfully he was fine.

He mounted the horse and walked him farther down the road. They needed to be a long ways past the border. Even though the dark was starting to press upon them, they needed to be farther away before they slept.

~~~

Shira, Silas, and Oor found themselves near another ghost town like Badendorf. It had been a long ride. They had taken the judge’s advice to stay off the main thoroughfares. They had seen horses and soldiers checking travelers. The judge had done them another favor.

This village had not been occupied in many years. It was obvious. The hay was moldy and strawlike. The houses had started to fall down. After a heated discussion, they decided that they needed a place to stay for a few days to rest up. There were volunteer potatoes and carrots in one of the gardens. They could harvest them and have a good meal. Oor had killed a rabbit. Their bellies would be full tonight.

Oor was the best cook of the three. He had Silas prepare the vegetables. Shira rubbed down the horses. By the time she was down, the food was ready.
Shira felt restless. She had been so sure that the Councilor was right. That Shira needed to find the source of the danger. Maybe they could stop it, or maybe they needed to get the information to the Ahrah. They had found Silas and saved them.

They had found one or two deserted towns. But none of these things were enough to have gone on this type of journey in the end of autumn, just before winter.
The journal could be true. They needed to get that information back to the Ahrah. If Silas was the king’s illegitimate child, they could win some concessions from Corsindor. She just didn’t know their next move.

These concerns swirled in her head as she tried to sleep. They had locked the stable and house doors. So tonight they didn’t need a guard. But still she felt the moon call her. Finally she closed her eyes.

A few hours later the moon shone in her eyes. She woke up. Both Silas and Oor were sleeping soundly with Silas grunting like a pig.

She climbed out of her bag and pulled on her shoes. She felt a compulsion to look out the window and saw a path glinting in the moonlight. It went from the door to a small grove on her right. Curious, she walked out the door and onto the path. The door clicked behind her. When she reached the grove, she saw a ball of light.

Inside she felt calm, calmer than she had felt for a long time. She walked into the grove.

Shira - Chapter Twenty-one

Malkiah sat in the Councilor’s quarters, looking through her notes and journals. The priest had given him the keys. Some of the notes were protected with charms. Others were innocuous. They told of the Councilor’s long life and her ambitions. In some ways, he was ashamed of digging deep into her inner thoughts. By rights, these papers should be burned with her body.

But, he needed her guidance even in death. He didn't know all of the factions although he was learning quickly. Soon he would have to give in to some of the clans. They had never had to protect a king before. All the clans wanted some warriors in the king’s personal guard. He would have to have Alan arrange for a test. He needed loyalty and could not bind non-wizards. He had to trust their loyalty. Certainly, he had to win their respect or soon someone else would decide to take the kingship from him. If it could be done once, it could be done again.

The planning and reading made him restless. He was more the type that liked physical activity. He liked to scout the land instead of looking at graphical representations of the land. Maps did not always show what was there. Only what was there in the past.

Alan knocked on the door. He came into the room with lunch. King Malkiah put away the papers. He locked them into a large wooden trunk by the bed. He ate.

“I am tired of thinking,” he told Alan. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Alan laughed. “I wondered when you’d need to get away. Should I call your guard?”

“No just you. It will be your head if I die out there.”

Alan grimaced.

Still, they went to the stable. A stable boy offered to saddle his horse, but Malkiah told him that he could do it himself. “It seems,” he said to Alan, "that when a man becomes king, he suddenly can’t take care of himself.”

Alan snorted and saddled his own horse. Soon they were ready for the ride.
They let the horses walk calmly out of the encampment. Then about a mile out they run, whooped, hollered until both the men and horses were tired. Then they walked again. King Malkiah felt the heaviness of his office lift from his shoulders. The fresh air pushed into his lungs. He felt free.

Alan was laughing with him. Alan and Malkiah had been friends since they had been chosen to be warriors. Most of the Ahrah were nomadic. Very few of them were war-like. Malkiah knew that the last events had confused many of them. But now he could forget for just a moment.

Malkiah stopped his horse. The horse stepped sideways and then settled down. Malkiah moved with the horse. The trees looked stark and leafless in this part of the forest. He pointed out the wilt and the beetles.

They wandered on one of the deer trails. The forest was quiet. No birds squawked. They did not see any squirrels. No black bear marks on the trees. They were at least fifteen miles from the border to Corsindor, but the forest close to the encampment looked like the Corsindor border… the forest was dying.

“What magic is this?” asked Alan.

“Blight,” said the king. The place was dark and smelled of decay. “Time to go.”

They went back down the path. They could feel eyes on their backs. Whenever they turned to look back, all they could see were trees and the blackness beyond. Malkiah shivered.

Once they were back on the main road, Malkiah mentioned to Alan that he needed to send a wizard to look at the forest. Alan would have to arrange to send an escort. They didn't have enough wizards to waste.

They made it back to the encampment in a somber mood. The stable boys took both horses and Alan and Malkiah went back to the room.

Alan stood as he gave him instructions. “Tomorrow, send the priest and another wizard to that forest. We need to know what is happening. Make sure they have five or more guards. We shouldn’t have been there alone.”

Alan nodded.

“Do we have spies on the border?”

“We have our regular ones at the checkpoints.”

“We need more,” said Malkiah. “We need to know what is coming across the borders. We need to know if it is magical or natural. I need to know how many rats are coming toward us.”

“You want them to watch for other invaders besides people?” Alan squinted his eyes. He was too respectful to call Malkiah crazy.

“Yes,” said Malkiah. “We are dealing with shapeshifters. Make sure the spies know this.”

“Anything else?”

Malkiah waved him away. Alan walked out the door.

He needed to find Shira and Oor. There were no notes about their mission. He needed to find out. The problem was that he had no idea where they were. What he could tell from the Councilor’s notes was that the mission was open-ended. Something about keeping the Ahrah safe, but safe from what. He suspected that their enemy was not Corsindor, but some maggot that had slipped from one of the shadow countries and was destroying Corsindor from the inside. That the Ahrah were in danger, he knew with a deep belief.

The Councilor had left him too suddenly. He threw his pencil down in frustration. It clattered on the floor. He needed to know what Shira and Oor were doing. They needed communication. Someone on a mission without support was madness.
He summoned the priest.

“Can you find Shira and Oor for me?” he asked. The priest pulled out a crystal.

He placed the crystal on a black velvet cloth. “Yes. Sit down your highness. Look deep in the crystal and tell me what you see.”

The priest sat back. Malkiah looked deep into the crystal. At first all he could see was a milky substance. The priest told him to look deeper. He saw a clearing. “Shira, Shira, where are you?”

He saw Shira and Oor sitting near a campfire. Oor was whittling, while Shira was tending the fire. A young man was in a tree looking into the darkness.

The picture widened. He saw the road that lead to Shira and Oor. Oor turned toward the crystal, and then shook Shira. He pointed. Oor had a long dagger in his hand. Shira had her sword out. They searched their campsite. The picture faded.

“Your Highness, your Highness.” The priest was shaking Malkiah as his came to. He was lying on the floor. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” His mouth felt like dust. After sitting back on the chair, he sipped some water. The priest put away his crystal. He did not ask what Malkiah had seen.
“One more thing,” said Malkiah. “Can you make a communication device for Shira?”

“Will they need to talk back to you?”

“Yes,” said Makliah.

“I can make one, but it can only be used for about 3-5 times,” he said. “There is not much more power than that.”

“Fine. Temporary. Make it.”

The priest left. Malkiah felt a little shaky. If magic was so easy and so explicit, it could be very dangerous. Before the priest left, he had been assured that not everyone could use the crystal this well. The priest had mumbled something about him being a wizard-warrior. Even Malkiah knew there was no such thing.

When he was able to get to his feet, he opened his door. His two guards were standing erect. “I need one of you for a messenger,” he said.

“Your highness,” said one of the guards. “We are not allowed to leave our posts. Duiban told us that we’d lose our heads if we left this post for any reason. Let us call someone else to help you out.”

Malkiah grumbled. Then went back into the room. The guard pulled a bellpull. Get Alan Duiban, he said to the servant who answered. The servant scurried away.

In only a few moments, Alan came back. “What’s so important?”

“I need a messenger.”

Alan entered the room. “You could have told me before.” He said. Malkiah was looking out the window.

“I found Shira and Oor. I need someone who can defend themselves and take a message to them.”

“Write your message,” said Alan. “I know someone.”

“Thanks,” said Malkiah.

Shira - Chapter Twenty

To Sir Roberts’ satisfaction, they were unable to find Queen Mallory. Lord Starnett and Lord Haustful dealt with their anger in different ways. Lord Starnett’s face went a bright red and he yelled at Sir Robert. When he started maligning Sir Robert’s mother, Sir Robert had enough. Lord Starnett was a soft man, so he was unable to tear Sir Robert’s arm from his neck.

Lord Starnett’s guards must have had similar experiences with him because instead of coming to the Lord’s defense. They tried to calm Sir Robert. It wasn’t worth it. Why hang for such a man.

Sir Robert backed out of the room and went to the guard shack. Lord Starnett was an idiot, but Lord Haustfal was much more dangerous. Warning the guardsmen of the coming events, might be a good idea. Even though one or two of them were spies, he needed to get the guards out of the situation. They were there to guard the nobles, not be killed by them. Also, he had not heard from Rose for awhile. She was pretty and flighty. He was not impressed with her. When he thought of how it had been hours since he had heard her report, his stomach knotted. There was no proof, but he was sure that she was dead.

He could feel a storm in the castle. The stones were colder than usual. The first snow was coming, early. Something in this castle, someone, was more than he, she, it seemed.

When he was young, their family wizard had talked about demons. The demons from the third world were flesh and blood eaters. They preferred sucking the blood from a living person. In the end the flesh would desiccate and eventually turn into dust. The dust had a sweet smell of decaying flesh. But, if it were enough, the demon would eat the flesh.

Sir Robert thought he could smell that sweet decaying smell of a corpse. It was a light smell. He was the only one to smell it.

In the library he would get a librarian to do research on demons. He checked to make sure that he was not followed and he went there. The library was his favorite place. If he had not been a third son, he would have become a scholar. The smell of books, dusty and musty, was a much better smell than the corpse smell.

The librarian was hunched forward in an overstuffed chair, reading. It was the pedigree book. Sir Robert recognized the green cover. When a noble child was born, the main librarian would write the child’s parents and pedigree in the book. All of Corsindorans nobles were in the book.

“What are you looking for, Max?” asked Sir Robert. He felt a chill. There are no coincidences. There must be a reason that the librarian was reading this particular book.

“Checking up on pedigrees,” Max said. He put his hand over the page and leaned back into the chair.

“May I ask who you are looking for?”

Max blanched. “I, I,” He tried to close the book.

Sir Robert took the book from the librarian’s fingers. He was in the H’s. He knew what Max was looking for - Haustfal. The name was there. The family had died out fifty years before. No one else knew this information.

Sir Robert helped Max to his feet. Max was an older man in his late sixties. He would not be able to defend himself. He wrapped the book up in a cloth and hid it.
“You need to leave,” he told the older man. “It is not safe for you here.”

"I have nowhere to go.” Max said.

“You must leave or you will be a dead man. Go. Now.”

Max put on his coat and scurried away.

Sir Robert hoped that it was soon enough. Lord Haustfal. He did not want to think about what this thing could be. He knew that they were all in serious trouble.

He tried to remember what the family wizard had said about demons.

There were three types of demons—ghosts, nightstalkers, and lord demons. The ghosts were mainly scouts. They were transparent and could not affect the world around them. They just watched. Sometimes they could take on the shape of family members. The nightstalkers were shapeshifters. They preferred the shape of wolves, but could shift to any shape. They ate live meat. The lord demons were bloodsuckers. They were the strongest and the hardest to get rid of.

The wizard did not know all of the lord demons abilities, but they were able to use mind control. The stronger the demon, the more people he could put under control. After seeing the counsel meeting, Sir Robert was sure that Lord Haustfal was probably a very strong lord demon.

He wished that he had someone to talk to… A secret shared and all that. But in this case, most of the residents would be safer not knowing the truth. When Lord Haustfal had made his move, then they would be meat for his eating. Sir Robert shivered.

Well, act two. He hurried back to the passageway near the king’s resting place. A maid with food was trying to get into the room. “Let her in,” he told the guards.

She walked in with the tray. No one was in the room. The king lay in splendor in the bed. She tried to wake him. “He’s cold,” she screamed. Sir Robert sent her from the room.

The king is dead.
Long live the new king.