He sauntered up to the doors and kicked them open.
“I assume that it is you here, Talon,” King Caballar remarked in a dark, raspy voice. “No one else would have made it through those guards. Not alone, at least.”
Talon gave him a curious look. “Then you know about me?” he responded, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Who doesn't, Thaloun?’ the wiry king fired back. “I know everything about your kind of filth.” As he said the last bit, he spat at the general.
Talon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Where did you hear that name?”
The king just smiled and stared at him with his dark, evil eyes. “Does it matter?”
Talon thought about it and stroked his beard. “I guess not,” he said after a few moments. He lowered his glow-sword slightly.
In that moment, two things happened. First, King Caballar lunged at Talon with a dagger he’d had hidden in the folds of his robes. Second, Talon swung his glow-sword and impaled the king through the heart in one smooth motion, ending the brief attack and the king’s life.
Caballar looked down at his wound in shock, then looked back up at Talon and smiled. A second later, the king’s body fell to the floor where it dissolved into a foul-smelling liquid, much as Christopher’s assassin’s body had several days earlier.
Talon waved his glow-sword at the sludge as if to ward it off, but it passed right through and sank deep into the floor instead.
He stood there for a moment afterward, not sure what to do about anything he’d heard or seen in those few brief moments. Then he stepped over the puddle to grab the Sword of Power from the mantle behind him and placed it on his belt.
He shrugged. Fusong’s king was dead, one way or another, and their relic had been retrieved. Talon’s mission was complete, and a cease-fire would undoubtedly be drawn up within hours. He stepped back over the foul liquid and left the room to go find Christopher and tell him the good news.
* * * * * * * * * *
A few minutes after Talon left, the sludge on the ground shifted and re-formed itself into a grinning, wraith-like form.
The being hissed. Lange Du Mort had hated this part of its orders. Playing victim to a mere mortal being, even one as powerful as Talon, was not in its nature.
But the Master had demanded it, and the Master was never wrong, so it had obeyed like a good servant. The creature’s mind drifted to the thought of the master’s future plans, and the pleasure they would bring upon completion.
Just a little longer.
“One more preparation is complete, Master,” Lange Du Mort said out loud as its eyes darted about, ever watchful for Talon or one of his cronies to return. But they did not think to come back. Did not realize there could be a further danger.
“Good,” a dark voice growled from the ether. The voice of the Master. “Move on to the next part of the plan.”
* * * * * * * * * *
King Christopher slumped into his high-backed chair in the throne room. The war was over. He had just gotten word that Fusong had given an unconditional surrender.
A smile crept upon his lips. Things had gone exactly the way he’d thought they would. He would have to commend General Talon later. The man was every bit as good at combat as his late father had led him to believe.
The sound of booted feet scraping against the floor outside his throne room roused Christopher from his thoughts. A moment later, one of his guards entered the room, saluting him.
“My liege,” the guard said. “General Talon is here to see you.”
“Excellent.” Christopher clapped his hands together. “Send him on in, and feel free to take the afternoon off. You’ve earned it.”
“Yes, my liege,” the guard replied, face beaming. The man scuttled off to gods knew where, leaving the door slightly ajar.
General Talon, looking gruff and a little weathered, bolted through the door moments later. The big man knelt before his king. “Sire, I have come from Fusong bearing gifts,” he said, grinning broadly.
Talon produced a rather large object from a bag at his side. It was wrapped in well-oiled cloth, but even from here, Christopher knew just what it was. The Sword of Power.
“Thank you, General,” King Christopher said, reaching his hand out to accept the package.
Talon handed over the package and Christopher immediately took it out of its cloth, careful not to draw the blade from its sheath in the process. He had heard the rumors and had no desire to test them. But even the scabbard was an object to fawn over. Delicate scrollwork in gold and silver thread covered the scabbard in flowing runes from some long-dead language.
It was the Sword of Power alright.
“You shall have a king’s ransom for bringing this to me,” he told the big man.
Talon nodded, trying in vain to hide his massive grin in his shirt collar.
“But first,” Christopher continued.
“Yes, Sire?” The smile faded as quickly as it had come.
“I have another task that needs doing. One of the greatest priority. Greater even than the last task.” He paused for a moment. “The Xerczan Wizard’s Guild. You’ve heard of it, yes?”
Talon looked at him cross-eyed, but he nodded. “I have, Sire. But I thought you hated mages?”
King Christopher nodded. “That hasn’t changed. Which is why this next task is so important. The Guild recently acquired a young boy. Rumors say he wields power that would rival that of the Sages of old.”
Talon’s face went ashen. “Impossible!”
“Indeed,” Christopher said. “But I cannot let the rumor go. I need you to go to the Guild. Be my eyes and ears. And if the boy really is that powerful, then when the time is right, well . . .”
“But that could take years! A small boy would need a decade or more of training before he’d be of any use!”
King Christopher sighed.
