Mythas' Return: The Lost Princess

Chapter Twenty Four: Deceit Most Divine

Chapter Twenty Four: Deceit Most Divine

Deacon's cutlass met the oak wooden bed frame like an axe, swinging with such a brute force that it had chopped one of the footboard's rails clean off, sending it soaring into the vintage mirror that perched in the corner of the king's quarters. The glass shattered, ringing as it fell away from the golden fixture that had once held it into place.

"I am sorry, my liege." Garendryth flinched as the shards broke into the tile.

The leader responded with a prompt jolt of his dominant arm, stabbing his blade into the bed's straw pallet, piercing the delicately embroidered sheets as if they were worn by Reape herself.

"The courtyard was a complete and utter disaster." Deacon bellowed his usual gravely tone. "And just as I had been told...that it wasn't for naught, that the princess was in fact, in our clutches after all..." He sucked a deep breath in through his pointed nose, scraping one set of claws down his elegantly razored facial hair. "I do not understand it. Her betrayal, after such a magnificent display of revenge on her end...only to be completely tarnished by her ever present sense of guilt."

"Perhaps she died in that fire, my lord." the drow pardoned. "The house was mostly ashes."

"She likely set it herself." the leader shook his head, his dark eyes weary. "She let herself be swooned by that lot of fiends. I have shared my bedside with that woman for ten years, drow...longer than that. How can I place my trust in anyone at all?"

Garendryth smoothed his black robes, clutching his pale grey hands together and bowing his head. "One can prove thyself, my liege, if allowed...without fear of repercussions."

"Go on..." Deacon sighed, waving a limp hand at his new second. "What more have I to lose?"

The sorcerer swallowed, lifting his amber gaze from the carved tile. "I possessed schemes of my own will, before I found the halflings' parchment of offering - directing me to that tavern. Pray, nearly in nearly two moons past...t'was I who brought Challop the Slighted to his dastardly end. I dreamt of glory to my name, with grandiose delusions of bringing Cordellia to the throne myself...having killed her captors, having saved her."

"I have heard rumors that he was slayed by a faun." Deacon challenged.

"Hold thine breath still, my liege." Garendryth pleaded, dropping his robe to his feet. Deacon's brows furrowed as the drow spoke two simple chants, "Russe...rusulomme." With that, his pretense dropped away from him alongside his cloak - like a thin veil removed from a blushing bride, instead revealing a pair of muddy, warm grey pelted legs that ended in gold, unsplit hooves - which matched the set of large, spiraling gilded horns that broke from his skull. His hair was longer, straight and thin as it cascaded down his exposed chest - still its strange, smoky quartz color. The leader peered at his now blackened nose, adorned with slits that cut into his nostrils on their sides. Garendryth looked as though he had stepped out of the burning cottage himself, ashen and covered in soot - but his hardened faunish features were left golden, glittering and mesmerizing. The ghastly faun awaited his leader's rage and beseeched, "I wish not to lie to you any longer, Deacon Moore. I am a faun, the very same who cut down Challop."

"Brilliant." Deacon murmured, awestruck by his guise. "The ultimate advantage."

"Our minds are ever so alike, my lord." Garendryth sighed with relief.

"We can use this...to infiltrate them, to befriend them even..." the leader smirked as the possibilities raced through his wicked mind. "But, pray...how could you join at my side...aid my cause...with the horrid mentions I have made about your people?"