Forging of a Knight: Rise of the Slavekeepers

Chapter 9

Later that night, Lord Haraush eventually returned to the palace of the Sargossian lords, quietly retiring to his rooms. The palace was immense; clusters of blue-white towers, surrounding ornamented terraces that spread out through a vast gabled courtyard. Anton was relieved of his duties, having secured the return of Visandus and Rutt, as well as escorting the clan lord back home.

“You have done well tonight, Anton. I feel comfort that I have not felt in years. We may soon be rid of this evil that has taken over our lands,” Lord Haraush said as he removed his cloak, boots, and tunic. He replaced them with a richly garbed robe and matching silken slippers.

“Do you really think this small band of knights can do what so many of our own warriors failed to do?” Anton asked.

“They have enchantments about them, and this Qualtan, most especially. There is a chance, a small chance. They will either save us or die themselves. Go now and rest, my loyal aide. Tomorrow shall bring some danger, and the day after that even more. The ship will be made ready for them, I trust?”

“By your command, my lord.”

Lord Haraush sat down on an ornately pillowed chair. He sighed, slapping his knees. “The game of deceits has begun, and I risk all for a handful of strangers over my fellow clan lords. Let us hope for its end!”

“Good night, my lord.”

“Yes, yes, good night, Anton.”

Bowing, Anton shut the jeweled doors to Lord Haraush’s quarters. He saluted to the many guards that protected the palace’s inner chambers, exiting from the section that housed Lord Haraush. Quickly looking about, he made his way into the connecting corridors leading to the other clan lords. To maintain a show of unity before their rivalrous clans, their chosen leaders were literally forced to share the palace together. Yet each clan lord maintained a separate domicile for himself, complete with his own complement of servants, advisors, soldiers, and guards; mini-fortresses nestled within one. Eventually, Anton reached the section that housed Lord Rhuun.

“You are late. Very late,” Lord Rhuun said. He lay across a rich couch, reading a large tome. He was tall and thin, with long brown hair that faded to white at its ends. He looked up at Anton, black-framed glasses balanced at the bridge of a long, aristocratic nose. His frown was so deeply etched it seemed ready to fall off the precipice of his chin.

“My apologies, my lord. We have only just returned.”

A slash of a smile played faintly on Lord Rhuun’s sagging face. “Indeed. Lord Haraush has more energy for a man his age than one would think, tramping about in the middle of the night. They are all here, I take it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You have their numbers, as well as their names?” “Yes, my lord.”

Lord Rhuun slapped the covers of his book together. “Good! I’ve let this farce continue for far too long. Is he going to move on his plan?”

“Yes, my lord. He will return tomorrow with maps of the isle and a ship will be moored for their use.”

“Hah. He will send them like lambs to a slaughter. A pity he knows not where your true loyalties lie, and that you have been my spy throughout, eh, Anton?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Yesss…we’ll catch them all in one fell swoop. Haraush thinks his new friends will free us from what he sees as the grip of the Dark One, when in fact he places us deeper in His hands! I suspected he was a traitor and this at last proves it. The Dark One will be pleased. I will have handed him his enemies, and he will, in return, hand me dominance over the Sargossian Empire, and beyond! Your payment will be double the usual for this night’s work. Now go.”