Dux didn't know when he'd dozed off, only that he now stood before the Onyx Throne. Even with the many braziers and torches burning the stone hall within was beyond freezing. His breath misted in the still air, fingers painfully numb to the touch. Silence howled in his ears, barely contained by the crackling flames.
Tapestries of loyal houses littered the walls and pillars, stitched with their deeds and honors. Some stretched down longer than others, but none compared to the one that hung behind the throne. The Vangen Guard's crimson, four-armed cross stood emblazoned over a field of checkered black and gold. The cloth billowed down from the very top of the ceiling to the very bottom of the floor, sprawled out past the throne, to the very bottom step of the stone dais.
And yet it was not the Vangen's tapestry that held Dux's eye, but the carved ivory mask glaring at him from the throne. It was featureless save for two eye holes and a rigid tapering for the nose.
In the past, Dux would have feared the mask, its visitations brought with such terrors that it left him howling through night. He used to awaken dripping in sweat, breath huffing and puffing as if he'd been marching for hours. Now, after twenty years, he saw the mask as nothing more then a terrible nuisance.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
The mask regarded him in silent malice that washed over him like the tides of an ocean. Its hollow bore into him, touched at his thoughts, leaving parts of his mind scorched and ragged, but he knew better now. He steeled himself, envisioning a curtain of iron to shield himself.
The mask pulled back. "Three days." The words echoed throughout the bitter hall.
"I know," Dux said.
"They plot and scheme against me, scurrying like rats within the darkness."
"As all rats do." The chill in the air turned colder. Dux's lungs began to burn with every aching breath.
"Do you plot against me?" The mask regarded him.
"I serve the Onyx Throne," Dux said through chattering teeth.
The light in the throne room grew dim. Fingers of sunlight pouring through crystal glass windows winked away one by one till only the firelight remained.
"Captain," the mask hissed.
"I serve," Dux began to say.
"Captain!" The mask's voice changed, shifting in tones that made the air crackle.
"I," Dux fought for every breath. "I serve," His vision blurred as the last of the flames guttered out and only darkness remained.
"Captain!"
Dux woke with a start. He looked up, expecting to see the mask, but it was only Magus. The old haggard magician was leaning over him, one bony hand on his shoulder.
"You fell asleep," Magus said. "I practically had to shake you awake. You're lucky I didn't have to use my magick on you. That would have been uncomfortable."
Dux regarded Magus with a tired smile. "Sorry about that, old friend. Guess the days are finally catching up with me."
"How long have you been awake?" Magus asked.
Dux sucked on his teeth as he fished out the better part of his lie. "A few days at most."
The magician didn't appear to buy given the look in his eye. "My offer still stands, you know. A little glamour, and I provide a few hours of dreamless sleep."
Dux frowned. "And what makes you think I need my sleep dreamless?" He settled back into his chair, desperate to find at least one comfortable spot under all his lamellar and chain. Even in his own quarters he still dressed for battle. Experience had taught him that an attack could happen at any moment, and he'd be damned if he wasn't out there in the thick of it.
YOU ARE READING
Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)
Fantasy[Completed] The Royal Guard of the Empire has faithfully served Byzantia for nearly three centuries now. Hand picked from foreign lands, these guardsmen hold no political ties, carry no agendas, and bare no creeds except to those who sit upon the O...
