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throne of the dark king
chapter eight

Written by Alex Hera

Cassian and Adair instinctively stepped forward, the two lovers in lock-step as they put themselves between the dark Knight and the rest of the party. The rogue drew his sword, and the criminal brought his hand to the hilt of his dagger as the Knight stared them down. The standoff seemed to last for an eternity. Panicked though he was, Bruno surveyed their surroundings carefully. They stood in the shadow of a tower of stone bricks, covered in vines. Only a few yards away was the sturdy, wooden door inside – safety. Florian had his eyes set on it as well.

“This must be the tower of the wizard, Arcturus,” said the scribe.

“Can we run for it?” asked the jester.

“Perhaps if we reason with him,” said Cassian, lowering his blade.

“Cassian, this is insane!” said Adair.

“Trust me,” the rogue replied with a smirk. He turned to the Knight. “We have tracked you down. We have seen the power of your master. I wish to resolve this conflict, in peace.”

“Peace? There is no peace with your King,” uttered the Knight in a low, threatening voice. He lumbered towards them, his blade not yet drawn. “You have merely scratched the surface of what I wish to show you.”

“Then pray tell, what more must we see? More death? More horror? More demons and hellish practices?” said Cassian, now mere feet away from the Knight.

“Your friends must become one with my master,” said the Knight.

“And what of me?” said the rogue.

The world seemed to bend around the Knight. Cassian, sensing an attack, drew his sword and struck towards the Knight. Reality folded in around the Knight, and the rogue’s blade cut through empty air. In an instant, the Knight reappeared behind him and drove his black, iridescent blade through Cassian’s heart. He looked down in shock at the steel sticking through his chest.

“How did you…” he gasped, blood filling his lungs.

“NO!” screamed Adair.

The Knight snapped his head towards the criminal and pressed his foot against Cassian’s back as leverage to pull the sword out. Adair rushed to the rogue’s side and propped up his head with his hands, tears streaming down his face. Cassian stared up at Adair, wheezing and coughing up blood, unable to speak. The Knight watched with satisfaction.

“Your time has come,” said the Knight.

Hands shaking with rage, Adair gripped the hilt of the strange sword with jagged teeth and ripped it from its ill-fitting sheathe. A flash of doubt about its capability as a weapon crept over his mind but with the bizarre artifact in his hands and combat mere seconds away, he felt… power. For reasons he didn’t understand, it felt almost familiar, like he understood it intuitively. His finger drifted to the trigger on the hilt and, through a mechanism unknowable to Adair, the sword roared to life. The teeth spun around the blade and a light blue glow emanated from the metal. Adair chalked it up to magic, and stared down the Knight, feeling victorious already.

“This is for Cassian,” he spat through gritted teeth.

Adair sprinted at the Knight and struck. Their blades clashed and the criminal strained against the Knight’s strength, letting out a rageful growl as steel pressed against steel. The teeth of the artifact ground against the Knight’s sable blade, unpleasant to the ears but sending a wave of satisfaction through Adair as the Knight’s sword began to chip. Behind them, Florian and Bruno sprinted towards the wizard’s tower. Adair’s footwork was imprecise but his mastery of the blade was evident as the two fought. He and the Knight were locked in battle, countering every one of each other’s strikes. Sparks flew, and Adair’s powerful weapon continued to break off piece after piece off the Knight’s sword. The scribe and the jester reached the door and attempted to push it open.

“It’s locked!” exclaimed Bruno.

“Out of the way!” yelled Florian. From their pocket, they removed a small vial and poured it into the lock. The liquid fizzed and hissed, dissolving the lock. Florian slammed their body into the door, forcing the tower open. Their hairs stood on end as a wave of cold and emptiness washed over them. The scent of damp and decay emanated from inside.

“Thank God,” said Bruno, stepping inside and pulling Florian in after him. “Adair!”

The Knight thrust his blade at Adair, though it had pieces missing, gouged out by Adair’s powerful blade. The criminal parried, and this final strike was too much, for the dark Knight's iridescent blade snapped. The Knight stumbled and fell to his knees. Adair struck at his torso so quickly and forcefully that it looked like a blue streak in the air. It came down on his black armor – and carved straight through it. Black blood sprayed out, spattering Adair from head to toe, and the Knight let out a terrorized scream. There was a glint in Adair's eye as he pressed harder, the buzzing, incomprehensible sword tearing through the Knight’s flesh, deeper and deeper until he had been sawed completely in half. Satisfied with his revenge, he stowed the blood-soaked weapon and rushed to Cassian’s side and propped up his head with his hands, tears streaming down his face. The rogue stared up at Adair, wheezing and coughing up blood, unable to speak. Florian and Bruno watched from the doorway to the tower as Adair’s head drooped in anguish. Slowly, with great care, The criminal let go of Cassian’s head, closed his eyelids, and made his way to the tower.

“Adair, I’m so…” Bruno started.

“I know,” said the criminal, wiping his tears. “We have to survive. It’s what he wanted.”

“Adair… what was that weapon? How did you know it could do… that?” asked Florian, a twinge of fright in their voice.

“I didn’t. It just… came to me.” he said, mildly unsettled himself. “At least we are rid of the Knight. Now, we must stop the foul creature that destroyed this hamlet. Bruno, what do you know of wizards?”

“I know very little about Arcturus. But the dwellings of mages are oftentimes filled with traps and sigils,” said the scribe. “The workshop may have something which could help us. But I’ve heard that sometimes, there are tunnels built beneath towers like this one.”

Florian grabbed a torch off of the wall and, with a flick of their fingers, lit it. The orange glow illuminated the dark room, largely empty but adorned with decorated tapestries on the wall – the mark of the wizard. In front of them was a spiral staircase going two directions. The stairs climbing high into the tower were slick with an iridescent oil. The steps descending into the basement were chipped and partially broken.

Art by Sage / HerbalSpecialTea