The Dark Throne

“Take him away.”

Larken raised his head, his broken left horn in plain view before everyone’s eyes. He was still kneeling with his hands resting on the ground, as submissive to the judgment of the Aesyr as anyone who entered the door behind him.

“No, please…” he began, and Morgal could not stop the grimace that twisted her mouth.  

Pleading always annoyed her.

The valkun guards tried to muscle Larken to his feet. As he fought, he screamed after Morgal. “It won’t last! Greskar knows no loyalty; he will take what he wants and leave your backs exposed!”

Morgal’s grimace was gone in an instant, replaced with a grin that showed every one of her  razor-sharp teeth. She nodded to the guards and they stopped. Larken held firmly between them.

Then she rose from her throne and began to move forward slowly, hips swaying. Her long black robe opened to the side with each step, allowing a glimpse of her pale-skinned legs and feet clutched in high-heeled, ankle wrapped shoes. She adjusted one of the long gloves she wore better, but did not bother to shake out the raven hair that partly covered her angular face.

Morgal stopped a breath away from Larken and pulled up his face with one of her long claws, fixing her dark eyes in his yellow ones. “Are you calling me a fool?” she whispered. “Do you not think me capable of choosing the right allies?”

Larken shuddered, but managed not to look away. When his voice came out it trembled for a brief moment. “I can help you,” he said softly. “I don’t have Greskar’s strength, but I’m faster, more loyal…”

Morgal withdrew her finger and began to circle him slowly. “Faster. More faithful.” she repeated. “You must see the problem with this offer, don’t you? I don’t need speed and loyalty in my ranks.”

Larken tried to turn to look at her, but the guards held him tight.

“I need endurance.”

Morgal tapped a claw on Larken’s shoulder as she passed. The marall’s knees buckled, gripped by a dark, invisible energy that wrenched him to the ground. Without hesitation, the valkun guards dropped him and retreated. When Morgal was having fun, anyone could become part of the game. It was a harsh lesson they had all learned on the first day in her presence.

“I need intelligence,” Morgal continued and she brought herself down to Larken’s level. “Or, at least, enough intelligence that my subordinants know when it’s best to keep quiet.”

Larken opened his mouth to speak, but only a strangled gasp emerged.

Morgal flashed her terrifyingly sharp smile again. She was enjoying herself, it was obvious. She was enjoying the terror in that marall’s eyes, the trembling of his limbs, the smell of his fear.

“I also need strength,” she concluded, her long claws expertly weaving the narrow path between esophagus and spine to erupt from the other side.

Larken’s eyes widened and he fell to the floor, the wet sucking sound of Morgal’s fingers withdrawing from his neck barely preceding his breathless attempts to scream. Filthy marall blood spread in a rapid pool across the polished floor of the hall, the smell reviving the beasts locked in the cages behind the throne. Larken’s gasps were soon joined by hungry baying and frantic slamming against cage doors.

“Silence!” shouted Morgal.

Terror silenced them.

Larken’s sobs faded as the guards picked him up and dragged him away, leaving a trail of blood to the front door.

Morgal returned to her throne and let herself fall gracefully onto it, licking her still dripping claws. Then she shot a glance to her left.

“No luck.”

“Again,” came the cavernous reply.

Morgal turned fully toward her host.

The creature advanced from the darkness. Each step caused a vibration, resonating like a gong whenever its goat hooves touched the dusty surface. The cone of light from the candles above revealed two long curved horns and eyes as red as burning embers. His ashen grey skin took on a leathery cast as the thorny growths that covered his shoulders and forearms made dancing shadows from the flickering candle light. A marall, like Larken, but infinitely more powerful.

“You waste time choosing allies amongst scum.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Stop summoning idiots.”

Morgal passed a claw over her lips. “And yet, that’s how you and I met, Greskar,” she taunted him.

Greskar lips peeled back and revealed the jagged teeth beneath, almost passing for a smile. “I am the exception.”

“Hmm, maybe…” Morgal replied, looking at her claws.

Greskar advanced a few steps, stepping into the pool of Larken’s blood.

“The deal?” he asked.

“Blown.”

“I warned you of this: the gilmora have always been a problem. They are devious, deceptive, reeking of…”

“I’ll find a way,” Morgal interrupted, waving away his objections with her bloody hand. “I can’t leave all that power in Malek’s hands.”

“I could…” Greskar took his time to complete the sentence, his red eyes studying Morgal’s impassive face for a long moment. “…solve the problem for you.”

“And your price?”

“My family.”

Morgal gaze fell upon him and her black eyes seethed, so dark and deep that even the beasts in the cages recoiled.

“We’ve already talked about this, Greskar,” she said coldly. “I will not risk Lemmeth’s fragile balance to get two brats back.”

A shadow passed over Greskar’s face. “Those ‘two brats’ are why I am here.”

“Then help me. If Zagal falls, your family will be free to cross the border, if not, well…” Morgal stood up and slowly reached the large window in the room. She laid her eyes on a spot not too far away where a line of valkun lined up on a fragile border that bisected the city. “You know the situation,” she concluded.

“There is no more time, Morgal. The west side is on the verge of a crisis, my people…”

“Your people have made the wrong alliance, Greskar,” Morgal finished the sentence, spitting the words out like they left a bad taste in her mouth.

Greskar bared his teeth, but when the words came out of his mouth they sounded measured and calm. “That is why I am here. Zagal has left the city to rot, it is time for retribution.”

Morgal turned to him, a strange light in her eyes. “And for me to ensure he pays the consequences, I need that stone.”

“My daughter…”

“I would love to help you, my dear Greskar, but Zagal is as devious as you believe the gilmora. More so. He has nothing of my gentle nature, either. Any attempt you make to get your family out, would only alert him to our… little alliance. He would obviously kill them before they ever crossed the border. Then-” she continued, seeing Greskar’s opening mouth and cutting off any chance he had of arguing, “he would have the perfect reason to start a war. Our plan would go up in smoke and your people would be the ash it rose from.” Morgal reached out a hand and stroked Greskar’s animalistic face with the tips of her claws. “Bring me that stone and your family will be my priority. I promise.”

Greskar closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gazed out the window at the same row of valkun Morgal has just been examining. The border, the other side of Lemmeth.

“All right,” he capitulated, and his normally booming voice small. “I will leave this very evening.”

Morgal smiled; lazy, arrogant, the cruelty that lurks beneath only flickering in her obsidian eyes. “Wonderful. The guards will get you whatever you need.” She walked toward her throne, but before she sat down she paused, turning back. “And, Greskar?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t get another chance.”

“I know.”

Morgal nodded and sat down.

“You may go,” she dismissed him.

Snapping her fingers, the doors to the cages behind her opened wide, letting the beasts pour into the hall and pounce on Larken’s blood.