“He did what?” exclaimed Lord Eugene Harkady, spittle flying from
his mouth.
“He played music, my lord.” There was a nervous shuffling of feet.
“Then he killed everyone.”
“Why is he still alive then?” Eugene Harkady ground his teeth in
frustration. This, the finest, most glorious hour of his rule, was slowly
turning into ashes in his mouth. He took a deep draught from the pitcher he
held and threw it away in disgust. The wine, which had tasted sweeter than
honey not so long ago, now tasted worse than dog’s piss. The guard in front of
him did not meet his stare.
“Kill him. Kill him now and bring me his head,” he grunted, his
festive mood evaporating like the morning dew. “Or I’ll see yours struck from
your shoulders.”
The guard hurried away, leaving Lord Harkady behind with his
troubled thoughts. She’d warned him, he remembered. She’d warned him this may
come to pass. Damn the hag, Eugene swore inwardly. Damn her and her obtuse
prophecies.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise from his doorway. He
turned sharply, drawing out his dagger.
“Father?” Niall was peeking hesitantly from behind the door.
With his curly, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, ten years old Niall
looked nothing like the man he called his father. Where Eugene stood tall and
broad, Niall was small for his age and slight of build; his fair skin stood in
stark contrast with Eugene’s darker features. The boy was trembling slightly,
his gaze fixed at the weapon in Eugene’s hand.
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” he asked, sheathing his
weapon.
Niall shook his head in response. “There’s too much noise, father.”
The child clutched weakly at his clothes. “And I’m afraid.”
A deep seated loathing filled Eugene to the very core. The child was
just like his mother, soft and weak and utterly useless. Not useless, he
corrected himself. This slight, weak child would ensure that the name of Eugene
Harkady would live on forever. Eugene smiled grimly on the irony.
“Go to your bed,” he commanded. “I will send for you shortly.”
For a moment, the boy looked like he might put up resistance. But
the flash of defiance vanished as soon as it had appeared. Eugene nodded
satisfactorily to himself; the gutless child would dare not defy him when the
time came. If only this night could have passed without incident. It was to be
the night of his crowning glory, until it all threatened to unravel with the
coming of that infernal stranger. Damn the hag, he swore again. Tonight was the
night he had not wished to invoke her; and yet tonight was the night now he
must.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stranger hauled himself over the wall with relative ease and took
stock of his surroundings. The courtyard was bare, as was to be expected. Lord
Harkady had sent most of his troops out into the town looking for him, leaving
his own keep relatively undefended. A few guards still patrolled the walls, but
fortune was in the Stranger’s favour. There was no moon in the sky, the clouds obscuring
what little light remained. Even the torches lit at regular intervals seemed to
emphasise the gloom than alleviate it. In a way, it suited the Stranger. Most
of the guards were local lads who had drafted into Lord Harkady’s service for
two square meals, some respect and easy coin. It wasn’t something they deserved
to die for – at least not yet. He glanced around once more to ensure there was
no one in sight and trotted off towards the keep looming in front of him.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Eugene felt the cold wind rising around him, whipping at his clothes
even as the leaves on trees just a short distance away seemed unaffected. The dead
man near his feet seemed to shudder for an instant and dissolved into nothing
before turning upright at the edge of his vision. It seemed to be dancing, if
it could be called that, in a disjointed manner. Eugene thought he could make
out three dark shapes rushing towards the body from three different directions.
He blinked, and the shapes disappeared.
Kill you must, or die you
shall... a horrible screech seemed to fill the
entire night sky. Fell him you must, or face
your downfall...
“Who is he?” he rasped, the buffeting winds making speech nearly
impossible.
When the past is not the
past... The dead man was still dancing to its
awkward rhythm. When Death shirks from
duty...he rises strong and fast...born of blood, of earth, of grass...he comes
reforged...Abelor the last...
“The last of the Abelors is dead,” Eugene shouted. “The boy is nothing.”
The response seemed to be more fervent gyrations and a rise in the
wind surrounding him. Ice crackled under his feet, but the chill that he felt
didn’t have anything to do with the dropping temperature.
The past ascends on wings
of death...it rises strong and sure...he comes with memories of wrongs done...he
comes with vengeance so pure...
The dead man halted, seemingly confused; the wind died away as the
unholy cacophony stopped. The gaze of its red, glowing eyes seemed accusatory.
This one that you bring
us... it is not sufficient...
“With you, what is?” Eugene replied venomously, glad to be able to breathe
freely again. “Just one more night! Help me claim what is mine, and I will give
you all that you ask for!”
There was a sharp crack, and Eugene Harkady suddenly found himself
flat on the ground unable to move his limbs. The dead man sat on his chest. The
red glow in its eyes had taken on a dangerous sheen.
“You will...give...usss....” it spoke with a harsh sibilant hiss,
the mouth moving at odds to the words spoken, “...you...who...were
granted...power...by...usss?” There was a brief pause as it seemed to formulate
the next sentence. “Do...not...presume...to...be...our massster...Eugene
Harkady...”
“You...need...me...” Eugene croaked.
The red eyes seemed to consider this. “Yesss...but do not....think
yourssself...indisssspenssable...” it tilted its head, thick white fog pouring
out of its mouth, “bring usss....the...boy...and we...ssshalll...ssseee...”
The dead man disappeared just like morning dew evaporating at the
first touch of light, but Eugene could hear its final message.
We will meet again...before
the night passes...as an unpaid due shall be demanded...life and death and
shadow cross paths...he comes again...Abelor the last...
Eugene Harkady got to his feet. Just one more night, he told himself,
just one more night of putting up with the hag, just one more sacrifice to be
made. The boy would finally play his part. And he’d be granted power over death
and life, the power to make his own destiny. He walked down the path to the
keep; the stranger would be dealt with without any further delay. Behind him, the
thick white fog roiled on in the little clearing in the woods; twisting,
turning, waiting.
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