Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (49 page)

Leopold Malance Venomisis awoke. It was after 11:00. He was hungry and had a splitting headache. He was always hungry, and his late night debauchery often gave him headaches. He roared for his attendants, who scrambled to the ready.

He scratched his mammoth head. His eyes were bloodshot. His breath stunk like rotten cheese.

“Bring me some food!” he roared. “Now! And get her out of here,” jerking his thumb in the direction of a large, walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room.

One of the servants went to retrieve the Troll girl. “She’s … she’s dead,” he said.

“I know she’s dead,” said Malance. “I said, get her out of here. I don’t want to have to say it again.”

Two of the servants dragged the body from the room while one sat a huge tray of assorted meats in front of his Emperor. He tore into it. Soon, blood dripped down his chin, and he smacked his lips in delight.

“Bring me Uncutus,” he commanded. “Where is that numbskull anyway? How does he expect me to run things if he’s never around when I need him? Have him here in ten minutes, or your head is forfeit.” The servant raced from the room.

He finished his meal, consuming the entire tray. Then he drank an entire jug of spirits in huge gulps, much of which ran down his neck and onto his chest. He casually wiped at the spills as though trying to blend them in so that nobody would notice.

Uncutus Twit, his second in command and Minister of the Interior, arrived quite out of breath, having run all the way from the dungeons where he had been interrogating one of the Human prisoners. It had not gone well. The beatings had proven slightly too harsh, and he was now unconscious and unresponsive. He knew Malance would not take this well. He had already decided that he would try and steer the conversation away from the interrogation of the prisoner and towards the happenings in Ravenwild.

He entered and bowed his head immediately. “My Lord.”

“You are late,” he said. “Were you not lathered, I would have your head. Sit. We have much to discuss.”

He waved impatiently at a chair next to his pedestal desk. Uncutus hurriedly took his seat.

“I have gotten word that there was a very strange occurrence in the border woodlands to the north,” he growled. “There was a sighting of two, no, three Humans in the company of a lone, to date, unidentified Troll. There was some sort of fight. Two dozen or more Gnomes were killed, not surprising the way those scrawny weaklings fight, and the Troll
was
captured but
then escaped, out from under their very noses
! I want Captain Ineptitude, and what remains of his squad, brought to Ghasten immediately for public execution. No delays.”

Uncutus was surprised that Malance would order the execution of an entire Gnome delegation, but there was no way he would challenge his order. He had his own hide to worry about.

“I will attend to it at once, My Lord,” then,

“I hear that the Humans have all fled their
walled
capital. In no time we will have killed and eaten the last of them I would think.”

“Get out of my sight, fool. The Humans are a crafty lot. They will now be even harder to exterminate. I gave the order to have them all killed in their sleep when they were all
inside
the wall, but those dimwits charged in like banshees and allowed thousands to escape. Not to mention that we are unable to account for more than fifty thousand of their troops. No, there is no doubt we could have done it smarter. Where do you think you are going when I am talking to you? You treasonous dog, I
will
have your head.”

He was about to holler for his personal guard when Uncutus dropped to his knees. “My Lord,” he pleaded. “My profoundest apologies. I thought you ordered me out of your sight for my ridiculously inaccurate assessment of the Human situation. I was wrong. I beg of you, My Lord. I have been your faithful servant for … ”

“Get up, slime,” he said. “We need to speak about the interrogation of the prisoner.”

There was a cry from outside the room. “Let me in. His Excellency will want to know of this at once!”

“He is
not
to be disturbed, fool. Now step back or I will run you though.”

“I say again, let me in. The Emperor must know of this right away!”

“One more step and I
will
run you through … ”

“What is the meaning of this outrage
?” Malance bellowed. It was practically loud enough for the prisoners in the dungeons below to quake.

He moved through the doorway with an alacrity that belied his enormous bulk, only to discover an official messenger, in proper uniform and displaying his rank and seniority status, on the end of one of his guard’s swords. Neither was going to back down, that much was obvious. “Jump in any time you feel it might be useful, Uncutus,” he snapped, motioning dramatically.

Uncutus Twit sprang to his feet.

“You there, stay that sword. You there, spit it out, and this had better be important, or you will wish it had been.”

“My message is for the Emperor’s ears only,” he mumbled, keeping his head down.

Despite the superior rank of this senior Troll, it looked like it was probably the first time he had ever delivered a ‘for the Emperor’s ears only’ message. Well, if he were anxious now, he would be more so while Malance decided if the message needed to be truth-told. Such an experience was the mother of all interrogations, performed by an entire team of experienced questioners who, after a few hours, could pretty much get the messenger to admit that he had cooked and eaten the Emperor’s two nieces. Such as it was, and despite the fact that it was well known to be pretty much useless for getting at the actual truth, Malance was as likely to order it as not, depending on the content of the message.

“Search him!” screeched Malance. He rubbed his head as though rubbing at a headache.

The search process was no fun, causing the messenger to cry out more than once. “He is clean, Your Grace.”

“Leave us, then.”

The attendants and Uncutus Twit slinked out through the doorway, closing it behind them. Malance turned to the messenger who was lashed securely to a pole.

“Out with it,” he snapped.

“Closer, My Lord. Truth-tell me if you have the slightest doubt as to what I am about to reveal to you, but it is imperative that not another soul hear these words. Your life depends on it.”

Venomisis, unwilling to comply straight off with the Troll’s request, toyed with the idea of just having him killed and hauled away. If the message were that important, whoever had sent it would, without a doubt, send it again. “Who sends this message?” he asked, breaking his own rule that all such messages be recited, from start to finish, before any questions were asked.

The messenger held to his conviction. He spoke not a word. He knew that the Emperor had no choice but to come closer and meet his request, or order a truth-telling. He had worked in his majesty’s service for way too long to not know, by heart, the rules of engagement for delivering a message ‘for the Emperor’s ears only’.

Malance knew what he had to do. He had to get in this messenger’s face and learn the truth of it. He had no choice.

He leaned in, loathing every second of the ordeal. When their faces were merely inches apart, he felt he would come out of his skin. He could see the obvious fear in the other’s eyes. But there was something else. Something he didn’t actually see, but knew he should be seeing.

Norma Webb put the newborn Prince of Vultura to her breast and let out a slight gasp as he took the nipple hungrily in his tiny mouth. Nobody had told her that breastfeeding would be this painful. Cassandrea Jebwickett had mysteriously disappeared, and Norma had been assigned the role of wet nurse to the Prince. “Easy there,” she said with a little laugh. “There’s plenty enough. That’s it, my sweet boy.” She stiffened a bit, holding her breath, as he latched on harder. Her nipples had not hardened yet, and his feeding stung something fierce.

There was a loud crash as four Trolls barged through the doors to the nursery. She gasped as they appeared directly in front of her. The nearest one raised a huge hand, looking like he was going to strike her down. She wrapped her arms protectively around the infant and prepared to absorb the force of the blow.

“No,” said another. “You remember what Loquitar said. There is to be no injury to him. Not yet … ”

“Yes, but he didn’t say anything about his wet nurse … ”

He laughed a depraved laugh.

“Madam, you will pack your things straight away and report to the study of your former Emperor. Suitable quarters are being arranged for you outside of the castle. You have thirty minutes. If you fail to appear in that time, you will be found and killed.”

With that, the four Trolls lifted one of the massive tables and carried it out as though it weighed no more than a small toy.

Norma packed quickly and in about twenty minutes found herself waiting outside of the study of Hanz Oratorius Night. Now was not the time to lose self-control. Now was the time to keep a clear head and do what was necessary to protect the life of the newborn she cradled in her arms. The same four Trolls appeared.

“Change of plans,” said one. “Come with us.”

Terror stole its way into her heart as she stood to obey. Something was amiss. Where was Hanz Night? What had happened to him? She looked around in a panic. They were taking the young Prince somewhere to eliminate him. That had to be it, and while she did not know it, she knew she felt it. They had conferred with their superiors and the plan had changed, all right. It had changed to murdering the heir to the throne of Vultura. It only made sense. Were he allowed to grow up, he might someday pose a threat. Out of the way. That’s where they wanted him.

They marched out of the nursery. No more words were spoken. They turned right, down a corridor. The walls were now bare stone, the last remains of the torn murals having been removed. They passed several more doorways. Suddenly she knew where they were going or, rather, her intuition told her. At the last doorway before the entrance to the reception hall, she begged for permission to please retrieve one last article of clothing before they went on their way. A favorite shawl she had left in her quarters. She would need it in the coming winter months, she pleaded.

The one in charge granted her request, demanding only that she leave the door open so they could watch her every move. When another of them mumbled something about her not needing anything where she was going, she knew she had been right. Slipping inside, she set the Prince down on a changing table and slammed the door shut, latching it securely with stout iron latches. Outside, she heard the mayhem begin, and the hammering of the axes commence on the doorway. She moved quickly, tearing clothing and assorted bric-a-brac out of the closet at the end of the room. She fumbled for the latches on the far wall inside the closet. They were
jammed!
With all her strength, she tore at them, and they gave. She turned the entire wall in on itself and exposed a small ladder that descended into the dark. She heard Loquitar Coral screaming orders at the Trolls that were pounding on the closed door, which was starting to splinter. Even the thick oak would not stand up much longer to the furious assault being brought to bear by the monstrous Troll battle-axes. She picked up the Prince and stuffed him like a rag into her blouse. Down the ladder she scurried. She heard Hanz scream, “
Run Norma! Run … ”
then the dreadful crunch as one of the axes ended his life.