Sword of Kings
Chapter 21 – The Dark Lord

by Bill W

---

Legal Notice:
The following story contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts. 
The story is a work of fiction and has no basis in reality.
Don’t read this story if:
**You’re not 18 or over,    
**If it is illegal to read this type of material where you live,
**Or if you don’t want to read about gay/bi people in love or having sex.

The author retains copyright to this story.  Placing this story on a website or reproducing this story for distribution without the author’s permission is a violation of that copyright.  Legal action will be taken against violators.

I wish to extend my thank you to Emoe57 for his editorial assistance with this chapter.

E-mail responses to the stories, story suggestions, or other ‘constructive’ comments or advice may be sent to: bwstories8@aol.com.

---

 

Madumda had not aged as well as Beraut, and his appearance made him look considerably older than the only other survivor of the Council of Wizards.  Where Beraut’s hair was white and flowing, giving him a very commanding aura, Madumda’s locks had a very unappealing yellowish tint to them and his head tresses were an unkempt mass of tangles and snarls.  His face also seemed to be more haggard than that of his slightly younger peer and the creases on his forehead and cheeks were not only more plentiful, but also more deeply furrowed.  His appearance, however, belied the threat he posed.  The sorcerer currently sat hunched over his plans, going over them yet again, in preparation for the upcoming battle. 

He not only had failed to take very good care of himself, but his residence had also fared poorly.  Treblanc had fallen into a state of decay and disrepair since the Dark Lord had claimed it for himself.  Even though the building had not yet deteriorated so badly that its former magnificence could not be identified, it had obviously lacked any caring touch.  The fortress was currently dank, musty and in desperate need of a cleaning, yet the building was still impressive, even to the casual onlooker. 

The thickness of the imposing blocks of stone that comprised its walls, as well as their alignment, was extraordinary.  They were set so they formed seals so tight that a knife blade couldn’t be forced between them.  The walls were so smooth, both on the interior and exterior of the building, that they formed a nearly seamless surface.  This preciseness of construction helped to set the fortress of Treblanc apart from other similar structures and could be rivaled only by the Castle at Leander. 

The elaborately carved beams that supported the vaulted ceiling in the public rooms were also very impressive, even though the plaster between them was in desperate need of a fresh coat of whitewash.   The intricately carved furnishings, which once added to the aura of these stately rooms, were in a similar state of disarray.  Those pieces were now strewn in a helter-skelter fashion throughout the premises, like pieces of trash just waiting to be discarded. 

In addition to the furniture being ill kept, the library was also in a state of disorder.  The numerous volumes that were stored there were quite carelessly strewn about the shelves, tables and seats.  Some of the tomes were open and some were closed, but none of them were being taken care of with any degree of attention or respect.  This fact did not seem to bother Madumda as he sat at one of the tables, perusing his notes and listening to a briefing being given by some of the men responsible for gathering the intelligence from their operatives.

“My Lord,” one spymaster addressed him, “I am concerned about Tunstan.  I believe it is becoming an increasing threat to us.  There are many in that city who are working with Beraut, doing all they can to glean information about our plans and spying on our movements.  I think we should try to stop that from happening.” 

“There is no way to do that,” Madumda informed him, even though he didn’t look up from the documents in front of him, “but I wouldn’t worry about that.  We have even more bodies scattered throughout Tarolia collecting information on them.  We have a definite advantage when it comes to intelligence gathering.”  The sorcerer finally looked up and studied his informant, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Their operation does not concern you then?” he countered, somewhat surprised by the sorcerer’s nonchalant treatment of the warning. 

“No, why should it?” the Dark Lord countered, rhetorically.  “We’ve known all along that they’ve been collecting data, which they would try to use against me.  I have willingly allowed them to do this and it has done them no good.” 

“But aren’t you worried they might eventually discover something that would give them a slight advantage?” the man continued.  “They have been noting troop numbers and movements, as well as data about weaponry and the racial makeup of our forces.  We know this because we’ve intercepted some of their communiqués and I worry this might compromise our battle strategy,” he added, looking toward the others for support. 

“Whatever details they gather will be woefully inadequate to keep me from winning this battle and gaining the recognition I deserve,” Madumda told him, exuding his typical air of confidence.  This attitude made at least one of his informants think about the old saying, ‘pride goeth before the fall.’  

“Aren’t you even concerned about the meeting Beraut held at Leander?” another of his agents wondered, mentioning intelligence information they had reviewed during their previous discussions. 

“Not in the least,” Madumda commented, seeming bored by their persistence.  “They’re going to have meetings to try to figure out a way to stop me, but they won’t be successful.”

Madumda had barely finished that thought when the doors to the library burst open and his chief advisor hustled in.  The sorcerer glared at the intruder and his body stiffened, dramatic indications that he was not happy with what had just happened.  “I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!” the sorcerer bellowed at the small man, annoyed by the interruption. 

“Excuse me, My Lord Madumda,” his aide panted, while bowing apologetically, “but a messenger has arrived and says that it is urgent he speak with you.”  This pronouncement did not seem to lessen the Dark Lord’s ire.

“What does he want?” the necromancer snapped.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” the hunched over man explained.  “He says he has been ordered to give only YOU that news.”  Upon hearing this, Madumda raised his eyebrows, wondering what information the messenger might possibly have that would be for his ears only. 

“As long as you’ve already disturbed me,” Madumda responded, “then I might as well speak to him.  I will make my way to the private sitting room and you may bring the messenger there in about ten minutes.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” his subordinate replied, bowing and scraping yet again.  “I will wait ten minutes before I present him to you.”  The Dark Lord nodded and his underling backed out of the room, bowing continually as he went. 

“I will return shortly,” he advised those he had been meeting with, “so remain here.”  The tone in his voice and the look on his face told them there would be dire consequences if they did not do as they were told.  Each of them acknowledged the sorcerer’s instruction, either by giving a slight nod of his head or responding verbally, and then Madumda spun about and sped from the room.  He went down the adjoining corridor, making a sudden stop and sharp turn about halfway down, where he opened a door and then disappeared into the adjoining chamber.

He quickly moved over to the largest chair in the room, which was placed strategically between two smaller chairs at the far end of the hall, and took his seat.  This furniture was arranged this way as an intimidation technique.  By using the largest chair, it magnified his stature, and by being at the far end of the gallery, everyone had to focus on his position, as they made their way to speak with him.  He hoped by using this type of distraction and subtle coercion, he could get more out of those he met with.  If they were concentrating on the physical aspects and his overpowering presence, rather than on what they were going to say, they might give away additional information.  Over the years, the necromancer had found this approach highly effective. 

As the messenger was lead into the room, his attention was immediately drawn toward the large piece of furniture and its occupant, as was expected.  When he saw the sorcerer staring directly at him, the man didn’t dare to look anywhere else.  His attention was focused solely upon Madumda and he was becoming more rattled with each step he took.  Slowly and nervously, he made his way forward and bowed when he drew near his master. 

“What is so urgent that it requires you to disturb my deliberations?” Madumda asked him, in a very harsh tone. 

“Er…excuse me, my Lord Madumda,” the runner, apologized, stooping even lower, until he was nearly groveling on the cold stone floor, “but I was ordered to…um…come here and speak only with you.  Those in charge…I mean my superiors felt you would want to learn about this information personally…” he hesitated, shifting his weight back and forth between his legs, “…because it might effect your planning.”

“Well, what is this important news?” the Dark Lord demanded, still annoyed by the interruption.  The courier gulped before he spoke again. 

“The soldiers on one of your patrols have…uh…been murdered,” the messenger informed him, shifting his gaze to the floor.  He was afraid to witness the necromancer’s reaction to such news.

“Murdered?” Madumda repeated, visibly troubled by the news, yet curious.  The information had piqued his curiosity.  He thoroughly scrutinized the man, before he spoke again.  “Tell me more,” he finally commented. 

“Yes, My Lord,” the man responded, encouraged by the sorcerer’s apparent interest in hearing what he had to say.  “We were on an assignment, sent to replace those watching the High Pass, when we found that one of the groups we were to relieve had been killed.” 

“And how do you know they were not just the victims of something less sinister?” the sorcerer pressed, trying to piece the facts together. 

“Well, I believe whoever did this,” the man continued, struggling to think about how he wanted to say this, “I think they hoped we would think this might have been an…ah…accident, but there were definite signs they were murdered.” 

“What kind of signs?” the sorcerer persisted, perplexed and mildly annoyed that the man had not told him the details already. 

“We found evidence of puncture wounds on all five of the victims,” the messenger responded, speaking three times faster than normal and sweating profusely.  “The types of wounds only…uh…a soldier’s weapons might make.”

“So you actually saw these wounds?” the Dark Lord asked him.

“Yes, I saw the wounds…I mean I saw the traces that hadn’t been destroyed,” the messenger advised him, meekly.  His body was shaking so badly now that it looked like he had just come in from spending hours in a blizzard.  “I think they hoped we wouldn’t find them so quickly, because they didn’t want us to see the evidence of what they had done, but we must have arrived at the scene sooner than they expected.”

“What did you mean when you said, the traces that hadn’t been destroyed?  Destroyed by whom?” the necromancer demanded, as he was beginning to lose his patience.  Madumda was annoyed the courier was being so cryptic.  His inadequate responses were making it difficult for him to comprehend its meaning fully. 

“The animals,” he blurted out, before thinking he should give a better response.  “I mean, various scavengers had partially devoured the scouts and eliminated some of the evidence,” the runner responded.  “Our arrival obviously disturbed their feasting.” 

“Was there any indication of who might have done this?” the necromancer asked, once he’d assimilated the previous information. 

“Yes, I think we know precisely who did it,” the warrior told him, relaxing slightly.  He assumed the Dark Lord would be pleased they had discovered the culprits and could tell him who they were.  “We flushed out a band of ten or twelve warriors a little later and we think they were the ones who were responsible for the deed.” 

“And who were these assassins?” the Dark Lord asked, curious as to who would be so bold as to chance such a provocation.

“A very odd collection of warriors,” the man responded.  “The group was comprised of men, dwarfs and elves.”  The sorcerer raised his eyebrows and then his eyes closed to tiny slits, when he heard this news.  It was an odd collection of warriors indeed. 

“Is that all?” Madumda pressed, unsettling the messenger again. 

“Yes, well…some of them might have been children…boys,” he stammered, his chin pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Boys?” Madumda asked rhetorically, before he began to mumble to himself.  “Fathers, with their sons?  Where have I heard about boys before?” he wondered.  “Ah, yes, from Beraut’s meetings at Leander.  There were reports there had been boys there too.  Elves, I believe they said.  I think they figured by having children with them, it would mislead me as to their intent.”  Madumda thought about this a second more, before snapping back out of his reverie. 

The courier had been confused by the Dark Lord’s sudden shift from addressing him to talking to himself.  He began to wonder if the sorcerer might be losing touch with reality, or even going mad. 

“So what happened to them?” the sorcerer asked, but the courier had been so focused on what the Dark Lord had been doing, that he didn’t hear the question.  Therefore, when the Dark Lord shifted his attention back to him, the messenger remained silent and Madumda’s gaze grew even more intense. 

“Did you capture or kill any of them?” Madumda rephrased, as he jumped to his feet and towered over the man.  Surprised by the necromancer’s demonstrative actions, the courier slinked even lower and shook noticeably.  

“Unfortunately, um…no,” the messenger stuttered, as the question had unsettled him even more.  “When we tried to…to… to…confront them,” he said, finally finding the words.  “They, well, they fled into Briarwood.”  Madumda snorted, amused by this response. 

“They willingly entered Briarwood?” the Dark Lord asked, unable to believe anyone would go into that legendary forest of their own accord. 

“Sort of,” the trooper told him, unsure as to how he should respond to this query.

“Spit it out man,” the necromancer commanded, once again losing his patience with this inept servant.  “I don’t have all day to discover what you have to report.” 

“Well, after we found the bodies,” the now trembling courier continued, “we began tracking those responsible.  We followed the signs of their passing until we came upon a small cave.”  He paused to consider what to tell Madumda, but the sorcerer proved to be impatient. 

“And what happened after you found the cave?” the Dark Lord asked, his voice rising in volume and cracking noticeably.

“Well, um…inside, we found indications they had been there,” the messenger replied, his voice quivering, “but they had already left.  Chances were, they fled shortly before we arrived.  The problem was, we…” the messenger paused, terrified of what he had to say next, “…we could find nothing outside of the cave to indicate which way they went. 

“You thought they vanished into thin air?” Madumda scoffed, while eyeing the dolt before him.  The necromancer’s sarcasm dripped heavily from his words.

“Nay, My Lord,” the soldier responded quickly, realizing he was being mocked, “but we…um…didn’t understand how that many warriors could disappear without, well you know, without leaving at least some small sign of their passing.” 

“Then how did you discover them?” the sorcerer persisted, while leaning over the frightened man. 

“When we couldn’t find them,” the courier continued, not daring to look up, “we tried to deduce what they might do next.  Seeing the cave was north of the High Pass, we concluded the culprits were probably heading either to Tiago or Thorold.  Seeing Thorold was closer, we decided to pursue that option first.”

“That seems reasonable,” Madumda replied.  “So…” Madumda prodded, waiting impatiently for the fool before him to continue. 

“We went nearly all the way to Thorold,” the messenger continued, “but not close enough to alert the dwarfs of our presence.  We felt if the others had already gone farther than that, they were, well they were probably already safely inside the dwarf homeland.  However, we found neither the warriors nor any clues they had passed that way.  That’s when we started to backtrack, but this time we decided to stay in the mountains, uh…you know…um…looking for signs they might have taken the high ground to avoid detection.  We weren’t having much success in finding anything useful, when one of our troops spotted them approaching, as they traveled along the foot of…” 

“Wait just one second,” the sorcerer interrupted, confused.  “If they had a head start and you were tracking them, then how did they get behind you?” 

“We didn’t understand that ourselves,” the courier replied, “but we, well, we assumed they must have discovered some sort of hiding place and were…waiting to make sure they weren’t being followed.” 

“Or you were totally incompetent and missed discovering their trial,” Madumda responded, as he began to pace back and forth, confused by this incongruity.  “So why weren’t you able to capture or kill any of them, if they were being so obvious?” he pressed, thinking his troops should have been able to set a trap and let their prey walk into it? 

“Unfortunately, they spotted us before we could get organized,” the soldier replied, embarrassed by his squad’s inability and fearful Madumda would punish him for their failures.  “That’s when we decided it would be best to just attack them, but they fled into Briarwood when we did so.” 

‘Inept fools,’ the necromancer thought, before grabbing his chair and forcing it backward.  “So, what did you do then?” Madumda snapped, compounding the messenger’s fear. 

“We…um…watched to make sure they didn’t come back out,” the messenger informed him, now sensing his master’s lack of patience.  “We spread out and covered the whole eastern side of Briarwood, to make sure they didn’t come back out or…uh…sneak past us.”

Madumda waited a few seconds before he spoke again.  Not only was he hoping the man would divulge more information, but he was tying this news in with other information he had received previously.  Was it just a coincidence that this group was heading to Thorold and Beraut was reported going there as well?  Maybe there was a connection.  He would ponder that idea again later, when he had more time to think about what it might mean.  For now, however, he needed to get the rest of the information first.  “How long did you wait!” he screamed, when the man didn’t continue. 

“Several hours,” the trooper mumbled, totally intimidated by Madumda’s tone and actions. When he noticed the Dark Lord seemed preoccupied by something else, he didn’t want to speak and interrupt his thoughts, so he remained quiet.  It only took a harsh glance from the necromancer to make him realize that had been a major mistake, so he tried to correct it.  “That’s when the soldier in charge…er…my superior ordered me to come here and tell…er…inform you.”  When it became apparent this was the end of his story, the Dark Lord nodded.   

“You wait here and I’ll send someone back for you,” the sorcerer ordered, as he made his way from the hall.  The man merely bowed his head in understanding, even though it was hard to tell that he did so, because he was trembling almost convulsively. 

As he opened the door leading out of the chamber, the Dark Lord spied his advisor waiting in the hallway.  Immediately, he summoned him over.  “I want you to explain to that miscreant how to give a proper report,” he informed him, rather sharply, “and then have him flogged to within a inch of his life.  Advise him afterward that the beating was for wasting so much of my time and for allowing the assailants to escape.  See to it that those serving with him on that patrol receive a similar beating for their ineptitude as well.”  The underling nodded his understanding, so Madumda turned to leave.  He still had unfinished business to attend to in the library.