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  “This is my throne now,” he said aloud to himself.

  The great hall was empty, except for the dead bodies covering the floor. “This is all mine,” he shouted defiantly to the cavernous room surrounding him. “Mine!”

  But he didn’t believe it.

  “You were a little rough on the boy, don’t you think?” a female voice asked from behind him.

  Swarenth swung around to confront the one person who would dare to challenge him when he was in such a foul mood. A small, decrepit, old hag was making her way towards the throne using a walking stick to steady herself.

  “What do you want?” he snarled.

  “ ‘To the victor goes the spoils.’ Isn’t that what they say? Well, I’ve come to claim my prize.” With that little speech, the shriveled old crone climbed the steps to the throne and sat down on it. “Nice view. It was worth the wait.”

  “It’s my throne, not yours.”

  “You don’t want it. Why shouldn’t I have it?”

  “I’m the one who won this battle.”

  “You couldn’t have done it without my help.”

  Again, Swarenth’s feelings of insecurity began rising up within him, and he lashed out at her saying, “I’m in charge here.”

  “Oh, I might let you think that, but one day you’re going to wake up and realize that I’ve been in control all along.”

  “That’ll be the day, Balzekior.”

  The old crone didn’t bother to argue. Instead she asked, “So what now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Plan for what?”

  “Exactly,” the old crone gloated. “You’re lost without my guidance.”

  “I lived without you for most of my life. I can get along just fine without you.”

  “If you call living in a bunch of caves dug into a hillside on the edge of a stinking swamp getting along just fine, then no wonder you don’t want this throne.”

  “I want the throne.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Prove it,” she said getting up. “Come here and sit on it.”

  “I will, but not just yet. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

  “This magnificence that scares you so much can work to our advantage.”

  “I’m not scared of it.”

  “Are too.”

  “Stop it, Balzekior. Okay, I’ll admit I’m uncomfortable with it.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “What do you mean it can work to my advantage?”

  “Our advantage.”

  “Okay, our advantage.”

  “If you cloak evil with beauty, people are more likely to accept it.”

  “Why should I care if people accept it? I’ve always killed anyone who disagrees with me. That’s worked well for me in the past. It’ll work well for me in the future.”

  “Not for what I have in mind.”

  “Why would I care what you have in mind?”

  Balzekior’s own temper began to flare. Faintly, behind the body of the decrepit old hag, the image of a giant lava monster formed ever so slightly and for just a moment. But it was enough to settle Swarenth down.

  “Okay, okay, don’t get mad,” the warlord said, somewhat shaken by the appearance of a red-hot, flaming lava woman. He’d seen Balzekior take this form once before.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

  “Now that I have your attention, I’m going to be blunt.”

  “Have you ever been otherwise?”

  “If you paid closer attention, I wouldn’t have to be.”

  “What is it you want to tell me?”

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but …”

  “But what?”

  “You’re a thug.”

  “Is that all?” Swarenth laughed.

  “That’s got to change.”

  “It’s gotten me this far,” Swarenth said as he swept his arm around Dominion Castle’s great hall.

  “I’ve gotten you this far.”

  “Whatever.”

  “My point is, you’ve got to upgrade your style,” Balzekior said.

  “I have to do what?”

  “Not only are you a thug, you’re a sadistic monster. A gruesome, ill mannered, destructive brute. And that won’t work as well for us in the future as it has in the past.”

  “But you made me that way. You encouraged that sort of behavior,” Swarenth said defensively.

  “I know that, but times are changing.”

  “Isn’t Dominion Castle enough for you?”

  “No, it’s a starting point. The more I get, the more I want.”

  “Well, conquering Dominion Castle has been a lifelong ambition for me. Now that I’ve achieved what I set out to do, I’m going to take it easy.”

  “I don’t think so. I have plans for you,” Balzekior informed him.

  “Like what?” Swarenth asked feeling tired and worn. The battle had been hard. King Ulray’s troops had been ferocious and made the gargoyles pay a heavy price for every foot of ground yielded to them.

  “We can use Dominion Castle to cloak evil with beauty. If you make evil look inviting, you can draw others into it more easily. Humans want to believe that beautiful things are good things, so they’ll cooperate more readily if we make evil more visually appealing.”

  “What’s wrong with using force? Why change tactics when you have something that works?”

  “Because I want humans to choose evil on their own. I want partners, not slaves.”

  “You’re losing me. Power is power. Control is control. Keep it simple.”

  “Well, one simple fact is that violence alienates people. Even when humans use it in self-defense, they don’t enjoy it. They do what they need to do to protect their homes and families, but violence gives them no real sense of satisfaction in of itself.”

  “So, who cares?”

  “I do.”

  “But why?”

  “I get bored easily. I want more of a challenge. I plan on using Dominion Castle’s spectacular beauty to influence humans into becoming hybrids. Neither wholly good nor wholly evil. Some of both.”

  “What exactly is a hybrid?”

  “It’s a combination of two things. What I want to do is to turn you into a bit of a gentleman. Dress nice. Take a bath, for god’s sake. Learn some manners. Stop treating your women like dirt. Humans find that offensive.”

  “You’re not serious about all this?”

  “Yes, I am. You have Dominion Castle now, but the Kardimont kingdom is pretty far flung. You’ve captured the center of it all, but there are outlying regions that will resist you when you try to exert influence in their home areas.”

  “Let’s see, how shall we handle that?” Swarenth mused in a sarcastic manner. “Oh, I know, how about conquest? You know, war? What we just did here.”

  “Yes, but there are ways to defeat your enemies without violence,” Balzekior said, trying to instruct the gargoyle warlord.

  “Well, now’s a nice time to tell me, given that I just lost thousands of warriors taking this castle. Why didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?” Swarenth asked cynically.

  “We didn’t have as much to work with yesterday. Today, we have this splendid, architectural masterpiece. We can use it as bait. Reach out to the humans in outlying settlements. Give them presents. Lavish treasure from this glorious castle upon them as a sign of good faith. If done properly, you can steal more with a warm, inviting smile and a firm handshake than you can with a sword.”

  “Okay, you’ve had your say. Now it’s my turn,” Swarenth said. “King Ulray Kardimont had some of the finest blacksmiths and craftsmen anywhere. I’ve captured some of them. I will instruct them to focus on making advances in weaponry. Diplomacy might be more engaging for you mentally and emotionally, Balzekior, but nothing clarifies life better than a r
azor-sharp sword wielded by someone who knows how to use it. The life of a warrior is a lot less complicated than the life of a diplomat.”

  “You could give it a try,” Balzekior suggested.

  “No. It’s not me. I was born to fight.”

  “But diplomacy can be quite simple. Evil’s like a contagious disease and once someone is infected by it, the whole group becomes more vulnerable and more susceptible. We don’t need better weapons. What we need is corruption. Get humans to sell each other out.”

  “This is nonsense, Balzekior. No one can be trusted to begin with. But a warrior can count on his sword. He can trust its blade.”

  Suddenly both Swarenth and Balzekior looked over at the entrance to the great hall. Two-dozen gargoyle warriors were pouring into the room and knelt before their warlord.

  “Sire, there is a young boy who escaped through a secret doorway in the dungeon.”

  “And why are you telling me this?” Swarenth asked.

  “He was wearing a green tunic with a tiger-head crest on the front.”

  “I thought you said the Kardimonts were dead,” Balzekior hissed.

  “The king is dead along with his wife, daughters and sons. I’ve seen their bodies,” Swarenth insisted.

  “What about the youngest? What about the king’s little six-year-old son?”

  “I didn’t know he had a son that young.”

  Balzekior put her face in her hands. “Do you know what this means? It means that humans will stand united against you whether we use war or diplomacy.”

  “Why?” Swarenth asked.

  “Because Tarlen Kardimont’s alive.”

  “If he’s just a boy, what harm can he do?”

  “He can raise an army.”

  “No he can’t. All the best warriors in the kingdom came here to defend Ulray and the Kardimont legacy. The best are dead.”

  “Where are Baelfire, Zorya and Lyssa? Why didn’t the Trinity show up? I was expecting them. I was waiting for them. I would have handled that meddlesome sword and the other two myself. And now, on top of that, I find out a Kardimont’s still alive.”

  “I’ll find him. He can’t get far.”

  “He’d better not. Because if he escapes, you will never be viewed as lord of this castle. You will be seen as nothing but an interloper. Many of those you could have bribed and corrupted will hold out until they learn what happens to Tarlen.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because the Kardimont line of kings is still alive as long as that little brat’s alive.”

  Swarenth just stood there looking dumbly at Balzekior.

  “Don’t you get it yet? You captured the Kardimont’s castle, but the king is not dead.”

  “King Ulray is dead. That’s a fact,” Swarenth said.

  “All that means is that Ulray is dead. Rule has now transferred to his son. And he escaped wearing a tiger’s crest on his chest.”

  “So?”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “I guess you do.”

  “It means the Tiger of Dominion Castle is on the loose!”

  “I’ll find him,” Swarenth insisted.

  “You had better or you’ll be fighting more than mere flesh and blood like you were today.”

  “What can be worse than that?” Swarenth asked.

  “A legend,” Balzekior screamed at the gargoyle warlord. “None of Tarlen’s brothers or sisters could turn into a tiger like Ulray could. That means the gift must have gone to Tarlen. You find that boy. You kill him. You put him on display for all to see that he’s dead.”

  “I’ll put his head on a spike outside the castle gates.”

  “It’s you or him, Swarenth. It’s you or him. There’s no room for two top dogs in this kingdom.”

  “I’ll find him.”

  “One more thing,” Balzekior said as another problem dawned on her.

  “What now?”

  “Where were the king’s personal guards? Why weren’t Captain Polaris and his men here to defend their lord?”

  “Some were.”

  “But most weren’t. I’ll bet that little boy is now surrounded by those elite warriors.”

  “Maybe not,” Swarenth said.

  “You fool, the best aren’t dead. The greatest warriors in the kingdom are alive and are with Tarlen, their new king!”

  Chapter 2

  Thirty years later.

  “What’s that horrendous noise?” Swarenth demanded. “It sounds like the castle’s splitting apart.”

  Not quite, but close. Sitting atop a mountain which was located in the midst of a valley stretching out around it for miles, Dominion Castle was a commanding presence. But its foundation was shaking and its walls reverberating as, without warning, the ground below on the valley floor was being ripped apart, spewing lava high into the nighttime sky. A huge gash was forming at the base of the mountain on the northwestern side, the one facing in the direction of Firecrest Castle.

  Stumbling against a huge hearth in the great room, Swarenth struggled to stay on his feet as the castle began reeling from an explosion originating from a spot nearly halfway up the mountain. Tons of rock were sent hurtling into the air, and smoke and ash started pouring out of the gaping hole, while lava began flowing down the mountainside.

  A lake of flames was forming along the base of this mountain, one that was home to a majestic castle which was ordinarily viewed by most as being impregnable to either man or nature. In over 500 years, its walls had been breached only once but with catastrophic effect. Swarenth and his murdering horde of winged, ape-like gargoyles had overrun Dominion Castle, an incredible feat which, even today, seemed hard to explain or understand. But breaching the walls had caused a devastating loss of life for Swarenth’s army of hideous beasts. Though possessing wings, they were so bulky they couldn’t fly, and they had had to conquer this fortress one foot at a time, one stone at a time. It had been a bloody affair, not soon forgotten even by the victors.

  After a few minutes, the violent upheaval in the earth’s crust settled, but soon a second giant fissure formed near the base of the southern side of the mountain, projecting huge arcing waves of lava far into the air. Earlier, it had been a moonless night with darkness blanketing the valley, but all that was changing now. Blazing red, orange and yellow flames silhouetted against a black backdrop created the appearance of Dominion Castle being swallowed up by a seemingly endless mass of red-hot lava.

  After forming a deep river of lava on the southern side of the mountain, the ground stopped bucking and heaving, only to start again on the western side, and after that settled a bit, the eastern side. As each long, gaping wound in the earth’s crust formed, the castle shook like it was being bombarded by catapults. Had the fissures developed on all sides of the mountain at once, the fury would have turned Dominion Castle to rubble. As it was, it was just shaken up. Badly shaken up, but with no real damage to the structure of the castle or to its thick, protective outer walls.

  However, the external appearance of Dominion Castle had changed dramatically. With flaming rivers of lava encircling the mountain, the castle at its peak looked like it was being roasted from below. Also, the rivers created an impenetrable moat of fire too broad and too deep for anyone to cross it alive, or to even attempt it.

  “What could have caused all this?” Swarenth shouted, now looking out from a balcony on the castle’s highest tower, which afforded him a spectacular view of the entire blazing inferno.

  As if on cue, a 30-foot-tall demon woman made of lava rose out of the moat of fire. Balzekior had returned.

  The evil demon woman had lived for the last year imprisoned in Firecrest Castle, two-weeks’ ride to the northwest, and had barely escaped with her life, if such a thing can be said of a woman who is already dead. Balzekior was a half-spirit, half-physical being of bottomless hatred and anger. Having escaped a spell placed on her by the College of Wizards, she was determined never to be in a situation like that ever a
gain. For Balzekior, living within a protective cauldron of flaming lava was better than risking the possibility of being condemned again to the isolation she had endured over the last 12 months.

  With no one else to torment, the evil demon had only herself to feed upon, endlessly stewing in her own wasted life. Being trapped day after day, while having to face her own ravaged soul’s bleakness, barrenness, aloneness and despair, was anything but appealing. She had had enough of enduring her own wretchedness and looked forward, once more, to exporting it to others, all the while living within a protective moat of searing heat and flames.

  Over the last 30 years, Balzekior had criticized Swarenth for not being more expansionistic, for not trying to conquer more of King Ulray Kardimont’s former kingdom, and for just wanting to stay at Dominion Castle. But now, she too had had enough of adventuring. All she wanted was to avoid any more personal pain, while lavishing generous portions of suffering upon others.

  From his balcony, Swarenth saw Balzekior making her grand return and said to an aide, “I had hoped she’d stay away for good, but there’s no jail that can hold Balzekior forever. When I first heard she had been trapped by the College of Wizards at Firecrest Castle, I knew it was too good to last.”

  “I’d think you’d be glad to see her,” his young female aide said. “You used to spend a lot of time with her, didn’t you?”

  “That was years ago, before you were born.”

  “Maybe you two could start over. Maybe things will get better and be like it was before.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Swarenth thought back to when he’d first met Balzekior. Then, she’d taken the form of a young, attractive human female. “Sex with her was great, and it was better than any I’ve experienced before or since.”

  “That old hag?” his young aide, Kitaria, laughed. She was his niece, the youngest daughter of his youngest sister.

  “Balzekior didn’t always look like that. When we first met, she actually looked nice,” Swarenth said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Being less hunchbacked?” Kitaria laughed.

  Swarenth felt his temper rising but got himself under control. His sister loved Kitaria, 21, but the young woman had turned out to be headstrong, rebellious and opinionated, traits unheard of for gargoyle women. Once when her father had demanded she cook dinner for him, she stormed out of the house and told him to fix it himself. The startled gargoyle male was so shocked that he asked Swarenth to take her under wing, hoping that the warlord could tame her unruly spirit. Kitaria had been working for Swarenth for almost six months, but had shown no signs yet of mending her ways.