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Merritt crept down the long, unadorned hall,
Listening for the sounds of an approaching guard or maid or castle resident,
But he heard nothing.
Inexplicably, the castle walls appeared to contain not a soul,
As the last people the hero had seen were the three guards in the gatehouse.
Aside from the general appearance –
Solid stone walls, high ceilings complete with huge wooden beams, large fireplaces,
Elaborate hanging tapestries, and fine cloths and rugs –
The castle did not bear much resemblance to the home of Merritt’s childhood.
No renowned foreign chefs labored in the vast, empty kitchen;
No bards roamed the halls singing ditties of great heroes and lords of the past;
And no great heroes perched at the highest table in the dining hall,
Displaying themselves for all to see.
Instead, the place seemed abandoned,
As if all its residents had spontaneously decided to leave:
Dirty pots and pans in the kitchen stood stacked and ready for cleaning,
Fires smoldered and guttered in the fireplaces,
And the royal hunting dogs in the stables remained tied to their posts.
The hero continued down the hall,
Marveling at the sensation of living and walking without seeing one’s own feet or arms.
He had departed the forest after defeating the last of the Four,
Again traveling by way of the wind god’s cloud,
Heading directly to the castle of his forefathers.
He did not want his uncle’s agents to alert the dread-duke of the death of the Four
And the return of his vengeful nephew,
For the hero knew that the element of surprise remained his greatest advantage
Against the treacherous usurper.
Upon arriving outside the town resting at the base of the huge, looming castle
That served as the seat of the prosperous kingdom,
Merritt had immediately swallowed a generous volume of the magical blood
And prayed once more that Io would see him through battle.
The sandy-haired hero again whispered prayers to the lord of death and love,
Asking for help in finally winning sweet revenge
As he continued his journey through the maze of hallways.
Like a garden maze, the corridors’ walls all held identical decorations and hangings;
The same patterns twisted along the rugs lining the floors of the passageway;
Even the suits of ancient armor against the walls seemed to be spaced at equal intervals.
This maze held no end, however,
Never ceased curling and bending and branching off into yet more halls and rooms.
Finally, though, Merritt rounded a corner and walked into the largest hall he had seen.
Its ceiling was higher than the rest,
Its walls stood twice as far apart as others,
And it ended at two massive doors held onto the wall by hinges the size of a small child.
These doors were constructed of dark, knotted wood –
Clearly several inches thick and impossibly heavy –
Held shut by an odd triangular lock set squarely between the two doors.
In all this travels,
Merritt had never gazed upon such a lock,
So he counted himself fortunate once again for the treasures taken from the Four.
Two rigid guards garbed in the blood red and black uniforms of the dread-duke
Obstructed the entrance into the room beyond the doors,
And, upon seeing this danger,
The hero bounded back around the corner from which he came.
He waited for the shouts of alarm to ring out
Before remembering his invisibility and sighing in relief.
Merritt slinked black around the corner,
Eyeing the guards as he considered his next action.
He was not worried about opening the large doors –
The ever-changing key around his neck would ensure his passage –
But he paused at the notion of killing the innocent guards,
Especially because he would require the army’s support to rule the kingdom
After his uncle’s death.
His hesitation did not last for long, however,
And he quickly drew his sword and strolled down the hall.
The olive-skinned hero aimed his strike for a time,
Ensuring that both men would die before either realized the danger
By swinging his rune-covered sword so that it struck both men in the Adam’s apple.
Two puffs of red mist followed the blade as it slowed and returned to the hero’s sheathe,
Followed by two small gurgles as the men slipped silently to the dark, cold stones.
Merritt frowned at the wanton loss of life,
But knew it necessary to the quest so grimly stepped over their bodies.
He faced the door,
Trying the handle on the off-chance that it might be unlocked:
No such luck.
Accordingly, the hero blindly fumbled around in his shirt,
Tracing the string around his neck down to the ring of keys dangling on his chest.
He removed the Shadow’s key from the hoop,
Shivering as its murky black surface came into contact with his fingers,
And slid it into the large, unusual lock on the door.
The key slowly expanded to occupy the empty space around it,
Then, as it turned itself in the lock,
Merritt heard a low click rise out of the depths of the door.
Task accomplished and purpose fulfilled,
The Shadow’s key hardened instantaneously,
Showing again the god’s mistrust of even their favorites.
Losing the useful key worried the hero,
But he trusted his mother and the great god Io to guide him through the coming clash.
He slowly pushed open the immense doors,
Forced to apply all of his substantial strength to a task designed for many men.
Once the door was open large enough for his passage,
Merritt slipped through it and into the hall beyond as the door creaked shut behind him.
“Noble and honest people of Arundel,
Today we celebrate the memory of old King Cornelius,
Our heroic lord cowardly cast down by the heathen tribes in battle five years ago.
Since then,
His brother Schuyler has ruled the kingdom with benevolence, piety, and generosity,
Honoring those, noble and peasant alike, departed from us,” proclaimed a voice,
Launching into a haughty and praising speech about the great King Schuyler.
Searching the long, high-ceilinged hall he had just entered,
Merritt found the speaker standing on a stage occupying the far side of the room.
Between the hero and the stage,
A dozen tables spanned the several hundred feet of the room.
Hundreds of people sat at these tables,
Enjoying the broad array of food and drink scattered among the tables:
Turkey, chicken, geese, dove, pheasant, deer, beef, antelope, swine, bear, fish, squash,
Bread, broccoli, asparagus, corn, beans, lettuce, cabbage, onions, cheeses, and more
All found their way into the enormous feast.
Staggering amounts of food –
Coupled with dozens of different drinks –
Threatened to break the tables and servants ran to and fro bringing ever more fare,
And cutlery clattered and glasses clinked as diners from nobles to farmers to maids ate.
A smaller, equally laden table rested on the stage,
Inhabited only by distinguished lords and ladies of the court.
At the head of the table sat a man donning an elaborate jewel-encrusted crown.
He was slight,
No more than average height and weight,
But even from afar Merritt sensed a presence about him.
Despite the smile painted on his face,
The dread-duke gave off those around him a feeling of – at best – uneasiness.
A cruel scar starting below his eye and running to his ear spoiled a handsome face,
Which featured stark blue eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and an unremarkable nose,
And his stare made its targets avert their eyes and shuffle their chairs away from his gaze.
The chair at the end opposite the duke sat empty,
For, as Merritt knew from his early years in the castle,
No woman could stand that stare for her entire life, regardless of the man’s power.
While Merritt stood and watched the banquet continue,
His uncle rose from the table and approached the speaker’s podium.
As if on cue,
Even the loudest diners cut off their conversations and craned their necks to see the duke.
“Welcome, lords and ladies, farmers and fishermen, maids and nurses,
To my humble gathering!
It is a pleasure to see you here enjoying the celebration of my passed brother,” he began,
His light and cheery voice surprising the sandy-haired hero,
Who marveled at the man’s two-facedness.
The speech continued,
But Merritt felt his stored anger over his father’s murder begin to swell up.
He decided to attack then and there regardless of the armed guards standing at every exit,
Striking down the traitor in front of the hero’s rightful subjects.
Merritt walked towards the stage,
Skirting the tables and revelers as he marched determinedly.
The hero reached the stage at last,
Stepping lightly across the raised wooden surface
To prevent his boots from clacking as they met the polished floor.
He strode all the way over to the podium at which his uncle still rambled,
And came close enough that he could smell the onions on the dread-duke’s breath.
Merritt seriously considered drawing his sword and ending things then and there;
However, he knew that doing so would not serve his purposes:
A hero must battle,
Not murder.
Instead, the olive-skinned hero bounded over to the nearby royal table,
Removing a goblet of water and throwing the contents down his throat.
Swallowing, the hero felt a tingling sensation that began in his throat and spread
As parts of Merritt’s body became visible.
A murmur in the crowd became a scream as the diners caught sight of the hero,
Who appeared to be the young King Cornelius they saw in tapestries around the castle;
So similar were the son’s looks to his father’s that many thought a ghost had appeared.
Still others assured those around them that the duke had planned all of this –
A mock appearance by the very man they feasted in honor of –
To amuse and entertain the audience.
The vengeful son dispelled these ideas as he whipped out his sword with a flourish,
Pointing it at his stunned and motionless uncle as he declared:
“I am Merritt, son of Cornelius and Eukara.
With the great god Io as my witness,
I have come to destroy you,
Traitorous uncle,
And take the kingdom that is rightfully mine.”
The dread-duke’s mouth dropped open at the hero’s bold proclamation,
But, much to the excitement of the spellbound revelers,
He soon regained his composure and his mouth twisted into a wicked smile.
“Ah, Prince Merritt.
I wondered for the longest time when the day of your return would come.
What took you so long? Too afraid to fight an old man such as myself?” he mocked,
Stepping from behind the podium and pulling out his own weapon.
This action caused the guards –
Cautiously approaching ever since the hero’s materialization –
To replace their own weapons and watch the events enfolding in front of them.
Their rest was not to last long, however,
As Merritt roared and charged at the traitor.
At the same time,
The hero’s mother shook the ground with the force of several earthquakes,
Convincing finally all the partygoers that this fight was more than a show.
They ran in droves for the doors,
Crushing others under the stampede of bodies in their haste.
The earthquake continued to rage,
Knocking over tables, plates, goblets, statues, tapestries, and paintings,
But the hero and his foe clashed nonetheless.
The ferocity of Merritt’s first attacks surprised the dread-duke,
Who was hard-pressed to stop the blows,
But the vengeful hero soon slowed as his rage subsided into determination and resolve.
He focused his attacks carefully,
Hammering an area over and over again before shifting targets with lightning-fast speed,
And found himself on the defensive when his uncle did the same.
Back and forth they struck,
Thrusting, slashing, beating, stabbing, and twisting,
Without any change in advantage.
Sparks flew and small cuts appeared as sword touched sword and body;
The duel continued.
The two fought in a similar manner,
Defensive at times and exploratory as they searched for the key to defeating their enemy,
And both were foiled by an opponent prepared for such tactics –
No prods or tests revealed weaknesses in technique or armor.
Merritt stepped back to parry a blow from the dread-duke and,
As he did,
He heard a loud pop in the high ceiling above him.
Looking up, he saw an enormous glass and metal chandelier
(dislodged, no doubt, by the earthquake shaking the very foundations of the castle)
Break from the ceiling and plummet to the floor.
It fell like a raindrop from the sky,
Light reflecting off the crystal like sunlight passing through falling water.
The chandelier landed five feet from Merritt with a crash that rebounded through the hall.
Glass and metal shards splashed out from the adornment as it shattered,
Showering the duke as he ran forward to strike Merritt again,
And the hero knew his chance to end the fight had come.
He sprinted forward and drove his sword in front of him,
Catching his shocked uncle in the side of his torso and twisting the blade.
The runes on the weapon bathed in red
As they sliced through sinew and bone as if through butter.
The dread-duke –
His entire side ripped open by the mortal strike –
Thumped bodily into the wood and did not rise.
When the body at last thudded to the stage floor,
Merritt’s mother ceased her earthquake.
The hero,
At last watching his uncle fall and be still,
Experienced no joy at the death of another of his kin,
But rather a sense of relief washed over him.
With this final death,
The killing could finally come to an end –
Or at least pause for a time.
The new king looked down upon his dying uncle for a final time
Then turned his heel to look out over the ruins of the hall as he thought about his future:
A new life after the death of many, a new challenge after the games of the gods.
Standing occupied with his thoughts,
The hero did not see the Shadow enter the hall.
It entered through the high ceiling
And flew directly to the dread-duke’s side.
The Shadow lifted the man out of the growing pool of blood around him,
Virtually carrying him behind the motionless hero.
It summoned a black dagger out of the air,
Placing it in the dying duke’s hand
And forcing the hand towards the false armor guarding Merritt’s back.
(The death of both men at each other’s hands would mean a draw with Io,
Which the Shadow saw as its only chance to save itself from banishment.)
Merritt felt a slight poke in his back,
Turning around to see his uncle standing unsteadily behind him,
A dagger held loosely in a lifeless hand while blood continued to gush from his wound.
Obviously he had tried to kill Merritt out of spite,
But Io’s armor had defeated him in his final effort.
The Shadow stood just beyond the defeated duke,
Not moving out of disbelief or anger –
Merritt could not tell which.
The hero swiftly drew his sword and swung it into and through his uncle’s neck,
Sheathing the weapon as he remembered his mother’s advice about the Shadow’s power.
There was a loud crack near Merritt as the great god Io appeared.
He bore the scythe traditional of the death god,
And gathered the duke’s soul before the Shadow tried anything else
To strike down the new king.
This done, he clapped Merritt firmly on the back, saying,
“I declare this game officially completed,
Myself the victor.
The hero Merritt has defeated his uncle and all four of his evil agents around this world,
Doing so without undue assistance from any supernatural beings,
And he has taken his birthright for himself.
This means that you,
The one known only as the Shadow,
Are here and forthwith banished from the home of the gods in the heavens,
Confined to the earth and whatever levels of hell suit your kind.
May you never trouble god or man ever again.”
Io then turned to Merritt,
Thanking the hero for assisting in his great victory
And giving him the blessings of the great ones.
The god glanced around at the hall with its scenes of death and complete destruction,
Admiringly murmured, “What a game,” and departed again with another resounding pop.
The hero stood looking at the Shadow for a time,
Turning as he heard the sound of Io reappearing.
The god said,
“Oh, and I want my armor back,”
So Merritt began to remove the plate given to him by Io.
Seeing this, the god shook his head, saying,
“Not you, hero, him,”
And staring at the Shadow.
The Shadow slowly retrieved a polished, unblemished armor from within its robes
And handed it over.
Io took the plate,
Giving Merritt a wink and a wry smile before vanishing into the air.
< Message edited by Bballman23 -- 5/30/2009 12:38:33 >
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