Dueling Dungeons (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter One

On Bended Knee

Lowen von Reich knelt at the throne of Marek Konig Uster, head lowered like a whipped dog as the Tyrant King berated him.

“You had von Graf at your mercy,” Marek growled, beringed fingers picking at the throne’s ornately carved armrests. Unlike most people Lowen had known, the Tyrant King rarely lost control in his anger. When he was truly furious, Marek’s voice turned icy and his eyes flattened to something coldblooded and reptilian, like the striking snakes on his royal standard. “Tell me, Lowen, what did you say when I gave you charge of destroying that whelp and returning the World Stone to me?”

Lowen grimaced down at the thin green and gold runner beneath his knee.

“Your Eminence, the pendant is bound to—”

“You said, ‘It will be done. I will return the World Stone to you within the fortnight.’ Your words, not mine.” Marek’s cold voice cut through throne room like a winter wind. “How many fortnights has it been, Lowen?”

It was a question Lowen knew better than to answer, though in truth, he had no idea how much time had passed in Traisbin while he’d been in Hearthworld warring against that blasted half-breed anyway. The time conversion between the two worlds was complicated and hard to keep track of, and he’d had more pressing matters to attend—keeping his life in the face of Marek’s wrath not the least among them.

“The head of that von Graf cur should be the centerpiece of my throne room, but time and again you’ve failed to produce it.” Marek gripped the armrest of his formidable throne until wood groaned under the weight of his grip. “I’ve given you charge of my armies, my weapons, a measure of my power, and yet still you have not managed to produce a single result. Your most recent attack should have brought the rebellious dog to his knees. Instead you return with empty hands and more excuses.”

Of course, and now he would take the blame for that brat Talise’s failure as well. Von Grafs plagued him at every turn. Lowen gritted his teeth, biting back the snarling accusation that she had failed intentionally, letting her brother go free, and was even now working for that upstart. He’d known when he took the head of Marek’s forces that he would be held accountable for their failures.

“Your highness, I take full responsibility,” Lowen said, speaking quickly before the Tyrant King could cut him off again. “However, in our latest attack, we gained intelligence that we did not have before. We now know that the World Stone is bound to von Graf’s soul and cannot be stolen or looted from his corpse after death. Without such a measure, I would have long since returned the pendant to you.”

“A pittance,” Marek hissed.

Soft footsteps scuffed the floor raising the hair along the back of Lowen’s neck. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the new arrival.

Since first traversing the portal to Hearthworld, Talise had been transformed into the Malaika Herald form all in Lowen’s dungeon took on, but even with the shining golden skin and sleek raven’s wings tucked behind her back, her family line was obvious at a glance. Tall and slender like her tiresome brother, Talise had waves of dark hair and the slightly hooked nose outing her dirty Lyuko blood. The von Graf arrogance radiated from her every move.

She carried a silver tray set with the Tyrant King’s evening tea, a nightly custom, Lowen was given to understand. The wench glanced his way as she passed, looking down her crooked nose at him—him, a pureblooded noble of high birth!

“And you!” Marek snapped, his ever-calm voice taking on a note of anger Lowen had never heard before.

Talise stopped in her tracks, causing the silver service to rattle on its tray.

A grin tugged at Lowen’s mouth, but he held it at bay. At least the uppity girl would bear a portion of the blame for this latest tactical disaster. She was supposed to be Marek’s secret weapon, yet she had fizzled even worse than Lowen. He hoped the Tyrant King burned her to ashes, sating the sting of his fury on the girl rather than Lowen himself.

“Von Graf’s throat was in your hands!” Marek rebuked her like a wayward child. “The brother who sold your family and left you to die. I gave you everything—the finest clothes, luxurious accommodations, the most skilled tutors in fencing and magicks—and this is how you repay my generosity? By letting that rebel coward go free?”

Lowen followed the line of Marek’s glare to Talise, hoping to see fear and pleading etched into her face.

Instead he saw a cold fury to match the Tyrant King’s.

“My lord Grandfather, you’re right to unleash your rage upon me,” she said, delicate knuckles white as she clutched the silver tray. Anger marred her smooth brow. “I failed to kill that greedy, underhanded bastard. Even with all the luxuries of training and power you afforded me, still I wasn’t skilled enough to take my vengeance on him. If I’d been faster, seen the strike coming that knocked me unconscious, I could have followed him. Could have found the rat’s nest and razed it to the ground…” She shook her head. “No matter excuses. My shortcomings are unpardonable. Failing my good and generous grandfather is a disgrace I’ll take to my grave.”

Infuriatingly, at her admission, Marek’s face softened the slightest degree. Lowen swallowed the bitter taste of anger as he realized Talise had just talked herself out of a death sentence, and all because of the tyrant’s soft spot for the girl. Marek had never had heirs to speak of—not that he needed on since he was the next best thing to Immortal—but he often doted on the dirty half-breed as though she were genuinely a child of his blood. If Lowen had come to Marek with that same excuse, he knew, Marek would have flayed his skin from his body and raised it over the ramparts as a warning to anyone else who would dare to fail him.

Talise wasn’t finished, however.

“Please, my lord,” she continued, head lowered slightly, “before you enact justice upon me, you must know what I learned of the coward’s forces. Not only is the World Stone bound to him, but he has used its power to create vassals within Hearthworld to do his bidding, building armies, both from his stolen dungeon and by making alliances with the prevailing dungeons around him. And worse yet, he has been transforming his allies, crossing them with formidable creatures, and changing them into powerful and unnatural monsters.” She glanced sidelong at Lowen, and he caught the flash of distaste in her gray eyes as she said, “The leader of your forces within Hearthworld should prepare himself for a deadly onslaught as soon as possible. Von Graf will not wait long to attack.”

Marek stroked his chin, rings glinting in the light from the torches.

“Binding vassals and combining monsters to create unnatural armies?” he said in a low, musing tone. After a moment, the tyrant waved a hand at Talise, beckoning her forward with the tea. She went to his side and presented him with the tray. “Your failure was not in vain, granddaughter. You’ve brought me intelligence that could have destroyed me unchecked… though by itself this information is greatly troubling. It seems Von Graf has begun to uncover the secrets of my World Stone.” Marek’s hand curled into a fist that he thumped down on the arm of his throne. “It must be taken from him before he discovers its most powerful ability. The question is how it can be done. When you learned of the pendant’s soul-binding, Talise, was there any loophole you saw that could be exploited?”

Lowen couldn’t contain the scowl of disgust any longer. He got the reprimand and the half-breed brat got forgivness? It was disgustingly unfair.

“Your Eminence,” he said, “I too have gained a piece valuable information in that regard. It may just be the knowledge we need to retrieve the World Stone.”

Marek scrutinized Lowen for the space of several heartbeats, those cold eyes slitted like a snake’s.

Lowen’s brown and white flecked falcon’s wings rustled behind his back, but he forced himself not to squirm under the tyrant’s intense scrunity. He was the man’s right hand, for Traisbin’s sake, not some half-breed trash obviously maneuvering to get into Marek’s good graces.

Finally, Marek nodded. “Go on.”

“The heroes of Hearthworld speak of Devs,” Lowen said, “avatars of their gods, who can override any natural law of that world. If I find them, I could launch an attack and force them to unbind the World Stone from von Graf’s soul. Then I could kill him and return the pendant to you.”

It was a risk, promising once again that he could regain the World Stone for the Tyrant King, but more of a risk would be to say nothing and allow von Graf to go on gaining ground and strength—which he certaintly would. Recently, the upstart had learned about the existence of Lowen’s permenant portal from Hearthworld to Traisbin. Even with the World Stone Pendant in Roark’s grasp, getting back from Hearthworld would be next to impossible for the underhanded cur without seizing the Vault of the Radiant Shield. As much as Lowen was loath to admit it, Talise was right about that—it would only be a matter of time before Roark came in force.

Another long silence passed as Marek considered his words. Would the tyrant kill him where he stood? Lowen thought not. He straightened his Hearthworld armor and returned the man’s silent stare.

“Well, then, fool, what are you waiting for?” Marek said. “Finish this.”

“It will be done.” Lowen rose to his feet, then bowed to the Tyrant King. He turned toward the antechamber where the portal to the Vault of the Radiant Shield stood.

“This is your last chance, von Reich,” Marek’s cold voice intoned. “Fail me again, and you will pay for your failure for the rest of your wretched life—which you know very well I can now stretch out to eons of suffering with these healing potions you have brought back from Hearthworld.”

Lowen swallowed hard, his wings giving a small shudder as he ducked through the door and into the portal.

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