Taels Online

Moses followed the older (the unknown to him) Mischa through the grounds of the King home.

Here and there lay the classic marks of the ages. Most were in disrepair. The hedge maze. The circle of standing stones. Column archways. Huge trees, stretching high and wide, even in death and dying.

As they approached the small building amidst the ruins of the large, the double doors swung open to greet them.

It was a single room. Bare except for a row of wooden chairs along either side, and a larger chair at the end. Behind that, although Moses barely noticed it, was a ragged tapestry, showing the signia of the King family. Jesse had recovered it in one of his adventures. It had been stolen hundreds of years before, in darker times.

There were two people in the room. One sat in the larger chair, which was a throne. The other sat in the first wooden chair to the left of the throne.

Two thoughts occurred to Moses in quick succession.

(i) How small has grown the Council of Kinds.

And (ii) There is noone seated at the Right Hand.

These two ideas had been extremely important in the books. The second much more than the first.

An old woman sat in the left hand chair, watching them enter with rheumy white eyes. She said nothing.

Sitting in the throne was Joshua King. At least, that’s what Moses guessed. The man had his head buried between his hands. He was gaunt, a stick figure. Skin and bones. Haggard.

They waited before this man. Mischa said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes as she looked at the son of Jesse, and then at Moses.

“I’m sorry,” Mischa White whispered to him, then grabbed his arms. “Do not forget the Three, Prophet. Whatever comes, remember them.”

The man on the throne looked up.

“Hello Mother.”

Moses hadn’t written this, but he had been close. However, Joshua King did not look like his mother. Or if he did, it was hidden behind his father in him.

Daerin Sarvant.

As if thought could create reality, Moses heard the voice of evil behind him.

“Greetings prophet. I am glad you have finally arrived.”

Daerin Sarvant walked to the throne, and took his seat at the Right Hand.

“Prophet,” His voice was everything Moses had imagine it to be. Smooth. Silky. Strong. The voice of the Serpent.

“You are here in the flesh at last. Now, indeed, can my plans become reality. Your death will be long and hard. The more pain you go through, the better it will be. You are The Prophet, and within your lifeblood the greatest of power can be found. True magic.”

Moses managed to turn as he heard footsteps behind him. Clothed entirely in black, the assassin stood there. The Sarvant Hounds he had called them.

My hearing must be getting better.

With invisible speed, the assassin reached up to Moses’ shoulder, squeezed, and all went dark.