Chapter Eight

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Awakening, The Prophet

 

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Moses followed Mischa through the grounds of the King home.

As they approached the small building, the double doors swung open to greet them.

They entered 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 insignia of the King family. It had been stolen during the Hollow Years. Jesse had recovered it on one of his adventures.

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

Two thoughts occurred to Moses in quick succession.

The Council of Kings has grown small, and there is noone seated at the Right Hand.

These two ideas were 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 thought. The man had his head buried between his hands. He was gaunt and haggard, like a stick-figure. Skin and bones.

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 had not written this, but it had been on his mind. Joshua King had more of Mischa than Jesse in his face, and more again of Mischa’s father.

Daerin Sarvant.

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

“Greeting 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 imagined 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 truth. 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 turned as he heard footsteps behind him. Clothed in black, the assassin stood there. One of the Sarvant Hounds.

My hearing must be getting better.

With incredible speed, the assassin reached up and squeezed his shoulder, and all went dark.

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