Moon Flower - Chapter 1

Moon Flower


Chapter 1


[i]Three days before the invasion and he picks now for a meeting[/i], Goloath thought as he pressed through the crowded streets of Wolfshar. [i]In the middle of events that will change all of Cordia and I have to stop…[/i] No sense in grumbling. One does not say ‘no’ to Lord Kraagen. Nor does one keep Lord Kraagen waiting… [i]Not if they value their skin.[/i]

Getting through the throng, however, was not easy. There were thousands of spells he could use to get through the crowd faster, but his orders were to keep a low profile and flying above the town or eradicating the crowd he was sure did not qualify. So, he lumbered along the best that he could.

Thousands of people packed every alley, terrace, walkway and byway of the Market Square as music, song, poetry and drama sounded from every corner. Richly dressed dancers, ornate clowns and gaudy showmen worked the crowds, trying to profit from this year’s Carnival.

Nevertheless, Golgoath pushed his way past the hoards of spectators that had lined up to watch two masked clowns in mock and comedic battle. Children cheered as one bashed the other over the head with a wooden sword, knocking him to the ground. Laughter and applause burst from the crowd as the sword-toting clown erupted in illusory flame.

Trying not to stand out, he dressed simply in dark trousers and tunic, keeping the fine robes of his station locked in the trunk back at the barracks. He wore no insignia of office and no device of allegiance of any kind. He went so far as to walk with a slight hunch in order not to tower over the crowd as he normally did. Nothing about him indicated that he was about to meet with the most powerful man in all Cordia.

“Hello, my friend,” came a high, nasal voice from the crowd. A short, lanky man fell in step next to Golgoath. “I am called Delymer and I am the greatest minstrel of our age.” The man held up a battered lyre to support his claim. “Would you care to hear the tale of Rothrerendrok, the Great Dragon of the North who saved…”

Golgoath tried to cut him off with a curt “No.” He had no time to placate one of the rabble, despite his assertion of greatness. Knowing that the minstrel was only looking for a handout—a handout that Golgoath utterly refused to give—the battle wizard quickened his pace.

But Delymer was persistent. Undaunted by Golgoath’s rapid gait, he remained at his elbow, brandishing his instrument. “If tales of dragons do not interest you, then perhaps a rather bawdy rendition of the Lady of Saffril.”

“Leave me alone.” Golgoath made a sharp turn down a narrow alley hoping to lose the tag-along. He sighed heavily when he heard the annoying voice still behind him. “Do not follow me!” he shouted over his shoulder as he emerged from the alley onto a cobblestone lane that was surprisingly clean and elegant despite the crowds gathered for the Carnival.

“Ah, a man of quality, I see,” Delymer continued, obviously assuming that Golgoath was heading home. “A man of your station does not want to hear lustful tavern songs. I have composed the most eloquent song about King Mitton of…”

Golgoath turned abruptly and grabbed the minstrel by the shoulders, looking down on the smaller man with his dark and menacing eyes. Surprised, Delymer tried to break away, but Golgoath’s powerful hands held him fast. “Look, you bag of dung! Leave me alone and do not follow me. I warn you!” Pushing him away, he continued down the crowded cobblestone street.

Pressing past a group of drunken peasants who kept trying to include him in their raucous dance, Golgoath emerged in a secluded cul de sac where only a small, but ornate villa stood. A white, stone wall about the height of a man and almost completely covered in ivy surrounded the villa, the only gap being a single archway that opened onto a grassy courtyard beyond. There were no visible guards and Golgoath knew there was no need for any.

“Ooh. Heading to Lord Kraagen’s house, I see,” Delymer said in wonder.
Golgoath jerked around sharply, annoyed and angry that he still was being followed. With an exasperated grunt, he moved quickly through the archway, Delymer fast on his heels.

“A chance to play before the Lord of Wolfshar,” Delymer said wistfully as he again fell in step with Golgoath as he crossed the courtyard. Golgoath remained silent and watched the minstrel out of the corner of his eye, knowing…

“What an opportunity. I shall play for him my interpretation of an ancient elven…” Delymer broke off and wiped his hand across his forehead. “Whew, it is getting hot. Strange for this time of year.”

“The weather is not hot,” Golgoath replied in a growled whisper. “You are.”

Delymer paid no attention to this comment. “Yes, an ancient elven legend of Queen Ardel…” Again he raised his hand to his head, this time not wiping sweat, but rubbing his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “Laws, this is no time for a headache.”

“You do not have a headache,” Golgoath said.

Delymer dropped his lyre and grabbed at his temples as though his head were about to explode. A whimper of pain escaped his lips as he doubled over.

“Your blood is boiling.”

Delymer looked up at the wizard in surprised horror. “W-w-what?”

“I warned you not to follow me. Lord Kraagen does not like uninvited guests.”

Delymer screamed and fell to his knees. Golgoath heard a small popping sound as blood and fluid burst from the man’s eye sockets. The small minstrel let out a terrified wail as his skin began to bubble and ripple and steam issued from his nose, mouth and eyes. In one final gurgled scream, Delymer rolled over on his side as his engorged hands exploded in a mass of blood, water and steam. More blood and steam erupted from his mouth and nose.

Golgoath turned away from the minstrel’s twitching and scalding body. In his heart, he knew the only reason that he was still alive was because Lord Kraagen had expected him. However, he could not help but wonder if he would make it out of the courtyard alive.

The main doors of the villa opened, inviting Golgoath inside. Walking tall and proud like the warrior-mage he was, he marched through the wooden doors and up the stairs where he knew Lord Kraagen waited. He reached the top of the stairs and entered a large, lavishly furnished room where men lounged on smooth velvet couches, plush chairs covered in silks, pillows of the softest down and mats of thick fur. Exquisite tapestries from all over Cordia decorated the walls. Gold candlesticks, silver trays and cups and brass statuettes rested on several hand-carved tables. Serving girls in transparent gowns carried trays laden with food to the various guests on the couches, chairs, pillows and mats.

Golgoath recognized many of the men as fellow Darkwing leaders. He did not pay much attention to the women, who were here only to provide service to the men and were unimportant and expendable. Those who were not serving food stood behind their men massaging their backs, feeding them from their palms, sitting lovingly in their laps or whispering carnal desires into their ears.

As Golgoath entered, three women hurried over to serve him. Only one of them carried food. Golgoath dismissed them with a wave of his hand and continued to the far end of the room where a tall, dark-skinned man lay among three fair women and several purple pillows.

“Captain Golgoath,” the dark man bellowed as he noticed the wizard approaching and bowing low. His voice was deep and sonorous, like a drum echoing in a cave. He wore absurdly colorful pantaloons in keeping with the celebration, the green and red contrasting sharply with his ebony and hairless skin.

“Welcome, my friend. Is there anything you require?” the dark man asked indicating the women in the room.

Golgoath recovered from his bow. “Thank you, my lord. I am well,” he replied formally, refusing the women again. Keeping the formality, he continued, “Your Arts Carnival seems to be going well. I almost failed to arrive, there were so many people.”

“Yes, I am pleased. People from all over Cordia are here to share and perform. We will have a private concert later in the courtyard, won’t we, my dear.” His hand moved higher on the thigh of the woman lying next to him. She answered with a look of expectant ecstasy. Kraagen returned to Golgath and offered him a warm and pleasant smile that seemed to hide something sinister. “You should stay for the performance, Golgoath.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Golgoath answered with another bow. “But I must decline. There are still preparations to be made.”

Lord Kraagen sat up. “Ah, yes. Your preparations. They go well, I hope.”
Golgoath nodded.

“You know everyone here, I presume,” he added with a wave around the room and introduced the seven other men taking part in the pleasures of the Carnival.
Each man nodded at his introduction, though Golgoath knew each one of them personally. The process made the wizard quite uncomfortable. It reminded him too much of a Darkwing Court when the judges were introduced just before they passed death sentences for unfaithful service. Red and green pantaloons replaced the ritualistic blood-red robes, but the sentiment was the same. These men were to judge Golgoath’s service.

“I am glad to hear the preparations are going well,” Kraagen continued when the introductions were over. “I was beginning to think that you were having more troubles.”

“None, my lord,” Golgoath answered with a slight quaver.

“Then, tell me…” He paused, turning to caress the bare shoulder of the woman to his right. “Why are you here?”

Golgoath was taken aback. “M-my lord… You summoned me.”

Kraagen’s face grew stern as he rose to his feet, manifesting his impressive height as he towered over the wizard. “I mean, why are you even here? Captain Corlana leads the armada against the Calishar Islands. Wetheril is poised to move across the plains of Othilluk. Captain Rohel has landed in Nordin and is negotiating terms with the tribes. Even that idiot goblin Gronag sent me word this morning that the Sessil Tunnels are ready to be taken. Where are your troops? Why are you not in the forest of Levellin? Why do you not send me word the elves of Alber are ready to fall?” He seemed to grow even taller and his voice boomed from his expanse of chest. “Why are you still here?”

Golgoath felt like falling to his knees at his lord’s feet but remained tremulously upright. Kraagen’s force was daunting, but Golgoath had a few impressive tricks of his own. “Lord Kraagen, I have not been idle. The defenses…”

The dark man interrupted. “The defenses have been dealt with, as you know. And the elves are unaware. What is preventing you from launching your attack?”

“I mean the other defenses, my lord. The ones that deter our magic in the forest. That inhibit undead, my lord.”

Kraagen eyed Golgoath suspiciously. “Explain.”

Golgoath swallowed hard and looked around the room. Each judge was watching him, waiting to pass his condemnation. “As you know, the forest has been protected for six thousand years by Ghenna, the Lady of the Forest, herself. Not only do her protections prevent unwanted entry into the forest, but it also keeps certain types of magic from even being performed. Dark Magics in particular. I have been devising a way to bypass those safeguards.” It took great strength of will to keep from grinning.

“And have you succeeded?” Kraagen asked. “Judging by your expression, you believe that you have.”

Golgoath held out his hand to show the dark man a ring made of woven golden leaves, each bearing an emerald of deepest green.

Kraagen’s eyes grew wide as he recognized the ring. A cold grin crept across his face revealing his brilliantly white teeth that sharply contrasted his inky face. “How, by all the gods, did you get one of those?” he hissed.

Golgoath returned his master’s grin. “From that elf prince here in Wolfshar.” He spat the phrase ‘elf prince’ in pleasant mockery.

Several of the men in the room muttered their derision at the mention of the elf who gave himself the title of prince so that he could sell his so-called treasures to the ignorant rich of the city. “It seems that many of the magistrates here got the idea that he was cheating them. So, he left in rather a hurry.”

“And left behind the real treasure,” Kraagen added.

“Yes, my lord. And not only will this ring get us into the forest…”

Kraagen nodded. “…but will mean the end of her Ladyship.” A laugh rumbled deep in the lord’s chest. “And now that you have your trinket, when will you attack?”

“The wild men of the mountains already wait in the forest. My battle wizards leave in two days, my lord, and attack Alber during the Festival of the Moon.”

Kraagen gave his wizard a troubled look. “That does not leave much time until the appointed day.”

“We will be ready, my lord.” Golgoath placed his right hand on his heart and bowed, pledging with his life.

“You had better be, Golgoath.”

Kraagen returned to his mat and lay down in between two lovely attendants. “A dance,” he said to the ladies, “in celebration.”

The ladies in the room stopped what they were doing and moved quickly to the center of the room where they began a slow and methodic dance in unison. It was not so much a dance as an erotic pantomime of lustful eyes, caressing hands, rolling tongues and gyrating hips. As the action grew more intense, the performance expanded to interaction as the women pressed their bodies together in one large mass of licentious orgy. As the women reached a climax of sensuality and without any word or warning, the entire circle of female flesh burst into flame. Screams of pain cut the air like swords and then the room fell suddenly silent. In less than a minute, the burning ceased, leaving behind a pile of bone and ash.
The men remained silent as they stared at the remains of their pleasure slaves, recognizing Kraagen’s need for secrecy, but dissatisfied nonetheless.

“Golgoath,” Kraagen’s booming voice rang out. “Perhaps we will need… replacements.”