Page 5 of The Last Knight

Chapter Three

Even a blazing fire in the huge stone hearth could never dispel the coldness of the dark throne room. Gunther paced from one side to the other, the soft-soled leather boots silent on the stone floor. He had to decide, and soon, what to do next in ruling the Dark Realm. The generals and warriors would soon grow impatient. Although he was powerful enough to kill them all, inherently he was aware the darkness would not allow it.

He stopped at a long, ornate wooden table upon which scrolls and tomes were haphazardly strewn, some precariously hanging off the sides. Having scoured pages and pages, and read until his eyes drooped, he’d yet to find a way out of the current predicament. If not for dying, there was no other way to escape and return to the other realm.

Had Meliot ever felt this helpless, so desperate to abdicate that he’d consider allowing his own murder? He doubted it. Meliot’s soul was dark, there’d not been one flicker of light within the evil wizard.

Outside the door, the fast speech of the guards made it known they were not happy to have been thrown out of the room. Perhaps they feared for their own lives if something were to happen to him, or they had nefarious reasons to stay informed of his every movement. Gunther suspected it could be a combination of both.

Often he read their minds to find they hated him deeply. That an interloper like him had risen to be ruler was an insult to the Torant species who were native to the Dark Realm.

Not just the guards, almost every member of the council, and every other warrior, believed him to be unworthy and wished for his death. Gunther had to agree. He wasn’t from this realm, and he’d never been particularly loyal to Meliot. If anything, he’d often wished to dispatch the warlock. The only reason he had not was for fear of what had ultimately occurred. Ironic.

At hearing a knock on the door, Gunther grunted for whoever it was to enter. It was the larger of the guards, who was called Fros. Torants looked mostly human but huge, most at almost seven feet with tall, large, muscular bodies, excessively thick necks, and elongated snouts. They were a race of warriors who thrived on battle, needing little provocation or reason for violence. They were perfect, albeit unstable candidates to have in one’s army.

Most of the Dark Realm’s army consisted of Torants, and although Gunther had lived there for centuries, he knew little about them as the entire time he’d been held there as a prisoner, he’d given them wide berth. Especially after seeing them attack and kill other species without much provocation.

“Sire, are you to remain here?” Fros asked, his voice deep and gravely.

“What I do or do not do is not your concern.” Gunther held the Torants’ gaze. “I do not require your constant hovering. Go away, the both of you.” He held up a hand and shot a blast of power at the guard, sending the huge creature to crash against the door. The other guard pushed the door open looking between Fros, who was getting to his feet, and Gunther.

“As you wish,” Fros said inclining his head, but not before Gunther caught sight of the guard’s angry glare.

The door closed behind the guards, and Gunther let out an annoyed breath. Stalking to the open balcony, he conjured a bird and sent it out with a message. Then he dematerialized, leaving behind the darkness and gloom, if only temporarily.

Upon materializing in the outer edges of the Atlandian Realm, at the cottage he’d once lived in, it was as if heavy stones were lifted from his shoulders. He walked around the cottage, studying the structure to ensure everything was in order. Then he did the same at the stables. It was all as it should be, the roofs in good repair, the garden tidy, the stables swept. Not a whisper of another person around.

There was a groundskeeper who came on occasion, a man whom he’d hired almost a decade earlier from a nearby village. The lanky, good-natured man had never asked where he went and why he was always absent, which suited Gunther.

After being trapped in the realm for a pair of centuries, it was only in the last two decades that he’d been given enough freedom to revisit the cottage that he had first called home upon being thrust into the unknown realm.

Inspections complete, Gunther walked toward the cottage. He’d been there recently, under Meliot’s orders to remove a man named Padriag. Later, he’d granted permission to the same man to find refuge there. Over the years, he’d found ways to do what he could to help men captured, but that was not something anyone knew but him and his one and only friend in the realms.

“You summoned?” Prince Sterling, ruler of the Esland Realm, walked up to him from beside the cottage. The royal’s shoulder length white-blond hair blew away from his face as he regarded Gunther with a slight frown. “Be aware I will not bow to you. As far as I’m concerned you remain a commoner.” The Prince’s silver gaze swept over Gunther’s dark attire. “Evil becomes you.” The corner of his lips curved at his jest.

“As I have never bowed to you, I would never ask it in return. It is possible I am powerful enough to make you do it,” Gunther teased and then blew out a breath. “I had to get away from the Dark Realm I am not sure how long I can withstand being ruler of such a place.”

The prince fell in step beside him as they walked toward the woods that surrounded the cottage on three sides. “I would ask how you are finding things, but your comment says it all.”

“There is naught I can do. I have scoured every tome, every parchment, hoping to figure out how to release myself from this burden. I will continue to do so, but there are eyes and ears everywhere. If they find out what I am truly searching for, it could be dangerous.” Gunther stopped and concentrated to listen, ensuring he was not being spied on. “As soon as I became ruler, plans to kill me commenced.”

Sterling shrugged. “Every ruler has enemies, you my friend, I venture to guess, have more than most.”

They were silent for a beat, Sterling waiting to find out the reason for the summons and Gunther not quite knowing what to ask, how to seek the prince’s advice.

“I need your help,” Gunther finally admitted. “I read that Esland has ancient tomes with secrets of all realms.”

“No,” Sterling said without hesitation. “It is strictly forbidden for our transcripts to be shared with anyone not from our realm. I will never violate that law.”

Anger reared, a fiery sensation surging within Gunther. It was quick and overwhelming. When he turned to Sterling, he had a tenuous hold on his fury. “I am asking for your help. Not for you to violate some law, or divulge your precious transcripts, but to perhaps find a way to help me.”

Sterling took several steps backward and glanced upward where a beautiful fluorescent dragon kept watch, the creature’s huge wings moving with graceful arches as it circled.

“My fire is hotter than yours,” Sterling said, pointing upward.

“I would never hurt you,” Gunther snapped. “I can control my powers.”

“You are aware the longer the darkness dwells within the more dangerous you become. Evil will eventually win.” Sterling motioned between them. “Our friendship will not last much longer.”