Hello! Well, a slightly quicker update this time; if I have sacrificed quality for speed please let me know, and I'll give it a bit of a facelift. I also may have gotten some things wrong; feel very free to correct me. Apart from that...review! And enjoy!
The carriage rattled and clattered along the dusty road. It was a warm day; the sun was burning in the sky; the still air wasn't cooled by the breezes normal in this territory.
Inside the carriage, ice was forming.
Astic Denthrall was sitting next to the coachman – as far away from the closed carriage's sole occupant as he could be – and he still felt cold. His Jewels weren't helping – neither his birthright Green nor his descended Grey could ward the chill from his bones.
Dammit, this shouldn't be happening!
It had been a long time since Astic had faced a Blood male superior to him, either in power or status. He was easily the strongest in his territory; and, as his Queen's Master of the Guard, faced any rival – threat – with her full support behind him – not to mention the added advantage of being a Warlord. So when he'd heard of a new arrival to his court – a gift from Dorothea herself, no less – he'd been wary, but confident that he could deal with any…differences…the two of them might have. There was no reason to be apprehensive over any slave, he'd thought, no matter how powerful his jewels. Especially when he'd realised exactly what that slave's duties – or duty, rather – was going to be.
Daemon Sadif had scared him from the moment they'd met.
At first, arriving with the carriage, he hadn't seen the Warlord Prince – his view was blocked by the crowd of guards, standing uneasily in a ring around a huddled form, their hands on the hilts of their weapons. They had been Astic's first warning. Of course he'd heard of Daemon before – who hadn't – but any rumours that reached them, all the way out here, were bound to be distorted and inflated by distance. He'd been sure that he could handle any pleasure slave. And the Black jewels? Ridiculous – Black jewels had been extinct in the Blood for centuries, if not millenia. And yet…thirty guards, by Astic's count, each wary, each alert, each…wearing a dark jewel!
He must be mistaken. Astic scanned the crowd again, senses alert. Dark opal, sapphire, green, sapphire again, red, grey…every one of them was a powerful warrior in his own right. And every one of them seemed to be scared out of their wits.
The Grey-bearing guard hurried up to the halted carriage. Astic had just time to realise that the man in front of him was a Warlord Prince – a Warlord Prince, sent to guard one prisoner? Impossible! – before the guard was upon him.
"Thank the Darkness, you've come," the Warlord Prince said urgently. "Hurry up and take him away!"
Astic looked down on the man with a frown. "Don't mock me by trying to pretend that you – all of you – couldn't handle one prisoner."
The Warlord Prince stepped back, startled. Then, suddenly, he laughed – a laugh that was both humourless and tinged with hysteria. "I don't need to mock you – your ignorance is managing just fine by itself. And I don't care what you think of me – just load up the prisoner and go. Go!"
Astic descended from the carriage, making sure each step was slow and delibarate. He could feel his temper rising. This band of guards was enough to destroy towns and villages, or even to level a small city. He didn't know what game the Warlord Prince was playing, but this he did know: there was no single person who would be able to stand up to the force in front of him.
That opinion lasted all of ten metres.
The ring of guards had parted to let him in, and to give him his first view of his queen's new…gift. At first the figure huddled on the ground seemed pitiful: knees drawn up to its chest and face downcast abjectly. Astic snorted: this was the Warlord Prince feared throughout Tereille? It wasn't possible. He turned-
-and was falling, falling through a chasm with walls as black as the Mother's womb, a chasm that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Astic screamed in pure shock and terror as he plummeted through the darkness, as he suddenly realised where he was - his inner web, the abyss of Blood.
Pressure filled his head, a roaring of wind in this airless place, a burning fire in a lightless void. With every second that passed, it intensified, until he could hardly think through the skull-crushing pain. As he fell through the darkness, Astic was consumed with mindless fear of the being that could pluck him from his body and send him hurtling helplessly into the void. But then, as the pain swept past him and through him, he suddenly understood what was going to happen to him. He wouldn't have to face the monster known as Daemon after all. At least, he wouldn't be conscious of it – not after the fall broke his mind and threw him into the Twisted Kingdom.
Astic sighed with pure relief.
The pain, though, wasn't going away. It seemed an eternity of agony, always building, pressing, crushing, until it seemed that it couldn't continue a moment longer without destroying him completely. Was this what it was like to be mad - a life full of the mind-destroying agony? Suddenly the Twisted Kingdom didn't seem so appealing. But Astic was helpless as he fell; he couldn't halt himself, he was going to plummet and burn out his mind and wander the roads of madness forever-
A bare metre from the border of insanity, Astic stopped.
It was like he'd crashed into an invisible floor - a floor born of Jewels that were pure Black. The impact was incredible – it seemed like every bone in his body had been broken with the landing. He tried to scream, but his mouth would make no sound. He could feel the presence clearly now; a huge power, vaster than he ever could have imagined. It inspected him closely: probing him, scrutinising his mind, stealing his secrets and his soul. Violating him.
And discarding him.
Astic could scream now – and he did, as the power beneath him lifted him as easily as a child would lift an ant. He was flung upwards, reaching the surface in a heartbeat-
-and came to, kneeling on the dusty ground, heaving and retching as hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Astic swayed and would have buckled again without the support of the Grey Warlord Prince. He propped Astic up with one arm while accepting a bottle from another guard with the other.
"Here, open your mouth," the guard instructed, tilting Astic's head up and roughly slopping wine into his face. "Now you know. I don't blame you for before, okay? You couldn't have known until he did it, and he's done it to all of us. Just…like I said, take him away. Quick."
Astic tried to swallow, spluttered, and finally managed to down most of the wine. He pushed the guard away, and managed to stand, although his legs were still shaking. Then, resolutely, he looked across to where Daemon SaDiablo still sat, in the centre of his little court circle. He hadn't moved.
Damn him to the deepest depths of Hell!
As if hearing Astic's thoughts, Daemon slowly raised his head. His eyes fixed and locked on to Astic's. Astic noted numbly that they were a brilliant gold.
Daemon unfolded himself off the ground, strode past Astic as if he wasn't there, and climbed into the carriage.
Astic realised he was shivering.
Now, perched on the front of his carriage, he felt only dread for the future. A few metres away sat the most dangerous man in the Realm – and Astic, helpless to do anything else, was bringing him straight to the one person he had sworn to guard with his life.
The carriage rattled and clattered along the dusty road, with every breath drawing closer to the centre of all Astic held dear - his family, his court, his queen. His Queen. The Queen. The absolute ruler of Dena Nelele.