The Dread Lords Rising by J. David Phillips
*
Maerillus felt uneasy as he walked along the hallways of his home looking for . . . for anyone. Staff flitted through the rooms of the business wing, busy at their chores, and each time he stopped one of them to ask where his parents were, all he got were blank stares followed by apologies and shrugged shoulders. As the last person walked off without any more useful information, Maerillus frowned. His mother and father were supposed to meet him for an early lunch, but they never showed up. And that was strange. Davin wasn’t anywhere to be found, and that was also strange. Niam was gone, too. So was one of his father’s favorite horses. And that was . . . well, suspicious. If his father had been called away on business, why hadn’t anyone seen him leave? And if he hadn’t, why was it that Niam was gone at the same time that the stable was shy one very valuable horse?
That had better be a coincidence.
The halls were quiet, and fewer staff than usual moved about. As he turned past the hallway leading to his parents’ rooms, he thought about checking them one more time just in case they had returned there when a familiar figure stepped around the corner.
“Mom!” he called out. “Where in he world have you both been? I was loo—“ but before Maerillus finished the sentence, his words stopped in his throat. “Mom?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “Mom? Mom, where’s Dad?”
His mother said nothing, but seemed to wear a vague grin as she walked toward him, keeping her left hand extended slightly toward the wall like she was drunk. Yet the way she walked and the childlike expression she wore were not the things that worried him. No. It was the look in her eyes—or rather, the lack of anything in her eyes that bothered Maerillus.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” He placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. His mother’s head slowly turned toward him. When her eyes found his, the pupils were abnormally large. Her gaze went right through him.
“Gaius?” she asked in a dreamy voice. “I won’t be having dinner with the guests tonight, sweetheart—Alexandretta is running a fever.”
Maerillus felt the frown he wore become a scowl. “I just saw my sister and she was fine. I’ve had her looking for you, too.”
Andromeda brushed his hand away, and continued on, telling him with a dreamy tone, “I’ll be in my nursing room with Lexa.”
Maerillus had no idea what to do. The nursing room had been remodeled into a reading parlor years ago. He felt an urgent need to check for his father. Why does this have to keep happening? Frustration surged through him. He couldn’t let his mom roam the halls in her present state, but something was probably wrong with his dad.
“Oh maggots!” Maerillus felt his fists clench, and with an explosion of pent up anger, he began running to his parents’ suite. As he turned the corner, several maids were stomping snow and ice off of their boots onto a floor mat at the end of the wing. Even from the distance separating them, Maerillus saw the surprise on their faces as their heads snapped in his direction once he started yelling at them to check on his mom.
The door to his parents’ chambers stood half-opened. As soon as he rushed into the small antechamber where two coatracks stood, he realized that the room was empty, but Maerillus felt an odd tingling on the back of his neck. Instead of barreling into his mom and dad’s bedroom, he slowed before opening the door. Some instinct cautioned that doing so would be a terrible mistake.
Maerillus moved quietly to the door and listened for any sounds of movement or voices on the other side. The hackles at the nape of his neck rose. From the crack at the bottom of the door, he felt a cold breath of frigid air brush across his ankles. Someone had left the bedroom patio door open.
His parents would never have done that. Maerillus was glad that his mother had left the hallway door ajar. Though he heard nothing, he was more certain than ever that someone was in the room beyond. Fearful of being detected, he wondered if he could use his ability to mask sounds. Before opening the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated on being as silent as a cat stalking a mouse. Concentration was always the key when using his power.
Slowly, he opened the door.
It squeaked slightly. Maerillus blocked out any other conscious thought than willing sounds he made to go unheard. Great Lord let this work. Metal hinges grated softly as the door swung open. Loose drapes fluttered languidly as the winter poured itself into the room. To his left sat his parents’ canopy bed, and from behind it the urgent whispering of intruders that did not want to be heard.
Maerillus slipped into the room, sure to keep the bed between himself and the intruders. He edged his way closer. His father’s dueling sword hung from a post at the other end of the bed. This made him wince. For a second Maerillus considered creeping back out of the room and fetching a blade, but he knew that any delay on his part might mean success on intruders’ part, and that couldn’t be allowed. With any luck the staff had found his mother and were sending for help. Rather than the sound of approaching footfalls, however, every moment that passed brought only silence. Maerillus knew his dad might be hurt or worse.
Intensifying his concentration, Maerillus rounded the foot of the bed and peered around the side, thankful that the drapes were drawn shut. From inside the canopy, a deep moaning issued, along with incoherent mumbling. Maerillus recognized his father’s voice.
“Shut up!” one of the men hissed.
“We shouldn’t have let the bitch go,” the second voice muttered quietly.
“Someone will bring her back here. They’ll think she’s drunk. We’ll kill the servant and take the two Sartors.”
The second speaker didn’t sound as sure of the plan. “What if the stuff he ate don’t keep him out?”
“Hit him with the butt of your sword,” the owner of the first voice growled. “Once we drag them out to the cart, we’ll be on our way. There’s going to be too much happening tonight to pay us any attention.”
Two men dressed in the estate’s livery stood over his father. Beneath the servants’ uniforms they wore, the bulges of short swords poked against loose tunics. Anger flared within Maerillus. He quickly slipped around the canopy bed and drew his father’s sword. The two men suddenly froze, and Maerillus realized that in his anger he had let go of his concentration. The larger of the two drew his sword the quickest. With a snarl, Maerillus sprung forward and slashed the man deeply across the underside of his wrist, causing him to howl in pain and drop his sword. The second man was on him in an instant. His sword flashed downward, but Maerillus darted outside of his swing. The man’s stroke was entirely reactive and left him wide open. Maerillus drove forward, but caught a flicker of motion in time to avoid being struck by a heavy vase hurled by the wounded assailant. The porcelain object stuck Maerillus a glancing blow, but the momentum knocked him back.
The armed intruder sprang toward Maerillus, but the man’s blade did not have the reach of his father’s dueling blade. What it lacked in length, though, it more than made up for in weight. He easily beat the tip of Maerillus’s blade aside, causing him to focus on keeping his stance. His attacker came on doggedly. Maerillus used the corner of his parents’ bed to give him enough time to grab one of the drapes. With a hard tug, he pulled it from the overhead canopy and used it to deflect his enemy’s blade. The man’s eyes widened when he realized Maerillus now had the upper hand, and he snarled, “Get him you idiot!”
His accomplice held his wounded arm tightly. “He got me good. Can’t close my fingers,” he whined. His good hand was now gloved in blood.
The man with the sword circled warily around two marble columns that limited the effectiveness of Maerillus’s long blade. “If you don’t, he’ll have us all good! Now use that damned blade, fool!”
Maerillus suddenly changed tactics and threw the drape at his assailant’s face. The man??
Maerillus spun to face the wounded man as the intruder used his good hand to swing a chair at his head. It hit him hard, sending him sprawling to the floor. Maerillus’s head burned like fire and the world lurched sickeningly about him.
The sound of approaching footsteps told him that he had to move fast or die.
Propelled by fear, he scrabbled away from the man clutching his useless wrist beneath the crook of his arm. Maerillus felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction that he had severed his tendons and a major vein. The man looked down at him with a mix of fear and distaste. His face was thin and scruffy, and his eyes darted rapidly about as he tried to decide what to do next. In a pained voice, he said, “They told us to look out for you.”
“Who?” Maerillus spat.
“Never you mind, boy. You ruined my arm. Now I’ll have to wait on the others.”
Before Maerillus had time to say anything else, the man let go of his wound and wiped his good hand on his tunic, leaving a smeared and bloody handprint like a twisted piece of child’s artwork. Maerillus crawled desperately across the floor.
He had to get to his father’s blade.
The attacker drew his own blade. Maerillus knew he wasn’t going to make it as man lifted his sword up to deliver a stroke.
Suddenly, a diminutive figure stepped into view and brought a vase crashing down across the man’s skull with a ferocious shriek. Maerillus watched in amazement as the vase connected hard with the man’s skull. While the thing didn’t break, Maerillus was sure something within his attacker’s head did. The man’s eyes rolled backward and his body collapsed like a limp doll. Standing where he fell was Casey, the old servant Maerillus had nearly scared off of a ladder this past fall.
“Casey!” Maerillus cried out in equal parts surprise and relief.
“That was a fine vase,” she said, panting with excitement. “I’d have felt poorly if it had broken. Now be a dear and bring me a good chair to sit on, young man.”
Maerillus stood up. His head pounded. “I’ve got to get Dad out of here! It might not be safe for either of you.”
Before the old servant responded, she looked around as alarm bells began ringing throughout the estate. Casey picked up the first attacker’s short sword and said adamantly, “I’ll stay here and watch him, lad. Go find help and see to this ruckus. I’ll run the first man through who thinks he’ll lay a hand on Mr. Sartor.”
Maerillus closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull and nodded. He simply didn’t have any other option. “Close those doors and lock them,” he said quickly. “And then lock the door behind me after I leave and don’t open it for anyone you don’t recognize.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Maerillus nodded his head. Somewhere down the hallway someone began shouting “Fire!” Outside, all across the property, alarm bells began sounding in the cold, cold night.