The Key of Ban by James Harshfield
The West Tower of the castle was a constant topic of discussion by the citizens of Neverly. The tall, slender, stone spire had four windows at its top. The round windows faced east, west, north and south on a 90 degree axis. It was rumored the round windows were built to help gather energy from the forces of nature. This energy was then converted into the power driving the machines of magic. Even though the people on the street talked with authority, they knew nothing about the nature of magic or the forces that generated its power.
The magic from the tower was usually a product of the night and found its source in darkness. It was not unusual to see multicolored lights blaze from the windows of the tower. These lights would shift from green to yellow then brighten the night sky with blood red flashes.
The power of Crossmore’s foul work acted as a mantle of gloom covering the city like a black pall. Fear gripped people every time the body of a complaining citizen was found in a state of unnatural death and decomposition. This often happened when people protested the reign of Wastelow or Crossmore. Blind obedience was expected, or a shadow in the night would end rebellious activities.
The West Tower was off limits to everybody except Crossmore the Wizard and Badda, his slow witted servant. The mindless servant could only follow the commands of Crossmore in blind obedience. Badda’s cowering presence was a target for Crossmore’s anger and hatred. Badda’s short, anemic body supported a sallow face with pale, empty eyes. Ragged clothes hung on his body like a shroud lay over the top of the living dead.
Badda’s unwashed body was covered with ages of dirt and filth. The odor of his presence was unbearable, except for Crossmore. Sadly, the servant’s degenerated presence fed the wizard’s own sense of power. Badda would sit for hours in a comatose state waiting for Crossmore’s summons. The servant was often seen wandering the city at night on one of Crossmore’s missions of dread.
Crossmore showed increased irritability during the months of spring. Budding leaves, green grass and spring flowers pushed him to fits of anger. Crossmore wanted destruction and fear to symbolize his existence, not hope and new life. Control was his sole quest in life. He diligently worked to gain the power needed to conquer all of creation.
On a warm spring day, Crossmore stood before a tall mirror attached to the wall in the tower. His tall, lean body was wrapped in a black silk robe that shimmered in the pulsating light emanating from a crystal ball sitting on a table. His dark eyes, pleasant smile and charismatic personality offered him the ability to convince people of his sincerity. Even though people sensed his corruption, Crossmore could convince them of his honesty and caring. People wanted to believe in his words and blame someone else for his deeds. The trap of his sweet voice was the death of many gullible individuals.
Crossmore glowed with pride at the grandeur of his power. From an outward appearance the room in the West Tower did not portray an image of magic. The small room had bare stone walls, a mirror, two plain chairs, several tables, a crystal ball and a large book sitting on a stand. A door opened onto a staircase leading to the bottom of the tower. The steps on the stairs were worn smooth by the feet of many wizards who had practiced their magic in the empowered environment of the tower.
Badda sat motionless in a chair near the door with a vacant expression on his face. He stared at the floor with no will to direct his behavior. Recently, Badda had begun to hear voices from the recesses of his mind. These voices were of happy children playing street games. He heard the voices but could not make any reference to their source or meaning. These voices wandered in complete freedom, weaving a tapestry of unknown patterns in the void of his mind.
Crossmore looked at Badda with satisfaction. He desired to have an army of people with the same void of will. They would do his every bidding without question. Badda was a grand experiment in removing willpower from an individual.
Crossmore walked to the east window and looked over his future domain. He had two people to eliminate before he could become emperor. He smiled knowing Emperor Wastelow was slowly dying.
He thought, “For years I have increased the dose of the poison I give the Emperor. This charming drug has reduced his mind to the emotional level of a vegetable. Wastelow, the fool, is so naïve and stupid. He actually trusted me to nurse him back to health. It would only be a short time before Wastelow’s destruction will be complete.”
He chuckled, thinking, “After Wastelow’s death I will use my usual grace, kindness and elegance to invite his son Regee into my confidence. I find Regee to be such a weak, spineless and pathetic life form. I will eradicate him in a most unique and unpleasant manner. I will have fun making dear Regee face his arrogance and stupidity.”
He laughed out loud, admiring the wicked magnificence of his plan.
As Crossmore retreated from his daydream, the shades of darkness were starting to blanket the City. He stood in front of the window looking directly at the East Tower. He stared at the tower as thoughts of marriage entered his mind. Yes, someday he would marry a beautiful woman. His lustful intentions were anything but noble. He planned to entrap an honorable woman in his web of corruption. He felt his victory would be complete when Princess Noel was his wife to control and dominate until death they do part.
A burst of laughter illuminated his satisfaction with his plans to conquer Noel and the Empire. First, he would utterly destroy Brad and his rag-tag followers. Second, he would gain full control of the Empire. Last, he would have Noel for his bride. He smiled at the thought of dominating the worthless maggots of the Empire.
His gaze shifted from the East Tower to the East Gate of the city. The replacement of the guards was just taking place with the usual military formality. He enjoyed watching the soldiers march in cadence to his power. In confidence he declared to himself, “It will not be long before the whole empire will be my toy.”
He was impressed with his great plans. Yet, he lacked absolute conviction. A shadow of doubt lurked in the depths of his mind. He could not forget his confrontation with the great power from the wilderness. The pain in his crippled right hand was a reminder. No matter how hard he tried to repress this doubt, it constantly resurfaced. He knew there was a challenge to his plan for conquest.
His childish pride could not accept anything but complete control. Frequently, his anger would rage in hatred of the enemy. No one ever dared to challenge his power. He vowed with evil curses to find and destroy whoever had turned his hand into a worthless stump. He questioned how it was possible for anything to match the Power of Reaching. Yet, it had happened without warning and under the protection of the Mirror of Farsight. For ages he had used the magic of the mirror to reach into the Empire without any problems. The mirror gave him the power to touch the minds of his victims.
Recently, Crossmore spent many hours in his library studying the ancient books of prophecy to identify his enemy. In frustration, he found nothing. Was it a great warrior, a wizard, or maybe just an energy surge in flux of the mirror? Reports continued to arrive at the palace concerning strange events in the Village of Grandy and the Wilderness of the Outlast. A male half-elf and an older couple were identified as living in Lost Valley. Could this be the son of Rodney and grandson of Brad? The enchanted wolves from the underworld reported that great warriors defeated them in several battles in the Wastelands. These warriors arrived at the Monastery of Toms during early winter. He had not thought it was possible for anyone to kill his partner in evil, Gurlog. He had fashioned Gurlog from the very bowels of hell to be his commander.
Crossmore’s mind could not accept the fact that something or someone was challenging his authority. Would it be necessary for him to reopen the doors into the Chamber of Oblivion to obtain more foul creatures to fight his war? Was it possible for him to lose control of the surge of evil escaping from the underworld? Crossmore knew he could not allow anything to stop him from fulfilling his dreams. He would need to depend on his intellect, magic and knowledge to guide him to fulfill his destiny. He decided it was time to reenter the life
of the palace. As he left the tower, he threw Badda a piece of raw meat and a loaf of moldy bread.
He said, “Eat, Badda, because you will need energy to complete the work I have for you this dark and wonderful night.” The people of the city heard Crossmore’s laughter as he descended the steps leading into the heart of the palace.
~ ~
The East Tower
The magic from the tower was usually a product of the night and found its source in darkness. It was not unusual to see multicolored lights blaze from the windows of the tower. These lights would shift from green to yellow then brighten the night sky with blood red flashes.
The power of Crossmore’s foul work acted as a mantle of gloom covering the city like a black pall. Fear gripped people every time the body of a complaining citizen was found in a state of unnatural death and decomposition. This often happened when people protested the reign of Wastelow or Crossmore. Blind obedience was expected, or a shadow in the night would end rebellious activities.
The West Tower was off limits to everybody except Crossmore the Wizard and Badda, his slow witted servant. The mindless servant could only follow the commands of Crossmore in blind obedience. Badda’s cowering presence was a target for Crossmore’s anger and hatred. Badda’s short, anemic body supported a sallow face with pale, empty eyes. Ragged clothes hung on his body like a shroud lay over the top of the living dead.
Badda’s unwashed body was covered with ages of dirt and filth. The odor of his presence was unbearable, except for Crossmore. Sadly, the servant’s degenerated presence fed the wizard’s own sense of power. Badda would sit for hours in a comatose state waiting for Crossmore’s summons. The servant was often seen wandering the city at night on one of Crossmore’s missions of dread.
Crossmore showed increased irritability during the months of spring. Budding leaves, green grass and spring flowers pushed him to fits of anger. Crossmore wanted destruction and fear to symbolize his existence, not hope and new life. Control was his sole quest in life. He diligently worked to gain the power needed to conquer all of creation.
On a warm spring day, Crossmore stood before a tall mirror attached to the wall in the tower. His tall, lean body was wrapped in a black silk robe that shimmered in the pulsating light emanating from a crystal ball sitting on a table. His dark eyes, pleasant smile and charismatic personality offered him the ability to convince people of his sincerity. Even though people sensed his corruption, Crossmore could convince them of his honesty and caring. People wanted to believe in his words and blame someone else for his deeds. The trap of his sweet voice was the death of many gullible individuals.
Crossmore glowed with pride at the grandeur of his power. From an outward appearance the room in the West Tower did not portray an image of magic. The small room had bare stone walls, a mirror, two plain chairs, several tables, a crystal ball and a large book sitting on a stand. A door opened onto a staircase leading to the bottom of the tower. The steps on the stairs were worn smooth by the feet of many wizards who had practiced their magic in the empowered environment of the tower.
Badda sat motionless in a chair near the door with a vacant expression on his face. He stared at the floor with no will to direct his behavior. Recently, Badda had begun to hear voices from the recesses of his mind. These voices were of happy children playing street games. He heard the voices but could not make any reference to their source or meaning. These voices wandered in complete freedom, weaving a tapestry of unknown patterns in the void of his mind.
Crossmore looked at Badda with satisfaction. He desired to have an army of people with the same void of will. They would do his every bidding without question. Badda was a grand experiment in removing willpower from an individual.
Crossmore walked to the east window and looked over his future domain. He had two people to eliminate before he could become emperor. He smiled knowing Emperor Wastelow was slowly dying.
He thought, “For years I have increased the dose of the poison I give the Emperor. This charming drug has reduced his mind to the emotional level of a vegetable. Wastelow, the fool, is so naïve and stupid. He actually trusted me to nurse him back to health. It would only be a short time before Wastelow’s destruction will be complete.”
He chuckled, thinking, “After Wastelow’s death I will use my usual grace, kindness and elegance to invite his son Regee into my confidence. I find Regee to be such a weak, spineless and pathetic life form. I will eradicate him in a most unique and unpleasant manner. I will have fun making dear Regee face his arrogance and stupidity.”
He laughed out loud, admiring the wicked magnificence of his plan.
As Crossmore retreated from his daydream, the shades of darkness were starting to blanket the City. He stood in front of the window looking directly at the East Tower. He stared at the tower as thoughts of marriage entered his mind. Yes, someday he would marry a beautiful woman. His lustful intentions were anything but noble. He planned to entrap an honorable woman in his web of corruption. He felt his victory would be complete when Princess Noel was his wife to control and dominate until death they do part.
A burst of laughter illuminated his satisfaction with his plans to conquer Noel and the Empire. First, he would utterly destroy Brad and his rag-tag followers. Second, he would gain full control of the Empire. Last, he would have Noel for his bride. He smiled at the thought of dominating the worthless maggots of the Empire.
His gaze shifted from the East Tower to the East Gate of the city. The replacement of the guards was just taking place with the usual military formality. He enjoyed watching the soldiers march in cadence to his power. In confidence he declared to himself, “It will not be long before the whole empire will be my toy.”
He was impressed with his great plans. Yet, he lacked absolute conviction. A shadow of doubt lurked in the depths of his mind. He could not forget his confrontation with the great power from the wilderness. The pain in his crippled right hand was a reminder. No matter how hard he tried to repress this doubt, it constantly resurfaced. He knew there was a challenge to his plan for conquest.
His childish pride could not accept anything but complete control. Frequently, his anger would rage in hatred of the enemy. No one ever dared to challenge his power. He vowed with evil curses to find and destroy whoever had turned his hand into a worthless stump. He questioned how it was possible for anything to match the Power of Reaching. Yet, it had happened without warning and under the protection of the Mirror of Farsight. For ages he had used the magic of the mirror to reach into the Empire without any problems. The mirror gave him the power to touch the minds of his victims.
Recently, Crossmore spent many hours in his library studying the ancient books of prophecy to identify his enemy. In frustration, he found nothing. Was it a great warrior, a wizard, or maybe just an energy surge in flux of the mirror? Reports continued to arrive at the palace concerning strange events in the Village of Grandy and the Wilderness of the Outlast. A male half-elf and an older couple were identified as living in Lost Valley. Could this be the son of Rodney and grandson of Brad? The enchanted wolves from the underworld reported that great warriors defeated them in several battles in the Wastelands. These warriors arrived at the Monastery of Toms during early winter. He had not thought it was possible for anyone to kill his partner in evil, Gurlog. He had fashioned Gurlog from the very bowels of hell to be his commander.
Crossmore’s mind could not accept the fact that something or someone was challenging his authority. Would it be necessary for him to reopen the doors into the Chamber of Oblivion to obtain more foul creatures to fight his war? Was it possible for him to lose control of the surge of evil escaping from the underworld? Crossmore knew he could not allow anything to stop him from fulfilling his dreams. He would need to depend on his intellect, magic and knowledge to guide him to fulfill his destiny. He decided it was time to reenter the life
He said, “Eat, Badda, because you will need energy to complete the work I have for you this dark and wonderful night.” The people of the city heard Crossmore’s laughter as he descended the steps leading into the heart of the palace.
~ ~
The East Tower