Book One of the Heretic Chronicles: The Awakening

Chapter Eleven

Alger sat alone in the throne room.  Gone were the guards, the jester, the gathering of men and women who thought their business with him of some importance, and any servant who might be about.  He wanted to speak with his wizard alone.  Things had not been going the way he planned.  Fortunately, his plans always left room for alterations.  General Blyte's news was not good.  Augustus had not agreed to the terms.  Alger did not think they were unfair as the opposition claimed.  He did not believe that the problem was with Augustus, but with the man's wife, Eleanor.  She held the real power in the Gordact Kingdom, and everyone knew it.

He felt tired.  Tired of always waiting for cooperation and never getting it.  But mostly, Alger was tired of waiting for Sage.  He would have sent someone other than Simon, but no one else would go anywhere near the tower.  The man was a wizard, not a damn monster.  And yet, they were all afraid of him.  Some believed they were bad luck.  Unfortunately, that applied to the majority in the castle.

Alger had no reason to fear the wizard.  If he did not arrive soon, he would give the man something to be afraid of.  He would do things to him, horrible things, things that even Sage would be terrified to think about.  Alger thought he might start with very long, thin needles that he could slowly shove under Sage's fingernails.  Then, he might puncture something the man truly valued.

He paced back and forth in front of the stained glass window that depicted him as a grand and honorable warrior, proudly presenting his family crest: a bukalor, a large dog-like beast, with exceptionally long fangs, holding two large, golden swords crossed against its chest.  It had been a gift from his wife and son, to replace the eyesore that a generation earlier had installed.  The window overlooked the beautiful forest below, which now found itself rampant with wolves.  The foul creatures scrounged the woods waiting for him.  The first chance they got, they would seize him, and rip him to shreds.  Alger could feel them, even now, longing for his blood.  He cringed at the mere thought.  I'll have to order Sage to take care of them.  Perhaps, I'll have him burn the entire thing down.

Further thoughts were interrupted by Sage's arrival.

"You wished to see me, Milord?" the wizard asked, resting his cushioned feet on the cold, stone floor, avoiding the large rug altogether.  He still wore those silly robes that Alger had given him as a joke.

Alger watched the wizard for a very long moment.  Why does the man seem uncertain of the rug?  How odd.  He looks as though he's afraid of it.  "Yes," he started, then stopped as Simon entered.  His face had fresh bruises.  He cleared his throat.  "Simon, I believe you have something to do."

"Yes, Master," he replied, bowing.  He sneered at Sage, who smiled broadly.

An eyeless one could have seen the animosity between the two men.  Whatever occurred between his two minions would probably not be the end of it.  He had the feeling that they would destroy each other before it was over.  Currently, Alger saw no reason to intervene, at least not yet.  When Simon was gone and out of earshot, he began again.

"King Augustus of Gordact has refused my offer for the second time," he said, sitting down hard on his throne.  Alger crossed his legs.  "It is time for more drastic measures."

"Yes, Milord."

"I want a plague, Sage.  One that shall devastate and vanquish thine enemies.  If they are not with me, then they are against me.  I will not tolerate disobedience. I cannot."

The wizard was silent for a long time.

Alger was about to reprimand him, when he finally answered.

"It will take some time, Milord.  There will be many wizards and witches who will attempt to cure the plague.  Creating something without a cure will take time.  A lot of time."  Sage frowned.

"What is wrong?" Alger sighed.  Nothing but problems.

"What of the current project you have me working on?"

"How is that going?"

"Slow and painful, Milord."

"I see."  Alger really did not, but he needed the plague yesterday.  "Then, for the time being, I want you to halt your work on that project and focus your time and energy on my plague."

"Yes, Milord.  I will begin immediately."  Sage paused.

Alger could tell there was more.  "Yes?"  Why do people make me play this game?  Can't they just tell me what it is they have to say?  He sighed.

"It is only a very small matter, Milord."

"Get on with it, wizard.  My patience is wearing thin."  Alger longed to sink his fangs into the man's throat.

"Of course, Milord.  I will require certain ingredients if I'm to create the plague you desire."  His lips twisted into a sickly smile across misshaped yellow teeth.

"Get whatever you need.  And, you will have your time, Sage.  I will not rush into my dominance of the world as others have—only to fail.  No. I shall succeed where they've failed."  Alger did not care how full of himself he sounded.  His goals were too important.  The world would be his, even if he had to destroy it to make it true.

"Thank you, Milord."  Sage bowed, then floated away.

A loud wolf's howl reached his ears and sent gooseflesh across his body.  He shivered.  The damn thing sounded as though it were in the room with him.  Alger reached for his scimitar, but his weapon was not there.  He frantically searched the throne room for it.  He found the blade on the fireplace lentil between the two dragons.  How did it get there?  He had no recollection of leaving it there.

Alger's mouth began to burn as his fangs appeared.  He was hungry.  That foul man Simon had brought him the other night had not quenched his thirst.  The man tasted wrong.  There had been something seriously wrong with his blood.  He had not been an undead, if he had, Alger would have died.  Their blood was poison to his kind.

He had given Simon a different assignment for tonight.  That man's blood should have been more than enough to keep him satisfied for three more days.  His hunger burned.  If he did not feed soon, he would rampage.  There would be no stopping him then.  Alger took a deep breath, it often worked for his nerves.  Unfortunately, it did nothing for his hunger.  He would have to find something, or rather someone to dine on himself.  Perhaps, I'll choose one of her ladies in waiting.  He could feel their murderous intent every time they looked at his wife.  He may be what he was, but he loved Alma, even if she did not fit into his endgame.

Alger picked up his scimitar and left.  If he were going out, he would need a disguise.