The Story of Evil: Volume I - Heroes of the Siege (14 page)

“BETRAYER!” Steve screamed in anger as he jumped through the air with his sword held over his head. He forcefully swung it in a downward arc in an attempt to cut the prince into two halves from skull to crotch.

The prince never saw the attack coming.

In midair, a second before Steve brought the blade down, a blast of electricity shot the warrior in his red armored chest. The force threw him sideways through the air, and he crashed onto the top of the tower stairs. For a second, he felt the same nauseous feeling he had after being launched through the air from the boulder that killed Clyx.

Steve lay paralyzed. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. It was a disturbing feeling, being able to think about moving his arms and legs, but being physically unable to do so. The more he wanted to lash out in anger at the inability to move, the angrier he became. After a minute, he realized that all he could do was be patient. As he lay uncomfortably contorted on the stairs, he heard the Hooded Phantom speaking to Prince Silas.

“I have dreamt of this day for over twenty years. All the time I spent planning and preparing has paid off. Zoran is finally dead and Celestial belongs to us,” The Hooded Phantom declared. Even though the words he spoke were of accomplishment, there was no tone of happiness or satisfaction in his shallow voice. He did not even bear a smile, let alone a grin underneath his leather mask.

“There is no one to stop us now,” the prince agreed. Unlike the Hooded Phantom, the prince was smiling as he repositioned his new crown atop his head and admired his new golden weapon.

The Hooded Phantom found fault in what the prince had just said. “There was never anyone who could stop us. And there never will be anyone or anything. It is impossible to stop destiny.”

“You got what you wanted. Zoran is dead and Celestial is defeated.” The prince thought that summarizing the outcome of the siege would brighten the Hooded Phantom’s spirits. At the very least, maybe he wouldn’t always sound so angry when he spoke.

“Yes, but it is only the beginning. We have a lot of work to do,” The Hooded Phantom responded. “Misengard awaits.”

“When should we order the army to start marching north?” Silas wondered.

The Hooded Phantom answered somewhat annoyed, “Why are you asking me that? You were the only heir. The king is now dead. Are you not the ruler of the kingdom now? Are you not holding the King’s Sword in your hand and wearing his crown on your head?
You are the king. You make the commands.”

“They will leave in the morning,” the large-muscled and white-armored prince said meekly.

“When tomorrow?” The prince’s answer had not been sufficient enough for the Hooded Phantom.

Silas gulped in nervousness. “In the morning.”

The Hooded Phantom cocked his head. Again he wanted a more precise answer. Prince Silvanus knew it was impossible to appease the man standing before him. He could never read the emotions of the man behind the mask. He was the only living man that the prince feared now that King Zoran was dead.

“At the break of dawn. At the break of the dawn,” he stuttered. “That is when they will go to Misengard. Every town and village along the way will be attacked and taken over.”

Now that the Hooded Phantom had received his answer and was no longer annoyed, he spoke more plainly to the new king. “Our god believes you will be the one to fulfill the prophecy hidden inside that sword you carry. You are the catalyst. He has given the both of us the power of the elements to use against the good god’s creations to end this war with victory in his favor. No matter what happens, we cannot be defeated.” The Hooded Phantom repeated something he had said just minutes before. “It is impossible to stop destiny.”

“Destiny,” Silas said aloud in a depressed chuckle. For him it was both a gift and a curse. The prince looked down at Aurelia and found a small glimmer of hope among its foreboding secret words. Based on what the prophecy said, his destiny was that he would lead monsters to worldwide victory, but it would only be achieved through the sacrifice of his life.

The Hooded Phantom did not know the prophecy’s words and Silas wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want anyone to know about his upcoming death. He would die as a king and as a hero of legends (among monsters). Both were titles he had lusted after since his youth. They would grant him the respect that he always wanted in his life, but never felt he had received.

“What do you say we introduce Celestial’s civilians to the wonderful ‘destiny’ we have for them?” the prince asked without lacking sarcasm.

“It’s time they learn what they were created for,” the Hooded Phantom agreed.

“Indeed it is,” Prince Silvanus said with an even brighter smile. He repositioned the crown on his head and gestured his arm towards the tower stairs.

“Lead the way, father.”

Chapter 12

Steve heard the sound of boots crunching debris getting louder as the men got closer to him. The two villains stood above Steve and looked down at the helpless warrior. They looked like complete opposites since the Hooded Phantom was dressed in all blacks and silvers, while the prince stood in all white.

“He’s still alive,” the Hooded Phantom blatantly stated. Steve wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but there was an ounce of surprise in his raspy, angry voice.

The prince’s face got red and scrunched in anger as he looked down at the paralyzed warrior. The prince recognized the man in the full suit of red armor.

“It’s him! This is the jouster that made me look like a fool!”

It was true. Steve had been furious at Prince Silas after he attempted to kill Clyx. Most people had gone home after Steve’s day of celebration had ended, but then news of what had happened in the stables started to be spread from door to door. Someone mounted a horse and rode down the streets yelling, “Prince Silas versus Stephen Brightflame in the arena tonight!”

Three hours after the incident in the stables, the match started. Everyone who had been at the day of celebration walked to the arena, since Steve’s community was less than five minutes away. It had been such a fun day of celebration that Steve’s neighborhood had never experienced before. He was the first jouster from the arena district to win the Qualifiers. Everyone was disappointed when the day of celebration ended, but now the excitement would continue.

People dropped what they were doing and ran to the arena. Even from their homes miles away, people ran or took horses to make sure they didn’t miss the event. Parents brought their children with them despite the fact that on an ordinary night they would be getting them ready for bed at this time. But this was no ordinary night. Unexpected, exciting events rarely happened in Celestial. No one wanted to miss out on what was about to go down in the arena. It was sure to be the talk of the city for the next week.

It was a beautiful fall night. It had just turned dark, and the blue and red moons (which were the origination for the colors of Celestial) both shined gorgeously in the sky. The night air was the perfect temperature.

Thousands of people piled into the torch lit stadium. The stands were completely full. People were pressed together with no space in between them. A large portion of the crowd stood on the sand floor of the stadium because there were no seats left to sit in.

Prince Silas versus Celestial’s Qualifiers winner had attracted less and less of an audience with each passing year because people always knew the prince would win. Based on the rumors of what had happened, everybody in the arena knew Prince Silas was not guaranteed victory like he always had been in the past. They all wanted to see him defeated; now more than ever, since they had heard that he tried to kill the fans’ favorite horse, Clyx. There were more people for this exhibition than for some of the Qualifier’s matches.

The crowd was going absolutely crazy.

In his Celestial red armor, Steve hit the prince as hard as possible with every pass, powering his lance into the prince’s shoulder, stomach, and head.

Some civilians had been hesitant to come to the arena, figuring the incident in the stables and the abrupt setting of the jousting match was just a ruse Prince Silas used to try to get people to come watch him. Once they heard that Steve was purposely trying to not only defeat the prince, but also trying to hurt him, they too ran into the arena and added their cheers to the record breaking crowd.

The prince felt the painful hits from Steve’s lance, but felt even more pain from the cheers of the audience enjoying seeing their warrior hit him. His temper hit a boiling point and his anger cost Steve. The prince turned out to be an exceptional jouster when he was mad. Steve figured that Silas’s large build and strong muscles would aid him in jousting, but he didn’t think they would be enough to compensate for his inexperience.

Steve was wrong.

The white-armored prince scored three consecutive major hits that gave Steve bruises that he could still feel.

Back and forth the two jousters battled. Steve would get the upper hand, but then the prince would steal the momentum. It all came down to the last pass.

Steve had never heard a crowd so riotously loud. It brought a smile to his face as everyone chanted his name. His armor was damaged, and he was hurting; but the cheering sent rushes of adrenaline through his body, and he forgot all about the pain.

Clyx and the favored warrior charged forward at the rising of the flag. The prince did the same on his huge white destrier from the opposite direction. The crowd went completely silent as the two men raced towards each other. A blur of red and a blur of white were about to collide. Not a sound could be heard other than the horses’ gallops.

Steve aimed his lance and smashed it straight into the helmed face of the prince. The powerful blow to the head knocked Silas unconscious. He fell hard to the ground, unhorsed.

The massive crowd erupted in cheers and ran from the stands and into the center of the arena, surrounding Clyx and Steve. Two Giants lifted Steve up, between their shoulders, as everyone stood around cheering the awesome outcome of the exhibition. The Giants carried him all around the stadium so that everyone got a chance to congratulate their champion and see him up close. It was a classic tradition in jousting that was rarely done.

Steve had already had a large fan base from winning the Qualifiers, but it grew exponentially because of his gutsy rebellion against the unpopular member of the royal family. When Steve advanced far in the jousting tournament, it was hard to find a Celestial civilian who didn’t want to cheer for the warrior. Some visitors from other cities even preferred Stephen Brightflame over their own jouster.

“This boy beat you?” the Hooded Phantom asked in surprise. He glanced down at the size of Steve compared to the size of his massive muscled son.

The prince’s temper flared at the tone of mockery in his father’s voice. He lifted the King’s Sword to end the life of Steve.

Before he brought it down, the Hooded Phantom stopped him.

“No. He has a lot of fight in him. People like this are better to be made examples out of. Tonight during our address, we will hang him. Let him be a lesson that anyone who tries to leave the city, fights back in any way, or disobeys our orders will die like this boy.”

The prince motioned to a monster that had come up the stairs to greet his leaders. “Visuvis, take this warrior to the prison cells. Keep him alive. Prepare the gallows. I will be the one to hang this warrior.”

“Yes, master,” Visuvis said, bowing to his new king before looking down at Steve.

“And I don’t care if he comes to me covered in scratches and bruises. Just keep him alive,” the prince said as he followed his father down the circling tower stairs.

Steve could tell this monster was of high rank based on the amount of armor he wore which fit well on his body.
Monsters don’t spare highly valuable armor on anyone.
The large, dark brown furred minotaur reached down and tried to take Steve’s sword. Steve gripped it firmly in his hand. It wasn’t until the monster painfully stepped on Steve’s forearm, that he involuntarily released Brightflame.

Visuvis held Brightflame up to the bright yellow sun and examined it. He saw how well-crafted the warrior’s sword was. He took an old silver mallet out of his sheath and replaced it with Steve’s sword. The smiling minotaur looked down at Steve and watched as the injured warrior began to move his hand towards the sword as it was taken away from him.

His paralysis was wearing off. Visuvis reckoned that an unmoving prisoner was easier to transport than a flailing one.

He lifted his metal boot, covered it in hard rock using his element of earth, and brought it down hard on Steve’s face.

Steve spent a couple of hours locked in a dark cell in the underground castle dungeon, passing in and out of consciousness. Visuvis would come in sporadically and beat him senseless. After taking a solid punch on the jaw, Steve felt his right ear pop and his hearing come back. He wished it hadn’t. All he could hear from his cell was yelling and screaming from people somewhere in the castle.

After a while, Visuvis forcefully lifted Steve up and pushed him out of the cell. They made their way out of the dungeon and back up into the castle. The two stopped before a giant set of wooden doors. Steve realized he was standing where he had already stood today. It was the doors he had come through earlier, leading into the castle lobby, where Sir Lambert had stood and called out orders to the seventy-five warriors.