1218 A.B.

  His morning training concluded, Kromwell removed his helm and wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel he took from the wall. His heavy plate armor was heavily battered and scarred from three years of brutal teaching in the art of warcraft. His body had changed slowly, but surely, into the large, muscular young man he was today. No trace of the spoiled child he had been remained. At least on the outside. His master at arms bowed to him. This was new, and Kromwell raised an eyebrow in reaction.

  “You’re ready,” the grizzled veteran said with certainty. “You’ve learned everything I could teach you, and the way you’ve pushed yourself, I think you can handle any man in the Fell Legion, even if they’re in the Rage.”

  Kromwell looked aside, considering. “I’m definitely ready,” he said in a low voice. “It’s high time I acted.”

  “King Karnas will test you before he entrusts you with any men. You should know that his tests are always fatal to someone. Don’t hesitate to strike an opponent dead, for he’ll surely seek your life.”

  “Oh, I won’t be holding back,” Kromwell said. He thought of his latest victim, who had died under his knife just last night. The strength that her vitality provided him after the ritual was still with him, coiled inside like a hidden viper. “You need not fear for me.”

  “No need,” the veteran said.

  The two men clasped each other’s vambrace in the manner of warriors, then the veteran left the practice arena in the Surekeel manse, his task done. Bermin was practicing his knife throwing during this last session, and he pulled the latest volley of knives out of the target. They were all impressively close to the bullseye. He watched Kromwell’s former teacher go.

  “Help me out of this scrap metal,” Kromwell said to Bermin imperiously.

  Knowing Kromwell’s moods, Bermin wasted no time in helping his friend out of his armor. He left each piece where he dropped it on the wood floor, though. Kromwell didn’t seem disturbed by this at all. To the contrary, he kicked the last sabaton off of his foot and spat on it. In all, Kromwell felt strong. Ready. The strength of the ancient ones sang in his blood.

  “Come,” he said to Bermin. “I’m ready for whatever the king will test me with, but I refuse to face such a challenge in this battered garbage.”

  “Oh. So, it’s to be your father’s armor, then?” Bermin asked.

  “My armor!” Kromwell said with intensity. “I’ve earned it, and I’m worthy of his legacy. My days as a nobody are done! I’ll make certain that people remember me from this day forward.”

  “In that armor, I’m sure they will,” Bermin said.

  They made their way through the manse to the main staircase. The smell of death wafted up from the basement below, where Kromwell had set up his altar. That was the natural place for Raynold to set up his workplace also. Of the three surviving members of their childhood gang, Bermin was the most “normal” of the five. Sethor and Lerg were dead, so they didn’t count anymore anyway. Still, Raynold was turning into something that would make a sane man’s skin crawl. Kromwell was downright scary now, but at least he was somewhat human. Raynold was quickly becoming someone to be feared, and he didn’t have to trade lives for demonic power to do it. Bermin’s chances were next to nil in a fight with either of those two, and it was indicative of his quick wit that he had not provoked either of them thus far.

  Kromwell strode into his study with purpose and went straight to the armor stand he had placed against the wall in plain sight. It was something his father had never done, but Kromwell was determined not to do things the way his father had. He knew where that path led. No, Kromwell would put his strength on display and fight any who dared oppose him. From his study of the bloody book his father had given him, he was armed with the power of the ancient ones, and power like that was to be used, not hidden. He was convinced that he was worthy of his father’s armor now. He had never dared to try it on before, but it was time.

  “Help me with this,” Kromwell said as he replaced his old gambeson with a new one.

  Bermin dutifully armed Kromwell in each piece of spiked, blood red plate armor. A dark red cape was the last part to be clasped on before Kromwell took up the helm in the shape of a horned, snarling demon’s head. Settling it on his head, he found that the armor was an almost perfect fit. He nodded in satisfaction, then belted on a broad arming sword and took up a shield he had commissioned to be like Sivash’s. It was octagonal and was covered in runes in the language of the ancient ones. Kromwell looked in the mirror and moved about some to test his mobility. He was satisfied with what he saw there. At last, it was time to make an impression.

  “You’re not going to make me go to the castle, are you?” Bermin asked.

  Kromwell could see the fear there. He sneered. “You can stay here.”

  “Thanks. No offense, but I never want to be in the king’s presence if it’s all the same to you.” Bermin paused. He was many things, most of them bad, but he was a loyal friend, so he added, “With the things my informants tell me, you should think twice about this.”

  “I’ve thought of this every day for years! Nothing will deter me from my vengeance! I’ll not live as a coward, and I’ll never be satisfied until every single mongrel in the Smith family dies under my blade! Every one of them!”

  Bermin backed up two steps, his hands up in supplication. He lowered his eyes, knowing better than to say one word more. Kromwell turned and marched from the study with his head high and a tiny glow of red light in his eyes. His hatred propelled him on. Bermin let him go and shuddered a bit when he was sure Kromwell couldn’t see him. He shook his head and probably wondered how his life had come to this. He shrugged to himself and started towards his bedroom. He needed some dreamweed.

  The manor’s guards heard the clank of plate armor coming from upstairs and looked at each other. Their lord never wore armor outside of his training studio. What this portended, they didn’t know. When they saw Kromwell coming down the stairs, arrayed for war as he was, they knew fear. The time they dreaded had finally come. It was all or nothing now, not only for their young lord, but for the entire staff here.

  “You four are with me,” Kromwell said as he strode towards the front door.

  “Yes, Master Surekeel,” the ranking guard said.

  The two who would stay opened the door for their master and hurried to get out of his way. Kromwell didn’t pause his purposeful stride in the slightest, and never varied his pace all the way to the gates of Fell Keep. The guards before the gate saw him coming from a long way off and didn’t know if his appearance was a joke or not until he got within twenty paces. They could feel a fearsome aura about the armored figure then that wiped any lingering smirk right off their faces. They tightened their grip on their weapons and held their ground grimly.

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  “Who comes?” the sergeant on duty asked.

  “Kromwell Surekeel,” he said. “I’m sure his majesty is expecting me.”

  The sergeant nodded. “I have the feeling he is.”

  He nodded to the rearmost guard, who banged the haft of his axe against the closed gate twice. The smaller door inset into the rightmost gate swung open and the guards parted. Kromwell strode forward with confidence through the gate and down the hall where he knew the throne room to be. The guards at the end of the hall, normally a steadfast and grim lot, shifted nervously as Kromwell’s party approached. They could feel the menacing aura, too. Though he clearly didn’t want to, the officer in charge held up a hand. The five newcomers halted.

  “State your name and business here,” he said in a deep voice.

  “Master Kromwell Surekeel to speak with his majesty,” he said.

  “About what?” the huge officer demanded in a show of bravado.

  “None of your damned business, you pissant,” Kromwell replied. His eyes glowed brighter red within his demonic helm.

  The aura of fear that Kromwell projected by means of the ancient ones’ power was real, and it had an immediate effect on those soldiers here. The officer turned to look at a smaller, unarmored man in the surcoat of Fellton, and nodded. That herald opened the throne room’s thick, intricately carved wooden door, entered, and shut the door behind him. The officer pointed toward the door that led to the waiting room on the right. Kromwell didn’t move an inch. He held his ground right there in the hallway. The guards, not chosen for their hospitality, glared at Kromwell’s party in silence, trying not to let the magical fear overtake them.

  A short time later, the herald opened the gate again. He beckoned Kromwell forward.

  “You four wait here,” Kromwell said without turning his head.

  Kromwell strode through the parting guards and marched into the darkened throne room. It was much like he had last seen it, with a few unfortunate souls highlighted here and there in the midst of some terrible torment. The sounds of suffering rang out here and there throughout the cavernous room. This time, those cries didn’t unnerve Kromwell. He had changed enough that they were like music to him. Somehow, they made him feel stronger. Kromwell could see into darkened areas of the throne room now, thanks to the power he didn’t possess the last time he was here, and he could see what was happening to everyone. He felt nothing for them. Kromwell could sense the thrum of magic in the darkness behind the throne and saw some sort of spinning object between two globes of complete magical darkness, each about ten feet in diameter. Kromwell didn’t distract himself but directed his attention to the figure seated on the throne instead. Kromwell could feel the power of the ancient ones in the king, and the shadows seemed to move around him in random ways. Having learned his lesson the last time he was here, Kromwell abased himself before King Karnas, completely prostrate, his snarling visor pressed against the stone floor.

  “I see you’ve learned a thing or two since you were here last,” King Karnas said without preamble. Kromwell said nothing. The king had an aura of his own, one that Kromwell felt could snuff out his own magic with ease. “Are you worthy of that armor, boy?”

  “Yes, your majesty, I am.”

  “We shall see. We will give you a suitable test, then.”

  King Karnas gestured to the guards near the entrance and held up four fingers. Dutifully, the four closest men stepped forward and advanced towards Kromwell, their axes drawn and eyes grim. Kromwell rose quickly and readied himself, drawing his broad-bladed arming sword and channeling some of the power he took into his weapon, making it radiate darkness. He then advanced towards his foes, allowing the strength of the power to flood his limbs. He laughed.

  The four guards wasted no time, and encircled Kromwell within seconds. They struck almost in unison from four different directions. Kromwell leapt backwards, making the two in front miss him completely, then blocked the two on the sides with shield and sword. Though the guards struck fiercely, Kromwell barely felt their blows. He quickly took two steps to his right and struck the closest guard hard enough to shear right through his shield and half of his vambrace. He cried out in pain as Kromwell viciously yanked his darkly glowing sword from his arm. The soldier fell to one knee as the other three advanced quickly around their fallen comrade. Kromwell kept his shield up as blows fell on it and sidestepped to his right to keep them on his shield side. He suddenly lunged forward, using his shield to scatter his opponents before him. He chose the closest one and struck the guard’s shield away from him, which spun the warrior despite a balanced stance, then rammed his shadowy sword straight through his plate-armored back. The sword went through his spine, heart and the front of his cuirass. The guard threw his head back and cried out as his legs gave way in the beginnings of death.

  The other two guards, to their credit, didn’t falter in their attack. They split up again and came at Kromwell from two angles. Kromwell blocked an attack with his shield, ripped his sword from the dying soldier’s body, and batted aside the axe of the man behind him hard enough to make him spin around. Kromwell used that momentum to spin completely around as well, and with a shockingly fast move, he ducked under his opponent’s strike and chopped his armored leg off at the knee, something that should be impossible with an arming sword. The man went down hard, blood pumping from his knee and screaming in agony. Kromwell finished the spin in time to block his last opponent’s overhand chop with his shield. That man had been overconfident in his plan to catch Kromwell off balance, and his shield was not where it should have been. Kromwell saw the opportunity and thrust with his own blade, skewering the guard through his cuirass. He looked down at the wound, coughed blood once, then collapsed.

  Kromwell turned to the two wounded men and savagely finished them off. Exultant in his victory, he walked back toward the throne. King Karnas stood slowly and clapped.

  “Good!” King Karnas said, laughing. “Good! You are more than I had hoped for!”

  Kromwell approached, weapon still in hand. His aggressive stance showed he thought he could take the throne of Fellton for himself. Surely, he was strong enough now. No other guards were close enough to stop him. King Karnas seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He stopped clapping, and suddenly Kromwell felt the full force of his sovereign’s evil will. He staggered under an onslaught of demonic might that Kromwell had never felt before. It was almost a physical manifestation of pain, fear, and crushing will. Kromwell dropped to his knees instantly, his sword falling from limp fingers. King Karnas wore a truly diabolical grin.

  “You have earned my respect, Kromwell.” Karnas’ eyes blazed red and the air between the two men warped like the air over a forge. “But do not think that you will ever have the power I command. It is beyond any man.”

  The king assailed Kromwell with that terrible power for a long moment, then relented, giving Kromwell a moment to recover. Karnas held out a hand in benevolence as Kromwell knelt, breathing hard.

  “I will grant you your request for vengeance, so long as you swear your undying loyalty to me. What say you?”

  Though he was assaulted by wracking pain and suffering like he had never known, Kromwell was in full command of his mental faculties. He still felt his burning hatred for Stonekeep and everyone in it, especially the Smith family. Even now, he would stop at nothing to achieve his life’s goal.

  “Yes, sire. To you I pledge my fealty,” he said through a hateful grimace.

  King Karnas casually turned to his throne and grasped the greatsword that leaned casually against the back of the seat. Though it was a massive weapon, as long as a man is tall and with an overly thick blade, King Karnas twirled it about in one hand as if it were a shortsword. He laid the blade on Kromwell’s spiked pauldron.

  “I name you Lord Surekeel and give you all the rights and obligations of the nobility of Fellton. Rise, Lord Surekeel, and take what is yours.”

  The magical assault on Kromwell ended abruptly, making him sway a bit as cramped muscles were released. He steadied himself when he picked up his sword, then stood proudly. Finally, he was a lord on his own merit. He couldn’t help but smile inside his visor. King Karnas faced him, holding his greatsword off to the side.

  “Now that the formalities are out of the way, I find I have much to discuss with my newest Subjugator.”

  Both men grinned evilly. They had different emotions responsible for their expressions, but they had one purpose now. Now was the time to act.