The Darkslayer by Craig Halloran

Author:Craig Halloran [Halloran, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9780982779934
Publisher: Two-Ten Book Press
Published: 2013-04-25T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

“Delicious, simply delicious,” Morley Sickle said, nibbling on another morsel of food. It was the finest dining he’d ever had. He’d never imagined there was so much that the tongue could experience. “The bread, the roasted meat and those vegetables that you … er … what did you do to it?”

“Sautéed’,” a prosperous man replied, sitting by his side at an unusually long dining table.

“Yes, yes! Sautéed. Excellent. I’d never known food could be prepared as such before. Marvelous.”

“More wine, My Lord?” a blossoming servant girl asked, with hands and face as delicate as the fine cloth draped over his lap.

Morley licked his teeth and said, “Absolutely,” while reaching over and patting her on the rear. My. A man could really get used to this.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Morley, my friend?” the most dashing man asked from the far side of the table.

It was Scorch. The man who could do anything it seemed, which included making him a Royal.

Morley could feel his face stretching into a smile as wide as a canoe. It must be this wine! He couldn’t contain it, marveling at the excellent dining hall. The chandeliers, each candle lit, hung twelve feet high in the air. The walls were cut limestone, where the most extravagant painted scenes of landscapes and battles were displayed. His wine goblet was pure silver, and his plates a fine porcelain. He never imaged so much wealth in the world. The Royals did well to keep that hidden from the citizens.

“I am, Scorch, but … I don’t think the rest of us are,” he said, sucking down more wine as he eyed the others seated at the table.

“No! Er .. excuse me, no ,ahem, Lord Sickle. It’s just been a busy day, is all,” said one Lord dressed in a tunic and pants as expensive as a suit of armor. On each side of the man, two others were face down in their food, dead. “And, ahem, quite frankly, I’m not accustomed to eating in the presence of the dead.” The Lord’s head lurked back on his neck. “Not with my brothers, anyway.”

“Well,” Scorch said, rising from his chair and tossing his long blond hair over his shoulder, “perhaps they should have known better than to interrupt my friend, Lord Sickle. And,” Scorch twitched his finger on his nose, “I’m not so sure what to make of your tone, Lord Ashlorn. I sense agitation in your tone.”

The satin clad women at the table, five in all, one just as pretty as the next, let out gasps. All except one, quite weathered, almost ancient. She was scraping her spoon on the soup bowl.

Slurp. Scrape. Slurp.

Lord Ashlorn dabbed his forehead on his cloth napkin, shaking his head.

“Forgiveness, Lord Scorch—”

“Lord Sickle is over there,” Scorch nodded. “I’m not a Lord. I’m well above this drivel.”

“Er … yes, forgive me, Lord Sickle. But, I must confess, I am somewhat … uh, “ he eyed his dead brothers, “frightened.”

Morley hiccuped as he waved his wobbling hand at the man.

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