The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 05

Tarquinne had learned all he could from Toad. Toad sat snuffling upon a step leading down from the Queen's tower. His lip was split and swollen, and he gingerly rubbed a bald patch where a bit of his oily hair was torn out.

Tarquinne stalked up and down on a landing above him. He wiped his hands upon his pants legs again and again. He felt a new spike of anger rise and then subside as he tried to wipe away the grease from Toad' s hair. His mind replayed all that Toad had told him, piecing the story together from the snips and snatches he'd pried from Toad.

Some time during the Revel, whilst He himself had been enjoying the company of the lovely Violet, the Queen had summoned that wench who belonged to the Royal Judge. He grit his teeth as he thought of the Inquisitor. He had trusted him! He had confided in that infernal masked man! Tarquinne cursed himself for being such a fool.

The wretch had gone in unto his mother. That much was sure. Though he could not be certain of all that had transpired, he guessed she had summoned some sort of dark and evil curse upon his mother. His teeth made a crunching sound as he surmised to origin of the dark plot. Of course it had been his trusted advisor and lover to the Queen, The Inquisitor.

He silently renewed his vow of revenge upon the Inquisitor. "We shall see how he likes his own devices." thought the Prince.

He tried to string together the sketchy reports of Toad. After the evil deed was done, the Inquisitor had come and together the villains had fled. He could not devise their plans, as Toad had relayed how they hurried away into the night, as if on some new desperate errand.

"And then," thought Tarquine. "Then, this latest desecration." Just after dawn had come the outlander chief, Tymrill. He had dared enter the Queens chambers, had stolen her body and torn the rooms apart. Tarquinne could again only guess at what Tymrill was seeking. He hoped whatever it was had eluded him. Tarquinne's hand rested upon the object he had found within the wreckage of his mother's room. It hummed beneath his fingertips with vital energy.

The energy resonated through his hand, filling them with warmth. As it began working its way up his arms he heard a long call from a herald somewhere outside. He secreted the object into a fold in his clothes, and pricked up his ears, listening intently. A mighty voice bellowed from without; the call again, drifting though a nearby arrowlet.

"Prince... Tarquinne! Prince Taaarrrrrrquinnnnne!"

He growled in frustration. Everyone in this castle should know better than to call him out so rudely. "That is what servants are for," he thought. "Shout my name from the rooftops, will they?"

He turned on his heel and prepared to go bounding down the stairs to discipline whoever had the audacity to call him so improperly. It was then that he heard it again.

Prinnnnce Taaarrrrrrrquinnnnne.... You are summoned to the Throne Room!" called the voice from the battlements. Tarquinne strained his face to the arrowlet, trying to make out the source of the call. Frustrated, he drew back. His mind struck upon a question.

"The Throne Room?" he said aloud. "No one has used those chambers in years!"

His eyes narrowed. "So, the Royal Judge thinks he can steal MY throne. The kingdom is mine, now that the Queen is gone!" Toad jumped at the sound of his shouts.

"The dastard believes he can assume my crown by murder, does he?" his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword. He felt comforted by its weight, and a dark smile crossed his face. "I shall teach him about murder."

He bounded past Toad still sniveling upon his step, taking the stairs two and three at a time. He headed downward toward the Throne Room, his sword and scabbard clattering against his leg.

-- -

The princess had never been in this part of the castle before. As they made their way through, the princess was sure no one else had been here in a very long time either. The princess and the King, flanked by four very large and able men, moved cautiously through the great hall. Long dusty cobwebs hung heavy from chandeliers above, their candles long ago melted into stalagtites of wax.. The drapes and tapestries were thick with dust. Racks of armour and weapons were dull and tarnished. Where they walked, they left distinct footprints along the dusty floor.

As they passed by an ancient tapestry, the princess allowed her fingertips to pass along it's dusty fabric. Into her mind slipped fragments of music, lutes playing, ladies and gentlemen laughing, shouts of war. These last were distant and vague, and slipped away from her as she broke the touch.

The King seemed most distressed by the state of the chambers. He looked here and there, a deep scowl on his face. He passed his fingers along a pair of blades crossed and mounted over a dragon's crest. He brought them away, rubbing his fingers together, shaking his head sadly.

They reached the end of a long hall, suits of armour lining it's walls. At it's end was a large stone archway. The facings of its frame were intricately carved. The princess could make out the story of the imprisonment of a dragon done in carved relief. The scene ran from the floor on one side, up and over the archway and down to the floor on the opposite side. The detail was remarkable, and the princess marveled at its craftsmanship.

The opening itself was covered over with heavy drapes. They were the deepest shade of purple, and the fabrics were thick and dense. The princess could tell no one had touched these in a very long time, their deep violet tones muted by a layer of dust and web.

Taking a deep, sad breath, the King swept the drapes to the side, and they entered the Throne Room.

The princess was immediately struck by the chamber. The authority and power this one room conveyed felt like a physical blow. They stood on the periphery of a great circular chamber. All along its walls, woven and twisting were the golden threads she had seen on the castle walls without. Only here the walls were thick with them. Everywhere the eye traveled were whorls, knots, runes and vines of golden thread.

Set high in the walls were tall, narrow windows, glittering with coloured glass. The bright sun streamed through them and bathed the entire chamber in golden light. The windows depicted scenes of glory, images of dragons, wielders of magic, proud renderings of kings.

The high windows were placed within the ways in such a way, that the sun shone through them in long, high rays. Each window projected its ray directly into the center of the room. Where each of these rays combined sat two massive thrones. They were rich wood, deep and red. The thrones were joined together by great carved dragons, their wings outstretched over the thrones, shading the seats below. They were carved in such a way that they gave an illusion of movement.

The princess stared at the thrones in wonder. Even in a castle filled with beautiful carvings and sculptures, she had never seen it's equal. The total effect of the light from above, and the menacing carved dragons was one of unquestionable power.

Even still, the years of disuse was evident even in this chamber.

The King strode to the thrones, lightly running his fingers along the carved scales of the dragons. Slowly, in a greatly measured fluid motion, he sat upon the seat of power. To the princess, he seemed to swell and grow. His hair drank in the golden light, and his face shone. The princess was struck dumb by him. She had grown to love the Inquisitor, but the man before her made her loins ache for him. She blushed and turned away, pretending to be looking at different things throughout the room.

At last he spoke to her.

"My dear..." he said softly. She turned and met his warm and intense gaze. The men who accompanied them stationed themselves at strategic points throughout the chamber, and began a successful imitation of someone deaf and mute, all while looking fearsome.

"It is time you and I spoke plainly, do you not agree?" said the King.

"Yes, my Lord." said she.

"We shall begin with that very thing. You will no longer address my as 'My Lord.'" he replied.

"What shall I call you then?" she asked.

"Husband." Said He, and all was quiet in the throne room.

"I found you, and trained you to be my Queen, my beloved. I have watched you for a very, very long time. You will not remember, but we met once... long ago." The princess gave him a curious look as the King continued.

"T'was before the last High Moon, and you were but a girl then. It was after my firstborn son had died. I came to your father's realm to forge an alliance with him. I brought young Tarquinne with me, and his mother Belladonna, though she would not enter the wood. We were to sign accords under the Moon and Sun. We met only but for a moment, and at that time, my eyes were blinded by Belladonna and her hex-craft. T'was just after that meeting that she cast me down from my throne, and sealed me in the tower." He saw tears in her eyes, and left the throne, drawing close to her.

"I remember, my Lord. Syr'Va'ahl helped me. That is to say, I remember what happened after you had gone."

She told him the tale of the downfall of her people. She told of the lightning in the wood, the kindling of the village. The appearance of the young commander and the death of her father. As she recounted the tale, the King felt his anger rise.

"It was...it was my own son... it was Tarquinne that led Belladonna and her armies to your homeland." He said at last, his eyes filled with sadness.

"Aye, my King... though I knew it not until this day." said the princess, brushing away heavy tears. The King saw how it pained her, and quickly continued on.

"And so, I was imprisoned. In the tower, imprisoned within my own body. And I lay in dark slumber for countless seasons, and I knew no more. And then, very gradually, I became aware."

"I knew my body was still locked in the grip of some dark magick. But after a time, my mind began to wander free. It was a skill our old friend Syr'Va'ahl taught me." he explained. "To let my mind take flight and leave my body behind."

"I saw what had become of my kingdom." Said the King, his voice grave and deep. "I saw what my own greed had allowed to bloom upon my lands. The Queen, Belladona had taken a new lover... the dark kiss of black magick."

"Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to summon strength with my mind. Not strength for my wretched body, but for magick of mine own. I pulled power from the tiny rays of sun which shone through the holes in that wretched tower. From the moon, from the night... from the air itself. Until at last, I was strong enough to unleash my own revenge."

"But how, my King?" asked the princess.

"I had help, my love. Your maid, my first Queen, Chrysanthemum. When Belladonna cast me down, she reduced her to a servant, forcing her to do..." he hesitated. "Terrible things."

"And so at last I was able to come into her dreams, the very dreams of Chrysanthemum. She thought it only her own fancy at first, but after a time, she came to realize it was I, calling out to her. She could not breach the bonds and spells the Queen had placed upon me and my chambers. And Belladonna kept the key 'round her neck at all times."

"But I only needed the raw materials. The white sand you saw... in the cauldron. The very sand your former Master consisted of. The rest was magick and desire"

"Aye, my King" answered the princess. She remembered the times she had seen the Inquisitor, his form and outline appearing indistinct, only to snap back into clarity with the blink of an eye. "Sand." She whispered softly.

"Indeed." Said the King. "I summoned it. I summoned it, bound it together with my own will. And subjugated it to do my bidding."

"You are a most powerful sorcerer indeed." said the princess, bowing her head. The King made a dismissive noise.

"I am no sorcerer, child." laughed the King, "Parlour illusions... That little trick is nothing compared to the skill of Syr'Va'ahl the Wise. It is amazing what you can learn when you've a lot of time on your hands."

The princess recalled the accounts she had so quickly read in the caverns below the castle; the tales of the King and his imprisonment in the land of the Saracen. The King continued with his narrative.

"I knew Queen Belladonna. I knew the evil that had overtaken her, and I knew what she prized. Power and lust and pleasure and pain... these were the things she cherished most."

"And so I fashioned a Golem. I came to her with designs and schemes and promises of satisfaction. I wormed my way close to her. I brought to her creations... machines to inflict pain upon her victims, devices to produce such pleasure... I see from your face you know these machines as well." The princess could not help from blushing, remembering the exquisite pleasure of the Inquisitor's contraptions. Unbidden, the vibrating tones of the lustful tuning fork device leapt into her mind.

The King saw her color rise, and smiled as well.

"I know it is still difficult to think of me as him." The King went on. "You knew him as a whole person; someone to fear, someone to please... someone to serve. But now you know it was me all along, do you not?"

"Aye my King." Said the princess. The King was struck once again by her beauty, the way the golden light played upon her eyelashes. He drove on with his words, returning to the thrones. The princess could not bring her self to sit upon the other. In spite of herself, the menacing forms of the carved dragons and the reality of what that seat represented gave her pause

"I knew that time was growing short. Each day the Queen drained more and more life from my kingdom. Each night she drained a bit more from my dear Chrysanthemum. The High Moon approached with every day, every passing hour. I knew that if another passed while I was still locked away, I would never have the strength to hold out until it rose again, nor would she."

"And then it was I saw you. I'm sure you remember that day. The day they brought you forth from the dungeons to stand before the court." asked the King.

"Aye my King." Said the princess. "I remember thinking it would be that last time I beheld the sun. I feared for my head."

"You cannot imagine my surprise, my Love." Said the King earnestly. "I only knew I was to make a great show of trying and executing another prisoner. I'd been told you were a Druid, and Belladonna wanted you dead."

"And then, there you were." The King continued. "I knew your face in an instant... that same face from the people of the wood. I saw it in your eyes when you stood there... so proud, so defiant in the face of death. I knew what had to be done. It took but a moment to know in you I had found someone with the strength to free me... to face down Belladonna and defeat her."

"And so you claimed me for your own?" answered the princess at last.

"Indeed I did. I saw in you a chance for redemption. But the man-thing I created had ideas of his own. The problem in making such an avatar is their desire to go off on their own, to break free of their master, and be their own. Such magick is often forbidden in many realms.

"Why does it not obey, my King. Is it not merely an extension of your own soul" asked the princess, reaching back to the narrative of the oubliette.

"In many ways, yes." explained the King. "It is infused with the power of magick, and thought from the one who controls it. But it also draws from the things from which it is made. That is why I forged him from the purest sand. Any imperfection... any contaminant... it draws it's own strength and will from these things."

"Even in the purest of materials, a tiny flaw can be found. Your master found these evils, and brought about his own plans and desires. I would have to wrestle him at times for control. Mostly after he was sated with lust... from you or from Crysanthemum. Especially when he was with the Queen. He would grow so strong, I would have to fight tooth and nail with him... force him to obey my bidding."

"And so, we took you as our own... he and I... together.

"Of course, you did have to be trained..." he said with a smile. The princess thought back on her "lessons." She fixed his eyes with hers, that same defiant smile he'd seen in the court long ago.

"I found in you all that In wanted for my new Queen. But you needed... instruction." The King smiled, a sly glint in his eyes as both he and the princess thought back on the pleasure shared.

"Aye, my King... And quite and education it was." whispered the princess, her eyes narrowing seductively.

"Hem-Ahem..." blustered the King. The princess came close to him as he spoke.

"And now, my dear..." The King seemed to be nearing some conclusion. "We have come at last to where we began. You, and I... together in this place."

He stood and bowed.

"You have known only masters until now. From this moment on, I say you are now Mistress of all this realm. Join me and we will rule this land together in peace. Together we shall undo the evil Belladonna has done upon this kingdom." He rose up to his full height, tall and strong and proud.

"Your former master named you Jassamine, flower of seduction. But in this day and on this place I say you are much more! Not a mere plaything, but regal and brave. From hence forth, you are Queen of this land. I dub thee Laurel, strong and true, light and glory.

In a surprisingly loud and reverent salute, the guards stationed about the chamber shouted, "All Hail Queen Laurel, Lady of Blackthorn... Long may she reign!" She broke out in a dazzling smile, startled and feeling a bit silly, having forgotten they were there.

- - -

Prince Tarquinne made his way through parts of the castle no one dared go. Many, many seasons before, Queen Belladonna had declared them forbidden. Tarquinne himself had to make several twists and turns, stops and starts before he found himself in the long hall that led to the throne room.

"Throne Room, indeed!" thought Tarquinne indignantly. "How dare he!"

He felt the thick, rich cording of his blade's hilt, and smiled to himself. He approached quietly, taking care to make no sound. In the dust before him he could see footprints leading through the hall and into the royal chamber. He counted four heavy men, another who walked unevenly, and a set of smaller, daintier prints.

"Ah." thought He. "So the raven-haired prize is within as well... All the better!" He drew his sword and charged through the archway and dusty drapes, crying "Villains!" as he burst into the Throne Room.

It was there he stopped dead in his tracks, as if his boots were frozen to the floor. Hi s jaw hung low. The purple curtains still rustled behind him as he looked into the face of his father.

"Good morrow, my son." said the King.

-- -

The chamber was enveloped in a profound silence. Prince Tarquinne stood staring, mouth agape. The King looked calmly back at him from upon the throne. Laurel had at last taken her place beside him, but sat uneasily 'neath the carved dragon's wings.

Tarquinne licked his lips. His words seemed locked within his throat.

"F..father?" he said at last.

"Yes, Tarquinne... it is I." replied the King. His voice had a hard and icy edge to it.

"But... this cannot be!" exclaimed Tarquinne. "You were dead. I saw you with mine own eyes, when I was but a child!"

"No, son." answered the King. "Not dead. Deep in a spell of magick I lay, but not dead. And there have I lain these twenty and five passing years."

"But I have been freed." Continued the King, after long moments of silence passed between them. "And I have returned to claim what is mine... what was stolen from me!" His voice tinged with anger, eyes blazing at his son before him. Tarquinne shrank back, but only for a moment. Then his back straightened.