The Dark Lord's Handbook (45 page)

The three of them were held by priests while Zoon led Griselda to the head of steep steps that went down the front of the ziggurat. He held her hand high and presented her to his minions:

“I present to you my Dread Queen, Griselda!”

There was pandemonium. Thousands of voices were suddenly calling her name. Zoon was revelling in the moment.

But then something below Zoon caught his attention. He took a step back and the priests that surrounded Morden, Kristoff and Stonearm leapt forward. Griselda started to laugh hysterically and point at something. Gouts of blood and body parts flew into the air from beneath the lip of the sacrificial area from somewhere down the stair.

“That’s fighting,” said Stonearm.

Morden could see the orc tense but there were still orc priests around them. Now was not the time. Then from the stair rose an armoured figure with a sword that had blue fire running its length. The man was covered in blood and gore and was screaming his lungs out.

“Griselda!” shouted the knight.

Morden could sense Zoon’s power building and then he spoke:

“You are too late. She is mine.”

The knight staggered back as though struck. Morden didn’t know what to make of it. He held a hand out to restrain Stonearm. “Wait. Let’s see what happens.”

“You sad, pathetic fool,” said Zoon, taking a step towards the man. “All this for love? She doesn’t love you.”

The knight sank to his knees. He was shaking and had to rest on his sword to stop himself falling over. Morden could feel the waves of hatred and loathing sweep out from Zoon. Morden realised that when he had bent others to his will it was but a fraction of the power that Zoon exerted.

“Grovel, you worm,” said Zoon, towering over the knight.

Zoon’s acolytes now circled the knight in a tight ring. There was no escape. It was going to be another demonstration of Zoon’s power as a true Dark Lord.

“Kill him,” said Zoon dismissively, and turned his back on the stricken knight.

Morden’s heart leapt. Now! Now! Now! he screamed inside. It was unbelievable that Zoon would make such a basic error. Could he not see who he had in front of him? It was one of the Golden Rules from the Handbook: Never turn your back on a hero.

Morden watched in delighted fascination as the knight rose, roaring his defiance and hatred, swinging his sword in a wide arc as he did. The circle of priests toppled backwards, blood geysering, as they were split in two across the middle.

Zoon turned when he heard the screams but all that did was allow the Knight to plunge his sword into the Lich Lord’s chest. There was an eruption of blue flame that jetted out from Zoon’s sleeves and cowl. It transfixed the Dark Lord in a shuddering pillar of flame. The knight was wide eyed and screaming as he struggled to hold the sword in Zoon’s chest. Zoon thrashed and burned from within and dropped the Handbook, which looked singed but intact.

Then Zoon collapsed, the robe falling in a heap. There was a detonation, like the biggest firework Morden had ever seen going off. Those near Zoon were knocked back so that only the knight and his sword were left standing.

Morden expected the undead orcs to recover and rush the knight but he should have known better. Zoon’s power was gone. The undead orcs in their armour collapsed in heaps of rapidly decaying flesh.

The knight in the meantime had stopped screaming. He rushed over to a heap of black wedding dress that was Griselda collapsed next to Zoon’s remains. There was a small pool of blood around her head. The knight threw his sword to the floor and knelt.

“Griselda?” said the knight, taking a pale hand in his own. “Griselda?”

There was growing despair in the knight’s voice. He sank back on his haunches and let his head hang back.

“GRISELDA!” bellowed the knight.

Was she dead? That wasn’t possible was it? Not now. Not after everything that had happened. He stepped forward.

“Griselda?” he said quietly, kneeling at her side, but there was no answer, no sign of life.

Anger burned inside Morden. And hatred. This knight had killed the one person he had ever loved. In a non-platonic way. He had loved Grimtooth, but that was different. This knight had killed the only person he had ever wanted to make love to. With the thought of her gone, something inside died and in its place was revealed the knowledge of what he must do.

He went over and picked up the robe. Whatever Zoon had been, he was no more. There was nothing left. Not even ash or goo. As the robe slid over his head he could feel it moulding to him like it had before.

Somewhere close by a crow cawed. It sounded pleased. Which was odd.

Kristoff seemed to have pulled himself together enough to come over to where Griselda lay. He knelt at her side and stroked her hair. Tears streamed down his face. He took her hand and buried his head in her neck.

The knight was a catatonic wreck sat back on his heels and could be safely ignored. Morden stretched over and took the Handbook from where it lay. An electric jolt went up his arm and a familiar voice was back in his head.

Something stirred inside Morden.

Make them pay, it said. Make them all pay.

His hand went to the dragon pendant. It was cool under his touch. He ripped it loose and threw it on the floor. He didn’t need that any more. His death was complete. He was reborn a Dark Lord.

Chapter 52 Hubris

There is no such thing as a mercy killing.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook

Lady Deathwing sampled the meringues and washed them down with the dessert wine. She looked very pleased with herself.

“Shouldn’t I be?” asked Lady Deathwing.

“So you can see my thoughts,” said Penbury.

Lady Deathwing laughed. “You silly man, of course I can. You are quite transparent to me.”

“I had suspected as much,” said Penbury.
Was the borrowing your idea?
he thought.

“It was indeed. But please. I do prefer talking. Besides, you can’t read my mind, now can you?”

“So not happy with seeing the world thrown into a war, of which you fanned the flames, you saw fit to bankrupt everyone at the same time,” said Penbury.

“Well, not everyone,” said Lady Deathwing. “What did you think this was all about anyway? You of all people should appreciate how detestable poverty is.”

“But that’s not all, is it?”

Lady Deathwing sat forward, emptied her glass and helped herself to more from the bottle. “This is good wine,” she remarked. “No, that was not all. Being poor was bad enough, but being in penury to those horrid bankers…” she shuddered. “They had to be ruined, and you had to be brought down with them. How could I tolerate one as powerful as you? Me? Lady Deathwing? I was there when we had proper wars, you know? With proper Dark Lords, not this, this, Morden. A boy. How ridiculous. Now Zoon. He was a
Dark Lord
. He knew how to do things right.” Lady Deathwing giggled. “Zoon do things right. How drôle. What I should say was that he knew how to do things wrong in the right way, if you get what I mean.” She stopped talking and seemed to be going over what she was trying to say in her head. “Yes, I’m right. He was good at being bad. There. Now where were we?”

“You were rambling,” suggested Penbury.

Lady Deathwing looked surprised. “I was, wasn’t I.” She took another sip of the wine to wash down the meringue she was nibbling at. “Did I say how good these meringues were? They are very nice. Very nice indeed. Who made them? I’m going to have to borrow your chef.”

“Baron Fanfaron has been chef this evening. I think he’s the best in the world.”

Lady Deathwing’s eyes widened. “Baron Fanfaron and his battalions of chefs? I
am
honoured. To the chef!” She raised her glass and drained it.

Penbury did not join her in the toast. It wasn’t the fact that he found the toast undeserved, nor that the dessert wine itself was anything but spectacularly good, but more that the wine was heavily laden with Headfucker. Cornering that market had been good for one thing and that was ensuring access to the highest quality product; no mixing it with baking powder. It was pure, concentrated Headfucker of the best quality known to man.

It had been hard work playing the part that he had, the one of frustrated would be spriggle poisoner, when in fact he had no doubt that Lady Deathwing would make short work of the delicacy with little or no bad side effects. He had counted on it as it made the actual poisoning so much easier. Her guard would be down. All he had to do was keep it from his mind that she had been slipped enough Headfucker in her dessert wine to addle the brains of several elephants.

“You what?” said Lady Deathwing, looking at her glass.

“I’m afraid so,” said Chancellor Penbury. “No don’t get up. Oh dear.”

Lady Deathwing collapsed back into her chair. The glass fell to the floor; its spilled contents burned a hole in the fine rug that the Count had laid in the tent. Such a waste.

“You poisoned me? You can’t poison me, it’s impossible.” Lady Deathwing tried to lift an arm at Penbury to emphasise the point but it seemed too much effort and instead something on the ceiling of the tent became interesting. “What’s that?” she said, and giggled. There was a small spider crawling its way across the roof of the tent. “It’s an itsy bitsy spider!”

Chidwick had appeared and picked up the glass.

“Would you like some more wine?” asked Penbury.

Chidwick reset the glass in reach of the dragon.

“Oh yes! This is good. More.”

Chidwick filled the glass as instructed. “Will there be anything else?” he asked Penbury.

“No thank you, Chidwick. I can take it from here.”

His secretary left and Penbury helped himself to a meringue while he gathered his thoughts. It was perfect; a crisp shell full of sweet, gooey, slightly chewy goodness. He took a moment to savour not only the fine dessert but the success of the meal overall. It had not only been cuisine of the highest standard but it had been produced in difficult conditions and to a ferocious timetable. And he had bagged himself a dragon.

Chapter 53 Morden

Never be cruel to be kind. Being cruel is what you do.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook

Morden looked down the ziggurat stair to the sea of orcs that filled the square below. All celebrations and drumming had stopped. There was an air of puzzlement. None of them seemed to be sure what had happened. They had seen Zoon attacked and explode. They had been knocked off their feet by the blast and yet here he was, and his attacker a blubbering wreck at his feet. The remaining priests at the top of the ziggurat were cowering to one side. The Queen lay at his feet being tended by a man. Was she dead?

It was time to take control. Morden raised his arms. There was a hush.

“I am Morden Deathwing. I am your Lord and Master.”

It took a second for the words to sink in, and then from behind him came the start of a chant. Morden recognised Stonearm’s dulcet tones.

“Morden. Morden. Morden!”

The surviving priests took up the chant and it spread like fire down the temple and into the crowd. Soon there was a single orcish voice chanting his name.

“MORDEN!”

Morden let it wash over and into him. Zoon had been right. He had been a boy but that was behind him now. Until he had seen Zoon he had not realised what it had meant to assume his destiny and truly embrace what he was. He was a Dark Lord. There was no room for niceness or consideration. There was no room for weak sentiments like love. There was only pain and suffering in the world, and you were either on the receiving end, as he had been, or you were dishing it out, like he was going to be doing.

“Morden.”

The voice was quiet but it cut through the noise and struck him like the bolt that had shot him out of the sky.

“Morden,” said Griselda insistently. “Don’t just stand there. Help me up, you idiot.”

She was alive. Kristoff was helping her stand but she was obviously still shaky. Her dress was torn and there was blood coming from her ears. But she was alive. He helped Kristoff by taking her other arm and she stood, grabbing his arm so hard he could feel her nails digging in through the robe.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Eh?” she said.

“Are you all right?”

She let go of Kristoff and put a hand to her ear and came away with blood. “Oh crap.”

“ARE YOU DEAF?” shouted Morden, without thinking.

Griselda looked at him like he was a moron. “No need to shout. Of course I’m not deaf, you fat head. You’re not that bright, are you? You think I can’t hear that lot?”

It was true. The orc chant hadn’t let up, and the drums had joined in. Looking down, there was one big party on the go. They must have thought the show was over with the big bang and Morden’s proclamation. Probably a good thing they had no idea what had really happened. From their point of view they must have seen the knight attack, a big bang and then Morden rise.