Final Kingdom Read Free Page B

festivities. He sat on a seat of stone, his clawlike hands clutching its arms. He was cloaked from head to foot in a black cape, his head hidden beneath a hood that fell over and concealed his countenance. Only the red gleam of his eyes could be seen by his captains as they glanced at him from time to time. Motionless, silent, fierce, the Dark Lord watched the revels of his dusky band.
    Several vicious fights broke out as the rowdy feasting went on. Powerful, beastlike men pummeled each other. Once, swords were drawn, and their clash filled the council room. The Dark Lord made no effort to stop the duel, nor did the captains. All cried for their favorites, and when one lay on the floor, his eyes glazing in death, a cry of exultation went up from the supporters of his opponent, who raised his bloody sword high.
    Finally the Dark Lord said,
“Hear me!”
    Instant silence fell across the chamber. The eye of every captain looked upward to where his lord sat on the dais, staring down at them. Not one, however, looked with love or admiration. Fear had brought them there, and fear kept them there. Every member of the horrid company knew that only strength would prevail with the Dark Lord. Failure was punished, sometimes with death—which was merciful—sometimes with something much worse.
    The air seemed to grow heavy as each waited for the Dark Lord to speak.
    At last he said, “The time has come.”
    The Dark Lord’s voice echoed in the council room. Even the candles in their wall sockets seemed to bend with the force of it. “We have waited long enough! It is time to strike the final blow against the House of Goél!” His voice rose to a high pitch, filled with anger and frustration. “Goél must die and all who follow him!” The Dark Lord waited as shouts of agreement echoed, then he said, “I will hear what you have to offer as a method of ridding me of him.”
    Once again there was silence. All knew the penalty of rashness when dealing with this terrible being who sat watching them, his red eyes glowing. Few dared speak.
    At last, however, a tall, thin form stood forth. This was Gnash, the victor in many of the Dark Lord’s battles. His features were dark, and his teeth showed yellow as he grinned horribly. He wore a leather jerkin and a sword at his side, which he fingered constantly. “My lord,” he said, “we are all aware of the problem of Goél and his accursed House.”
    A murmur of angry cries went up, and Gnash held up a hand to silence it.
    â€œThe answer, as we all know, is somehow bound up with the prophecy that came long ago.” He hesitated, then quoted part of a prediction that had been circulated in Nuworld for many years: “‘And when the Seven Sleepers wake—the House of Goél will be filled.’”
    â€œYou dare speak
that
in my presence?” The Dark Lord leaned forward and half lifted his hand, as if to send a lightning bolt and strike Gnash to the floor.
    â€œHear me, my dread lord,” Gnash cried quickly,blinking. “We cannot win by ignoring the problem. We must strike at the Seven Sleepers themselves.”
    His words seemed to appease the Dark Lord somewhat. He settled back in his chair, but there was a sneer in his voice as he said, “This is your answer, Gnash? Have you not tried, all of you, time and time again, to crush these accursed Sleepers? And all of you have failed! Seven babies—infants! And all the warriors of my kingdom cannot bring them to bay!
Faugh! You
are the infants and the babies!”
    Gnash swallowed hard but managed to hold his ground. “We have failed—I admit it, my liege lord—but I have come to believe that there is more to these Sleepers than flesh and blood.” He waved a hand. “Have we not trapped them again and again? Have we not thrown our forces against them when all hope for them was wiped out—and
still
they escaped?” Gnash