By Evelyn Johnson
The Dark Lord Vangir snapped his newspaper into crisp submission.
All around him, the summery sounds of mountain life hummed. A pleasant breeze brushed through the weave of his reclining lawn chair, working with the goblet of chilled red lemonade in his calloused hand to ward off the heat. The fortress behind him blocked the worst of the sun’s rays.
Recent efforts to discover the location of the Sepak Ward have proven fruitless, the paper stated. Britt, leader of the Expedition of Heroes chosen for this mission, says he and his team have searched all over the kingdom. “We just can’t seem to locate the thing.”
“Of course you can’t,” Vangir grunted. “You’d have to know its full history to do that, and I have the only copy of Steele’s On the Arcane in this kingdom. How do you expect to find the Ward without my help?”
The newspaper was silent.
Vangir took a sip of lemonade, lips puckering at the subtle tang of ravensbrine in the drink. Just how he liked it. With a half-contented sigh, he flipped the page.
His old castle, Daleshadow, stared back from one of the grainy images.
Vangir bolted upright, crinkling the newspaper. His eyebrows shot up as he read the headline. “The Dark Lord of Daleshadow Returns?”
His sharp yellow eyes skimmed the article. Once thought forced into hiding by the famed knight Glave—
“No, I wasn’t!” Vangir snapped. “I retired!”
—the Dark Lord Vangir has returned to his old abode at Castle Daleshadow and is gathering forces for an upcoming campaign against the kingdom.
Vangir threw the newspaper onto the grass, picked up his drink, and swiveled out of the lawn chair. “That’s it! Who’s in my castle?”
He stomped toward his retirement fortress and shoved the thick, oaken door open, letting it bang against the wall. He turned down the hallway to a small room on the right, where an arcane seeing stone sat on its pedestal. Vangir slammed his goblet down and positioned himself in front of the stone.
“Show me the throne room of Daleshadow,” he snarled.
The stone’s glassy surface began to swirl, twisting black and red together as it honored its master’s request.
The throne room, tallest and most ornate of all the chambers in Daleshadow, swam into view. Vangir took an aggressive sip of lemonade, letting the sour liquid linger on his tongue before he swallowed. A figure dressed in all black stood next to his throne, holding an open book. The man reached for a red-tipped staff, glanced at the book again, and gave the rod a whirl.
A thick plume of smoke choked the room, and the man’s robe caught on fire.
Vangir growled. “Roach! Get in here!”
Summoned by his master’s voice, a weathered lich scuttled into the room. Despite his advanced age and the fact that he was undead, he held together fairly well. “Yes, sire?”
Vangir jabbed a finger at the seeing stone. “There’s a moron in my castle, and I want him out. Gather a lich force, at least thirty of my best, and…”
Vangir paused. Something murmured deep in his chest—an insatiable urge to make this man’s life miserable. The mark of darkness. He watched as the impostor tried to cast a water spell to put out his flaming robe and ended up freezing his left leg instead. No, this idiot had to be driven from Daleshadow in a way that ensured he’d never return.
“I want him to suffer,” Vangir murmured.
“Sire?”
He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the pedestal. “Has the sprite delivery mail come today?”
Roach blinked at the subject change. “Unnghghh, yes. But I haven’t finished sorting out the junk yet.”
“Perfect. I need you to sign me up for every spam mail list and useless subscription you can get your hands on—”
“Are you feeling all right, sire?” Roach narrowed his eyes. “How much lemonade have you had?”
Vangir waved him off and took another drink. “Sign up for all of it and make sure it goes to Daleshadow.”
“Why…” Roach trailed off, eyes drifting to the seeing stone where the amateur wizard tried to reverse his clumsy spells. Slowly, he began to nod. “Would you like me to contact the trash collection company as well? I’d hate to see him get rid of his garbage so easily.”
A wicked grin spread across Vangir’s face. “Imagine if he tried to make it vanish with magic. You’re absolutely fiendish, Roach.”
“I also have the key to the secret chambers,” Roach said, bouncing on his heels. “We could send liches in to moan and howl at night.”
“Do you have the key to Slimey’s cage as well?”
Roach nodded.
“Perfect. We’ll unlock it so he can… explore.” Vangir swallowed the last of his lemonade. “Be sure to leave plenty of green vegetables where he can reach them.”
“But sire, those give him diarrhe—ahhhh,” Roach broke off, a look of realization dawning on his face. “That is truly evil.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you coming out of retirement?”
Vangir laughed—a deep, villainous merriment that chilled the summer air. “Yes,” he said. “Yes! We shall return to my castle and haunt its secret corridors, and we’ll show this dork lord who is truly the master of Daleshadow.”
Roach rubbed his slimy hands together. “Excellent. I’ll go pack your things.”
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Loading...ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hey there! Thanks for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it, because I certainly had fun writing it. :)
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