The Inquisitor - Epilogue

Wherever the Prince went within the castle, Toad was sure to follow.

He was portly and squat. His legs were bowed from too much weight as a lad. His eyes slightly bulged from his pocked, fat face. His hair was perpetually unkempt, and hung from his head in oily lumps. He had a habit of licking his lips, and they were forever chapped and red. His skin had a sickly, greenish pallor, adding to the effect. He had been called Toad so long he could not remember his birth name.

He followed the Prince everywhere. Tarquinne generally tolerated his presence, but often chased him away or beat him soundly. Even still, Toad was fiercely loyal to the Prince and Queen Belladonna.

And so it was that Prince Tarquinne was not at all surprised to find him waiting in the corridor outside the Queen's chambers when he emerged. He stood rocking on his stooped legs, drumming his fingertips, his fat arms resting across his round belly.

Seeing an object on which to vent his frustration, Prince Tarquinne seized Toad by his neck and hair, slamming him against the nearest wall. A smile crossed Tarquinne's lips, hearing the gratifying smack of Toad's oily head against the stone.

Fear bulged Toad's eyes even further, his stubby legs barely touching the floor. Tarquinne bent his face close to Toad, bellowing.

"What has happened to the Queen, Toad!" he shrieked.

"My, my lord," Toad stammered. "Truly I know not!"

Tarquinne released him, Toad collapsing to the floor, sucking in air in wet gasps.

"My most powerful Lord Tarquinne," blatted Toad from his position upon the floor. "I came to find you. I awoke this morning to the sounds of hurry and worry. I knew something.... Something was amiss!" Toad put forth what was his best fawning smile, but in truth it was merely a pained grimace.

"Last eve..." continued Toad. "I... I was watching the Revel." His eyes took on an evil gleam, and Tarquinne felt his anger rise from just the sight of the devilish look upon the face of Toad. Sensing a beating, Toad hurried on.

"I was watching, my Lord. Watching the beautiful flesh of the maidens... heh heh" His laugh sent gooseflesh along the Prince's skin. "... watching them in moonlight."

"Get on with it, Toad!" shouted the Prince. His words echoed hollow in the empty chamber, and he raised his arm to strike Toad, who cowered lower.

"That's when I saw, my Lord.... That's when I saw!" shrieked Toad, his hand raised over his head.

"Saw what, Toad?" asked the Prince.

"The light, my Lord... the Terrible Light!" Seeing the Prince was actually paying him heed now, Toad quickened.

"T'was during the storm, my Lord... you know... the storms that come when She... when She has pleasur..." Toad's words were cut short by a harsh blow from the Prince.

"You shut your filthy hole, Toad! Speak not of her that way again, or I'll split your belly." His hand rested on the pommel of his sword for effect as he spoke.

"No... no my Lord!" hissed Toad. "It was during the storm that I saw Her!"

"Her?" asked the Prince, his voice affecting a tone of tenderness.

Toad leapt up with glee, drumming his fingertips excitedly. "Yes, my Lord! Her! The raven haired prize of the Royal Judge!"

The prince grew serious. "What about her?" he hissed.

"T'was her, my Lord. T'was her whom the Mistress took to her bed for the Revel." yipped Toad, growing so excited he nearly hopped from foot to foot as he rocked.

He looked to Prince Tarquinne as if that meant something very important, but the Prince merely looked to Toad in frustration.

"And... What of it?" he said at last.

"Twas she, my Lord... T'was she who went in unto the Queen... and then... I could hear the pleasure."

Anger crossed the Prince's eyes, but he let the words slip by as Toad continued.

"Oh... oh yes, the pleasure, my Lord. I heard the Queen... and then, the storm grew so violent and angry, and I beheld the Light! The Terrible Light, and the horrible shrieks and wails of my Mistress! Ohh no-ho-ho!" Toad's babblings dissolved into wet and sticky sobs.

"And then, sob... in the dawn came the big man from away... he came to sweep her up...sob... something terrible befell him inside...sob... look here at the blood he left behi..."

Tarquinne seized him again, shaking him violently.

"Quiet, you fool! Cease your blubbering and speak plainly!" Toad could see his time had run out. He could either tell all he knew, or face a horrendous thrashing.

-- -

Sereth brought Syr'Va'ahl at last. It seemed an eternity since he had charged off. He had ran through the castle. He had to find him out in the camps as Syr'Va'ahl would not enter the castle while the Queen was alive. But Sereth found him clothed and ready to move when he bounded into his tent.

"Master..." panted Sereth. "You must come quickly! It is my brother... You must help him!" Syr'Va'ahl sprang from the tent and hurried back toward the castle. Grief-stricken as he was, Sereth marveled at the speed and quickness of a man who appeared so old and frail. He had to hurry to keep up with the old man, who nearly outpaced him with his strange clattering walk.

At last they bounded into the chambers of the princess. Wasting no time, Syr'Va'ahl hastened gto Tymrill's side. His eyes met the King's and the King saw grave concern looking back at him.

"By the Gods!" whispered Syr'Va'ahl. "There is no time!"

Tymrill had worsened greatly in their absence. His breathing was quite slow and shallow. His skin had taken on a frightening grey cast, and the cuts which scored his skin were blackish-red. His eyes were open, but only just, and they reeled about inside their sockets.

Syr'Va'ahl squatted beside the wounded man, searching about in a ragged bag he had brought with him. From it came small bits of plants, powders and stones. He spat upon the floor and mixed them all into a paste. Over the mixture he murmered words the others could not catch, whilst his hands took on a strange sort of glow as he passed them over. Over and over the words, over and over the hands sliced the air above the dubious concoction on the floor. All at once the mixture sparked and crackled and caught fire. It burned white hot for a moment, before dying down to a small greenish flame. Caring not for his hands, Syr'Va'ahl seized the smoldering mass amd jammed it deep into Tymrill's throat.

Aghast, Sereth and the King cried out, but Syr'Va'ahl silenced them.

"Silence, fool!" he cackled. "Give it time to work."

The old man bent low over Tymrill, his strange gnarled hands passing all along the war-chief's body. They came to rest over his heart, and were immediately engulfed in bright blue flame.

The others looked on, mouths agape. The blue flames rolled and licked and danced along Syr'Va'Ahl's hands and arms. His lips became a constant babble of incantation. From the body of Tymrill, the princess was sure she heard a tiny hissing, like fat skittering on a hot iron. From many of the wounds on Tymrill's skin, tiny, dark particles rose up, swirling about in the air above them.

With a loud clap, the fire from Syr'Va'ahl's hands leapt into the air, swirling masses of flame winging about the chambers. The King, the princess and Sereth all fell upon their faces as the flame shot about the room, devouring all of the blackness it could find. All at once, the flames, the candles, the torches, the lanterns, all winked out, leaving them all in utter blackness. The princess shrieked as the dark enveloped them.

Slowly, very slowly, the torches coughed, sparked and lit one by one. As their eyes returned to them, they saw Tymrill sit up, and Syr'Va'ahl lying beside him, panting, sweating as if he had run for many leagues.

They came to his side as the princess helped Syr'Va'ahl. She sat him up, and he rested against her, weak from his exertions. Tymrill looked ill, but the evil pallor upon his skin had abated, and the web of cuts and scratches seemed quieted. His bleeding had stopped, and his eyes seemed bright.

"Cousin..." whispered the King. "Can you hear me?"

"Aye, cousin... I hear." replied Tymrill. Something about his voice seemed strange to the princess, but she could not place it. Syr'Va'ahl seemed to have recovered somewhat, and sat looking intently at Tymrill.

"My arm..." said Tymrill. "There is something... something is not right." He tried in vain to move his mighty arm, but it hung limp from his shoulder, a branch broken in a terrible storm.

"I fear for that arm, Tymrill." croaked Syr'Va'ahl. "It is broken in many, many places."

"But Master..." pleaded Sereth hopefully. "Surely you with all of your skill can mend it."

Syr'Va'ahl was quiet for a moment. At last he replied, "Alas, my son... The damage is too great." He saw the words strike Tymrill with the force of a blow.

"Perhaps in time..." soothed Syr'Va'ahl. "perhaps in time it may still heal. You are strong, Tymrill... very strong. In time you may heal."

"Perhaps..." said Tymrill sadly. He could not meet the staring eyes of Syr'Va'ahl. Instead he looked to the King.

"It was her, kinsman!" he said urgently. "T'was her... but not in flesh. In spirit, in vengeance! She brought that coffin down upon me... out of spite!"

The King put his forehead against Tymrill's ravaged shoulder. "Forgive me, cousin." He said. "It should have been me."

There was a very long moment of silence. It seemed no one knew exactly what to say. In the end, it was Tymrill who broke the quiet.

"Bah!" he said, his back straightening. "This black deed lies with the former Queen. T'was her malice caused my ruin." He eyes grew hard and stern. " T'is no matter. I still have one good arm to hold a sword."

With that, he tried to gain his feet. Sereth and the King moved to help him, but he pushed them away, determined to rise on his own. After several painful attempts, he stood, reeling but for a moment before standing tall on his own feet.

Sereth came to his side and together they made for the door. Turning back, Tymrill fixed his eyes upon those of the King.

"The time for rest is over, Cousin." said Tymrill, his voice firm. "If you are to regain your throne, I suggest you do it soon. By now, your... son... will surely have discovered the Queen has gone, and will come looking.

With that, he allowed his brother to guide him out through the Inquisitor's machines toward the great, winding stair. They crossed into the gloom and out of sight.

-- -

After they had gone, the King and Syr'Va'ahl spoke at length. The King told of his awakening by the princess, and she filled in the details he did not know. To all of this he sat and listened intently.

After the tale was done, Syr'Va'ahl questioned the princess about the demise of the Queen. He asked her many, many times what she had seen, what magick she had felt. He was most concerned about what remained of the Queen.

"Tell me, my dear..." Syr'Va'ahl asked again. "What form was her last? Did her body remain? Was her entire being consumed?"

"My Lord," explained the princess for at least the fifth time. "I watched as it consumed her. It turned her black. It aged her... so very fast, my Lord. It... devoured her" She shivered in revulsion as she remembered the Queen, writhing in pain and misery as dark magick destroyed her.

After a long time, Syr'Va'ahl spoke.

"Very well, my child. Your deeds are most brave, and you have served your Master, and your King, very well. Blast this doddering old mind!" He cried. "I should have foreseen she was too strong to simply fade away."

His thoughts drifted and he paced about the chamber on his rickety legs. "Too think after all of that, she had the strength to call herself together from the beyond. She reached out of the night-realm and took what revenge she could. I am shamed that it was Tymrill who had to bear the brunt of it." He hung his head.

"As am I." spoke the King softly. "I should have seen to it myself."

Syr'Va'ahl's eyes flashed. "Nonsense! I would have sooner sent a sick child to fight off wolves!"

"She would have torn you to pieces, weakened as you were! Even now, you are still not entirely recovered. Your body has been kept under a dark and evil spell, boy!" Syr'Va'ahl's voice was pitched and excited. "Do you think you can merely snap your fingers and undo the leeching she has done you? Ha! You will be weak until you claim your throne, and your new Queen..."

As quickly as it had come, Syr'Va'ahl's anger ebbed away. "Forgive me, boy..." he said. "This High Moon has proved to be most taxing upon me." He turned to he Princess.

"My child..." he requested. "Thank you for all you have done. I know so much has happened that does not make sense. All will be revealed in time." He smiled warmly at her, and she returned a gracious curtsy.

"Go forth and bring these four men of our company from the camp beyond the castle walls." He rattled off a list of names as if the princess should know beyond a doubt who they were.

"Hurry, my dear... we must reclaim the throne quickly, before young Prince Tarquinne decides to take it for himself!"

The princess headed out again, once more through the machines and up the spiraling stairs, leaving the King and the sorcerer alone with their discussions.