The Archdemon, a huge bulk of muscle with two large horns on its head and deep-set black eyes, rushed through the door and barely caught its breath: "We found her, Master!"
Magnus, who stood at the window staring at the clouds, turned around. "Bring her to me."
The Archdemon stood aside to make way for the guards, who threw Nevetharine clear across the floor. A groan echoed through the acoustical chambers as she made contact with the black stone floor. Magnus walked forward, threatening her with his movements.
He took her by the arms and lifted her up onto her feet as if she was no heavier than a feather. She tried to pull away from him, but she was far too weak, and that pleased him greatly. As he looked into her emerald green eyes, he almost felt the daggers they threw at him.
"Hello, Wildflower."
She had a disgusted look on her face. He knew she hated it when he called her that.
"You've been out where you don't belong!" Magnus gave her a slap across the face and it left him feeling satisfied, so he continued with it. "How many times have I told you that nobody is allowed to leave! Especially not you!"
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he could tell that it was against her will. Magnus looked at her and straightened his back boastfully. He then kneeled beside her and ran his hand over her cheek, wiping away the tears.
"My dear Wildflower, don't you know that you're so precious to me? Don't you know how I've missed you?" He leaned in and smelled the sweet, flowery aroma of the skin in her neck. Waves of hate and resistance bounced off her toward him, but she dared not move a muscle. She knew how much power he had, he made sure of it.
He pulled away from her. "Bring in the girl."
The guard practically dragged Meena into the room. "Let go of me! I'm not scared of you, you freak!"
Magnus covered the distance between them in no time and yanked her away from them. Nevetharine heard steel being unsheathed and the next moment he held a dagger against Meena's throat. Magnus' dagger was enchanted, and sharper than a long sword. It was capable of slicing through bone like paper. Nevetharine had not the strength to do much more than cry out, "No! Leave her be!"
Magnus pressed the dagger tighter against her throat, and Nevetharine saw blood appear. "Stop!" Panic and anger set in.
He threw the girl across the floor. Nevetharine was so preoccupied with Meena, that she never noticed him come towards her. She only realised when she felt his hand practically crush her jawbone.
"If you ever leave this fortress again, I won't hesitate to rip her throat open, do you understand me?"
She shook him off and Magnus stood up. "Lock her up in the dungeon in her own room. I don't want your hounds bothering her too much. And get that one back into the kitchens."
The guards took both of them by the arms and dragged them out of the room. The Archdemon closed the wooden doors behind them, leaving Magnus alone. He must not ever let control slip through his fingers, he thought, agitated. His heart sped up whenever she was near him. Whether that was from love sickness or anger, he did not know.
He picked up the staff and looked at its crystal. Unexpectedly, a crack appeared on its surface. Angst set in his stomach and his breathing quickened.
This has never happened before…
Just then Sven, his scribe, ran in from the library, as quickly as his much-used legs would carry him. "Master! I may have found something."
Magnus shut his eyes. He was in no mood to deal with another one of the old man's theories right now. He felt an old, familiar anger flare up on the inside and wished that he hadn't sent Nevetharine away so quickly. He always felt better after throwing her around a bit. If Sven wasn't the only genius scribe he knew, he would have killed the old man in a slow, painful way long ago. He was sick and tired of listening to his gibberish without any results to show for it.
Magnus gritted his teeth. "You had better have a good reason for disturbing me, old man."
Sven treaded towards the stone table and opened the scroll on its surface. "I may have found a way to get the army through to the other side."
"What do you mean 'may'?" Magnus held the staff behind his back and tightened his grip around it as he walked towards the table.
"Well, it will take some work to find it, Master. Look here," Sven pointed with a wrinkled index finger towards the old stained paper, "this scroll speaks of an old Bloodmage, killed centuries ago, Raghar the Horrid. He dabbled quite a lot with inter-dimensional portals and he himself travelled between realms. He documented all his findings in a notebook, sought after by many a mage. Most scrolls written seem to speculate that the notebook may be buried with him in his tomb. The problem is, well, nobody knows where that is…"
Magnus cracked and grabbed the old man by the neck, pushing him down onto the table: "You fool! You expect me to waste valuable resources finding some ancient tomb, 'somewhere' in miles and miles of barren land? Just how long do you think that will take, hmm? A century?"
Sven gestured frantically with his hands and Magnus finally loosened his grip so that he had enough breath to speak again. "I have found a way to quicken the process, Master! An old acquaintance of mine lives in the village east of here. He has spent his entire life studying Raghar the Horrid. He will undoubtedly know where to find the tomb."
Magnus released Sven and stood back. "You had better be right this time, Sven. I grow tired of your musings. We do not have time! Get out of my sight and gather the resources you need."
"Yes, Master." Sven answered timidly and scurried back into the library.
Magnus walked over to his throne and fell down into it with a sigh of frustration. He rubbed his forehead and looked at the staff.
Another complication, he thought.
Thar'Gan had never mentioned anything about the Triphacyte cracking, so something, or someone, must be influencing it. Damn it! He could never lose control with her. He needed to tighten his authority over her in some way. Thar'Gan would have his head if he let her slip through his fingers. At that moment one of the Slave Masters rushed through the doors, badly injured.
"Master!"
Magnus shut his eyes for a moment and when he opened them he said indifferently, "Let me guess. Your army has been overpowered by him?"
"Aye, Master. He is just too powerful."
Magnus sprung up from his throne and within seconds he stood in front of the creature. "He grows weaker with every fight! How is it that an army of supposedly cruel, formidable demons cannot tame him? How much weaker does he need to be before you are actually able to make any sort of impact?"
The creature spit out blood, a black tar-like fluid, over the floor. Magnus softened his expression. "You had better get some help…"
"Yes, thank you, Master." The creature's claws shook.
It then turned around and at that moment, Magnus hacked its head off with his dagger. One slice of the enchanted blade was all it took and head rolled a few feet on the floor while the large body fell down.
Magnus sheathed the dagger while taking a deep breath. It was time to sleep, he decided. Once he awoke, his thoughts would be clear as water.
He needed to figure out a way to deal with all of these problems; otherwise Thar'Gan may decide that he has chosen a weak ally. If that happened, his death would be certain. This has always been about survival and it still was.