Devan

Devan didn’t know what he’d done wrong in a previous life to deserve this moment, but it must have been terrible. That he had to resort to this sorcerer, of all people was just…words failed him.

He looked up at the gates and sighed from the depths of his soul. In true keeping with all evil sorcerers in this realm, the castle in front of him was pitch black. Its dark towers jabbed toward the sky like thorns, an ominous promise of pain to any who dared enter. The stretch of land between the iron gates and the front door of the castle was well tended, though—colorful even, with red roses lining the paved road. Rather odd, in his experience. Normally any sorcerer who went with the black aesthetic chose to stick with it, either going with black roses or not planting anything at all.

It had to be a sign of how bad things had gotten for Devan to come to this sorcerer. As bad as his princess was, the Black Sorcerer of Grimslock was worse. Supposedly. If the reports were to be believed, this man had destroyed a contingent of knights and two court mages at the tender age of eighteen without remorse, killed royal knights on sight, and supposedly dined on kittens regularly.

While the former had been confirmed, Devan highly doubted that last part. He hadn’t been able to verify it. He just knew the sorcerer demanded a kitten in order to grant someone an audience.

Aw, damn, he’d failed to get a kitten.

Anyway. Not the point.

The point was, he was here to beg help from a dark sorcerer. Him. First Knight of the Realm. All because his bitch of a princess was once again throwing a tantrum and endangering people’s lives. Princess Serenity’s reputation among her people was that of a kind and benevolent ruler. It took a lot of work in public relations to keep that image intact, too. When her temper flared (which was every other hour) she was entirely cruel and ruthless. Devan had been serving her now for ten years—and by serving he meant mitigating the orders she gave before they could destroy lives. Like now. His entire purpose for being here was to once again undo one of her orders before it slaughtered an entire town.

Maybe he could somehow maneuver the sorcerer into killing the princess while negotiating for favors. Devan tried to feel guilty for the thought. He tried really hard. Mostly failed. Hmm, he’d have to revisit that later.

Right now, his main worry was just getting an audience. He wasn’t in full knight regalia, but was still the First Knight of the Realm, so odds were good Sorcerer Shinawatra would engage him at first sight. He might not even be able to get a word in before fighting for his life.

If he did secure an audience, then he had a second problem. Devan had no kitten, for one thing, and if he got the request through, Sorcerer Shinawatra was highly eccentric; there was no predicting what he’d demand of Devan as a price.

Devan blew out a stressed breath. Worry about one thing at a time.

First task was to get inside the castle. He had to do that before he could start negotiations. The rest, he’d tackle as they came.

Swinging a leg up, he dismounted smoothly from his stallion. The horse blew out a breath, tired after a long journey. Then again, they’d left before dawn this morning and ridden most of the day to reach here. He patted that smooth white neck, apologizing softly.

“Sorry, Dan. I’ll make it up to you later with lots of delicious apples. Just bear with me a little longer.”

The horse side-eyed him. Dan would remember that promise. He always did.

Devan stepped forward, letting the reins stay lax in his hand, and looked at the two creatures guarding the gate. They were little imps, barely waist high on him. Rather typical of their race, with dark grey skin, potbellies, and bulging green eyes in a pointy face. They were better dressed guards than he’d seen from other sorcerers, though. These two had pants, boots, even chain mail and a proper helmet. Their boss was generous.

Or smart enough to properly armor his people.

They eyed him as distrustfully as he eyed them.

“Sir Knight,” the one on the left said in a squeaky voice, “are you here to cause trouble for our master?”

Devan was able to answer this honestly, at least. “No, I’m not. I’m here to talk to him.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Because I need his help.” Oh gods above, did he ever.

The one on the right leaned in and whispered loudly, “I don’t trust that.”

“No, but knights can’t lie,” Left Imp whispered back.

“Sure they can.”

“No, I read it in a book. It’s part of the chivalry code. They can’t lie. And they have to be nice to people.”

Just what book had he been reading…? Devan decided not to ask. It was likely a bad adventure novel. He put on his most charming smile, the gentle one that made people overlook his intimidating size and forget to be wary of him.

“I really need to talk to him. There’s something urgent that needs his magic. I don’t know of anyone else who can do this. Your master is powerful, after all.”

They straightened with abrupt pride and chorused, “Our master is the best!”

Well. That had been the right thing to say. Devan, without remorse, pushed that button again. “I need someone whose magic is unparalleled. Can you think of someone better?”

“No, we can’t!” Again in unison.

“Neither can I. May I enter so I can speak with him?”

Their certainty immediately faded and they fell back to whispering to each other.

“The last adventurer we let in disturbed Master, though.”

“He threatened to cut off our ears if we disturbed him this week. Something about his experiment being delicate. It’s not safe for Sir Knight to enter right now.”

Right Imp asked Devan hopefully, “Can you wait two days and come back?”

“Sadly, no.” Devan studied them both. Not too bright, were they. “Tell you what. I promise to be very quiet when I go in. I’ll just send word that I’m waiting to speak to him. That way, when he’s ready, he can come talk to me. I won’t disturb his experiment.”

They looked relieved. “Oh, well if you’re going to wait,” Left Imp started, already reaching for the gate.

Right Imp nodded in fervent agreement, “And if you’ll be quiet, it should be fine. Come in, Sir Knight.”

Devan really hoped the sorcerer’s magic was more competent than his guards. Otherwise they were all doomed. “Thank you.”

They beamed in pride for the thanks, and really, no. Just no. Devan almost felt guilty as he walked through, Dan trailing behind him. It was just as well he didn’t mean to cause mayhem.

It was something of a long walk all the way to the massive castle doors. Devan was completely unchallenged the entirety of the walk. Didn’t this sorcerer have other employees? Staff, if not minions? Did he use magic to take care of everything? Surely not. The magic it would take to maintain these grounds alone would be insane.

He stopped at the doors (they were all for show, too large and tall to be practical for everyday use) and eyed the many warding insignias carved into the metal. He wasn’t magically trained by any means, but that door promised either dismemberment or a curse just by looking at it wrong. Devan stayed a good two feet away and looked about. So this was the area set as a challenge to the newbie adventurers in the next town, eh? Just the walk in was formidable and held a silent warning of the danger. It would take nerves of steel to enter with bare minimum armor and training, trusting in steel alone to defeat the black sorcerer.

Devan was just desperate and a little crazy. That’s what set him apart from the young idiots who were too naïve to know better.

Shaking his head, he focused on his horse. Devan looked Dan in the eye, pointing a stern finger at him. “Do not eat the roses.”

Dan flicked an ear and pointedly ignored him.

“Dan. Listen to me. If you eat a rose here, you’ll probably become a magical slave, and I’m not bartering anything to get you back out. Are you listening to me? I feel like you’re not listening to me.”

His steed, known for his valor and intelligence, used every muscle in both ears to completely ignore what his owner was saying.

For fuck’s sake…

Devan blew out a breath. Normally, he wouldn’t worry much. His horse’s penchant for eating flowers amused people, and they usually forgave him for it. But for all Devan knew, these flowers were magically enchanted somehow. He didn’t want to walk back out here and find his steed had turned into a purple goat or something.

Well, he had something of a deterrent on hand. He went for his saddlebag and pulled out a feeding sack, with oats and a sliced apple inside. Then he came back around, removing the bridle and slipping the feeder on. Dan snorted in protest until he caught the scent of the apple, then he was magically all interested in this offering. Apples trumped flowers.

After five years together, Devan knew his horse well.

Shaking his head, he gave Dan a pat and turned back to business. He wanted to knock on that black door about as much as he wanted to dance on an anthill, but needs must. Taking his life in his hands was never comfortable, especially with an opponent like this, who could fry him before he could get his sword out of his scabbard. His oaths aside—which said quite clearly he should not be darkening this doorstep—this was a very dangerous thing he was doing. Without backup.

Was this bravery or desperation?

Felt like both to him. Devan squared up his shoulders, lifted his chin, and marched for the door. The side door, that was, not the ornate one. The side door had no obvious magic insignias that would turn him into a toad. He rapped once, then questioned even doing that. Would that sound even be heard?

The door abruptly opened and a kobold stuck his head out. From what Devan could see, he wore the rich, dark green suit of a liveried employee. Maybe a butler? His long, pointed ears were flat to his head, green hat tipped back so he could peer upward.

They regarded each other for a long moment, neither sure what to say.

The kobold’s golden eyes flicked to the gate, narrowed in a squint. “I doubt you took the time to close the gates after spilling blood, so…from what I can see, the guards are still alive and standing.”

“That’s correct.”

“Why, pray tell, are you here at the door? They didn’t challenge you?”

“I promised to stay quiet and not disturb your master until he was free to talk to me.”

The kobold facepalmed. “Those fucking morons. That is not what the master meant.”

Yeah, Devan had figured. He wasn’t about to interrupt an enemy when they were making a mistake, though.

Wait, did they still count as enemies when he was here to make their master an ally?

Devan decided, after a moment, that he didn’t have enough alcohol in his system to properly ponder that question. He set it aside for now.

To the kobold, he explained, “I really am here just to talk to him. I need his help.”

“You are Sir Devante Salvino, the First Knight of Goodwine, are you not?” The kobold regarded him in squinty challenge.

Unfortunately, “I am.”

“Well. The master will want to talk to you just for the entertainment value of hearing what brought you to Grimslock, if nothing else. Follow me. I’ll have your horse taken to the stable and watered while you wait.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

He got another doubletake from the kobold for the politeness. It wasn’t questioned, though.

The inside of the castle matched the outside. A lot of black everywhere. Black walls, slate black tiles on the floor, heavy gothic drapes on the windows. It was hella depressing in here. Was there a point to all this black? Devan kept the opinion to himself as he followed his guide through the massive foyer and into a smaller room just to the right. It was a well-appointed parlor with a fire going—appreciated in this chilly spring weather—and the seats for once weren’t black. Dark purple, in fact, and plushy. Devan sank into one with a sigh of relief. After eight hours on horseback, he appreciated the cushioning. Not to mention making it inside alive. Real plus, there.  

The kobold regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “Did you ride straight here from the capital?”

“I did,” Devan admitted tiredly.

“I see. Perhaps some tea is in order?”

Devan thought about the potential risks. Then thought, to hell with it. Trust had to start somewhere. “Please.”