Miguel Blackheart had just finished his devotional duties before a packed temple. Many of the local people who had even had the tiniest contact with the great Serpent Blackheart now sought favor in the memory of their new god, Ragnera.
Miguel had been informed of the price the demoness of the Doyr had demanded for their aid, and he found it intriguing. His she-devil lover had been absolutely outraged and had thrown a tantrum that rivaled the flaming pits of Hell. Miguel had enjoyed it. Oh, she would fret and fume, but he knew she would soon return. And when she did, he would be waiting.
Miguel returned to his chambers, they had been his father's, but they were his now. Even though many of the people considered him to be the legitimate successor to the House of Blackheart, an obscure law in the Great Convention of Keron forbade any priest from being the head of a noble house.
For that reason, the rulership of House Blackheart had fallen on the unwanting shoulders of his uncle. Morteous had protested, but it was Ragnera's own holy command that convinced the warlock to take the mantle of leadership up and sit on the throne.
As for Miguel, he was not necessarily unhappy with the decision. He enjoyed his position as it was. It allowed him the benefits of being the grandson of the Godking, the son of Ragnera, and the nephew and Heir Apparent of House Blackheart. For should Morteous ever meet his fate with no offspring of his own, then Miguel would rise to the head of the dynasty by way of another law that would give him exception to his priesthood if he were the only living Blackheart left. All the privileges and none of the responsibilities, made Miguel a very happy man. He hoped the status quo would not change any time soon.
Miguel relaxed on a pile of cushions watching a slave girl clean the room. Young women of beauty found service in House Blackheart a mixed curse. They often could find favor with the young priest, but the Blackheart seed was extremely potent and tended heavily toward female children. Giving birth to a female of the Blackheart blood was usually considered a death sentence. But the family of a woman carrying a Blackheart child found great and gracious favor in the House's eyes for the nine months it took for the birth to occur. Should the child be female, both mother and child would be slain in a sacrificial ceremony. But should the child be male, then the mother would be elevated to great status and the family as well. Many families considered the reward worth the risk.
Ironically the girl involved had no say in the matter. The decision to enslave a daughter to the household staff was made by the family's head. Still, no male children would be born if no attempts were made.
There was a knock on the door, and the slave, at Miguel's request admitted Tyson into the room. He too had come to know the pleasures of the slave girls. Many, though not as many as in Miguel's case, had sought his favor thinking that he was a power in House Blackheart and that to be his favorite would be a prize as well. Such were the politics of the lower class of Aspberg.
"Good morning," Tyson greeted Miguel.
"And to you, Tyson," Miguel returned. "How was your trip?"
Tyson laughed. "Oh, it was quite good. High Branch is abuzz with tales of how the king's forces routed House Blackheart."
Miguel smiled. "Isn't that amazing? What do they think about my father's fate?"
"Well, many of them are refusing to believe that Ragnera is your father deified. They keep insisting that it is an entirely new god of war or a reincarnated old one." Tyson could not keep from laughing.
Miguel considered Tyson. He was the perfect agent. He was powerful, of that there was no doubt. But best of all, he was practically unknown throughout the land. Oh, there were reports from Allentown that he had been a little sloppy in his murdering of the warlock Mestys, but Tyson had dismissed it as being a rumor started by the elementalist, Ultrecht.
Tyson claimed that Ultrecht had been seeing her romantically, and that he had blown the whistle on Tyson for vengeance sake. In any event, Miguel had suggested and Tyson had been forced to agree that he should not visit Allentown for a long time; at least until they stopped looking for him so hard. It would be asking for trouble to go there with every warlock but Morteous out for Tyson's head.
"So, how can I serve you at this time," Tyson asked as he flopped into a chair at the desk and propped his feet up. Miguel ignored the act of insubordination. As long as Tyson served in the efficient manner he had displayed so far, he could act insubordinate in private all he wanted.
"How would you like to go to the capital city?" Miguel asked.
"Keron? Sure. Why?"
"One of our agents there has decided that since Serpent Blackheart is no longer the head of this House, he no longer owes us his allegiance."
Tyson jumped up. He pulled his robe collar up about his neck secretively. Shrugging his shoulders several times, he stuck his hands in his robe's pockets and tightened his upper lip to expose his upper teeth. "Hey, boss, you want I should muss 'im up a little? You want I should lean on 'im?"
Miguel blinked several times. It was obviously one of Tyson's jokes, but he just did not understand it. "Yes," Miguel replied, "'lean' on him."
"Anything else?"
"Have you ever been to Tycho?"
Tyson scowled. "Once," he said. "Not counting this time that is, because we never really got to the city itself."
Miguel nodded. "Then it should be no problem for you to go there."
Tyson could see that Miguel was disturbed about something. "Sure," he agreed. "What do you need from there?"
"Well, the Northern Archives in Tycho hold the most complete set of history and prophetic records in the world and..."
"Damn," Tyson swore, "just how many of these libraries are there?"
Miguel frowned at being cut off like that. "To answer your question, there are six great libraries. The Great Archives and the Northern Archives you know about in Allentown and Tycho. There are four more in Keron, Haganaw, Vermouth, and legend has it that a sixth library exists in the deep southwest in the Meccon region."
Having answered the rude interrogative, Miguel continued. "As I was saying, I want you to research a prophetic writing for me."
"I think I can handle that, what do you want me to look for?"
Miguel took a brown leather backed book from a table. "I want you to check for any references that might mention you or your former associates."
"Us?" Tyson wasn't expecting that at all. "What makes you think there might be some reference to us"
Miguel opened the book and passed it to Tyson. "This is one of the volumes of my father's journals, read this entry."
Tyson took the book.
Miguel, my son, is truly a marvelous child. He was born only two weeks ago and already he has taken over the city of Aspberg. My brother has turned into a babbling idiot, fawning over the boy constantly. I am unsure which is the more mature.
Though no one else knows it, I suspect my father too has made clandestine visits to the nursery during the child's sleeping times, for the unmistakable presence the Godking radiates falls upon me at such times. He keeps his own counsel as to why he visits in privacy, for no one would even consider refusing him a visitation.
Miguel, bless the child, already believes himself to be a man. This morning when I tried to remove him from the nurse maid, he latched onto the poor wench's breast with a grip of steel and would not let go. I fancy he wanted more than milk.
The child has been my salvation of late. A reoccurring dream has troubled me. For the sake of the future I feel I need to describe the events of this dream. Perhaps its interpretation will be made clear in time.
It starts as I stand on a plain. Suddenly I see Morteous fighting a lone individual. Beside me is a shadow of a man who I can not make out. My advisers tell me that is because I have yet to meet him.
Morteous falters and we rush to his aid. Suddenly I am the one facing the enemy. He too is a shadow, but not the same as the one beside me. I attack him, and he throws me back with ease. Then the world explodes.
My next vision is of a fight with another shadow, except this one has yellow eyes. We duel long and hard. I am using Reaper and am confident at the outcome of the fight. Suddenly the shadow is retreating and I press forward and stand among the stars. The battle turns and the shadow attacks with a hard blow aimed straight at my neck. Reaper parries, I feel the impact of blades, followed by a floating sensation as the world spins. The last thing I see before waking is the blood stained sword in the shadow's hand.
This dream troubles me greatly and I am unsure as to their cause.
Tyson put the book down. "So?"
"Doesn't one of your former associated have yellow eyes?" Miguel asked.
"Avery?" Tyson asked. "Well they aren't really yellow. They are more like amber. It’s a little
closer to orange than yellow." Tyson thought this was a little ridiculous. "You're not serious. Are you?"
Miguel buried his face in his hands betraying his fatigue. "Just check it out, would you?"
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