Interruption Four
The lizardmen were still taller than Brutus even as they knelt in supplication. “We’ve captured one of the royal champions, Your Grimness.”
“One of them?” Brutus demanded with a deep scowl of irritation. “You were supposed to capture five!”
The lizard’s pupils shrank into thin lines, and he shifted on his knees uneasily. “There were only three of us.”
Brutus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why were there only three of you?”
“Because the others had to guard the lair.”
Another lizard raised their head to say, “We did warn you that—”
“Silence!”
The lizard snapped their muzzle shut.
Brutus took a deep breath and eyed the minions before him, wondering what he should do with them.
On the one hand, capturing one of the royal champions meant their group was smaller, weaker.
On the other hand, if they had captured Treasure, then they would have removed his only spy. “Which royal champion did you capture?”
“A princess.”
Brutus relaxed slightly. As long as Treasure’s identity remained intact, he would lead the others to the lair in due time. “Where is she?”
“In the dungeons.”
Excellent. Brutus would give her time to stew in despair, then he would descend upon her and show her the true greatness of the man she foolishly believed she could defeat!
As he waited, he paced the throne room, rehearsing his grand entrance. Five minutes should be enough. Thrumming with excitement, he dramatically swished his cloak around himself and teleported into the dungeons.
He appeared in the middle of a stone hallway, water dripping from the ceiling in a maddeningly irregular pattern.
Inside the cell sat a beautiful maiden, her opalescent skirts puffed up around her, her ankles delicately crossed.
Golden curls cascaded around her shoulders, framing the perfect lines of her face.
Brutus had exactly ten seconds to admire her appearance before the dungeon filled with black, acrid smoke. Dammit, the smoke was supposed to appear before he arrived, to give his prisoners a sense of impending doom. If it arrived afterwards, it only gave them a sickly cough.
The princess cleared her throat several times, her voice a light wheeze as she asked, “Was that necessary?”
“Only I determine what is necess—” Brutus’ booming declaration was cut off as he choked on his own theatrics.
A thick hand pierced the smog to offer Brutus a canteen of water. He took it gladly and gulped it down, washing away the lingering traces of magic.
The smoke faded, revealing that the orc guard had also provided a canteen to the princess. The idiot was supposed to let her choke and wallow in misery, not provide her relief!
Brutus cleared his throat again, more pointedly this time, and nodded for the minion to step away.
The orc took a single step back.
Brutus’ eyes almost bulged out of his head as his face tightened in dismay. He continued silently gesturing until the orc finally stepped out of the princess’ view.
He took another deep breath—a mistake. Smoke lingered in the air and clogged his lungs. His eyes watered as he suppressed the urge to fall into a coughing fit, and he greedily gulped more water to wash the sensation away.
The princess watched him placidly, unconcerned about her predicament and unimpressed with his introduction.
Brutus would have to change that.
He straightened to his full height—which looked more impressive with the seven-foot-tall orc out of view—and launched into a shortened version of his speech.
“I am the Lord of Grimnight, who has cursed this land with eternal darkness. You have come here, swords raised, battle ready, to break my hold upon the land. And you have failed.” He relished saying the last word, and eagerly watched the princess’ reaction.
The princess stood from the cot, picked up her skirts, and presented Brutus with a deep curtsey. “I am Princess Angelica Calamitous, heir to the Kingdom of Calamity. Since you are the lord himself, I assume you are the person in charge?”
“Of course. I am the source of your downfall—”
“In that case, these accommodations are simply unacceptable.”
Brutus blinked at her, thrown off by her steady confidence. “Excuse me?”
“You are not excused,” she replied, pointing her pert little nose in the air.
“Because there is no excuse for your poor preparations. I may be your hostage, but I am also a princess. You are supposed to place me in a tower room with luxurious furnishing and a view of the cursed forest. Not this damp, stinky cell.” Her expression crumpled in disgust as she looked at the cot. “I will not sleep on a straw mattress.”
It took Brutus a moment to collect himself. “Then I suppose you will go without sleep, princess, because you will be my prisoner for quite some time.”
Her lips pursed. “We’ll see about that.”
Brutus’ jaw clenched. Prisoners were much easier to deal with when they cowered.
He glanced at the orc guard contemplatively.
Orcs were huge, terrifying creatures with muscles thick enough to crush tree trunks and intimidating tusks that could rip open an opponent’s belly.
If anyone could put fear into the princess’ heart, it would be one of these brutish minions.
A slow, malicious smile spread over Brutus’ lips as the idea formed. Yes, the orcs would soften the princess up for him, until she became malleable clay in his hands, the perfect pawn to control her kingdom.
“Minion,” he called since he couldn’t remember the orc’s name. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot before him.
The orc looked at the spot in confusion before tentatively stepping forward.
“I want you and your companions to shower the princess with our version of … hospitality.”
Make her scream in terror. Beg for her life. Tremble at the mere thought of the Lord of Grimnight!
He kept those thoughts to himself. In his time as an evil mage, he found that telling someone you planned to break their will only encouraged them to fight back.
While beating a strong, stubborn opponent was more impressive, it was also more difficult.
He wanted the princess to be a broken mess by the time the other royal champions arrived, a warning to them of what happened to those who defied him.
The orc’s face hardened as he looked at the princess. He nodded once and growled, “I will do as you ask, my lord.”
Excellent. Brutus took one last look at the princess, savoring the fantasy of her defeat: her straight shoulders slumped; her golden hair fading into the tangled straw she despised; radiant skin turned ruddy and tearstained.
It would be one of the triumphs of his career.
Perhaps he would even commission a portrait to commemorate the occasion.
An evil laugh spilled from his lips, quiet at first, then growing louder as it bounced around the stone walls. He left in a swirl of his cloak, knowing that the echo of his malice would ring in the princess’ ears long after he’d gone.