Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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“STOP!” shouted Ushochhushi and Retaak felt him try to use Kasukaak once more. The pain of the compelling washed over him, but it was mere echo of before. And then Ushochushi was in the air, tossed up and out over the pit, his arms and legs waving, almost as if he thought he could fly.

“NOOOOOoooooo…” screamed the Seneschal as he tumbled into darkness.

Retaak watched for a long moment. He felt the compelling end, which signaled that Ushochhushi was dead. All around him the Fellspawn began to stir.

As Retaak turned to look at them, his body was wracked by a painful spasm. His vision clouded and he choked as his throat closed. He stumbled but did not fall.

He was so weak that the first of the waking spawn almost beat Retaak to the Dread Lord’s crown. A great surge of his kin came toward it, weapons drawn, sending the power that lay within. A swift footed goblin man nearly touched that terrible iron circlet before Retaak pushed him away and set the cold metal on his own head. Instantly he could feel the will and the heart of every one of them, not just those on the plain below the Dread Lord’s tower but those further afield as well. The clamored towards him, seeking the the crown, weapons drawn, hearts full of hate and fury, an army that none had ever been able to stand against.

“Stop,” said Retaak, compelling them. And they did. The Fellspawn, his kin, stopped in their tracks. Unstoppable, save by the Dread Lords. Unified by this crown.

It was not as if they were automatons, no, it was far worse than that. Kasukaak compelled them with pain and sublimated their wills to the crown. They struggled against it, all of them, in their own way. But they were bound to the crown, as the first Dread Lord made them. The only true freedom they understood would come if they held the crown as he held it now, an ambition they all held. Perhaps they deserved their cruel fate.

But Retaak was Wildborn. He knew the tender love of his parents before the seventh Dread Lord rose and called them all. He had overcome, with help from a Demon Spider and an Elf Mage, perhaps, the compelling. Surely he was not the only one. The crown let him gaze out into them. To his surprise Retaak found love among them. A mother’s pride in her son, a Father’s love, comradery, passion, art, music; good to match the evil that was also there. Good that could, perhaps, flourish if they were free.

He coughed again, but he was stronger this time. The Crown was healing him, he realized. Cursed thing. Of course no Dread Lord could ever die of old age or some simple gesture of defiance; it had to be violence every time. That was the nature of the crown. It enthralled them all, even the one who wore it.

And so Retaak, last of the Dread Lords, and the only one whose name was revered. Walked over to the blade of ruin and woe and pulled it from the rock. It came easily to him, for his limbs were fed by the energy of the crown and he could feel power flowing through his muscles.

He strode over to the grim altar at the bottom of the tower where victims were sometimes sacrificed to the Dread Lord. Taking one last glance through the minds of his people, he removed the crown and placed it on that altar. Instantly they surged forward, drawn to it like moths to the flame. Some did not come, however, and as Retaak raised the blade and brought it down, he caught sight of Uyagi. It was good way to end it all.

His last thought was this: The sound of a female’s laughter, mingled with a male’s, both familiar, both loved.

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The Blade met the crown. Both were objects of power. Retaak was unflinching in his purpose. The crown and blade were destroyed. Retaak and the closest of the Fellspawn running for the crown were instantly incinerated.

War did not immediately break out. Chaos did not descend. Most of the Fellspawn simply stood and stared for a long time as the realization that they were now free settled upon them. Eventually the rhythm of their lives drew them away, some dreaming of power, others of love and Freedom.

Among the last to leave was Uyagi, who took a little of the ash from where Retaak died. She stood silently for a moment, gazing at the ash and the ruins of the altar. Others, moved by what they had witnessed, stood nearby but they were silent too.

Finally, she whispered “Thank you, Retaak.”

And then she turned and left, thinking of a story that Retaak had told her of the valley where he had once lived and where she might be able to find it.

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Fin. I hope you enjoyed this.