A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

The following is the Prelude from Book two, “The Midnight Man”.

The man walked along the forest path as the wind and driving rain ripped the leaves from the tallest trees.  He pulled the collar of his coat further up around his neck and carried on walking, his cane held by his side.

As the wind and rain grew heavier, he looked around with professional interest.  He knew that everything around him was not reality.  It had, in fact, been created by the person he was going to visit.  It was a make-believe landscape created to fulfil a deep-seated need.  Some people created beautiful beaches, wonderful mountain views, or eternal sunsets or rises, but not him.  No, the cold and rain was more his style.

The man continued walking for another five minutes until he reached a cave entrance.  Taking a deep breath, he entered the pitch-black cave.  The lack of light was not a problem for him and it would certainly not be a problem for the person he was visiting.  Looking around he caught sight of his objective.

He was sitting on the floor of the cave, leaning against the wall with one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee.  A blanket was wrapped round his shoulders.  His head was bowed and his eyes closed.

“The weather - very impressive, by the way,” commented the visitor.

“Do I know you?”

“We had a mutual acquaintance,” replied the visitor as he leaned on his cane.

“Why have you come to disturb my sleep?”

“Your help is required.”

The man raised his gaze and looked at his visitor with piercing blue eyes.  “My help?”

“Yes, there is this prophecy...”

“There is always a prophecy.”

“Ah, yes, that is very true, but there is a problem with this one.”

“What sort of problem?”

“Mancer’s in it.”

The man let out a laugh.  “Well, you are in trouble, then.  Mancer is dead.”

“As are you, but that does not stop us from talking.”

“Whatever.”

“Have you heard of the Mancer Prophecy?”

“No, and I don’t want to.  All I want is to be left alone.”

“Ah, I see; then you will not care that the Midnight Man has returned.”

Silence.

“You will not care, then,” continued the visitor, “that the Midnight Man has returned and he is stronger than ever.  He will destroy Talocants and every living thing that dwells upon it.  You will not care that the only person that can stop him, according to the prophecy, is Hubert Mancer, whom, as you quite correctly said, is dead; although, as I said, being dead may not be that much of a hindrance, in the right circumstances.  No, the problem is Mancer himself.”  The visitor took another deep breath and looked at the nails of his right hand.  “Let’s face it - Mancer is, well ...an extremely quotidian type of person, and a complete and utter imbecile.  How can he stop the Midnight Man?”  Straightening and tucking his cane under his left arm, he said, “Think on that,” before turning round and leaving the cave.

The seated man remained unmoving for an hour as the wind howled outside and the driving rain beat down upon the forest floor.  Slowly but surely, a mocking smile started to spread across his lips.  “Bollocks, if I know what quotidian means.”

Standing, the man walked with a slight limp to the entrance of the cave and looked out at the storm.  “Are we not all but echoes of a storm?  Maybe it’s time for one last rumble of thunder.”  With that, he left his cave and once more entered the world of men.

If you enjoyed “A Kingdom Falls,” you might like the book that started it all - “Echoes of a Storm”, which is the first book in the Storm Series Trilogy.  The following is the prelude from “Echoes of a Storm”.

Her softly falling tears echoed the rain as she watched him walk away.  He did not cry, but then, his life had made him forget how.  So, in the gentle rain, just past midnight, she found herself crying for a man - a fool - who could not.

- a fool
with that deeply irritating and mocking smile.  “
But then,
” she thought sadly, “
who was he mocking
? 
Himself?  The world?  Both?”
  Even after all these years, she could never quite work out which.  She continued to watch him, his slight limp giving him a very distinctive walk, as he finished crossing the courtyard and exited through the open gate.  He was, in many ways, a nondescript man.  He was average height, average weight, looked to be aged anywhere between thirty and forty with short brown hair.  His clothes were as plain as he was. 

An involuntary shudder ran through her body.  He may seem plain and nondescript, but she knew what lurked within him, what hid beneath that façade he presented to the world.

As she thought about him, the events of this terrible evening arose in her mind.  One moment, she was entertaining her guests; the next, men with swords had come crashing in.  There had been screaming and shouting, fire and smoke, running, and, of course, death.  Somehow, her daughter - carried in her maid’s arms - a wounded guard, and herself had made it to the walled courtyard with the assassins close behind.  She remembered her hope of escape turning to ash upon seeing the courtyard gates locked and barred.  Hence, filled with growing despair, she had turned to face her attackers as they circled in for the kill.

Then, from the dark shadows that surrounded the walls of the courtyard, he had appeared as if from nowhere.  All eyes had turned to him and there was a moment of perfect silence, which was violently broken as a primeval growl, which could have never come from a human throat, sounded out and echoed throughout the courtyard. 

Moments later, all her attackers were dead, and then... and then the rain had gently started to fall.

Afterwards, they had talked.  Apparently, the plot had only been discovered in the early evening.  One of her cousins had hired the men and bribed one of the guards to let them in.  Her cousin’s plan was not a simple one, though, as there had been a nasty twist - a twist that forced a bitter choice. 

Fresh tears mixed with the rain as she remembered asking her saviour why he had made the choice he did.  She had watched the softness in his deep blue eyes that had slowly crept in over the last two years, wither and die, to be replaced by the familiar harshness from years long past. 

“Duty,” was his single word reply. 

Then she had made plans, hasty plans.

Now, in the early hours of a new day, in the gentle rain, something dangerous had left the country house.  He had names - Red Claw, Midnight Man, and more; however, she knew him as Nathanial West, her bodyguard.

By sending her bodyguard out into the night, those hastily drawn plans were being put into action.  Her foolish cousin, Fredrick, had started it, but others would follow.  Others would now enter the game.  Why did people always call it a game?  Well, it was more than a game to her.  It was the life of her daughter. It was the future of her realm.  It was friends lying dead in the house behind her, friends who had been alive only hours earlier.  She would show them all.  There was
NOTHING
she would not sacrifice to protect her daughter and the realm.  Let them play their little games.  Tonight, she would show them how the great game was truly meant to be played.

Nathanial had vanished from sight by now, so Queen Alexandra turned to face the only other survivors - her maid, Mary, who was walking toward her with a cloak, and the wounded guard who held her daughter, Kathleen, in his arms. 

As Mary wrapped the cloak around the Queen’s shoulders, she whispered, “He is gone, then?”

“Yes.”

“So it has started?”

“Yes.”

“Is he ...it ...back?”

Alexandra looked into Mary’s quizzical face and slowly nodded.  Turning her eyes to the guard, she asked, “His name?”

“Jack Sorensen.”

Moving past Mary, wiping tears from her eyes, Queen Alexandra headed toward Jack Sorensen so that she could take her daughter in her arms.

Mary looked out into the dark beyond the country house walls.  He would be walking, running, heading toward his goal and, with each step, he would be reverting back to what he was.  The last two years would be wiped out before dawn.  Mary stifled a sob and closed her eyes.  Turning her head toward the sky, she let the rain wash across her face.  The rain always hid her tears so well.

***

Nathanial walked out of Count Fredrick’s country house and turned his head up into the refreshing rain.  The Queen had decided that he was to send a clear and precise message to the world by making an example of Count Fredrick.  So clear was this message to be that no one else would dare make another assassination attempt. A hasty decision - a decision she would later regret, no doubt.

But he was the Queen’s man, and so he did as he was commanded.  Turning his head back toward the house, he studied his handiwork.  There, nailed to the main gates, were Count Fredrick, his wife, and his two small sons.  Behind them, not a living soul was left.  He had killed everything.  The fire that was just taking hold in the main part of the house would run unchecked and reduce the house to a ruinous state - a clear and precise message, if ever there was one.

Thinking back over the night’s events, Nathanial suddenly realised how easy it had been to slip back into old ways. It was almost as if the last two years had never happened.  There had been a moment when he had felt an overwhelming sense of loss and pain - when he had told his tale to Alexandra - but he could not afford those emotions.  Nathanial snorted and gave a short hard laugh.  The price would be high if he ever gave in to them.

His eyes hardened and his mouth curved into a cruel mocking smile. To be what people wanted him to be, to do what he needed to do, he would have to become the old Nathanial West again.  The last two years would have to be forgotten.  Yet how could he forget?

“
Fool
,” Nathanial berated himself.  Turning his head back toward the early morning sky, he let the rain wash across his face.  He had always enjoyed the rain - it always brought him peace.