The One Who Would Be King Chapter VI: Dymorla

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Dymorla was irritated, and her head was swimming.  Things were going awry far too often. After nearly a hundred years of spell casting, one would think that she would have it down pat! After all, how hard was it to conjure a few thousand zombies? Generally, her patience was nearly infinite, but she realized that she was running out of both time and options.

Of course, she should have expected these types of setbacks. It really wasn’t too long ago that she embarked upon this new path. Her self appointed mission necessitated new plans and spells – not the type of magic she was used to. .

All this meddling was also very unlike her. However, she knew full well that the world was changing far too rapidly – and not for the better. Next time, she would make sure that the Zombies …

Suddenly, the furry little creature she affectionately called Willy burst into the laboratory, “M’Lady! Come quick! Girl is sick! We captured them. Sick, she is! Come!”

He ran out, not waiting to see if Dymorla would follow.

“Dear me! What have those fur balls done this time?


 Cookie woke with Djar leaning over her bed. “Djar … wha …”

“Rest up, Cookie. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“But, where’s Trever, and where am I?” she asked weakly, struggling to turn her head and check her surroundings.

“You’re in Dymorla’s keep. We’re all safe. Trever’s talking to her right now. We’ll fill you in later, so rest up for a while, okay? That was a close call – even if it was only a misunderstanding!”

He bent forward and kissed her. She smiled and closed her eyes.

After he was sure she was back to sleep, he hurried out of the small room, down the long hall and into the vast great room. There, Dymorla and Trever were sitting close, speaking nearly in whispers. Fire leapt from the well-fed braziers, casting orange lights on the two, making them look all the more mysterious. 

She looked up at the approaching young man. She scrunched her eyebrows and wagged her finger at him. “I knew you looked familiar the moment I laid eyes on you, Lord Djar. I knew your Grandparents fairly well, though your father didn’t have much to do with me.

“I know. My grandma told me some stories about you and the keep,” he said, then added a bit testily, “Of course, she left out the part about the spitting gargoyles.”

“Djar, she already apologized.”

“No, Trever, he has every right to be angry. It’s one thing to mind one’s own business, it’s quite another to jeopardize the life of an innocent. 

‘Djar, things have gotten … ah … a bit out of control lately. There have been a few goblin raids on the keep. Just small bands, mind you, but that’s enough for me to step up security. Plus, as I’ve been explaining to Trever, there’s something more to this entire situation.”

“What?” asked Djar, suddenly even more interested.

“Have you ever heard of Fralgarzenar?”

“Yes, Trever told us a bit about him,” said Djar.

“Well, I’m going to tell you a whole lot more,” she said. “He is a vile beast.”

“Is?” he said, wide eyed.

“Yes, he is still alive. I found this out not long ago. I was wondering – as, apparently Trever was too – why the goblins seemed so organized this time. I decided to look into the matter – especially after learning about, er, your situation, Djar. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help, but I had made it my policy – for over 100 years now! – to avoid involvement in politics.” She looked downward, clearly vexed by her former decisions. “I had no idea the balance of power had shifted so heavily. As I said, I’m truly sorry and I want to help. Let’s talk about it now.” 

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