The Secret King

Prologue

Darkness was to Xenoth what snow was to the great Northern Glacier, a constant companion, a refection of the landscape's soul, a reminder to the inhabitants of the Island continent that there was danger in the shadows and that those shadows were right next door.

For as long as anyone could remember, dense deep clouds hung over the forbidden island of Xenoth, bathing the island in a dark silver light.

Xenoth was purgatory, it was where creatures were sent who had betrayed their decency, who had committed heinous acts or succumbed to evil ambition. It was many things, a habitat for evil, a prison, a hothouse, a dead zone, and saddest of all, an undeserved punishment for the descendants of its long-dead inmates.

Once on its shores, no creature could ever leave, blocked from the decent world by a magical barrier conjured in the most ancient of times by the most powerful of wizards.

Overlooking the strait of ocean called the Cold Narrows, separating Xenoth from Morgaard, stood a mighty fortress. It was built over the course of centuries by the enslaved children of the cursed, under the cruel watchful eyes of the Deev.

The Deev had been created centuries earlier by a powerful wizard named Darus at the command of the Minge-lord, Meris the Cruel. They had originally been Meris' palace guard, thirty elite mink warriors, all high born Minge aristocrats with undying loyalty to the Minge dynasty.

Through the use of a forbidden spell he had discovered in an ancient tomb on the outskirts of Minga, the center of Minge government, Darus transformed the mink into merciless demonic assassins. Deathless and unrelenting, able to transform themselves into clouds of smoke which could not be stabbed or killed, the Deev destroyed any who stood in Meris' way.

They cut a path of horror across Morgaard, until the Council of Wizards, using all their combined powers, entrapped them and banished them to Xenoth, from which even they were powerless to escape.

A rough hewn fortress stood at the top of the cliff facing Morgaard, ever watching the world which was once their home and now denied to them. It spanned a shallow crevasse in the cliff, through which a river ran and cascaded in a mighty waterfall.

A single massive keep rose at the center of the structure. Within the keep, a large circular room, spartan and gloomy, served as the meeting place of the Deev. It was this room that now bristled with the conspiratorial whispers and angry plans of its evil lords.

Thirty hooded figures sat around a massive round oak table. Twenty-nine sported muted brown cloaks, while one, their leader, wore a cloak the shade of blackest coal. This was Prince Vasheron, once captain of the Minge palace guard, once third in line to the Minge throne, now the leader of the damned.

He was standing and addressing his minions in a deep sonorous voice imbued with angry passion.
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"The time has arrived, my brothers. The world may think us cursed, but we are blessed. We may well be free soon. We will have our revenge for what has been done to us. The necromancer insures me the if we follow the ritual, we will be free to roam the mainland, we will be free to eliminate our enemies and secure the relics we will need to awaken our new lord. One he is restored, his vengeance will have no end, and we shall be his disciples, spreading his will across the land."

​A low cheer spread through the room accompanied by the pounding of fists on the table. Vasheron held up his hand for silence.

"We will meet in the cavern at dusk," he said as he slowly looked around the table, "then we shall see if this necromancer is as powerful as he claims.  If he is, we will be walking the shores of Morgaard in two days time. Imagine...for the first time in five centuries we will feel our land beneath our feet again. We will feel the thrill of the hunt and the joy of our enemy's terror. We will feel the delicious hopelessness of our foes as their life drains from them. Prepare yourselves. You each know your objectives. Review them, there is no room for failure."