Chapter 6 – The King of Malvora
The throne room of Castle Dravok was built for intimidation.
Its vaulted ceiling soared high above, supported by columns carved into the shapes of twisted, snarling beasts. Torches lined the walls, their flames trapped in iron cages, throwing restless shadows across the black stone floor. At the far end, on a dais of polished obsidian, sat the throne — not a delicate seat of gold, but a brutal structure of jagged metal, forged from the swords of fallen enemies.
Upon it sat King Callum of Malvora.
He was not an old man, but his presence made him feel ancient. His hair, black streaked with silver, fell loose around his shoulders. A heavy cloak of wolf pelts draped over his armor, and on his hand was a ring shaped like a dragon swallowing its own tail — the seal of Malvora. His eyes, pale as winter ice, could cut a man down without a sword.
The king was not alone.
To his right stood Lord Maelor, High Advisor, a thin man with ink-stained fingers and a gaze that seemed to measure every soul in the room. He spoke rarely, but when he did, entire cities changed hands.
Beside Maelor, General Rurik, commander of Malvora's armies, loomed like a fortress in human form. His scarred face and missing left ear were souvenirs from the endless wars that had built Malvora's empire.
To Callum's left, Minister Veyra, keeper of the kingdom's coffers, wore silks the color of fresh blood. Her smile never reached her eyes, and her gold-adorned hands were said to have strangled more fortunes than they had blessed.
And standing slightly apart, almost swallowed by the shadows, was High Inquisitor Draeven, master of the kingdom's spies and assassins. His robes were plain, his hood low, but his mere presence seemed to dim the torchlight.
Before this council, kneeling on the cold stone, was the last surviving Knight from the scouting party. His armor was dented, his breath ragged.
"My king… she came out of nowhere," the Knight stammered. "Eyes like burning amethyst… she— she threw us aside with nothing but her hand. We— we couldn't—"
Callum raised a single hand, silencing him. "And yet… you lived."
"I… she spared me. Said she had a message." The Knight swallowed hard, repeating the words exactly as they had been burned into his mind: "She said… 'Tell your king that death is coming. I will destroy everything he holds dear. I will take away the very reason of his existence. I will wipe out his entire kingdom. He will plead for mercy… but there will be none left.'"
A murmur rippled through the council.
Veyra arched a brow. "A common brigand would never speak so boldly."
"This is no brigand," Maelor murmured, eyes distant. "This is a declaration of war… from something that should not exist."
"Then we crush it," General Rurik growled. "Send me two legions. I will sweep the western valleys clean within a week."
"No," Draeven said softly, his voice like a blade drawn in the dark. "An enemy that survives against the Dark Knights is not one to meet with blunt force. We must learn her patterns. Her weaknesses. Let her think she is the hunter… until the snare closes."
Callum leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of the throne. "And who is this phantom that dares speak to me through the mouths of my broken soldiers?"
The Knight's voice shook. "I asked… she said… 'The name is nothing, for that is what will become of your kingdom.'"
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, a slow smile curved the king's lips — though it did not reach his eyes.
"Interesting," Callum murmured. He rose from the throne, the metal of his armor whispering with the movement. "Send word to the Shadow Blades. Double the patrols in the western valleys. If this… retribution… wishes to play a game, we will show her the rules."
The Knight hesitated. "My king… she is not— not human. No one could—"
In a single, smooth motion, Callum drew the short sword at his hip and drove it clean through the Knight's chest. The man's eyes widened, then dulled, his body slumping forward onto the floor.
"I have no patience for fear in my court," Callum said coldly, wiping the blade on the dead man's cloak before sliding it back into its sheath. He turned to General Rurik. "Find her. Bring her to me alive."
He paused, his gaze shifting to Draeven.
"Or dead. Either way… I want her head in this hall before the next Blood Moon rises."