 “Welcome, Avarom!” The voice echoed between its high pitched laughter. “Welcome one and all to your doom!” Avarom was the first to rise from the floor while checking for anyinjuries. He then knelt to retrieve his sword which he thankfully tossed to the side in an attempt not to skewer anyone upon his harsh landing. “I see you are good at blowing a little wind to weaken your prey,” he said, slowly rounding the table and moving toward the staircase. His eyes wandered about the room from ceiling to floor—sword held on the guard in search of his adversary. Tarak came staggering from behind. “Be silent,” he cautiously whispered, his eyes nervously darted in every direction, “lest you aggravate the witch to blow us to hell.” “Yes, Avarom,” added Buronis, using the table as leverage to stand. “Do not taunt the witch any further. Our lives are now at risk.” “The Queen’s life is at risk,” Avarom scolded. “If this bitch wants a battle, then let her come forth and face me!” At Avarom’s statement a high pitched laughter once again echoed throughout the dining hall. “Spread out, men,” Avarom commanded, waving his sword in the air. “Let us not stay bunched together to make an easy target.” Swiftly the men scattered about the room and stood in a sporadic manner facing the staircase. “Aaah,” called an old raucous voice, “the great Avarom is now a guest in my castle! The Queen’s Champion and defender of Servitica in mine own castle! Fool! Since your accursed arrival to Servitica you have unknowingly thwarted all my plans with your constant interference! Now a new age is upon the Great Lands. A new age that does not include that pampered bitch, Queen Nakir.” Adomis moved beside Avarom. “So you were the one that snatched her?” Once again the laughter resounded all around the room. “Aye, insolent one—and if you think your numbers can frighten me . . . .” “I’ll do more than just frighten you, witch,” Avarom scolded. “Reveal yourself and let me show you what fear is.” “Fools,” the voice echoed, sounding agitated from Avarom’s words. “The Red Queen’s fate is already sealed, as is yours!” “Then come, witch,” Avarom called. “Try to ensnare those who are not of royalty! Try to snatch someone who will fight back you cowardly bitch!” Following Avarom’s words his comrades began howl and scream their agreement. Some stomped their feet while others waved their weapons in the air. “Arrogant fools! Insignificant worms! Your disobedient heads shall decorate the entrance to my castle! Now arise, my faithful legion! Kill all those that would dare to invade our domain and threaten your master! Kill them! Kill them all, now!” The words of the witch barely faded when Avarom noticed a slight movement from the top left staircase. Avarom thought the witch’s wind had moved the curtains, but the wind have now ceased and all was still save for that one particular curtain. In the midst of his comrades’ battle cry, Avarom began to move toward the first landing. He was about to mount the stairs when the entire room began to shake and rumble. “Earthquake!” Buronis shouted. “No!” Avarom shouted, falling back several steps to the table. The rest of his group fell on the floor and back against the table with him. “This is the witch’s doing! She is trying to prevent us from going up the stairs! Onward!” Barely did Avarom’s words fade when the entire landing blew open throwing some of the men back against the table while the rest shielded their eyes and crouched low. Chunks of stone fell all around them as the air swiftly filled with the pungent smell of crushed stone and decay. When all was partially clear, Avarom and his comrades rose from the floor or from a kneeling position. Some coughed as the stench of death combined with the dust became overwhelming. “Avarom, our way is block,” Gulub said, pointing on ahead. “Aye,” Avarom said, looking at the gaping hole that was now before him—a maw that smoldered, hissed and glowed with a life all its’ own. That’s when the Queen’s Champion saw it. Out of that hole a blistered gray hand with long chipped nails slowly raised itself to grip the rim of the hole. Then another hand rose and fell next to it. Bracing themselves the hands hoisted a grim blistery face. The eyes of this face were nothing more than dark soulless orbs that focused their attention solely upon Avarom. A sight of such delight that it allowed a pair of dried bruised lips to part in order to reveal an array of jiggered and decayed teeth. “Demons!” Slowly it rose out of the pit to stand tall. The ragged tunic and pants it wore revealed sporadic blisters all about its body. About its waist was latched a scabbard which it drew forth a sword. “Trespassers,” he growled. Again the laughter from the witch was heard. “Aye, Kiloc, my murderous minion, we have trespassers. Now summon your brothers and sisters to show these fools how we deal with unwanted guess.” With a howl and growl, the one called Kiloc continued to remain focus on the Queen’s Champion as more of his kind emerged from the pit. They all slowly gathered to Kiloc’s left and right—growling and sneering with a wide array of weapons. “I do not believe what I am seeing,” Tarak whispered, gripping his sword. “Believe it,” Adomis whispered back as a female raven haired demon brandishing an axe blew a kiss at him. “You sure know how to pick them,” Surkon said, gripping his bow and arrow. “I count fifteen. No eighteen in all,” Gulub said, watching them gather alongside and behind Kiloc. “We should flee,” Buronis said, backing up. “We are outnumbered.” Some of the men fell back a few paces at the horrible sight before them. But Avarom kept his place while looking over his enemies. The grip upon his sword tightened as his anger began mount with one thought upon his mind. Which one? Which one dared to lay their filthy hands on his Queen? Who had the utmost audacity to snatch his love away from him? Which one put a knife in his back? Which one dragged Queen Nakir against her will while his life’s blood spilled upon the cold earth? Which one? They all stood before Avarom and hissed and sneered. Their blades, axes, and daggers, were brandished about in a threatening manner, but the Queen’s champion did not flinch. He remained poised and ready for any one of them to make the first threatening move toward him. Then Kiloc raised his sword and howled while taking a step toward Avarom. The moment Kiloc’s foot touched the floor; the Queen’s Champion raised his sword high and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Stop! Stop! You are overmatched! T’is no faint heart you face here, but the Queen’s Champion! Avarom!” He bellowed, lunging toward Kiloc. His eyes welled angrily with tears. “Avarom!” Continues... | 
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