Princil's Magic Ch. 14 Downfall

Eramzel was visibly shocked. "Himself? So that's his game!" He did not look too happy about a Pelancirian King becoming the King over Grumandria. They had fought against Pelancir at times. There were ancient rivalries, different cultures and traditions, and ways. Never had they been ruled together except when one had conquered parts of the other.

"Well you have to admit it would be a possibility for stability if enough of Grumandria would support it. Like you I was rather startled, but they insisted Charlerion would be happy to put a Grumandrian on the throne if enough of us can agree upon the right candidate. His own candidacy would only be by invitation. The more I think about it the more I can accept it as a sensible possibility," said Aldareg.

"Well I would never have thought!" declared Eramzel. "But I must say. We have to do something to get rid of the monster who currently resides on our throne. Our land is going to rack and ruin. We must consider Grumandrian candidates first I feel, but anything is better than Guthelm now." He knew that even if the preposterous idea of Charlerion becoming King of Grumandria were to come to pass, there would then be a good chance of stability once his place was assured.

At a later meeting Aldareg voiced some ideas he had been thinking. "Eramzel, Guthelm does have a daughter doesn't he, to the first wife who he beheaded for infidelity. I do not know what became of her, but I think we should find out where she is and what she is today. If a candidate for King or even Charlerion were to be proposed he may need a royal wife."

"Charlerion already has a wife, and a few concubines," said Eramzel.

"Perhaps a second one then, why not?" said Aldareg, but that had to be a joke, it was not a part of Grumandrian culture, any more than it was a part of the Pelancirian way.

The Pelancirian spy messenger approached Aldareg. He was of Grumandria, but had been made a refugee by Guthelm years before, but he passed easily among his people and no one in Guthelm's camp would now remember that he was once considered to be one of a clan of traitors. Like many disenfranchised Grumandrians there was no way he would ever work for the hated King Guthelm once he had found another safer place and another service. He would devote himself happily to the cause of bringing down the brute who had so needlessly slaughtered so many of his loved ones.

He had found refuge and service with a better King, when Charlerion's father had still been upon the throne. And now the son, a more ambitious and inspiring King even than was the father, had a real purpose for him. He knew that now King Charlerion was determined to bring down the brutish Guthelm, and his vengeance was close.

The spy was one of the few who knew of Charlerion's plans. He had been given a good position in his King's counsels, and his activities would be all the more effective because of the trust placed in him. In Grumandria he was named Grigor, but in Pelancir he was sometimes called Gerard.

"Have you thought on the words I brought you Aldareg? Have you tested the thoughts of other wizards?"

"Hail Grigor. There is one I have spoken to, who has suffered family losses by Guthelm recently. The idea of Charlerion as King of Grumandria shocked him at first, but I can see that the idea is beginning to appeal to him. He can see that Charlerion will bring prosperity to Grumandria and would be preferable to the civil strife which could occur if other Lords of Grumandria were chosen."

"And what is his name?"

"I can tell you now I think, as these plans now develop. Eramzel is his name, a very experienced and powerful wizard. Others I have sounded are frightened to act against Guthelm. They fear his retribution, and the retribution of Valdark, our foremost Great Sorceror, who, it appears, shows no sign of leaving the side of our mad King. Whatever we do must be directed at Guthelm and we will hope that Valdark remains unaware of our plans. We must continue the charade of our loyalty until we strike. Then Valdark may see that Guthelm is no longer and accept a new ruler."

Grumandria

Turncoats came against him. His anger was immense. He heard from many sources that his nobles were in disagreement back in Grumandria. Justice in the Kingdom was being contested. Disagreements about who should give judgement and who should carry justice out, in the absence of the King. Lords he had demanded should be sent to join him in Shalirion were not coming. Lords and Knights were making excuses, slipping home to protect their inheritances. Somehow they could no longer fear him. They had seen the vanguard of his army smashed and scattered in the Cromil Valley. The Pelancirians refused to come to his aid! They were upset about the nature of his attacks on Bricas, and were unhappy with his prosecution of the war. Charlerion had been angry with the bloodletting in Cromilil and other places. Charlerion had said he was fighting on too many fronts.

Guthelm was dangerous and angry, but he was no longer in complete command. Fear was not enough any more. His Lords from Grumandria sensed the way the wind was blowing, and failed to come to his aid. They were safer at home!

Valdark said to Guthelm, "If you wish to keep your throne sire you must return home to keep order." Even as he said it his wizards were mumbling about Guthelm and receiving overtures from King Charlerion for their support.

Guthelm's corrupted Lieutenants, greedy Lords and Barons held sway. The cruelty which went on in his name, the tortured women, and worked to death men. Slavery of many kinds existed in so many ways. Servants, retainers, bonded men and women, peasants obedient to their Lords, who had forgotten where they and their ancestors came from. Once they were a tribe, a people, a community with leaders and representatives. Now they were a base people of servants and slaves, soldiers and concubines. Kings before Guthelm had brought them towards this point, and greedy Lords filled with the fantasy of their own power. Guthelm was the last straw, an ambitious King, who sought to plunder the whole world, who struck fear into all his enemies. He made enemies abroad and at home, fighting wars for their own sake, and becoming immune to the cruelty and disorder he created. He became the 'Mad' King, ordering his servants to conquer all, not realising that he was taking a city too far, driving terror into the hearts of Shalirionites who were too far away to be conquered, stretching his power too wide to be effective. Imagining his soldiers and wizards could work miracles when they were merely human. He lost sight and control of his own homeland.

There was much unrest in Grumandria. Guthelm's men were away in Shalirion, while hardship beset the Kingdom and the conquered territories. Subject populations saw the absence of Guthelm and become bolder, wanting to test his rule once again, bitter about the cruelties he inflicted when he was here, scared, but seeing their chances improved. When Charlerion offered to rule with justice and order many were persuaded to enter rebellion. Those who had beeen rebels already, some would follow Charlerion, some would watch and wait. Guthelm was obliged to leave Shalirion and return to fight the threat at home. Civil war took over in Grumandria, and foreign Pelancirian armies invaded quietly at first to support the supporters of their King. Guthelm retreated to Grumburg in the centre of his Kingdom, fighting for his own survival. Deserted even by some of his 'loyal lieutenants' who tried to revive their nation's fortunes by proposing a new leader, he was forced to retreat to the seat of his power.

"Plunge the black knife (sorcerous blade filled with magic) into his chest and take his soul," spoke Aribor powerfully. "Fling it into the darkest reaches of hell. Let his afterlife mirror the hell he created in this world!" His words finished the magic contained in the blade which was to be used. His old friend and adversary Aldareg had helped to give the magic more power by handling it and giving it his power too.

Two concubines were set up to the dangerous task of murder, filled with the magic of the wizards, used for the greater good. Was Valdark looking or not? Did he allow it to take place? His walls of magic, protecting the King, suspicious of every threat, every possible threat.

The King was in hearty mood. He had returned to the halls of Grumberg in Grumandria, his place of rule. He had just defeated another rebel Lord, and believed he had saved his throne. He had resisted total inebriation and returned to his royal bedroom with selected concubines -- the beautiful, wasted, withdrawn Kyla, who was with him in Cromilil. Unbeknown to the King she was primed for sacrifice, filled with sorcery to exact the death he deserves. The question is will Valdark or the loyal wizards notice. Because she was so well known and had been vacant and submissive for years she might avoid scrutiny.

Kyla's Story :

She had been with the King -- on the black ships from Animar. She was a young Grumandrian beauty in her twenties, her life scarred by this enslavement in the King's Household. The King came by her village with his retinue, looking for some traitors. Some of the village men were accused of plotting to overthrow the King, because they had spoken to one of the Lords -- Lord Shaffen, who had certainly insulted Guthelm's father in some way that would never now be known, because all that knew the tale were either dead or scared to mention the subject. Lord Shaffen had been publicly hanged and his body torn apart in Guthelm's capital of Grumberg. Those who had been his chief retainers then shared a similar fate, including many men from Kyla's own village, her own father and a brother included. Her own mother had been granted for selection by Guthelm's loyal henchmen and taken away, as she had been, but in a different direction. She had not been able to find out what had befallen her mother. She had assumed a Lord or a Knight must have chosen her as a concubine and taken her home, but it was quite possible that worse had befallen her. She could have been raped and killed as some had been in the suppression of her village, which had, as most had said, been loyal to the King anyway.

Another beauty was a fresh prize, picked by the plotters for her great savage beauty, sure to tempt the King. She was blonde and extremely well shaped, a recently acquired concubine named Helga. But she was not what she seemed either. The young woman whose body it was had been placed into deep sleep. An old concubine, Esmerelda, who now hated the King, but was once his favourite when in his and her prime, had volunteered to attempt to satisfy her deep hatred by trying to kill the King. She had lost favour and was replaced by many other concubines when she began to age. The King provided for her for a while, but refused to see her. Their original friendship and lust turned to hatred and rows and he cut her off completely, shunning her family also.

Esmerelda had been selected by the wizards as willing to risk all for vengeance and for Grumandria. Esmerelda's soul had been transferred by Aribor, with help from Aldareg and Eramzel, into the body of the young blonde Helga. Helga's persona had been put to sleep while Esmerelda took over. The body of Esmerelda lay in coma sleep in a cabin in thick forest near the Palace of Grumberg.

The Lady of the Bedchamber introduced Helga to him again. The last time he selected her was only a few days before, and he was besotted and very satisfied with her, but since then the wizards had exchanged the souls, using an unlikely mix of magics. The Lady could detect the King's interest rise immediately when he saw her again. He was in the right mood to enjoy a sexual bout with her. Unbeknown to the Lady Helga was now inhabited temporarily by a concubine she had once known well. The Lady of the Bedchamber had on a good number of occasions shared Guthelms's bed together with Esmerelda when they were both younger. Understandably she suspected nothing of the true identity of Esmerelda inside Helga's gorgeous body. The Lady offered Kyla as well. Either the King would select one of them or both, and it was clear that Helga had been chosen for sure.

"You are lovely," the King exclaimed, running fingers immediately over her pretty facial features and her neck. "I am looking forward to this. Come into my room gladly. I will take your clothes off for you." When the King offered to take a woman's clothes off for her you could be sure he must be besotted by her and curious to explore her body, as well as to find a place to satisfy his royal cock.

"Come Kyla, you as well," he invited his familiar concubine. "You can watch me devour her, and stroke me also. Take your clothes off and be ready!"

The Lady of the Bedchamber shut the bedroom door as they went in, and removed herself from the door, sitting in the waiting area not far away. She remembered the times, quite long ago, when she had been in that room with the King also. She was pleased that she did not have to submit to him any more, but there certainly had been a time when she had enjoyed his attention, when the King was younger, more handsome, before he had allowed the drinking and feasting to take its toll on his body.

She had not enjoyed the times when he had overused her, and the times when he had inflicted his powers upon her by causing pain or discomfort. Occasionally, but rarely, he had beaten her, taking aggression or other worries out on her. Some of the times, when he had given her to soldiers, generals, lords and even wizards as a temporary gift, or for her own punishment, she had often enjoyed, but often there had been too much.

Once she started looking older and less attractive she had taken to her new role with a mixture of resentment that he no longer needed her, and relief that she did not have to do all those sexual tasks that she did not enjoy so much, or risk beatings and physical or mental discomforts any more. She had managed to find occasional outlets for her own romantic or sexual needs, but she was no longer an ordinary woman once she became caught up in Guthelm's web. She would never become someone's ordinary wife. That possibility had gone many years ago.

Guthelm came to Helga, gently stripping the dress from her smooth shoulders and down the beautiful ripened body. Then the undergarments were taken off the smooth shoulders and dropped to the floor. "Step out of your shoes," he ordered, as he stroked his hands over one of the most perfect bodies he had ever seen, and he had seen many.

"Kyla, help me to undress!" the already naked dark haired concubine smoothly took off her master's tunic, as the King gently mauled at the fascinating new concubine. His middle aged spread hardly affected him as his cock stood eagerly to attention with the remaining zest of his long lost youth. Unusually he bothered to explore the delicious crevice of her cunt with his fingers, and even for a time with his tongue. The blonde woman moaned appropriately, pretending enjoyment. Indeed she did become lubricated. Lying down now she opened her legs wide, and invited the King to enter her. Greedily he fell upon her, submerging himself into her feminine beauty.

Kyla lay her hands upon his back in sensuous massage, until with one hand free she reached amongst her garment for the black knife and, compelled by sorcery and by hypnosis, plunged it deep into the side of the King's throat. Strangely the King had barely chance even to squeal as she drew it right across his ruined throat, then brought it out to stab his body repeatedly. Guthelm began to thrash wildly. His fingers found Helga's throat and began to squeeze the life out of her in his insane death grip. Kyla slashed and stabbed wildly at the King's bloodied hulk, creating the spurting of blood from many parts. He choked on his own blood, hands losing their grip on the young blonde's body. Little did he know that it was his oldest concubine Esmerelda who felt the murder in his last grip. But she was saved from death, as the mad King lost all consciousness, bleeding out the last beats of his heart. His time had finally come, but Esmerelda, inside Helga's body still lived, although she came close to asphyxiation. Helga would still have a beautiful body to return to, but it would take some time for the neck to recover. And Kyla, the murderess, would she live or die? So far she was alive, coming free from the spells which had taken her over, but what would those closest to her master do to her?

The Lady of the Bedchamber heard something, a whimper, and slishing, slashing sound. That could be the sounds of sexual congress. There was always sound when Guthelm engaged his concubines. Air being withheld, sucked in, finally released? Her suspicions were aroused, but Guthelm would not take kindly to interruption. She came to the door and listened. The sound of heavy breath, and now the splash of water? And something being knocked into. There was enough to be worth opening that door. Quietly she turned the handle. She must do her duty. One look was all it took. The King was on top of the new woman, blood all over him and over her! Raw red wounds all over and probably lifeless. The new woman Helga was squashed, she seemed lifeless too. And Kyla, where was she? She was over there in the shadows, on a small chair, blood spattered, more vacant than normal, a confused quizzical look on her face. Now she could see, sticking out of the King's back was a black knife, curved and wide with uneven cutting edges -- surely the murder weapon!

"Kyla!" she called out speechless. The Lady came in, looked closer at the King. She dared not touch her master, even to check whether he still breathed. At a glance it was obvious he must be dead. Who would wish to come back from the dead with those wounds all across the body and the throat a bloody mess. The bed was soaked crimson in pools of blood. The young woman below was unconscious and bloodied, but she detected breathing on her chest, and a throat washed with blood, but not torn. Somehow the Lady did not wish to see if the master might yet live. If he did yet live would life be worth it after this?

She was not in complete surprise. She thought swiftly that she had known this day would come one day, probably sooner rather than later. She had never thought it would come from this source, a concubine known well by the master, who had lost herself years before and had long since seemed to have no purpose. Perhaps it was from that unexpected direction, an empty headed vessel, long trusted, beyond suspicion, that death finally came to the master. The Lady felt no anger, nor did she feel herself threatened by Kyla. She knew her too well. She was shocked, but not surprised. Fate had finally showed its hand!

She was more worried about what came next. Obviously she must call the guards. She would not be able to save Kyla. Perhaps Helga was in the clear, they would investigate. Valdark himself would doubtless come. She feared for herself, and none of it was her fault. She was in the hands of the gods. There was nothing she could do or say.

Even Valdark was confused by the swop of minds. Guthelm was gone! He could see his master was gone. He searched the bloodied corpse for signs of life, but there was nothing left. The spirit had dispersed to another place, probably hell, given the King's actions in life. He could pursue to the afterlife, to hell itself, and the places in between, but what would the point be of chasing the dead King. Like everyone else Valdark knew his master would lose the loyalty of his Generals and his nobles as soon as he was incapacitated. The question was, where would they place their new loyalties? Would they reward a usurper, or a 'loyalist' who tried to step into Guthelm's shadow?