The Emperor's Ring: The Pegasi Chronicles Book 4

By Allan McCarville

Save himself or save humanity? Hell of a choice for a twelve-year old.
The immortals, who serve the Dark Lord, are relentless in their efforts to eliminate the human child who has the potential to prevent them from destroying humanity.
The immortals now have a powerful human ally – a man whose greed and thirst for power could spell the end of humanity in both this world and in the parallel world.
The boy can stop them – by using the power of a mythical ring that has been lost for over three hundred years. According to legend, the one wearing the ring can exercise great power, power to stop the spread of evil. The human boy is destined to be the one.
The price for that power – his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan McCarville
• Release date: Oct 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990672125

Allan McCarville

Allan McCarville is an author and researcher who has a number of titles published in the genres of fantasy, crime thrillers and historical fiction. He and his family reside in Stittsville, Ontario where he does his best to make people think that he's normal. Apparently it's not working.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – A Captive Boy

Jasper Cove, PEI, This World

George Harcourt was filled with rage. If not for the coolness of the night air, the feel and smell of pine needles beneath him, he would swear he was having a nightmare.

He wasn’t believing any of the crap they’d fed him. Aliens and demons? Bullshit! Nevertheless, the reality was that Kyle, his foster son, was currently being held captive in that dilapidated house in front of him.

How long do we have to lie here? hissed Harcourt to the man lying beside him. Despite the coolness of the night, his hands gripping the shotgun were sweating. The sun had set almost two hours ago, and they had been in position for at least half an hour. So far, they had seen no movement in the house and Harcourt was all for storming inside, even though they weren’t even sure if the boy or his captors were inside.

We need to wait until the others scale the cliffs, answered Sam Gilmore, his voice hoarse. If we approach the house before they get in position, there’s a good chance the Rewera will just kill your boy and escape.

Harcourt tightened his grip on the shotgun in frustration. He was seething and wanted more than anything to get his hands on the people responsible for torturing Kyle; to just rip them apart. He didn’t care what they were called. The video of what the boy had been subjected to was permanently engraved inside his mind.

Kyle Davidson was only twelve years old and had been living with Harcourt and his wife for several months now, ever since child welfare had placed him with the Harcourts after he had been beaten by his drunken father. The previous afternoon the boy had been snatched from the beach by two strange men, who were something the man beside him called Rewera. Harcourt had to admit he was having a difficult time believing what he had been told about the Rewera. He didn’t believe they were immortal; didn’t believe they were humans possessed by demons.

He did, however, believe they were evil. Only something truly monstrous could torture a child the way Kyle had been.

Sam Gilmore could feel the tension radiating from the man lying beside him and placed a calming hand on Harcourt’s shoulder. We’ll save him, he whispered, hoping that Harcourt wouldn’t notice that his optimism was forced. The question that was uppermost in Gilmore’s mind as they lay concealed in the woods watching the house was: were they too late to save the boy?

He hoped not, but he knew all too well the type of evil holding the child.

The abandoned house they were observing was old, perched on top of a cliff overlooking a wide bay, vacant for nearly half a century. From their position they could see the back of the house, nothing more than a ghostly silhouette against the moonless sky. The back door hung wide open, an abyss against a dark wall, as if daring them to enter. The local kids all thought the place was haunted, sometimes daring one another to spend a night in the dilapidated home.

Such a place suited the Rewera perfectly.

The Rewera were humans who had voluntarily surrendered their souls to the Dark Lord in exchange for supernatural powers and immortality, immortality that was maintained by human sacrifice. Few knew that the Rewera existed, and most people would likely not believe such creatures roamed this world even if their presence was broadcast on national news channels or on the internet. Humans possessed by demons was the stuff of fiction and horror movies, not real life.

However, the Rewera were very real, very evil, and very, very dangerous. The young boy held captive within the house would surely attest to that.

Rewera thrived on fear and pain and Sam knew they would torture the boy, intending to cause as much suffering as they could before finally sacrificing him to their master. The longer they could subject the boy to pain and terror, the stronger their dark power became.

Gilmore had no doubt that Harcourt was itching to get his hands on the men who had taken his boy. Harcourt and the others had been briefed about the Rewera, but Gilmore was certain they still hadn’t fully understood what they were dealing with. They still saw the kidnappers as men, not the human-demons they really were.

Though once they witnessed what the Rewera were capable of, they’d understand all too well.

Gilmore would have preferred to have left Harcourt back at the Carver’s mansion with the others who were keeping watch over the other two children. However, he knew that if it was his kid being held, there was no way he would have allowed himself to be left behind. He just hoped he could control Harcourt once they made their move.

Remember, added Gilmore. I’m a Pegasi. The Rewera can sense my presence if we get anywhere within around thirty meters of one of them.

Harcourt’s nerves were frayed almost to the breaking point as he closely studied the man next to him. The man was human, at least he looked human, but claimed to be a descendant from a race of humans from another world. A claim which only strengthened Harcourt’s opinion that the strangers who arrived to help were all mentally unbalanced. He honestly didn’t care where they were from, or whether they were mentally stable or not. He didn’t care as long as they helped rescue his boy.

Harcourt had made two promises to himself: he was going to save Kyle, and that none of the sickos that took him would live to see the sunrise.

Suddenly light from a car’s headlamps poured between the trees as it turned onto the narrow lane that wound its way through the woods to the abandoned house. It took all of Harcourt’s self-control not to immediately charge up to the car and confront its occupants. The pressure of Gilmore’s hand on his shoulder increased slightly, an indication that the man next to him sensed his desire.

Give them a minute to get inside, whispered Gilmore. The fact they’re here means that Kyle is likely in there and still alive. At least, he hoped that was the case. Though, that would never be a concern he vocalized.

The two men watched in silence as three figures emerged from the car and strode towards the house. The figures reached the door and paused while one of them lit a lantern, their faces illuminated by its bright white light. Gilmore recognized them immediately for the creatures they truly were. They appeared human, but he knew they were Rewera.

The fact that they were lighting a lantern gave more evidence that the boy was still alive. With their enhanced vision, the Rewera had no need for light to see their way through the dark house. He was certain they lit the lamp so that Kyle could see them, increasing the boy’s terror as they prepared to torture him further.

Keep an eye out for any light shining out through the windows, Gilmore told Harcourt. That will give us an idea of where in the house they’re holding your boy. When we move in, we’ll have to be quick. Catch them before they have a chance to harm Kyle. He almost added more than they already have but caught himself before the words escaped his lips. Harcourt didn’t need reminding of what his boy had been subjected to.

The three immortals entered the house, flashes of light escaping through cracks in the boarded-up windows marking their progress. Gilmore watched the intermittent flashes, remembering the layout of the house, determining where the three Rewera were situated.

If the light disappeared completely, that would mean that they had moved to the front of the house. The front of the house faced out over the bay and opposite from where they were hidden. If that happened, then it would fall to Robinson and the others stationed at the front of the house to establish where they were.

Flickers of light filtered through the boards on the right-hand side of the door; the immortals had entered the kitchen. Gilmore frowned unhappily. The door to the cellar was in the kitchen, which was adjacent to the dining room. That meant the boy was probably being held in the basement. The stairs leading to the cellar would force the rescuers into a single file as they entered the lower level, making it difficult to catch the Rewera by surprise. Furthermore, he was a Pegasi, which meant that as soon as he entered the house the Rewera would be aware of his presence. That could prove fatal, not only for the boy, but also for the rescue party.

Larry Robinson would have to be the one to lead the others into the house. Gilmore was confident in the other man’s abilities, but he was certain that Robinson still didn’t believe what they were dealing with wasn’t human. He just hoped that disbelief didn’t get him killed.

Gilmore tapped Harcourt on the shoulder. Okay, they’re in the cellar. Robinson and the others will enter through the front door on the other side. Once we know they’re in, Robinson will signal me, and you’ll go in through the back and meet them in the hall outside the kitchen. Be extremely quiet, and do not go into the cellar until Robinson and the others are there with you. He gripped Harcourt’s shoulder even tighter. I know how badly you want to save your boy, but do not go into that cellar alone. You’ll only endanger us and the boy if you do.

When Harcourt didn’t acknowledge his instructions, Gilmore shook him. George, did you hear me?

Harcourt was impatient and had been seriously considering charging into the cellar after the three men. However, as much as he wanted to get his hands on them, he wasn’t willing to risk Kyle being harmed more than he already had been. Finally, Harcourt sighed Yes. I hear you, he murmured.

Gilmore gave Harcourt a reassuring squeeze before sending a text to Robinson detailing the location of the three immortals and the need for the other man to lead the raid. And warned him to keep a close eye on Harcourt.

He just hoped the kid was still alive. He hoped they could keep him that way.

But now it was time to move in.

Chapter 2 – A Whisper of Hope

Jasper Cove, PEI, This World

Larry Robinson cautiously inched his head above the edge of the cliff and peered at the house. He could see no signs of anyone, or anything, moving inside. The house was shrouded in darkness, a black shape silhouetted against a dark sky. All was quiet.

Too quiet.

He glanced down and waved, signalling his two companions to start their ascent. It was about a thirty-foot climb, but the red sandstone cliff face provided ample hand and foot holes to scale the height easily. He saw shadows moving beneath him and knew they were on their way up. He slithered over the edge and crawled through the deep grass before he stopped and waited for his two friends to reach him.

See anything? whispered Eve Hunter, her cultured London accented voice coming from his left side.

Nothing, Robinson responded.

A dark figure crawled up on his other side. So, rasped the voice of Walter Pidgeon, head of the local RCMP detachment, it looks deserted. You’re sure this is where they have the boy? Pidgeon had his service pistol but was wearing civilian clothes. This was one operation that would not find its way into any official reports. Each of the others were armed with unlicenced pistols, which was definitely illegal in this country. The fact that Pidgeon ignored the serious infraction was an indication of just how bizarre the past several days had been.

Both he and Pidgeon also carried a large mason jar, each of which contained almost a litre of holy water. He still wasn’t completely clear on how the water would have any effect on the three obviously delusional men they were after, but at this point he was willing to accept anything.

Robinson checked his cell phone, keeping a hand clasped over the screen to prevent the light revealing their presence. According to the ‘FindmyPhone’ app he’s there – or at least his cell phone is in there. That was what concerned all of them. Were the Rewera using the boy’s phone to draw them into a trap?

The old woman, Megan Zellars, had assured them that if the phone was in that house, then so was the boy. How she knew that with such certainty, Robinson had no idea. Though oddly enough, he believed the old woman. She claimed she was over a hundred and fifteen years old, was a Pegasi, and knew more about the Rewera than anyone else on this planet. Despite her age, the woman’s mind seemed as sharp as a tack.

The Rewera are immortal, she had told them, But that doesn’t make them overly bright. They’re arrogant, and believe that no one, especially ordinary humans, can outsmart them. They might have human guards watching the boy, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t. Their arrogance would lead them to think none are necessary.

The three watched for a few minutes, searching for any movement that might suggest guards.

Okay, whispered Robinson. I’m going to text Gilmore to let him know we’re in position and haven’t seen any movement or guards. It’s his call when we move.

Again, shielding the screen, Robinson sent a quick text. Less than two minutes later, his cell vibrated indicating Gilmore had replied. Keeping the screen shielded, Robinson read the text.

They haven’t seen any signs of movement either, Robinson informed his companions. Gilmore and Harcourt are going to move on the house in five minutes. They enter by the back; we go in the front.

Eve Hunter studied the dilapidated structure. Windows were boarded up, and but the front door was partially open. It may be old and decrepit, she remarked. But it’s a fair size place. Boy could be anywhere inside – if he’s there at all.

Again, that nagging doubt tickled the back of Robinson’s mind. What kind of kidnapper or extortionist would leave their hostage unguarded? Were they taunting them? It made no sense at all, unless either the boy wasn’t there - or he was already dead. Maybe they already killed the boy and left. All they would find when they entered the house would be the kid’s body and a cell phone. That would be the ultimate provocation. Robinson had just about convinced himself that the house was empty, except maybe for a child’s body.

Then he heard the growl of an approaching car and saw light reflecting off the trees that bordered the lane leading to the house. At this time of night, it could only be the kidnappers. The only reason they’d return was if the kid was still there, and still alive.

At least that’s what he hoped.

They heard the car come to a stop and the headlights went out. Evidently whoever was in the car was going to enter through the back door.

They waited for what seemed to be hours, but was almost certainly less than a few minutes.

His phone vibrated. He glanced at the text message and sent his acknowledgement.

Okay, he whispered, we’re moving in. They’re located in the cellar. The entrance for that is in the kitchen, which is the room to the right of back door. Harcourt will meet us near the entrance to the kitchen. I’ll go down into the cellar first; Walter, you follow me. He turned to Eve. I want Harcourt behind Walter, and you behind him.

Eve looked as if she was about to question Robinson’s instructions, but he held up his hand forestalling her objection. Gilmore is concerned that Harcourt might do something foolish to save his boy. I just want you to keep an eye on him until we hit the cellar.

Eve nodded her understanding; she knew from experience that an emotionally charged parent was unpredictable. What about Gilmore? Where’s he going to be? she asked.

Apparently he can’t get too close to those Rewera because being a Pegasi they’d sense his presence before we attack, he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. Once we throw the holy water around, he’ll come in behind us.

Robinson wasn’t sure if what Gilmore told him was the truth or just a pile of bullshit to cover his cowardice. Although he didn’t fully buy into all the bull they’d been told about the Rewera being immortal and that crap about another world, his gut told him that Gilmore at least wasn’t a coward.

Robinson mentally pictured the schematic of the house that Harcourt had sketched for them. Okay. Time to move in, he announced as he raised himself to his feet, crouched over, and sprinted to the steps leading up to the door, his two companions hot on his heels.

When they reached the steps, he held up his hand. We need to watch our step, he said in a hushed voice, pointing to the wooden steps leading up to the veranda in front of the door. If we’re to believe the old lady and Gilmore, these Rewera are supposed to have supernatural hearing.

A small grin and arched eyebrow on Walter and Eve’s part suggested that they, too, had some difficulty believing the claims made by Zellars and her two companions. Nevertheless, all three crept up the sides of the steps rather than the centre, cautiously putting their weight on the planks, just in case the claims turned out to have some credence.

A shadow suddenly emerged in front of them, and Robinson almost cried out in surprise, stifling it just as the figure came into focus. It was Harcourt, gripping his shotgun. After a tense moment of silence, Harcourt nodded and fell in line with the group as they continued moving. They silently made their way through the kitchen towards the door that led to the cellar and Robinson was relieved to find it was already wide open. They could hear voices coming up from the basement, but they couldn’t make out what was being said. Robinson held is finger to his lips to signify the need for silence.

Harcourt made to go through the door, but Robinson grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head. He pointed to himself, then to Pidgeon, then Harcourt, then Eve; indicating the order in which they would descend.

Harcourt looked like he was going to object but Robinson held up the jar he was holding. Harcourt nodded his understanding, although it was quite obvious he was anxious to go after the men who had kidnapped the boy.

Robinson and Pidgeon unscrewed the lids from the jars before creeping through the door and down the stairs. The stairs were uncomfortably narrow, the hand railing made from some type of unfinished wood supported by numerous rotten spindles. The entire structure looked like it could collapse at any moment.

Flickering light filtered up from the cellar and Robinson could see a landing halfway down where the stairs made a ninety-degree turn to the left. He couldn’t see exactly where the three men were, but he could hear them chatting and laughing. The laughter wasn’t jovial; it was sinister.

They crept down the stairs, stopping when they reached the landing, finally able to see the three men and their captive.

He froze, staring in shock at the scene in front of him. Robinson was thankful that he had insisted that Harcourt not be the first down the stairs. A young boy was stretched out on a table, his bare chest exposed, and one of the men hovered over him, running a blade of a knife along the exposed chest, obviously enjoying watching the boy whimper and squirm trying to avoid the knife.

Then the man’s expression changed to something truly malicious, as the grip he held around the knife tightened in preparation for the killing blow.

No! bellowed Robinson, flinging the contents of his jar across the room.

The room erupted in chaos as Pidgeon flung his water as well, the three men almost immediately began yelling, which soon morphed into something akin to a bestial howl.

However, even as they catapulted themselves off the landing and raced towards the kidnappers, Robinson saw the man with the knife thrust it downwards.

Chapter 3 – Rescued

The Old Watson House, Jasper Cove

The boy drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain in his foot assailing him every time he awoke, a reminder that this nightmare was real, not just a bad dream.

He was strapped to a cold metal table, unable to move. He tried to bend his knee slightly but that drove him to another level of torment. Groaning, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to lie still until the agonizing pain ebbed.

How could his toe hurt so much if his foot had been cut off? He recalled the agony of his toenail being ripped off before he had passed out so, thankfully, he didn’t recall the pain when that monster had cut off his foot. He wondered what they did with it. Was it possible for doctors to reattach it?

He tensed as another spasm of pain built up and hoped to pass out again.

Then the pain stopped. It was gone. Totally.

I’ve passed out again, or maybe I just died, Kyle thought hopefully as he was enveloped in a grey mist.

Then something materialized out of the greyness, a blue emerald set into a silver ring, hovering over him.

"Hello, Kyle" came a voice in his head.

Was the ring speaking to me? Kyle wondered. I’m either dead or I’m hallucinating.

"You’re neither dead nor delusional", intoned the voice. The voice was monotone, but Kyle thought he detected a chuckle in the reply.

I … I don’t understand, whimpered Kyle. He couldn’t recall a time when he had been more terrified. What’s going on? Why do you want to hurt me?

"I have not hurt you," said the voice. "The pain you suffer is caused by creatures of evil, simply because you are Jason’s friend." Kyle’s eyes widened.

Jason? They cut off my foot because of Jason? He could almost sense the ring shake its head no, even though he knew that was impossible.

They did not cut off your foot. They did take off your toenail, but your foot is still there.

It is? asked Kyle in disbelief.

"Jason is a very special person, Kyle, continued the voice. They want to weaken him by hurting his friends. If they can make you turn against him, then the strength you give him will be diminished."

None of this makes sense, groaned Kyle.

The evil that controls the humans who hurt you is made stronger by your fear and pain.

I’m scared, admitted Kyle with a sob. Admitting he was not as tough as he imagined shattered his self-image.

"The evil ones will soon return, Kyle," the voice informed him, "but so will those who will help you. I can take away your pain until help arrives, but I cannot give you courage. That comes from within you. Stay strong. Control your fear, Kyle. Focus on your friendship with Jason."

Then the mist cleared, and Kyle found himself back in the quiet cellar of the old house. Was that real? he asked himself. Or was I hallucinating because of the pain?

…Wait.

He raised his head enough that he could see his foot, something he was afraid to do earlier. No wonder it hurt so much, he thought when he saw the ravaged and bloodied toe. His foot, however, was clearly still there but the pain had vanished. If that part was true, was the rest also true?

Kyle lost track of time. All he could do was think and watch as the shadows lengthened from day to late evening. The agonizing pain in his damaged foot had not returned which helped him believe that the appearance of the ring had not just been a pain-fueled hallucination, that help was indeed coming for him.

Nevertheless, he was having trouble keeping his fear at bay. It was there, he could feel its icy tentacles trying to sink into his thoughts, and it took a great deal of effort to try to think about anything else, focusing his thoughts on his friends instead. In his mind he pictured Jason and Julie, the three of them racing along the beach chasing and being chased by Jason’s dog, Stein. He smiled when he recalled how at one time he had been terrified of the huge animal, believing the dog would devour him as an afternoon snack. How wrong he’d been.

The darkness of the cellar suddenly brightened signalling the return of this captors: Monks, and Williams. The two men, both carrying a lantern, walked over to Kyle, who was dismayed to see a third man move into the basement behind them. Like the other two, he was tall, muscular, and well dressed.

Hello, young fellow, chuckled Williams. The greeting was hollow, lacking both humour and warmth, as he gestured behind him. We’ve brought a friend with us who wants to join in our fun. This is John Pickett, and he is looking forward to spending time with you tonight as well.

Kyle watched, horrified as Pickett moved up next to him, light reflecting off the blade of a knife he flicked between his fingers. Monks moved to Kyle’s other side, grabbing the boy to prevent a struggle, lips curled into a sneer.

Hi, Kyle, chuckled Pickett before ripping Kyle’s shirt open, exposing his chest. Pickett smirked as he lightly ran the tip of the blade along Kyle’s ribs, causing the boy to involuntarily suck in his stomach as the cold steel ran across his skin.

Observing Pickett and Monks terrorize the boy, Williams allowed his demon to feed on the boy’s fear. Even while his demon feasted on the fear, however, Williams sensed something missing and he frowned as he tried to determine what it was.

Pickett wore a malicious sneer on his face. Just think, Kyle. You’re suffering here because of your friend, Jason. Pickett leaned close and stared into Kyle’s fearful eyes. Who do you hate most, Kyle? Is it your so-called friend Jason? Or is it your father? I bet it’s your old man; you must really despise him after everything he did, right?

Pickett wanted to fan the flames of hatred in Kyle. Hate would make the boy impulsive and emotional, making it easier to manipulate him, weaken him and subsequently weaken the energy available to the forces of the Light.

Kyle felt resentment building inside him at Pickett’s words, smouldering anger focussing on Jason. All of this was Jason’s fault!

No! He tried to push aside his anger, tried to let it go and ignore Pickett as the man’s knife traced his ribs.

But there was his father. Kyle recalled the pain his father had inflicted on him, how he had almost died because of him. His anger refocussed on him, and he felt it grow and grow, snowballing until he wanted to shout out his hatred. Then another image entered his mind. He saw his father as he had been, a man who was kind and gentle, not the man who became a mean drunk.

He hated the drunk, but he could not bring himself to hate that other man, who his dad had once been.

Williams was only half paying attention to the actions of Monks and Pickett, trying to determine what was missing from the child. The boy was terrified, he could sense his demon feeding on the boy’s fear. Then it all clicked, and he knew instantly what was missing. The boy should be suffering agonizing pain, but there was nothing there. Something was blocking the boy’s pain. But what?

The Pegasi! Williams realized. Only the Pegasi had the ability to block pain. They were here! But how?

Just as Williams came to that realization, chaos erupted. Suddenly there were other people in the room. Liquid flew across the room, splattering not only the three of them but the boy as well.

Pickett jumped as the demon inside him recoiled from whatever the liquid was that hit him. The demon possessing him howled and Pickett knew he was losing control of his body.

The last thing Pickett did as his demon-controlled body prepared to flee was to drive the knife downwards towards the boy’s chest.

Kyle screeched in abject terror in anticipation of the expected agony, his eyes wide and watching helplessly as the knife plunged towards his exposed chest. His muscles contracted involuntarily in anticipation of the blow he was powerless to prevent.

Then nothing.

For a brief second there was absolute silence, he couldn’t even hear his own screams. Then the cacophony of chaos returned, screams and yells competing with his own cries of terror.

The human-demon known as Pickett stared at the knife frozen scant millimetres above the boy’s chest, a look of bewilderment on his face. The last time that face displayed such an expression was almost three hundred years ago. No matter how hard he shoved, the knife would not move any closer to the boy’s body, frozen in place. Then an unseen force ripped the knife from his hands, throwing it onto the floor.

Pickett backed away from the boy, feeling an emotion he hadn’t felt since surrendering his soul to the darkness centuries before: fear.

The demon with which he had shared his body for all those centuries reacted with disgust and anger at whatever liquid had been sprayed over him, and Pickett could feel the demon struggling to take control of his body, it’s desire to escape the room far stronger than the desire to feed off the boy’s pain and fear.

An unseen force erupted from the boy, flinging Pickett across the room where he collided with a wall, sinking to the floor. Pickett saw the man, Harcourt, suddenly appear at the boy’s side, a shotgun in his hands.

Harcourt yelled an obscenity, pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. The double barrels exploded in flame, ripping Pickett’s chest apart as the buckshot tore into it.

Kyle shuddered; all his strength gone; he didn’t even have enough breath left to scream. His ears were ringing, the sound of the shotgun blast in the enclosed space had temporarily deafened him.

Harcourt was shouting something as he frantically pulled at the restraining straps, but whatever it was Kyle couldn’t hear it. He saw tears glistening on the man’s cheeks and basked in the feeling of security he felt when the straps fell away and Harcourt lifted him off the table.

"You’re safe now," said a voice. It took him a few seconds to realize the voice he heard was in his head, not spoken. He had heard that voice before; the voice that predicted he would be rescued.

PART 2 –A Simmering Malevolence

Chapter 4 –Attempted Assassination

The Royal Palace, River Junction, Kingdom of Pegasus

The Dark Lord would surely reward him for what he was about to do.

Yesterday, Assad had taken advantage of the hustle and bustle associated with the preparations for the prince’s birthday celebrations, slipping past palace security and planting the two barrels of thunder powder. Today, with over three hundred nobles, dignitaries and other notables flooding into the throne room, no one noticed as he again avoided the palace guards and found his way to the cramped area under the stage where the thrones were located.

In a matter of minutes, the Pegasi Royal Family would be dead by his hand, and the fallout of which would trigger the downfall of the Five Kingdoms soon after.

And it was he who would set everything in motion, an act that would gain him favour with the Dark Lord.

It took all of Assad’s concentration to control the demon that had possessed him over seven hundred years ago. It knew a bloodbath was coming and was stirring in almost unbridled anticipation. But Assad managed to control it. Barely.

He would wait until the speeches started, and once he heard the young prince making his presentation, he would light the fuse and escape. When the thunder powder exploded, he would already be outside of the palace walls, far from the explosion.

But for now, he waited, listening to the ceremony taking place above him, waiting for the young prince to take to the podium.

***

Prince Jason fidgeted impatiently in his chambers as his personal page, eleven-year-old Ryan, made the final adjustments to Jason’s scarlet uniform. They were waiting to be summoned to the throne room where the formal celebration of Jason’s twelfth birthday was about to take place.

Happy Birthday, your Highness, said Ryan, grinning mischievously. He knew Jason was annoyed when his friends referred to him by his title rather than by his name.

Thanks, Ryan, responded Jason returning the grin. You know I’m going to give you a thumping later for calling me that.

There was a knock on the door and Drummond entered. It’s time boys, he said.

Jason sighed unhappily and turned to Ryan, who was dressed in the formal livery of a pageboy and who appeared to be as uncomfortable as he was. I guess we’re on display, he said. He was definitely not looking forward to this.

Drummond led the two boys to another room that was situated across from the throne room that served as a staging area for grand entrances. Entering the room, Jason saw his uncle Richard wearing a dress uniform, along with his uncle’s servant, Jefferson, who, like Ryan, was also dressed in formal livery. Standing beside them were his grandparents, the King and Queen. The chatter in the room abruptly ended, as the group looked towards the new arrivals.

Richard glanced down at his nephew and went through the motions of adjusting the sash on the boy’s scarlet tunic. It didn’t really need adjusting, it just gave him something to do.

Happy Birthday, Jason, he said.

Thanks, Uncle Richard, sighed Jason. I’m not really looking forward to this. I hate people staring at me.

Richard nodded in acknowledgment. Yes, I understand how you feel. I’m hoping the private celebration tonight will be more enjoyable for you.

Me too, whispered Jason wistfully to himself.

Queen Isabella went up to Jason and gave him a huge hug. Happy Birthday, Jason, she said. "We have a gift