Chapter 13

Doctor Merrill’s mouth widened into a grin. “A book? A book? Are you quite sure?”

“I am.”

The doctor shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t believe it. All this time, I was afraid of…a book!” He crossed the room to rummage through a volume-lined cabinet, still chuckling. “The last obstacle to my plan, and all this time it was just – a book!”

“Traitor,” Eve said quietly, through clenched teeth.

“Am I, my dear? Or am I a patriot? It all depends on your point of view. The strong rule over the weak, do they not? I have just proven myself stronger than your father. Even he, with all his acclaimed prophetic ability, is no match for a brilliant mind like mine. Yes, it was I who studied the secret of the Ty’Goth and learned the spell that would awaken them. And I who use them now to accomplish my purpose.”

Archen stood to face the doctor. “But you’ve betrayed your King. Your people will be slaughtered—“

“Only as many as refuse to surrender,” the doctor said gently. “All who agree to swear allegiance to me will be spared. History will judge me kindly for that, I believe.”

Archen drew his sword. “History may. I do not.”

“Ah, yes. And now we come to the comedy act of our little play.”

Archen frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“They really made you believe you were something fine, didn’t they? Archen, our hero! The man who would save the world!” He slammed shut the cabinet door and approached the young warrior, one hand concealed in the folds of his robe. “Oh, I do think this will be my favorite part of all.”

***

With a savage cry, the battle was joined before the gates of Yasalle. Clawed hands and feet found holds and began to scale the walls. The archers had done their work and four out of five tumbled to the ground with an arrow through the heart. Yet as the minutes progressed and each dead Ty’Goth was replaced immediately with two living, those brave men on the fortress walls felt their courage begin to melt.

***

Doctor Merrill’s hand shot forward as he cried out, “Revelitas!” A cloud of fine blue powder flew into Archen’s face and the sound of an explosion rocked the room. He collapsed to the ground in white hot agony. The surface of his skin burned, and he felt as if every bone in his body had been broken. He could not see, could not think, as he lay helpless on the floor, waiting for death.

It did not come. Instead, his vision gradually cleared and new strength infused his limbs. As he looked up at the doctor’s mocking smile, he felt the prison walls of his memory crumble away.

In a flash he recalled his nightmare. He had been there, he remembered. He had watched the frightened young man run through the woods, pursued on every side. Archen had waited patiently under the tree for his prey – his prey, the messenger the King had sent! In horror, Archen examined his body, finding not smooth flesh but leathery, reptilian skin and cruel, clawed hands. He felt the sharp fangs of his jaw and heard his own rasping breath.

He remembered it all now – he was a monster. He was a Ty’Goth.

His name was Kaisef. And he had killed the King's messenger.