Seth tried to raise his arm from the cold marble floor. Pain erupted in his elbow. He writhed, releasing the hilt of his sword.
"How did you ever expect
to defeat me, field boy?" said the emperor, laughing. Green silk hung over his torso. A red-stained slit ran down the side of his
“Samothet promised me strength,”
said Seth. Blood slid from the corner of
“The False God? How quaint, a farmer smitten with idols.” The emperor strode forward.
“I saw him, the real Samothet.” Seth clenched his teeth. “He told me to slay the emperor at all
costs. The Shadow Lord is rising and our
only hope for survival is to restore the Royal Bloodline.”
The emperor spat into Seth’s
ruffled brown hair. “Prince Harold is a
fool. He couldn’t lead our country
against an ogre, much less the Shadow Lord.”
“Liar,” Seth growled. “Prince Harold is a far greater man than you.”
The emperor smiled. “Your little Prince is locked in a tower in
Thebe guarded by a thousand of my strongest infantry.” He picked Seth’s sword up from the
floor. “No one shall stop the Shadow
Lord from rising.”
Seth gasped. “You snake!
The Shadow Lord shall kill us all, especially the one who helped bring
“No, boy,” said the
emperor. “You shan’t live for him to
kill you. A pity.”