McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW

1260 CE

Mierta slowly approached the intruder from behind. He reached down and flipped the man onto his back. He stared into the face belonging to his father’s servant. “Ah. Armand. I suppose you overheard our entire conversation.”

When Armand’s eyes betrayed him, he opened his mouth to object, but Mierta replied, “No, don’t say anything. That wasn’t a question.” He then pointed his wand towards Armand’s chest.

Armand fearfully looked up at Mierta.

“You see, with just a slight wave of my wand I could stop your racing heart. Allow me to demonstrate.” He gestured with his wand then focused on Armand’s chest. “Sin pectora.”

Armand grimaced as he felt his body grow heavy and pain filled the centre of his chest. He looked directly into Mierta’s face as Armand raised a hand towards his body. It felt like the inside of his body was being squeezed together.

“Yes, you are already experiencing what it feels like to have your life fade before your eyes. Your body becomes so overwhelmed that your heart literally stops while you still have perfect blood flow.”

Armand opened his mouth, desperate to take in a deep breath, but he could not make his lungs obey him.

Mierta paused, almost enjoying the exhibition a little too much as he watched Armand struggle. He then thought better of it. “But I won’t kill you. No. Not yet.” He sighed and said, “Pectora cepus,” before lowering his wand.

Armand gasped again. He proceeded with a coughing fit, this time successfully forcing several breaths of air into his aching lungs until his heart returned to a normal beat.

“I reckon you will be more useful to me alive,” Mierta said. He turned around and began to walk away as he placed his wand back in his breeches. Abruptly he twirled around. “I will tell you exactly how we are going to proceed, and I can promise you this: it is not going to end well for you.” He looked away and frowned. “Which is quite the shame because I really liked you…until you decided to betray me. You have always been loyal and faithful to my family.” He smiled. “But, you, I have a much better use for you. Yes!” He spun around. “You shall be my volunteer. I have to know if the spell actually works.”

Lochlann looked confused. “But you just said he would be more useful alive?”

Mierta turned to the warlock. His face showed disappointment as he awkwardly gestured with his hands. “Who said I was going to kill him?” He lowered his hands, and gave himself a moment to calm. “Trust me, Lochlann, Armand is not going to reveal it was my poison, which was given to you on orders of her Majesty the queen,” Mierta declared.

“Traitors! Your heads shall roll for your treachery,” Armand cried out, “you will pay for plotting to kill the king!”

Mierta’s jaw opened. He pointed a finger towards Armand. “That is a load of bullocks. Lochlann, my brother, did you just hear what he called us?”

“But, he’s right. We are traitors, are we not? We’re both going to lose our heads for this!” Lochlann cried.

“Relax, Lochlann,” Mierta smirked. “Armand will not betray us, will you Armand?”

Armand looked dumbfounded at first, then shook his head rapidly, thinking it might be a good idea to play into their plan for the moment.

“Good. Now, prove to Lochlann I am correct and that you will still serve me by taking off your shirt.”

“Pardon, good Monsieur?” questioned Armand.

“You heard me. Go on then. Do as I say, and take off your shirt or I shall get very cross!” Mierta said, emphasising the last word. He frowned and continued, “I promise I will be done with you soon and then you can be off doing whatever you were doing, like helping my father get to Poveglia.”

Armand was stunned.

“You didn’t think I already knew of Father’s plan, did you?”

“Hang on,” Lochlann interrupted. “Father’s ill? Since when?”

Mierta glanced over to Lochlann and gave him a look that had “you can’t be serious” written all over it.

“He’ll be all right, yes?” Lochlann questioned.

Mierta softened his face and stared at the ground. “Father is already too far gone.” He looked up at Lochlann regretfully. “He is dying of Shreya. He’ll never make it there. I’m sorry. He didn’t want you to know.”

“But, you can cure him can’t you?” He got up close enough to Mierta to appear threatening. “Can’t you?!”

“No,” Mierta answered. “I have been trying to create a cure, but I have been unsuccessful. The only thing that can possibly help him is performing a pneumothorax technique and putting his sick lungs to rest. However, the fact remains is that we’ve all been exposed. Even I have become infected.”

Lochlann stood back and looked Mierta over. “That’s impossible! You aren’t showing any symptoms.”

“It matters not. It’s too late for me, but not for you. You both need to leave until the plague has passed. I shall write the queen, requesting she find a place at court for you lot.” He paused then abruptly tilted his head, brought it back and shook it, becoming irritated by Lochlann’s ability to distract him. He turned to Armand. “Now, back to business. Take off your shirt or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

Armand hesitated until Mierta had removed his wand from his breeches and had started to twirl it in his hand, waiting for Armand to obey him. Armand’s fingers fumbled as he unbuttoned each of the buttons on his wool shirt and removed it, tossing it aside.

“Good. Now, lay back,” Mierta commanded and positioned his wand in front of him.

Armand swallowed hard and then obeyed. He breathed in quickly. His racing heart could be seen each time his chest rose and fell.

Mierta smiled with satisfaction. “Ah. You see, Lochlann,” he said as he strutted toward Armand. “You can’t be a king without an army.” He pointed his wand again towards Armand’s heart.

Armand responded by clenching his fists tight and closing his eyes. He had no idea if what was to occur next would be painless, if Mierta would follow through and actually kill him this time, or if it would be something utterly excruciating.

“And you can’t have an army without subjects that will obey your every word.” Mierta looked up and stepped aside, presenting Armand with his wand. “Lochlann, I gift to you, your new second in command.” He turned back to Armand, “Curtreforéa draco machado!”

Armand’s eyes flew open and his back arched. He screamed at the top of his lungs. He was experiencing the most horrific burning sensation he had ever felt in his life.

Mierta beamed as he admired his own work while Lochlann stood next to him horrified.

“Mierta. Mierta, stop this madness!” Lochlann exclaimed. “You are not yourself!”

“I’m quite the opposite, Lochlann. You forget my wand’s core contains a werewolf claw, which allows me to master transfiguration. Behold!”

Lochlann turned just in time to watch the appearance of a dark blue circular tattoo forming onto the surface of Armand’s left shoulder. It continued to form until another image appeared, taking the shape of a magnificent red dragon engulfed by flames. The tattoo quickly came to life as the dragon’s head tilted back and roared, matching Armand’s cries.