Ulthar lit a thick candle, its tallow slowly melting across the old wooden desk.
He dipped his quill into the ink and began to write.
"Where is that going, master, at this hour of the night?" a voice asked from behind his shoulder.
"Not now, Carix."
The skull drifted away from the Magister.
It had no body.
No hands.
No legs.
It was nothing more than a human skull, floating lazily through the air.
"You don't usually write letters in the middle of the night... that's all, my master."
"It's an unusual situation, Carix."
"You're going to make me make a mistake."
Ulthar turned to face the skull.
"You know I don't like making mistakes."
Carix's teeth rattled nervously.
"I suppose you could bite down on the letter and carry it, couldn't you?"
"I could, master."
"But then you couldn't tie it to the raven."
"Everyone knows you fly far too slowly."
"So you're not especially useful, are you?"
"There was no need for that attack, my master."
Ulthar muttered a curse beneath his breath, opened the door, and hurried up the stone staircase, leaving Carix behind.
The cawing grew louder in the tower room.
The cages stood open, yet none of the ravens showed any desire to leave.
"Whoever said hawks are better than ravens?"
He chuckled.
"Not me."
"You're perfectly adequate."
He caught one of the birds in his hands.
The raven stared at him sideways, its fear unmistakable.
"Fly swiftly, my friend."
"Find Argar."
"He'll be pleased to hear visitors will soon be passing his way."
The raven launched into the night with the letter tied securely to its leg.
Ulthar watched until it disappeared above the endless marsh.
"Yes, Argar..."
"I've spoiled you."
"I always send you the finest prey."
"Even Dyran doesn't indulge you like I do."
"He sees you as little more than..."
"...an animal."
"A monster, perhaps."
"He doesn't see what I see."
"He doesn't see your limitless potential."
Satisfied, Ulthar returned to bed.
His sleep was deep...
...and dreamless.
A magnificent fire roared within the cavern.
Argar let out a satisfied growl.
The woman wrapped her arms around his leg, her eyes half-open as they gazed up at him.
Her pupils had shrunk to tiny points.
Her mind was somewhere far away...
...lost.
Footsteps echoed through the cavern.
Argar rose from his throne, carelessly kicking the woman aside.
She didn't react.
She barely seemed aware she'd fallen face-first onto the stone.
She felt neither pain...
...nor fear.
She felt nothing at all.
Only the inhuman voice of the creature echoed through the cavern walls.
"What do you want at this hour, slave?"
"Don't you know I'm spending time with my brides?"
The messenger felt his stomach tighten.
His eyes remained fixed upward upon Argar's immense figure.
The horned king stood a full head taller than the tallest man, his white horns tapering to cruel points like spears. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, larger than a horse's haunches.
His axe gleamed in the firelight.
Fresh blood still stained its blade.
At his feet knelt his brides.
Drugged.
Enslaved.
The kidnapped daughters of noble houses, reduced to trophies of the horned king who ruled the pass.
"A letter in the middle of the night, mighty Argar..." the messenger stammered, his hands trembling with sweat.
Argar snorted impatiently.
The man unrolled the small scroll.
He knew Argar couldn't read.
"It's from Lord Ulthar Alaos..."
"...the Magister of Kertos."
"I know who he is."
"He says a group of warriors is heading toward your lands, mighty Argar."
"He believes they're a threat."
"Perhaps even a danger."
"They're searching for Dyran."
"He says one of them is a notorious killer."
"And finally..."
Argar snorted again.
One of the blonde women at his feet murmured softly with pleasure.
The messenger risked a glance.
Her graceful body glistened with fragrant oils.
She smelled like a dream.
Her breasts hung before him like forbidden fruit.
Argar noticed the flicker of lust in the man's eyes.
He found it amusing.
"He says..."
"...you must stop them at all costs, my lord."
The messenger folded the scroll shut inside his trembling hand.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, my lord."
Argar lifted his axe.
Its blade scraped across the stone floor.
Steel shrieked against rock.
The messenger's blood froze.
"No..."
His voice barely escaped his throat.
"My lord... why?"
"I've done nothing."
"I've served you faithfully!"
The axe sang through the air.
His head flew clean from his shoulders.
It struck the far wall with a sickening crack before the body had even collapsed.
A perfect blow.
Swift...
...and devastating.
The fire continued to burn.
Blood slowly spread across the floor like a crimson carpet before Argar's throne.
The horned king sat back down and admired his handiwork.
Moments later, the women crawled back to his feet, whispering words of praise, desire, and worship that fed both his vanity and his appetite.
"Let them come," Argar said with a satisfied smile as he stroked their heads.