It was difficult for King Manacia to admit failurea condition he'd rarely experienced in his long reign. From the beginning he'd worked patiently, gradually extending his borders until all but a few of the wildest regions had been subjugated. The others had been forced into alliances weighted so heavily on Manacia's side it meant the same thing. Soon all would recognize him as supreme monarch of the demon lands. But this was not enough. The king wanted more.
"It's not as if I do these things for myself, Fari, the king liked to say to his Grand Wazier. The future of all demonkind rests upon my shoulders."
And Lord Fari, who never reminded the king he'd heard these words before, always answered, I thank the gods each eventide, Majesty, they made your shoulders wide and strong enough to bear that holy burden."
The Grand Wazier was a wise old demon of nearly two hundred feastings. Skillful flattery and ruthless intrigue had allowed him to keep his head through four bloody successions to the Zanzair throne.
The king took heart from Fari's reassuring display of fealty, greeting the oft-repeated praise as if it were freshly coined. Then he'd frown, as if overtaken by yet another bleak thought. And he'd sigh, saying, Still, Fari, I'm sure there are some misguided ones in my kingdom who disagree. A few might even think me insane."
He'd sigh again, stroking his long curved horn. And shake his mighty head in sorrow.
"Only speak the names of these heretics, Majesty, was Fari's routine answer, and I shall have their lying tongues plucked from their mouths and their throats filled with hot sand."
"If only they understood as well as you, my dear fiend, was the king's formulaic response. Peace and plenty will always be denied us so long as more than one king commands the demon lands. It's only natural that there should be a single ruler for all."
And Fari would agree, saying, How else, O Great One, can we ever rid ourselves of chaos? Or end the years of war and banditry? One demon must rule. And that one, the dreamcatchers portend, is you, My Lord."
"But that isn't enough, Fari, the king would remind him. The humans must recognize me as well. I must be King of Kings. Ruler of all Esmir."
"I have dedicated the remainder of my humble life to that end, Majesty, Fari would answer. Demon history has long been awaiting one such as you. What other fiend has had your wisdom? Your strength? Your benevolence? Your sorcerous power? The gods have gifted us with your august presence, Majesty. There's no denying it. It's as plain as the mighty horn on your royal brow."
With that, Fari would knock his old head against the stone floor, then rise with some difficulty, gripping his great dragon bone cane and heaving himself up with much cracking of aging joints and tendons. Then he'd withdraw, his bone cane tap tap tapping against the stone, fainter, ever fainter, until he reached the distant doors to the vast throne room and disappeared beyond. He always left a contented king in his wake, a king with renewed vigor to dream his dreams and plot his plots.
There had only been one King of Kings of Esmirthe human, Alisarrian. It was Manacia's deeply held belief the time was ripe for another such historic occurrence. He was determined this time a demon would hold that scepter. There was no question that demon should be him. Manacia's entire reign had been dedicated to that goal. Yet as the years passed he began to fear he wouldn't be ready in time. That somewhere in the human lands another Alisarrian may have been bred. A conqueror with an army at his back who'd soon come knocking on his palace doors.
One night, as he prowled his Necromancium wondering if the answer to his troubles was hidden in the blackest of magical arts, there came the tap tap tap of Lord Fari's cane, the ghostly herald of the Grand Wazier's approach. When he heard the tapping Manacia turned away from a large jar containing a human head floating in brine. As he looked up Fari came through the portal, the air shimmering like the surface of a vertical pool.
"What news, Lord Fari? the king asked with exaggerated cheer. Has our wayward bandit finally returned?"
Fari, whose mind was deeply engaged in another matter, jolted up, scaly jowls rolling in a wave of surprise. What, Majesty? he asked. Then, Oh. You mean, Lord Sarn, Excellency. No, Majesty. There's still no word. I'm here on another matter, Excellency. One that requires your urgent attention."
But Manacia abruptly turned away, plunged into as foul a mood as he'd ever experienced. I've reviewed it from every side, Fari, he said. And I still don't see where I went wrong."
"Wrong, Majesty? Fari said. How can you think that? Give it more time. He'll appear any day now, loaded with spoils, bearing the maps you sought and demanding an enormous reward in that swaggering manner of his. Fari snorted. As if he were the only real fiend in the land."
"It's been nearly a year, Fari, Manacia said.
"So long, Majesty? I hadn't realized…"
"I might as well face it, the king said. I've wasted enough time and energy that could be put to a more positive use. Despite all our efforts, all our experiments and labors, the shield we built to protect Sarn from the curse wasn't good enough. And somewhere in the Forbidden Desert, perhaps just out of sight, his bones and his fiends bones are bleaching in the sun."
Fari thought, quite correctly, that perhaps the shield hadn't failed at all. Some natural misfortune might have befallen the bandit chief. But he hadn't lived so long by telling his monarchs what he truly thought. So when he saw which path the king was taking he quickly stepped in that direction.
He made a mournful face. I fear you are right, Excellency, he said. The shield has failed. I'll find out at once who is responsible for this appalling state of affairs and have them suitably tortured and put to death."
The king bared his fangs in what was meant to be a kindly smile. Spare them, he said. I too share the blame. And you as well, my dear friend."
Fari gaped, revealing whiter and sharper teeth than he had a right to own at his advanced age. Me, Majesty? What did I He wisely clipped that off. He rapped his bone cane and bowed. My name should top that list of failures, Excellency, he said. Tonight my wives will sing your praises when I tell them how you so generously spared this noble fool. Of course it was my fault! I take the whole blame, Majesty. A blame you should never dream of sharing."
Manacia waved a claw, silencing him. You know who this is, Fari? he asked, pointing at the human head floating in the jar.
The Grand Wazier stared at it. The human was a young adult. Possibly handsome onceby human standards. No, Excellency, I don't know him."
"This is the first creature I used to test the shield. Manacia chuckled. We tied a rope to his waist and used whips to drive him out into the Forbidden Desert. He'd taken not more than a dozen steps when he suddenly screamed, clutched his breast and fell to the ground. When we dragged him back he was dead, although there wasn't a mark on him to hint of the cause. He was a healthy creature straight from the royal slave pens. Clean. Well fed. I examined him myself. There was no reason for his death, other than the curse."
"I recall the incident, Majesty, Fari said, but not the human."
"How could you? Manacia said. There were so many. Demons as well. They were the worst kind of felons, of course."
"Of course, Majesty."
Manacia stared at the head, remembering the four years of experiments. He'd labored hard, delved into every nook and cranny of the magical sciences, casting spell after spell to create a shield strong enough to defy the ancient curse. The curse had been created hundreds of years before by a Treaty Council composed of both demon and human wizards. Its purpose was to permanently sever all contact between the two species, permanently ending the years of bloody strife and war-ravaged harvests that followed the fall of Alisarrian's empire. It was believed by all the curse would be impossible for even the greatest sorcerer to render harmless.