Removing a mask

Under the light of a waning moon, dark figures slipped through Eldoria's wooded borderlands toward the distant palace spires. Vincent's spy, the dissolute Lord Rathmore, sneered at his armed escorts from on top of an armored palfrey.

"Remember our mission," he hissed down at them. "Get me inside by any guise required. I'll handle the rest once amongst that arrogant brat queen's court."

The mercenaries gave crude nods, checking concealed weapons and vials of alchemical smoke in preparation for breaching the walls if needed. Let Vincent scheme all he liked, they cared only for bloody payment!

As the interlopers neared, a flurry of motion from the shadowed trees took them by surprise. Quicker than thought, razor wire snared and dragged the lead scouts into inky blackness with muffled shouts.

"What devilry-?" Lord Rathmore had barely time to react before his horse was savagely tripped and he slammed to the ground. Armored boots planted themselves around him, strangers emerging as if from the very darkness itself.

"We'll take it from here, my pretentious lord," sneered a voice as hands wrenched Rathmore's arms behind his back. A cruel chuckle echoed as shadows swallowed his consciousness completely...

Some time later in the palace's alchemical workshop, Lady Amethyst examined the slumped form of Lord Rathmore secured with ensorcelled chains and wards. Their infiltration attempt had been pitifully sloppy.

"One of Vincent's lackeys, sent to probe our activities here no doubt," she mused coolly to Eleanor beside her. The queen frowned, concerned at such underhanded skulduggery but Amethyst waved her off. "Fear not Your Grace, his arrogance shall be swiftly leashed."

Murmuring an incantation, Amethyst withdrew a potion of insidious purple liquid from amongst her supplies. "I've prepared a special philter to extract his master's motives." With a deft hand, she forced the unconscious lord's jaw open to administer the draught.

Immediately Rathmore's eyes flew wide, staring and frozen as the mystical serum took hold.

"Now we shall have some sport unveiling Vincent's schemes...unless you wish to depart?" Amethyst turned a cool, catlike smile on Eleanor.

The queen hesitated, repulsed yet undeniably intrigued at deploying such ruthless tools. But resolve soon followed - to protect herself and kin, she could ill afford naivete with the enemy moving aggressively against her now.

"By all means, extract what you can, my lady. If Vincent means to unravel our work from within these very walls, we shall unravel his agenda first!" Covert circle? Then she would ensure that any spies of his quickly rued intruding where they didn't belong...

***

The palace dining hall fairly glittered under candlelight and chandeliers that evening. Courtiers milled in their opulent finery, sipping goblets of spiced wine while musicians played airy refrains.

All smiled and greeted the arriving Eleanor genially, none suspecting their queen's covert activities just hours before.

Gregory cut an imposing figure at the head table, cape billowing as he turned to receive her with paternal embrace. "Ah, there you are my dear! We are honored by your mystic guest's attendance as well." He eyed Lady Amethyst shrewdly as she inclined a shallow curtsy.

"Indeed, Sir Gregory. I am most intrigued by Eldoria's...robust hospitality," Amethyst replied smoothly, betraying no hint of irony or the interrogation unfolding in the dungeons below. "Her Majesty has been an unparalleled host."

Seeming placated, Gregory nodded and took his place as attendants began the ceremonial procession of courses. Throughout each delicate roasted pheasant and chilled fruit compote, Eleanor forced her mind to remain anchored in the revelry.

Halfway through the meal, Lady Amethyst rose with a half bow.

"Excuse me, I need a quick break from the table," she murmured.

Everyone except Eleanor assumed that their guest was only taking a bathroom break.

No matter her uncle's probing glances between hollow laughs, Elenor would maintain a facade of perfect poise and ignorance. All the while praying Amethyst's unseen work extracted vital truths from that upstart Vincent's meddlesome agent...

The interrogation itself played out in grimmer confines below the feasting hall. Ensorcelled chains biting deep, Lord Rathmore could only gibber in terror as shadows danced with Amethyst's murmurs. Inexorably her spells wormed past his fragile mind's defenses to extract every last damning fragment.

At her mere thought, pictures of Vincent's treacherous war councils and black magic liaisons blossomed in Rathmore's straining eyes. His gurgles became tortured whimpers as she implacably mined the depths of his wretched deceits.

"Do not resist," Amethyst crooned with mordant delight, savoring each revelation laid bare. "Why allow your pathetic master to endure his overdue humiliation?"

And humiliation there was to uncover in abundance! Rathmore's mind held court with the darkest recesses of Eldoria's shadows...realms of immortal undead princes and rituals intended to ensnare kingdoms for an eternity of subjugation.

Truly, Eleanor and her allies had only begun to appreciate how insidious Vincent's depravities had become without their vigilance!

Above in the raucous dining hall, Eleanor stifled a shudder of dread between swallows of dessert wine. Her course ahead only grew more perilous by the hour, it seemed. But forewarned now at least by the lurking terrors compromised from within.

Eleanor had to resist the urge to glance repeatedly at the floor, imagining she could somehow peer through the stone into the shadowed depths below where Amethyst interrogated Rathmore. She focused on maintaining her poise, nodding and laughing at Gregory's attempts at humor while making polite conversation with the courtiers flanking her.

All the while, her mind raced with the implications of what Amethyst might be uncovering. Vincent's betrayal seemed to stretch deeper than she could have imagined - undead princes, immortal subjugation, black magic rituals. Had he truly descended to consorting with such evils in his lust for power? The thought made her ill.

Mercifully, the endless parade of courses eventually drew to a close with the final bites of french cream pastries.

Eleanor rose, putting on a smile as she addressed the court. "My friends, it has been a truly delightful evening in your company. But I'm afraid it’s getting a bit late for me because an early journey awaits us tomorrow."

A murmur of polite protests went around the table, but she raised a hand.

"Please, there is no need for such generosity. I insist you all enjoy the evening's remaining festivities without me." With a last nod to Gregory, she turned and made her exit, Amethyst falling into step just behind.

No words passed between them until they had reached the shadowed recesses of a quiet corridor. It was Eleanor who broke the silence, voice strained. "Well? What did you unveil from that wretched soul?"

Amethyst's expression was grim. "A great deal, Your Majesty. And precious little that does not chill the blood..." She proceeded to recount all she had extracted from Rathmore's tortured mind - the forbidden tomes, occult rituals, unholy allies. Eleanor paled with each new revelation.

"Vincent has been crawling deeper into darkness than even I dared fear," the sorceress concluded. "His selfish ambitions know no bounds that he will not traverse."

Eleanor felt her hands trembling as the full weight of her former friend's depravity came crashing down. She steadied herself against the cool stone wall.

"Then we must move quickly to cut this blight from the soul of Eldoria, before his poison can take further hold." Her voice was hard, resolute in spite of the dread coiling in her breast. "Tomorrow morning at dawn, we will make for the Quothan Isles...

Eleanor tried to keep her hands from shaking as she strode back toward her chambers, Amethyst in tow. Vincent's betrayal cut deeper than she could have imagined. Undead princes? Immortal subjugation rituals? Just how far had her former friend descended into darkness?

As soon as they were behind closed doors, Eleanor whirled on the enigmatic sorceress. "Tell me everything. Don't leave out a single horrific detail."

Amethyst's expression was as inscrutable as ever, but there was a glint in her eye that sent a chill down Eleanor's spine. "Where to begin? Lord Rathmore's mind held the keys to unlock the darkest, most twisted aspects of Vincent's plans."

She waved her hand and shadowy forms began to take shape in the air between them - visions plucked from Rathmore's memories. Hulking, twisted humanoid forms shambled past, their decayed flesh knitting together with foul magics.

"An undead army," Amethyst intoned. "But these are no mere reanimated corpses under Vincent's control. He has discovered forbidden techniques to bind souls to rot-vessels - perversions of the sacred rituals that create deathless guardians."

The visions shifted to crumbling tombs and sinister figures chanting over lurid sigils, power radiating outward in pulsing waves. "Through allies in darkest epochs and visions gleaned from eldritch tomes, he seeks mastery over life and death itself."

Eleanor felt bile rising in her throat. "You can't mean...he's pursuing immortality? True immortality? Is he crazy?"

"Nothing so pedestrian," Amethyst scoffed. "His designs are far more wicked - and spectacular in their overwhelming ambition."

With a gesture, the visions contracted into a swirling maelstrom of shadow and flame, coalescing into a towering horned figure whose very presence seemed to suck warmth from the air.

A scream escaped from Eleanor’s throat at this.

"Vincent means to strike a bargain with the undying nobility of the nether realms. By unleashing their dread forces upon our realm, he would become...an eternal staging ground for their influence to bleed through the veil between worlds. His dominion would last until the stars burn out,” Amethyst continued.

Eleanor stumbled back, one hand clutching at a cupboard for support as she stared at the terrifying apparition. "No...that's not possible. It can't be..."

"Can't it?" Amethyst's voice was little more than a silken purr, sending a shiver down Eleanor's spine. "We both know better than to underestimate the depths of obsession to which your former compatriot has plunged."

With a contemptuous flick of her fingers, the sorceress banished the shadowy visions. A heavy silence fell between them, thick as a pall.

Finally, Eleanor found her voice - little more than a hoarse rasp. "Then we truly have no choice. Vincent's madness must be ended, no matter the cost." Her fingers tightened into a white-knuckled fist. "Make preparations to depart at first light. We sail for the Quothan Isles for sure."