Intertwining Destinies

Chapter 42

Edinburgh Underground - Lord Sreng's chambers:

Two Fomorian nobles sat across from each other at the ends of the darkly polished mahogany table. While Lord Alpheus looked anxious and upset, Lord Sreng was barely able to contain the grin trying to curl his lip upward. The room painted in a rich hue of blue, was typically staged for a noble of the palace. A divan and plush chairs were placed for comfort, and a set of decanters rested on a glass topped counter. The only strange object in that space was a small camcorder mounted upon a tripod with a green LED blinking on it.

"What is this bizarre contraption?" Lord Alpheus asked, pointing.

"A human invention, Sire," Sreng replied. "It helps to purify the air."

Shrugging it off, Lord Alpheus pressed on. "Tell me, have you found the forest child?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Excellent! Have you disposed of her?"

With just a moment's delay, Sreng gave answer. "Yes."

"Good. A major catastrophe has been avoided. The prince is yet under the spell, which means that I am still safe. My nephew's demise is regrettable, and causes me great sorrow. If only I had been to the mines earlier. He might have been saved."

"I do not understand what you speak of, My Lord," Sreng said respectfully. "It is as if you know what was responsible for his heinous murder."

Alpheus nodded. "It was Prince Nuada."

Covering his surprise, he asked, "How can you be so sure?"

"Hear this," Alpheus bade him, and he began to recite, "Your King will fall, and so will you. Your evil will be thwarted by the one from whom you snatched all." He then explained, "This was the prophecy given me by the creature of Death when I ventured down the mines of Bethmoora. It is also the seat where the Golden Army sleeps."

"But you never snatched a thing from the Prince. He is still...a prince."

Lord Alpheus scoffed. "You have no notion of what you speak."

"Enlighten me, please, My Lord. My only wish is to protect you. Perhaps, it will help me understand the strange circumstances taking place."

Sreng's pledge of loyalty placated Alpheus's lonely, hollow heart. Maybe it was time that another knew of his secret. Even though he could not save Bres, he had to make sure that he survived the dismal prophecy of the old crone.

"It is a long tale."

Sreng bowed his head. "My time is yours, My Lord."

"Very well. Here it is." A hint of smile appeared on Alpheus's face. "When the Bethmooran twins were born, Balor and Bridgette doted on the newborns like they were their sun and moon. Bridgette spent most of her days nursing the babes, even though the palace had brownies enough for that purpose. My nephew was often neglected by his mother."

"Pardon me, My Lord," Sreng interrupted. "Wouldn't His Highness have been over a century old, by then?"

"He was, but I did not like the fact of Bridgette failing to care for my nephew well enough. If not for me, he would've had to train like that bull-headed Nuada."

"Tragic." Sreng nodded in agreement.

"I spoke to my sister-in-law and prohibited her from sending Bres to the fighting ring. He could attend for the exercise to develop his body, but nothing more. I didn't want a scratch on my precious boy. He had to be king someday." Alpheus's voice choked with emotion. "Despite all I did to protect him, that wretched elf child was still able to hurt my dear boy."