Chess With Agatha (Chapter 2.5) – Hemmingbyrd’s Dream

Chess With Agatha…

and the Dark Fortress of Doom

A Novel by DarkJade

CHAPTER TWO (Part Two) – Hemmingbyrd’s Dream

THE BLACK FORTRESS OF DOOM

THE BLUE WIZARD HEMMINGBYRD’S TOWER OF MAGIC

The Blue Wizard Hemmingbyrd finds himself suddenly awake at a most ungodly hour.

“I woke in a tussle that night…“

“Body… Covered in the sweat of the Gods…”

“As I will surely do their bidding…”

“And soon I think…”

Hemmingbyrd sits up, legs over the side of his dark wood four post bed, and stretches as he wipes away the slumber from his eyes.

At first glance, one might not realize how young he looks, in his mid to late twenties at most, because of his white hair which he has in a braid that runs down his back.

But in reality, he is indeed quite old… For soon he shall see his five hundred and eleventh Birthday…

But he would rather not speak on that…

As Wizards don’t oft live beyond seven hundred and twelve…

And so he finds this most distressing…

So much left to do.

Hemmingbyrd stands and pulls his freshly washed blue robe over his head… And steps in large, uneven strides to the thick grey drapes that cover his great tower window…

He opens them to an early morning blue, purple and black sky…

“Ob it!” he exclaims, as he is often making up his own words and obscenities.

He had hoped that all things foul and evil had removed themselves without the help of him, or the Dark Fortress of Doom… For that is where he residess… Within the Dark Black Walls of this Great Fortress…

But of course, that was not the case… Evil… Awaits.

He shuts the drapes “Pfft” he sighs.

Something else that you wouldn’t notice at first about Hemmingbyrd, is the fact that he has light lavender eyes… Most unusual. And some say they actually darken when he is angry… Which he seldom is.

“But enough of all this” he speaks out loud to himself as he leaves his chamber…

Always making sure to break the length and rhythm of his steps and strides…

“To be unpredictable…”, or so he says “can be quite guiseful”, another one of his made up words.

His hands behind his back, he makes his long uneven steps down the dark and dismal corridor…

“How is it that I came into service to this Dark and Dreary place… The fact that I can not remember, is quite alarming” he continues thinking to himself.

Soon he will reach the Great and currently Empty Hall, of his once Noble King…

Who as we speak is imprisoned deep in the Dark Dungeons of Norawyn, hanging by chains, with but a beam of sunlight to keep him company…

“Depressing”.

But this part of the story will come later… Beyond her arrival.

Suddenly Hemmingbyrd takes out his Yellow Crystal Ball, some 4 inches in diameter, and sets it afloat before him as he walks…

Oh how he gazes at it most profusely… But there is not a thing.

And so he snatches it back out of the air and says…

“Round it!” which of course makes no sense.

As he enters The King’s abandoned Hall, pushing the Great Doors wide open… He proclaims these words…

“I had a Dream…” only to be terribly disappointed to see Iliad, The King’s Fool, standing upon the Great Thrown, dancing and singing in false gayety in order to entertain Jodan and Morr, The King’s Rooks as it were, who sat in chairs clapping and cheering him on.

“FOOL! BE GONE!!” Hemmingbyrd commanded as he approached the Thrown.

As Iliad runs out of the Thrown Room Hemmingbyrd grabs his shoulder as he runs by him, and brings his ear directly a spec away from his whispering mouth.

“Did you tell her about the Knights??” Hemmingbyrd inquires.

“I did… I did My Lord…” the fool replies.

“And what of the Magicians…” Hemmingbyrd continues.

“Indeed… Indeed My Lord… Two of each… As you say” he replied once more.

“Two?” Hemmingbyrd holds up two fingers inches from Iliad’s face.

“Yes” Iliad replies “Two…”.

“Be gone Fool!” Hemmingbyrd demanded once more, and Iliad runs off.

Jodan suddenly steps forward “We can no longer wait for this “Chosen” one to arrive Wizard…”.

Jodan is a dark brown haired, grizzly bearded fellow, and yet appears a bit noble.

Meanwhile the black haired, pale skinned Morr merely stirs his dark red drink, with his dagger, and smiles in his typical menacing way… Never looking up at Hemmingbyrd.

“Don’t you see!!” Hemmingbyrd proclaims.

“WE MUST!!” he insists as he waves his hands around.

“The Game Must Be Played!!!” he insists.

Jodan grimaces in disagreement, and returns to his seat.

Meanwhile, Hemmingbyrd suddenly freezes and speaks softly to himself.

“The Game? Must be played…” he says.

“THAT’S IT!!” he suddenly bellows, to Morr and Jodan’s dismay.

“SHE HAS YET TO PLAY THE GAME!!!” with this Hemmingbyrd turns and departs still speaking as he goes…

“I must consult the Stones…” are the last words that can be made out as he goes.

Jodan looks over at Morr who has finished his drink in one foul gulp…

“The old man’s mad…” and smiles at Morr.

“HAHAHAHA!!” They both begin to laugh maniacally.