"So that, my men, is the plan," Lord Dyrant chuckled, an evil grin spreading across his face. With jet black hair, dark eyes, and a neatly kept beard, Lord Dyrant had always considered himself to be the perfect match for Princess Floricia--that is, until she downright refused him. Now, he was determined to make her pay for that, and pay hard, too. He would murder her father, King Jauhn, making himself king, while she became merely a peasant.

Lord Dyrant gloated over his future success. "Now, my men, shall we rest ourselves before undertaking this historic journey? After all, we would not want to beware His Majesty."

The Black Knights gathered their equipment together and rode toward the castle. They all had high respect for their leader, and earnestly desired that he would become king. With all the royal treasures of gold and jewels that he was promising them, the plan might be really profitable.

Inside the castle, several groups of knights were discussing the previous meeting.

"Jinsen--you goin' with them?" A particularly heavyset man with a jolly-looking face asked his buddy.

"Why not?" Jinsen replied, sarcastically. "When I get done, I'll be the richest knight in Sachenland. You'll be crawlin' beneath my table, beggin' for scraps. Who couldn't want more?"

"Come on," his companion's face turned a deeper shade of red, and his fingers tightened into fat, muscular fists. "I never said I weren't goin! Just that I don't face riskin' my neck. S'pose the king finds out. He sure don't let himself get killed. Lord Dyrant's no good any-"

The knight was interrupted by footsteps. Spinning around, he glimpsed a flash of a young lad, around eighteen years or so, darting out of the room.

"Hey, you!" Jinsen shouted, having caught the boy by a fold of his cape. "What were you just doin' here? Spit it out, squire."

"I wasn't doing any harm, honest, sire." The boy struggled to get free. "I didn't mean to overhear you both. I wasn't spying. Please, let me go."

"Okay, squire boy, I'll let you go. But, I'm tellin' Dyrant, and whatever he does to you is his decision." After further reprimanding the squire some more, Jinsen finally released him.

Running quickly away from the two knights, Squire Greyith dashed into the nearest chamber. He suddenly realized that what he had just overheard was something very serious. Since he wasn't a knight yet--not for a few more years--he hadn't gone to the meeting with Lord Dyrant. But, he'd heard enough already to get the idea of what was going on.

They want to kill the king, Greyith thought to himself. But who does, and why?

Greyith had never actually seen the king. He had heard about things from some of the knights who travelled all over the country, but most of what they'd said about the king was good. So why would they want to kill the king now? Greyith didn't know, but he wanted to find out.

That instant, four knights came barging into the room, trailed by Lord Dyrant himself. It didn't take Greyith long to see that two of the knights were the exact ones he had earlier encountered. It also didn't take him very long to notice that all five of them were very furious, especially Lord Dyrant.

"Now, my boy, what is this my men have told me?" Lord Dyrant questioned, his dark eyes blazing with hidden anger. "You were spying on my knights--admit it!"

"I--Lord Dyrant, sire, I was walking by, and overheard them. I didn't--" Greyith was abruptly cut off in the middle of his defense.

"This wretched beast, stool pigeon for the royal house. My men, I say, we shall scupper him," Lord Dyrant thundered, boiling with rage. "No scoundrel will prevent me from carrying out my plan. My men, take this--this nark--and lock him in a dungeon cell."

"Indeed, my Lord," the knights chimed in unison, each laying a firm grip on the helpless lad.

Quickly, they led Greyith through the dark halls, down the stone steps, and into the musty, cold castle cellar. Cobwebs drifted down from the low ceiling. All throughout the room were torture devices of every imaginable kind. A guillotine blocked the path in front of them, its razor sharp blade hungry for blood. As they walked around it, Greyith saw an iron maiden, black and casketlike, and a wooden rack. Two sets of manicles were on the rack, ready to firmly hold down their next victim.

As they neared the iron maiden, Greyith could see that the open door of the tall metal box held long iron spikes which protruded inward. When a prisoner was placed inside the box, the door would close and the spikes would impale the victim.

Farther in the room, Greyith saw several more racks, used to gradually stretch a person apart. On his left, he saw a crushing press, which would ever so slowly squeeze a person until every bone in their body was pulverized. Next to it, Greyith noticed a cutting machine also used for torture: it could cleanly slice off fingers, toes, and even whole arms and legs.

Greyith shuddered, not wanting to even think what it would be like to face death in this chamber. He was glad when they left it. The next room they entered was actually a hallway, with single, dark cells lining both sides. Peering into one of them, he recognized the faint outline of a human skeleton crumbling on the floor.

Hearing Greyith's cry of alarm, the knight beside him, who still had a firm hold on his arm, turned to see what was wrong. The knight's gaze fell on the cell where Greyith had been looking. Shock filled the knight's face as he also saw the bones--remnants of some other unfortunate victim.

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