“The Mark rules Abaddon, the netherworld that lies beneath Landover. Abaddon is a demon world, a black pit of exile for the worst of those driven from the fairy world since the dawn of time. The demons exiled there would like nothing better than to get back into the fairy world, and the only way back is through Landover. When my half-brother extended the challenge to the Mark and the Mark became convinced that the Paladin was no longer protector of Landover, the demon lord came out of Abaddon and proclaimed himself King.”
The brows of the wizard knit above the sharp, old eyes. “There was a catch to this, of course — and my half-brother knew it. The Mark could not truly be King while another ruled under color of law and while the magic of the medallion gave its protection to the wearer. He could only claim to be King and challenge for the right. So each midwinter, when the Bonnie Blues turn white, the Mark comes out of Abaddon into Landover and asks challenge of the King. As yet, no one has accepted.”
“I can imagine,” Ben breathed softly. “Just to make certain that I understand all this, Questor, what form does this challenge take?”
The heavy brows lifted. “Strength of arms, High Lord.”
“You mean, jousting with lances or something?”
Abernathy touched him on the shoulder. “He means, mortal combat with weapons of choice — a battle to the death.”
There was an endless moment of silence. Ben took a deep breath. “That’s what I have to look toward to — a fight to the death with this demon?” He shook his head in disbelief. “No wonder no one lasts very long in this position. Even if they wanted to, even if they were willing to try to straighten things out, sooner or later they would have to face the Mark. What’s the point of even trying?” He was growing angry all over again. “So what do you expect of me, Questor? Do you expect me to accept a challenge that no one else would? I’d have to be out of my mind!”
The stooped figure shifted from one foot to the other. “Perhaps. But it might be different with you. None of the others had help. Yet twice now after twenty years of absence, the Paladin has come to you.”
Ben wheeled at once on Abernathy. “Is he telling me the truth — the Paladin has never come to anyone before?”
Abernathy shook his head solemnly. “Never, High Lord.” He cleared his throat. “It grieves me to admit it, but the wizard may have a point. It might indeed be different with you.”
“But I had nothing to do with the Paladin’s appearance,” Ben insisted. “And I don’t know that he came to me necessarily. He was simply there. Besides, you said yourself it was a ghost we were seeing. And even if he wasn’t a ghost, he looked wrecked to me. The Mark looked the stronger of the two and not in the least intimidated by this so-called champion that the King is supposed to rely upon to protect him. Frankly, I can’t believe any of this. And I don’t know that I understand it yet. Let’s back up a minute. Questor, your half-brother Meeks sells the throne to an outsider like me for a big price, choosing someone who won’t last. Even if he mistakenly chooses someone who might tough it out, the Mark is on hand to make sure he doesn’t. But the Mark can’t be King while someone else holds the medallion — am I right? So what does the Mark get out of all this? Doesn’t Meeks keep bringing other candidates in month after month, year after year?”
Questor nodded. “But the Mark is a demon, and the demons live long lives, High Lord. Time is less meaningful when you can afford to wait, and the Mark can afford to wait a long, long time. Eventually, my half-brother and the old King’s son will tire of the game and will have accumulated enough riches and power to divert their interest from Landover’s throne. When that happens, they will cease bothering with the matter and abandon Landover to her fate.”