The Evil Within-
Chapter 1 'Birth of A Sorcerer'
Note: This is still the story began in the prologue, but the setting and narrator have changed.
My story is long and I fear it will be repugnant to those of you of pious teachings and stiffnecked morality. But I will tell it nevertheless, as such things should be told, in winding and somnolent fashion, gazing at you, grim in your high-collared black coats, through half closed eyes, reciting dreamily in Plain Chant as I was taught by the bard at home. But I have come ahead of myself.

Know then that I am Amnon, third and most beloved son of the king of Arabia. My first brother was the Crown Prince, Alzak. For such an esteemed personage, his presence will be that of a flitting shadow in my narrative, a thing not flesh but insubstantial mist, fading into the background of the story. So I will not trouble to acquaint you with my revered brother, except to say that he was the product of a union between my noble father and Lady Desaine, a noblewoman of Israel. Yet another of that tiresome Ark's attempts to heal the rift between Israel and Arabia. It fell through, of course, as all such plans fell through, with the death of Desaine. Her death is generally attributed to a tradionalist faction at court, but of course no-one would be so boorish as to confront them over such a minor matter, and so a regretful note was sent back to her family in Israel, and nothing more was said.

My next brother was Haln, a blunt English name. His mother was Lady Deirdre of England. Another political marriage. Lady Deirdre did not like Arabia, the heat, the flies and slowness, and I believe she spent most of her married life yearning for her native land, from which the High Seat of her House sent her to gain a political alliance. It was perhaps inevitable that Haln wouldn't fit in.

He was too tall for one thing, and his hair was curled and fair. A burly, blue-eyed giant. He took his mother's skin and all his life suffered from the disfigurement of sunburn, red, chapped skin making him repulsive to the Arabian eye. Of course, in England he would be a fine figure of a man. If we are all spun out on the Wheel of Fate, life after life, as the philosophers and men of intellect and learning say, it is to be hoped that my luckless brother will be born in place more suited to him next time.

Aside from his grotesque, to our eyes, appearance Haln had no aptitude or love of intrigue, a spot fit for kings and princes. He was unbendingly honest and too stupid to be skilled at the game of intrigue. His one talent was a mastery of all things military. While he had not the creative flair that makes men conquer realms, he was a dogged defender and a skilled warrior.

Aware of this and all his shortcomings, Haln spent as little time at court as possible but commanded the army of Arabia, far from the hotbed of intrigue.

Lady Deirdre died, of fever from the sun, and my father remarried. This time there were two who were believed to have caught his eye, sisters of a House in Arabia of middling rank. Oh the rivalry, cat-fights and shart-tongued arguments between these two sisters over their rival claims to the king's affections must have been sights to see! Eventually, the younger sister triumphed and marrried the king, while the elder went in shame and venomous anger to a remote estate on the fringe of the desert wastes, there to marry an unpretentious country lord and be forgotten by the court at the Palace.

My mother died having me, and that I resembled her so much was perhaps the reason my father favoured me above both his other sons. I grew up knowing my slightest whim would be granted. I grew up with the Game of Houses in my very blood, plotting and manipulating in my sleep. Any woman I desired could be mine on the instant, their husbands, knowing my position as most favoured son, and also my skill at intrigue and revenges, gritted their teeth and forebore to challenge me.

But eventually I grew jaded with these easy conquests. Arabian women are skilled in the ensnarement of men, but this was not enough, or perhaps too much. I required a challenge, and found it when my brother next appeared at court with a young, beautiful and pure-as-the-driven-snow bride-to-be.

He had met her on campaign, driving the nomads from their incessant raiding on Arabia's southern border, and fell head-over-heels in love. She was the daughter of my mother's sister.

She was dark-haired, eyes a deep brown and slim and small. At court she was considered a backwards rustic, and she proved this in the court's eyes at her first formal supper, when she was unable to manipulate the sursa to eat with. I, cooly polite to an estranged cousin, leaned over and guided her hands to the correct position. She looked up, brown eyes filled with gratitude. I looked into them and was lost.

Believe me when I say this was not love at first sight, but lust, and incestous lust at that. I pursued her but she spurned me, and this rendered her charms all the more attractive in my eyes. The more she told me she was betrothed to my half-brother, and the more she protested that we were cousins and such things were forbidden, the more I wanted her. I wanted her more than anything in my entire life, all my life having been instant gratification until then.

Then one day it happened. I gazed into her eyes once more, and somehow... let the warmth in my eyes out. Without knowing quite how it happened, she became more enamoured of me. I at that time had sunstroke, at least I assumed my dizzy spells and headaches were sunstroke, and despite herself she began to evince concern in my well-being. Eventually, when I recovered, she reluctantly and fearfully agreed to a midnight liason in my bedchamber, where she yielded to me her virginity.

But after, the sheets bearing their tell-tale stain, in came Haln. My big, stupid brother Haln with his uprightness and school-boy code of honour. He had heard the rumours about his betrothed and I. He was drunk of course, waving his sword and staggering. For the first time in my life I was afraid, truly afraid. Haln was drunk, but nevertheless he could cut me down, for I had never bothered learning to use the ornate ceremonial sword I carried.

And he stood, slouching and swearing oaths at me in the bed, in front of the window which took up a portion of my wall. And fiire flew through that window, dancing to obey me, striking and burning Haln until he danced ablaze like a maniac scarecrow being burnt after the harvest when the crops are gathered in. And I shrunk back in fear and disbelief, for I was a pariah, a man who could wield sorcery. As I suddenly remembered the girl who had brought this on me, I felt warm liquid touch my chest. My cousin lay dead. She had slit her throat, unable to bear the thought of the shame and dishonour having lost her virginity to a cousin and a sorcerer.

I looked at the body for a long time then fled, searching for sanctuary. And this is why I am here, men of the Dark Tower. But call me not Amnon. A new name, Mordecai, I think. Yes, suited to me.