Prologue to my first book – YA/Fantasy genre

Let me know what you think.  This prologue gives you a view into a scene of the primary “Bad Guy”….

Prologue

“Attend the throne room immediately!”
Heeding Lord Azazel’s call, Munson led the charge up the winding staircase to the top floor. There, he found his master awaiting them in a cold, barren room centered by an imposing throne carved of black stone. Torchlight danced in ominous patterns off the throne’s polished surface. The sound of Munson’s fellow soldiers pouring into the room echoed off the dank walls encircling them.
Munson took his place beside the room’s sole exit, bracing himself to endure more of the horrors that had become so commonplace of late. By now he had seen more of these interrogations than he cared to count. So he knew that this one, like all the others, would end in bloodshed. His gut tightened as he caught sight of today’s victim. The man crouched at the feet of his lord was a man named Farley, a man who had been Munson’s best friend since childhood.
“Please spare me, Lord Azazel!” Farley bellowed. Quivering, the prisoner reached out to trace his fingers over the hem of the wizard’s red robe.
Munson swallowed hard, praying that his master couldn’t sense from this distance the terrible pity he felt.
“I…I…,” Farley stammered. “I will never make such a mistake again.”
With baleful eyes, Azazel studied the man groveling at his feet. He stood then to his full height, his robe billowing as he circled the prisoner. His otherwise handsome face parted into a menacing, almost hungry grin. “You will never make such a mistake again?” The wizard glanced at the soldiers all around him as if waiting for laughter. When it didn’t come, his face contorted into fury. “How many times have I heard that over the centuries? You swore allegiance, Farley, and yet you lied. You tried to hide your sister’s child from me when you knew very well that the child showed signs of magic ability.”
Azazel wheeled around, turning his back on the prisoner. “Know that I see and hear everything.” As he spoke, his eyes addressed in turn each soldier standing along the walls. “Loyal servants always benefit. But those who betray me will be punished.”
An excruciating silence hung over the room, a silence broken only by Farley’s whimpering.
“Yes, my lord,” the prisoner said. “I will never forget. This will never happen again.”
Azazel turned back to his captive and laughed. Munson cringed. The soldiers seemed to hold their breath in unison as a cloud of energy formed at the tips of Azazel’s fingers.
“You’re right,” the wizard said. “It won’t happen again. Understand this, Farley. Since you have served me well for these many decades, I will show you a kindness greater than you deserve. I will spare your sister and the rest of your family. Only the child will be destroyed.”
The soldier raised his head for the first time. “But Lord Azazel! He is merely a child!”
Azazel’s eyes blazed. “Your lack of gratitude disgusts me.” His body grew rigid. A dark aura formed around his head, expanding as white-hot plasma bloomed from his fingertips.
Munson flinched as the now-familiar sound of crackling energy echoed through the chamber. A torrent of sparkling light snaked from the wizard’s fingers, alighting on the prisoner’s face and engulfing his body. In little more than an instant, Farley was gone like all the others, burned away by light and fire.
When it was done, Azazel’s tension eased. The dark aura retreated back into him, and the lights went out from his hands. Little remained of Farley, save for molten fragments of his armor, a smattering of ashes settled on the scorched bricks, and the smell of burnt flesh permeating the room. It was all Munson could do to check his gag reflex. He could sense his fellow soldiers squirming anxiously all around him, sweat pouring from their faces.
Azazel merely smiled. Then he did something wholly unexpected: he waved in Munson’s direction. His stomach turning in knots, Munson stepped forward to meet his master. Did he know about his friendship with Farley? And in so knowing, would he hold Munson somehow to blame for what had happened? Quaking in his mail, Munson fell to one knee at the wizard’s feet. It seemed a long time before Azazel spoke.
“Send the orders for my agent to find and dispose of the infant,” he said.
At the words, Munson found himself overwhelmed with gratitude at the chance to kill rather than be killed. But as he stood and saluted, the thought filled him with deep shame. “Yes, Lord Azazel.”
Munson collected his men quickly and made his way for the door, but before he could exit the room, Azazel called him to a halt. The obedient soldier stopped, turned, and knelt. He could feel Azazel’s smile warm against the top of his bowed head.
“Make sure the family is disposed of, as well,” the wizard hissed. “We can’t run the risk of another incident. If it happened once, it can happen again.”
Feeling suddenly sick, Munson repeated the orders, saluted, and made haste for the stair.