Severed Empire: Wizard's War Read online

  “Wyn?”

  “I’m good, Mykal. Winded, some, but good.”

  Mykal said, “Anything I can do?”

  “I just need a moment more, and I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Mykal wasn’t sure he believed his old friend. There was a pink look to Blodwyn’s skin, and the beads of sweat rolling down his face only accented the tone. The odd lightning might somehow be related. Either way, he wasn’t going to push. “We’ve got some time. Rest up.”

  “Mykal? Come here,” Eadric said. He and Quill talked by the ladder. Quill had a hand on a rung. He pressed down on the rung, as if testing the strength of the wood.

  “What have you got?” Mykal said, joining them.

  “Basin never mentioned a ladder,” Eadric said. “It’s possible this wasn’t here the last time he was. I think he’d have said something otherwise. My guess is it will lead to the castle, though. This has got to be the way.”

  Mykal thought the same thing. He supposed the wood would be rotted if it had been there decades. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign, or not. A ladder suggested more than providing ease, it meant the hidden passage was more frequently used, that it wasn’t as secret as Basin once knew it to be.

  “The three of us should go up. This climb, the thinning air, it’s taken a toll on Blodwyn. You’ll never get him to admit it. He seems more stubborn now than when I first met him. I know the man is strong as a farm animal, but time hits us all.” Eadric stood with hands on hips looking up the rungs.

  “He’s one of the strongest men I’ve ever seen,” Mykal said. He responded too fast to his father’s words. Eadric was not going to put down Blodwyn, though. Not in front of him.

  “I didn’t mean anything against him, son. I don’t want him over doing it. I’m worried about him. Look at him,” he said.

  Mykal cast a glance toward where Blodwyn sat next to his mother. Anna kept a hand on his back. Loose hair dangled from a bowed head, over parted legs. His shoulders rose and fell. “Is he having trouble breathing?”

  “He’ll be okay,” Quill said. “Your mother can care for him.”

  Mykal wasn’t worried about them having to get down the walls. Once King Hermon realized what was going on, he’d no longer have to hide his power. Both he and his mother would be able to use their magic. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll let them rest. Let’s take a minute for ourselves, and then we’ll climb to the top.”

  ***

  The fire in the bowls on the stairs, and the torches on the dungeon walls were blown out as if nothing more than candles, and despite there being no wind in the room. The temperature in the dungeon dropped. King Hermon shivered, patting his arms with his hands. The hairs inside his nostrils hardened. He felt the tiny icicles against the inside of his nose when he breathed.

  Matteo must be close.

  He saw his breath in plumes when he spoke his magic. Fire flickered on the torch ends, and winked out. Cordillera punched a hand forward. Flames erupted from his fingertips. The fire snaked around the top of the torch, and caught.

  Cordillera zapped fire into the iron bowls on the stairs.

  The temperature continued dropping. Cordillera felt his eyebrows, his eyelashes, and the hair inside his ears icing over. With teeth chattering, and eyes closed, Cordillera cast a spell over himself. It changed the temperature immediately around him. His skin heated up. The ice forming on his body melted. He rolled and unrolled his fingers as his circulation increased.

  And then something slammed into his back. The king was flung forward. He fell face first. His nose scraped on the ground, and bled. The dagger he’d held clattered on the stone, and skittered several feet away.

  “Who are you?”

  Cordillera turned onto his side. This must be Matteo, he thought.

  “You have blood on your teeth,” the wizard pointed out, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  As Matteo took in the surroundings, Cordillera slowly stood up. He wiped the back of his sleeve over his mouth, and then spit the rest of the blood onto the floor.

  The carnage was perhaps more than Matteo could handle.

  Cordillera saw the advantage.

  As the Matteo backed away with a hand behind him for balance, he said: “What have you done?”

  The element of surprise had been compromised, but perhaps not lost. “Me? What have I done? I was called here, plucked out of my life and summoned,” Cordillera said. He just needed that extra minute or two, and playing a victim was the best way for obtaining it.

  “You felt it? The disturbances?” Matteo said, his guard dropped. “This was it. This suffering was what I felt. You felt it as well? When I was called, I knew something horrible was happening. I just didn’t realize it was… this. What do you think is going on? Who do you think is behind it?”

  Galatia stirred.

  Matteo pointed. “She’s still alive!”

  “We should help her; get her out of this place!” Cordillera waited until Matteo’s back was turned. “We all need to escape before whoever called us here returns!”

  Cordillera’s eyes found the dagger. He spoke fast, but waved his hands and the blade flung itself through the air.

  Matteo spun around just as Cordillera had enchanted the dagger.

  He was a moment too slow, though.

  The dagger spun end over end with the speed of an arrow from a bow. It plunged hilt deep into Matteo’s chest.

  That was not the plan. Cordillera didn’t think he could steal magic from a dead sorcerer. He strode forward and placed hands on Matteo’s shoulders. He recited the chant he’d heard Ida speak, and hoped he wasn’t too late.

  Matteo’s mouth filled with blood. The blade punctured things inside the wizard’s chest doing irreparable damage.

  Cordillera increased the tempo. He spoke faster, enunciating each syllable of every word. The chant intensified. He worked against the sands slipping through the glass. Matteo’s life, like his blood, slipped away. There wasn’t much time left. It would be over soon. Cordillera had this one chance to siphon the magic.

  Just as Matteo’s eyes closed, and as he went limp under Cordillera’s hands, Matteo parted his lips. A swarm of insects—small, black, buzzing gnats—flew out of his mouth. They gathered like a cloud above Cordillera’s head, and circled him like vultures about to dine on carrion.

  The slumping body fell backwards. Matteo’s head banged hard on the rock. The skull cracked. Blood pooled around his matted hair.

  Cordillera thought he’d failed, and looked up at the swarm and cursed.

  They funneled toward him in an almost insane rage and filled his mouth. He gagged his hands around his throat. He stumbled around, banging into torture devices, and knocking others off their mounts on the walls.

  When there was no more room for the flying insects inside his mouth, they filled his nose, and entered him through his ears. His senses were flooded. He swatted uselessly at the bugs. That did not deter them. They couldn’t be stopped.

  Out of breath, he fell onto his knees.

  The bugs on his face crawled into his head through the corners of his eyes, and covered his eyeballs sending him into a terrifying darkness.

  Chapter 26

  Mykal was on the last rung of the ladder. He stopped with his head pressed against stone. He closed his eyes. Someone was using magic. Lots of magic. It filled his head. A twisted black and gold stream wrapped around his mind. It moved like a snake, climbing up, and out, and going down, down, down. The stream never ended. It overlapped, and tangled.

  When he opened his eyes, he could still see the color.

  “Mykal?” Quill said.

  “I’m okay. I’m going.” Mykal pushed up on the loose stone at the top of the ladder. Rock scraped against rock and Mykal cringed. He counted off several seconds in silence, and listened for signs their appearance might have been detected. When he was certain no one was alerted, he lifted the square slab up all the way and set it aside, hoisted himself up out of the ground, and then
helped his father, and uncle.

  “Where are we?” Quill said. Lights flashed from the window, where a strong wind about thin curtains. He stood between the billowing curtains, hands pressed on the sill. “Storm’s here. Sky is filled with black clouds. Lightning above them. No thunder though. We’re so high, it’s almost like I can reach out and touch the clouds.”

  Mykal replaced the square of floor. “Basin mentioned servants’ quarters.”

  “Let’s not waste time,” Eadric said.

  Quill removed his bow from his shoulders, and nocked an arrow on the bowstring. “I’m ready.”

  Mykal and his father drew a sword with their right hand, and a dagger with the left. The movements appeared choreographed.

  Quill said, “That wasn’t strange.”

  Eadric took point. They stayed tight to the wall. A lit torch in another room provided more stable light than the flashes of lightning. Either way, they could see where they were going. Mostly.

  Just ahead, someone snored. Wind tunnels weren’t as boisterous. When the person exhaled, it reminded Mykal what a pig might sound like if it were drowning. They slipped past the makeshift bed, and out of the room.

  Thankfully in the hall, every fourth torch mounted on the wall was lit, and opposite the torches were tall thin windows. There was both enough light to guide them, and enough shadows to hide in if necessary.

  “The castle is huge,” Eadric said, whispering. “Galatia could be anywhere. Finding her will not be simple.”

  “I can reach out to her,” Mykal said.

  “With magic?” Quill said. “We’ve come this far without it. I don’t want to do anything to let the Mountain King know we’re here, inside his castle. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”

  “Agreed,” Eadric said. “There are other ways to find out where King Hermon’s keeping Galatia.”

  With that declaration, Eadric made his way down the hall. He moved cautiously, his sword in front of him. They all stayed against the wall, bent forward, passing under the torches. Outside, the lightning increased. The flashes made their shadows rush forward, move backwards and vibrate silently on the wall.

  At the first corner, Eadric stopped. He pressed a finger to his lips, as if the others didn’t know to keep quiet. They waited for nearly a minute, and then Mykal heard it. Footsteps. Two sets. His heart beat a little faster. He stood still between his father and uncle, waiting, just concentrating on his breathing. With quick, shallow breaths, he didn’t want his huffing giving them away.

  Eadric’s head bobbed. Once. Twice. On the third time he jumped out of hiding.

  Mykal and Quill followed.

  The guards were caught off guard, but were well-trained. They pulled swords from scabbards and took a defensive stance.

  Quill loosed the arrow. Mykal watched the broad-head punch through the chainmail. It lodged deep in the one guard’s chest. Dropping his sword, the guard clutched the arrow with both hands. Blood coated his fingers.

  Eadric lunged forward. Metal clashed against metal. Eadric stepped toward the guard when their blades seemed locked together. He gripped his hand over the guard’s shoulder, and shoved the man backward.

  The man Quill shot fell forward. He crashed hard on the ground, and rolled onto his back. Mykal knelt beside him. The man’s eyes were opened wide, and unfocused. His lips kept moving, but no words came out of his mouth. “Where is the king keeping the sorcerer? Where is Galatia?”

  At the sound of Mykal’s voice, the guard’s eyes found him. His mouth continued quivering. His tongue came out and licked dry lips.

  Mykal grabbed the man’s shoulders, and shook the dying guard. “Where is she? Where is King Hermon keeping her?”

  Blood oozed up and out of a corner of the man’s mouth. His eyes remained open. Although his lips still moved, as if he were trying to say something, his eyes became grey, and vacant.

  Mykal shook him again.

  Quill placed a hand on Mykal’s back. “He’s dead.”

  “The other guard?” Mykal said, hopeful.

  Eadric walked toward them, using a thumb and finger to wipe blood from his blade. “The lad fought harder than I’d have expected. It wasn’t my intention to kill him. We won’t be getting answers out of him either, I’m afraid.”

  Mykal stood up. He couldn’t see a point in getting angry. Questioning these guards might have saved them time. There would be more walking the halls. They would just have to be more careful, he supposed.

  Quill stepped on the dead man’s stomach, pulled free his arrow, and re-nocked it on the bowstring. “We should move the bodies out of plain view. We don’t want someone coming around the corner and spotting them. Mykal, grab the legs. We have to lift him; otherwise we’ll leave a blood smear trail. That happens; we might as well just leave them where they are.”

  The guard was heavy, dead weight. They carried him behind a pillar. It was an awkwardly tight fit, but they bent his legs so his knees pressed against his chest.

  “Should hold him,” Quill said.

  The other guard was a bloody mess. Eadric had run his sword right through.

  They worked fast, pulling off the guard’s chainmail, and tunic. Mykal mopped up as much blood as possible with the tunic. He balled it up and tossed it out of the window. Quill and Eadric did the best they could by sticking the body in a corner blanketed with shadows.

  The lightning strikes were more frequent. The thunder remained absent. It was something of an odd storm, far more common during the heat of summer. Mykal couldn’t recall anything like this so close to winter.

  “It’s going to have to do,” Eadric said.

  They began the hunt once again. Increasingly, Mykal felt apprehensive about the mission. Nothing was going their way. They had been running into obstacles since reaching the coast.

  As quiet as they tried being, it was difficult. The stone floor made every step they took seem like an alarm. It was new to them, but maybe was second nature to anyone living inside the castle. That was what Mykal hoped. If anything, they’d come too far only to get caught now.

  Once again, Eadric stopped walking. They were between lit torches. Mykal felt exposed. There were far more shadows by the windows, under them. Mykal pointed.

  They rushed across the hallway, crouched low under the sill, and waited.

  Someone was coming.

  The sound of footsteps was different than before. Softer.

  One person?

  No. It was two. Definitely, two people were approaching.

  “Don’t kill them,” Mykal said.

  His breath caught in his chest when he heard a giggle, and he saw who the sound belonged two. Children, holding hands, walked the hall.

  “Now what?” Quill said.

  “Leave ‘em.” Eadric put his arm in front of Mykal, as if he thought his son was going to jump out of the shadows.

  The chubby girls wore long nightgowns. One carried a stuffed animal. With short legs, they took tiny steps, and whispered as they passed the men hiding under the sill.

  “That was close,” Mykal said.

  “And creepy,” Quill said.

  Eadric started them out again, with Mykal and Quill behind him.

  When they rounded the next corner, the hall opened wide. Although the ceiling was equally as high, the large square room seemed more spacious. In the center was a staircase leading up to a second level. There was a table in the center of the room on an oblong carpet. Featured on top was a gold bust of, presumably, King Hermon Cordillera. It was far less impressive than the tapestries mounted over the walls. Mykal knew they were used as much as for decoration as to warm the room against the cold mountain rock.

  “Now what?” Mykal said.

  “We need to find someone,” Eadric said. “This place is too big to search. We could spend hours looking and never find her. Morning isn’t too far off. We can’t be sneaking around the hallways then. The king’s people, his staff, his knights, they’ll find us easily. Then we’ll be the one
s that need rescuing.”

  “Go back for the children?” Quill said.

  Eadric shook his head.

  “Follow me,” Mykal said. He jogged through the foyer. Opposite the stairs were two tall, wide wooden doors. Without opening them, Mykal suspected they led outside. He ran passed the doors and down another hallway.

  The lightning persisted, only the last flash was followed by a low rumble.

  The thunder was catching up.

  Without looking back, Mykal knew his family was right behind him. At the first door he came to he stopped and pressed his ear against it.

  “What are you hoping to hear?” Eadric said.

  Someone inside was snoring. Loud.

  Mykal replaced his sword into the scabbard.

  “That,” he said, and threw open the door.

  A man and woman slept, butt to butt. The woman wrapped in a dark blanket, while the man shivered, and hugged a pillow. Moving fast, Mykal leapt onto the bed. The couple sprang up, pushed back, and sat against the headboard. The woman held the blanket under her chin.

  The man said, “Wha—who are you?”

  Mykal attacked like a wolf. His open hand fisted the woman’s hair. The blade was pressed against an exposed throat before the man beside her could react, other than throwing hands up in surrender.

  “The king has a woman he is holding prisoner in this castle,” Mykal said. He whispered, but spoke with a harsh tone of voice. Spittle sprayed the man in the face.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said. “Please. Let my wife go. She’s done nothing to harm any of you.”

  Peripherally, Mykal saw Quill’s bowstring pulled back to his cheek. The arrow was directed at the woman’s heart.

  Eadric had closed the bedchamber door, stood by it, and listened for anyone approaching.

  Mykal tugged on the woman’s hair. She shuddered, and moaned.

  “If, if he had a prisoner, she’d be in the dungeon, in the dungeon.” The man stammered, but it was an answer.