by Jaxon Reed
Loadstone ignored him, casting enchantments at the black globe floating toward him. Darkstone laughed at him, delighting in the futile efforts.
“Erk!”
Darkstone tumbled to the ground with Mita on top of him. She had flown up and around the clearing. So focused on the impending demise of the wizards, Darkstone never saw her swoop in from behind.
She stabbed him three times in the kidneys with a blade.
THOOM!
She flew off him, carried by his Spell of Expulsion, landing on her back several paces away. He quickly ran his hand over his back, healing himself. He pointed at her Globe of Doom and it sped off after. She jumped off the ground and flew straight up before it could reach her. The globe pursued, steadily gaining on her.
High in the air, she turned around and shot spells of stasis and disambulation at the globe, slowing it again, then she flew back down to the clearing.
Darkstone was ready for her this time, a translucent blue Globe of Protection surrounding him to prevent any more knife attacks. He sent bolts of wizard fire up at her. She dodged them easily, and shot her own back at him. He danced away as they churned up the ground where he’d been standing. One touched the edge of his blue globe, sending up sparks.
Redstone recovered, and made a wide berth around his black ball, still inching perceptibly toward him. He stopped and watched Loadstone stepping back, shooting spell after spell into his own ball with little result.
Redstone said, “By the High Tower, haven’t you figure out how to stop these things yet?”
“It’s not so easy,” Loadstone said, casting another barrier spell. “You haven’t been much help, either.”
“Why do I have to do everything? Just cast that time trap on the infernal thing and be done with it.”
Loadstone’s eyebrows shot up. He said, “You are good for something, after all.”
He stepped back to give himself some room, then concentrated as his arms circled. He ended by thrusting them out at the black ball of light. Instantly it became surrounded by a larger globe of purple light. At long last it stopped moving.
Loadstone shared a smile with Redstone. The orange-haired wizard said, “Do mine! And don’t forget Mita’s.”
While Loadstone concentrated on the complex spells for the other two balls, Redstone turned his attention to the fight. Mita and Darkstone flew in circles above the clearing, casting spell after spell at one another. He said, “Hurry up, old man. You’ve gotta see this!”
-+-
A cry went up from the walls of Kathar as the metal men approached. Soldiers raced along the top and scrambled for a better look. They recognized the “living statues” as some had called them. Many had seem them march out the gate months ago on the wizard’s quest to battle. But they had not been seen since.
At first, confusion reigned as some claimed the wizard directing them had to be Darkstone. But as they grew closer, it became increasingly evident everything headed their way was not friendly. The troops behind the metal men were clearly clad in the colors of Coral. But one man in Emerald green rode at the front of the procession.
The Captain of the Gate took charge. “Man the ramparts!” he said. “Mind the walls! Archers in position! Ready the catapults!”
In minutes Kathar’s defenses were as well prepared as possible for assault.
The line of metal men stopped before the wall, equally spread out on either side of the road, with the Coralian army behind them. The man in green rode on a white horse between the giants and approached the gate.
He pulled up short, and locked confident eyes with the captain up on the wall, who wondered about his courage. Or stupidity, the captain wasn’t sure which. At least three dozen archers had nocked arrows aimed at him that very moment.
Then the captain noticed the wizard hovering in the air above the metal men and decided the man in green was not as vulnerable as he appeared. A wizard changed everything. And this wizard was certainly not Darkstone, who usually dressed in tattered rags. This wizard had a blondish beard, and his appearance looked well-kempt even from a distance.
When the man in green spoke, his voice was magically amplified, no doubt from the wizard. His words echoed across the wall, and all the defending soldiers could easily hear him.
“I am Trant, son of Tren and Karla. I am here to take back the throne.”
The captain stepped back, stunned. He was old enough to remember King Tren. Rumors his heir lived and would return someday had oft been told. In fact, more than one prophet had mentioned this very moment would come to pass.
He glanced at the men to his right and left. Some carried doubt in their eyes, some resolve. The question of the city gates fell to him. Even more important, how much resistance to offer, if any, lay in his lap. The men looked toward him, waiting his response.
“Stand down.”
A sigh spread among the men. Relief for some, disappointment for others. Runners hurried along the top of the wall to spread the word.
One of his soldiers said, “You sure about this, Captain Stivvins?”
Stivvins nodded. He said, “This is the moment that was prophesied for years, soldier. Besides, do you really want to go up against all of that,” he waved at the metal men and the Coralian army, “and a wizard to boot? Let Endrick and Darkstone put up resistance if they want. I won’t lose any blood, especially if that’s our rightful monarch down there.”
Tension evaporated from the wall as word spread. Stivvins had the gate opened and the portcullis raised. Trant entered the city on his resplendent white horse, followed by the metal men, one by one. Word spread fast, and crowds lined the street to watch.
Trant’s horse made its way up the hill toward the palace in the middle of the city. He took note of the people as he passed. Some gazed at him with curiosity. A few looked at him with scorn. But most regarded him with hope kindling in their eyes. He witnessed several children running around with no shoes, even though the mornings were still cool. Many were dressed in soiled clothes. He noticed rips and tears and hastily sewn patches. Most of all he could feel the heavy weight of despondency in the air. Kathar was not a joyful place. Perhaps his presence could change that, he thought.
-+-
A guard burst into the throne room, interrupting Endrick who was busy berating a representative from the Blacksmiths Guild. Endrick glared at the man, who hurried to the throne and made a cursory bow.
“Begging Your Highness’s pardon, but we’ve been invaded!”
Endrick’s expression changed from one of annoyance to concern. He said, “What do you mean, invaded?”
“A man calling himself Trant, son of Tren, is leading an army from Coral into the city this very minute. And another wizard is with him. He’s turned Darkstone’s metal men, and they march with Trant!”
“How did they get in? I heard no sounds of battle.”
“Stivvins, the Captain of the Gate, let them in without a fight.”
“On whose orders?”
“His own, Your Highness. He said something about a prophecy.”
“Have Stivvins brought here. I want to question him myself.”
“Begging Your Highness’s pardon, but I don’t think that’s possible. The metal men are headed straight here!”
Endrick stood, now visibly shaken. He said, “Any sign of Darkstone?”
The guard shook his head.
What a time for him to go missing, Endrick thought. He moved toward the door off to the side of the dais.
“Everybody stay put. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”
He opened the door and entered his council chambers, rushing to the window. Down below in the distance, he could see the street cleared. Riding up the middle on a white horse, a man in green made his way steadily forward. This, Endrick knew, had to be Trant.
A child approached the horse, and Trant pulled to a stop. She handed something up to him, it looked like a flower. Even at this distance, Endrick could tell he was thanking her. Then he c
ontinued on, waving at the occasional well-wisher. They were actually waving as he passed, something they never did for Endrick.
Behind Trant stomped the metal men, the very ones Darkstone had commissioned. Endrick could hear their feet clanking against the cobblestones. And above them, watching over everything, a wizard hovered. It had to be Greystone, Darkstone’s nemesis.
Endrick slinked back from the window before anyone could see him. He thought for a moment, struggling to stay calm. Then he nodded to himself, his mind made up. He went back into the throne room and motioned for the guards to approach.
“Lock down the palace. Nobody gets in or out. Especially do not let that pretender out there inside! Do you understand me? You have sworn an oath to me, and I expect you to keep it.”
The guards nodded and saluted. Endrick dismissed them and retreated again to his chambers as they hurried to spread the word and place the palace on lockdown.
Endrick made his way to his quarters, dismissing the servants. Alone in his bedroom, he took off the gold crown inlaid with emeralds and placed it on the mantle of his fireplace. Then he pulled his silk coat off and his shirt. He found the plainest tunic in his wardrobe and donned it.
He looked down and frowned at his green silk britches and fine leather boots laced up to his knees, but he knew there could be no replacing them at the moment.
At last he left his rooms, and made his way down to the ground floor of the palace. Here things were a beehive of activity, with servants and soldiers bustling about. He ignored them, and paid no heed to those who bowed when they recognized him.
He found the entrance to the dungeons, and went down the steps, leaving the world above behind. A lone jailer sat at a table in an alcove, a barred gate behind him blocking further access. He stood up in surprise as Endrick came down the steps. He was not used to visitors. His eyes widened when he recognized Endrick.
He bowed and said, “Your Highness.”
“I’ll be taking the secret tunnel out of the palace. I need a weapon.”
“Beg pardon, Your Highness?”
“I need a weapon. Give me your sword.”
The jailer unsheathed his shortsword and handed it over to Endrick hilt first, a confused look on his face.
Endrick said, “You’re about my size, I think you’ll do. Take off your tunic.”
The jailer now seemed truly flustered and stared at Endrick with an open mouth.
“Don’t make me say it again. Take off your tunic, now.”
The jailer struggled but managed to peel off his grimy green tunic. When he placed it on the table, Endrick stabbed him in the gut. The jailer screamed, falling down on his knees and holding the blade.
Endrick reached down, yanked the keys off the man’s belt, and pulled the sword out. He placed the keys and the sword on the table and began taking his own clothes off.
-+-
“Why, exactly, did you call this emergency meeting of the Magic Council?”
Quartzstone’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he asked the question while glaring around the table. Several people were absent.
“There are certain matters we need to discuss,” Oldstone said. He smiled politely at Quartzstone, Sandstone, and Silverstone. Nobody smiled back. “In addition, I thought we could enjoy some time together in my castle.”
“Where is Greystone? Where are the two irritating ones? And where’s the girl?”
“Princess Mita and Greystone are accompanying Prince Trant on an errand and cannot be present. I’m afraid Redstone and Loadstone have not accepted my summons. But I am grateful the rest of you have chosen to come.”
He nodded at Bluestone, Goldstone, and the others.
Quartzstone snorted. He said, “This is ridiculous. This isn’t a real meeting.” He stood to leave. Sandstone and Silverstone followed suit, rising out of their chairs.
“Sit down!”
The three of them slumped back in their chairs, feeling the power and authority in the ancient wizard’s voice. Quartzstone said, “Are you threatening us, Oldstone?”
Oldstone smiled, his lips thin. He said, “No.”
Deedles jumped up on the table and crouched near Oldstone, facing the wizards. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her ears folded back. All clearly heard her, in their heads.
I am.
Oldstone cleared his throat to alleviate the uncomfortable silence that followed as everybody stared at the cat. He said, “We will remain together here in my castle for a while. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable. My facsimile will bring us some food soon.”
He smiled again and said, “Oh, and don’t try flying off. You’ll upset the cat. She knows several nasty spells, including one that will knock you out of the sky. And there’s a particularly strong suspension spell she has that takes several minutes to resolve. Of course, you’ll have fallen to your death before then.”
-+-
“Should we help her?”
Redstone asked the question while shading his eyes from the sun, watching the battle between Mita and Darkstone unfold.
Loadstone said, “I do think she needs a distraction or two. Hit him with Disambulation. I’ll try to get through his protection with Wizard’s Fire.”
They stepped away from each other a few paces, and both concentrated on their respective spells, sending them upward almost simultaneously. Loadstone’s hit first, and the blue globe around Darkstone blinked out from the force of the spell, dying while absorbing its energy.
Redstone’s spell hit next, stunning Darkstone for a second. Just as he shook it off, Mita tackled him and they fell to the ground in the middle of the clearing, the impact separating them.
Darkstone spied the dagger, and rolled over to grab it. Mita stood and walked toward him.
“Stand back!”
He shook the dagger at her.
“That’s a fake,” Mita said.
Darkstone looked down at it in surprise, and felt for his power, just as Mita cast a complex sleep spell on him and then turned the spell on herself.
He dropped the dagger, and fell flat on his back, sound asleep. Mita collapsed to her side, slumber taking her as well.
-+-
Darkstone looked around at a darkened, bleak landscape. Few details were visible. A few blades of grass. A boulder. Everything seemed gray and colorless. He stood up carefully, and mentally assessed his injuries.
Just as he decided he was unharmed, Mita appeared before him. One moment she wasn’t there, the next she stood facing him in the dim, colorless light.
He snarled, and shot out a Spell of Expulsion, snapping his hand out at her as the force left his palm and formed an arc of power before him.
Instead of flying backwards she smiled. No, he decided. She smirked.
“Is that the best you can do, Wizard?”
He cast spell after spell at her, sending Wizard’s Lightning, Blades of Death, and half a dozen others in quick succession.
They all failed, either passing through her or around her.
Finally he paused, working the mental equations, and cast a Globe of Doom at her. It sailed forth from his hands toward Mita . . . then slowed to a crawl as it drew near her.
She smiled again, and bent down to poke it with a finger. It popped like a bubble, dissipating harmlessly.
Darkstone’s eyes bulged. He stammered, unable to form a coherent word. Finally he said, “That’s . . . that’s not possible!”
“Anything’s possible in a dream, Wizard. It’s my dream, and I control it.”
In the distance, Darkstone heard something large approaching. He squinted, trying to see what was coming. It sounded like a large beast running fast.
“Have you read Shoapper, Wizard?”
“What?”
The beast drew nearer. He could hear it panting. Darkstone instinctively cast a blue Globe of Protection around himself.
“Shoapper was a scholar at the High Tower, he lived a long time ago.”
“I know who Shoapper is, bitch!�
�
The beast was very close now. He still couldn’t see it. He decided to fly up and away, to flee that awful presence drawing near, but for some reason the power of flight wouldn’t work for him.
Mita said, “Shoapper had an idea. He thought that if you die in a dream, you would die in real life.”
The beast was almost here. He could feel its presence, and there was no doubt the awful animal meant to attack him.
“Let’s see if Shoapper was right. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”
The mind monster pounced on him, cutting, biting, gouging. Darkstone threw every spell he could think of at the thing, and they did nothing. Then his throat disappeared in a bloody bite and his belly ripped open, unseen claws flinging his guts right and left.
Chapter 18
Deep in the hold of King Keel, well below the water line, Stin sat with arms around his knees in a tiny holding pen. Six paces by eight. He had counted them off several times, walking the floor covered in moldy straw. Sharing the space: a bucket of water, a bucket of slop, and a piss bucket. All were empty, for now.
The marines had been rather rough in depositing him down here. They shoved him in the pen, hands still tied behind his back, chuckling as he lost his balance. Then they took his purse, which contained quite a bit of gold. They turned out his pockets and found the scrip from the Mystic Bank. They couldn’t figure out what it meant, but they took it, too. Then someone spied the chain on his neck, and took the captain’s key from him.
When there was nothing more to take, they left him alone and said the jailer would be by soon to untie him.
Tucked away in this dark corner of the ship, shouting seemed futile. If anybody could hear him, which he doubted, they would likely never respond. But shouting was necessary when his jailer appeared, a crusty old salt named Deef. Shortly after the marines deposited him in the pen, he came down and reached through the bars to cut the ropes so Stin could finally pull his gag out.
