Claiming his rightful place atop the Wizard’s Spike had been his ultimate goal. The theurgy prevalent within the octagonal chamber high above the ruins of Castle Svelte was palpable to those adept in the lore. Other than the destroyed Soul Forge, there wasn’t a place known to Helleden that radiated more power than this chamber. The tower vibrated under the strain of the arcane power being restrained within its walls. Eight windows, geometrically aligned precisely to correspond with the eight major directional paths of the chamber’s central dais, augmented and focused the earth’s natural power, culminating at the dais Helleden stood before.
Helleden had feared for the tower when he unleashed his last firestorm, but as he suspected, the Spike defended itself well.
The advent of the Wizard of the North coming down from his perch high atop Dragon’s Tooth had been an unexpected bonus. Now, instead of waging a land assault which would require the sacrifice of much of his demon horde, an orchestrated confrontation with not just one, but two Wizards of the North, provided him the catalyst required to launch what should be his final firestorm.
Bile rose in his throat. If not for the unforeseen quickness in which Silurian had risen to the task against the Soul, he would’ve completed the annihilation of Zephyr months earlier. No matter. It wouldn’t be long now.
The scrying bowl shimmered. It had begun.
A small ripple formed on the bowl’s northeastern lip, undulating toward its centre, followed closely by a second, slightly more agitated ripple, its initial wave length half that of the first. Good, good, he thought, the wizard’s strikes are increasing in power. Now I just need the second fool to make a move on the Chamber.
He pulled back his sleeves to expose deathly white forearms no thicker than the bones his sallow skin clung to. Waggling his fingertips in sequence, his long fingernails rattled rhythmically upon the northeastern edge of the octagonal dais. Several of his rings pulsed and glowed in shades of red, orange and the deepest blues. He threw his head back, inhaling deeply of the ethereal pall forming above the dais and settling around the sorcerer.
A third pulse, more intense than the second, vibrated toward the bowl’s centre. The liquid filmed over, milky white, creeping in from the bowl’s outer rim. It was time.
He sidestepped to face the southern compass point and dipped the point of his forefinger into the roiling liquid. As his nail broke the chalky surface, it parted to create a line of clear liquid that etched its way to the bowl’s centre before disappearing. The ruby on that same finger flared to life. The signal was sent.
Instrument of their Demise
Alhena had no trouble keeping pace with Larina. She looked back more than once, her face filled with surprise at seeing how close he kept to her.
The narrow tunnel curved right and terminated at the doorway leading into the Chamber’s personal quarters. The lack of guards was as much a relief as it was alarming. If the guardsmen had been pulled from their ever-vigilant presence from this door, that could only mean that something momentous happened elsewhere. They didn’t have much time.
Larina stepped aside to allow Alhena access to the door as she readied her crossbow. She pointed it back the way they had come, covering him. Hearing the door’s latch snick open, she spun and waved the crossbow at the door as it swung inward.
The uncertain light glinted off the bronze strapped door at the far end of the corridor as if it had just closed.
Alhena glanced at Larina. She had seen it too.
Approaching the chambermaster’s door, Alhena pushed down on the handle while Larina used her foot to throw the door open, her crossbow trained on the well-lit interior.
A blast of heat met them, but it had nothing to do with the fire burning within the hearth. Alhena smelled, more than felt, his wispy hair shrivelling from the intensity of a fist-sized fireball as it hurtled between him and Larina. They flattened themselves against opposite walls.
The fireball sizzled down the tunnel, detonating against the iron strapped door.
Larina shouted out a belated warning and fired her weapon. The bolt shattered against the mantle. She stared into Alhena’s eyes and mouthed, “Helleden?”
Alhena shook his head. Concentrating, he attempted to sense whoever, or whatever, lay in wait for them. If he was correct, it was the dark creature that had interrogated him at length several days ago and left him in a state of unconsciousness. If that were true, they were no match for it without his staff.
Larina notched another bolt and set it.
“I’m going to draw it out,” he whispered behind a wrinkled hand covered in age spots. “Be ready.”
Larina furrowed her brow. “It?”
Alhena gave her a slight nod, his mind focusing on what he needed to do. Flipping up the hood of his black cowl, he hunched over and stepped across the threshold, making sure to keep his chin tucked against his chest. He vaguely heard Larina asking him what he was doing, but he ignored her. Concentrating on placing one foot slowly ahead of the other, he searched the shadows clinging to the chamber’s back wall.
An orange glow flared to life from a dark recess beyond the fire mantle, quickly growing into a second fireball. Its light illuminated the cloaked creature.
The fire coalesced into a fist-sized ball and hurtled across the chamber.
Alhena lifted an arm over his head and knelt low, his entire body hidden beneath his black cloak. The fireball slammed into his shoulder and exploded, the concussion lifting him from his feet and slamming him into the wall beside the door.
Larina straddled the threshold in time to see the creature release the fireball. She discharged the crossbow into the dark niche as Alhena crumpled to the floor.
The creature emitted a horrific screech. Her bolt had found its mark. Not taking any chances, she threw the crossbow aside and two throwing knives appeared in her hands. Without thought, she threw first one, switched hands flawlessly, and threw the other.
The first knife missed its unseen target, chinking off a stone surface within the dark crevice, but a hollow thump told her the second had hit the target.
A cloaked creature staggered out from a hidden recess, a fletched bolt protruding from beneath the cowl covering its face. As it entered the light, Larina saw her knife buried deep into the thing’s left shoulder. Its affected limb hung limp at its side.
The creature ambled toward her—Alhena’s staff clutched within its claws. The length of wood that everybody thought was nothing more than an old branch, pulsed with orange runes along its length. Strange, she had never noticed the markings before.
Quick as a blink, four more throwing knives slipped through Larina’s fingers to pepper the creature’s torso.
It shrieked and lunged at her, but its injuries made it stagger sideways, toppling over the ornate table between the couch and the chambermaster’s chair. The table shattered beneath it as it fell to its knees. It released the staff, and made a final desperate lunge, its claws extended outward to grab at her waist.
She jumped backward and it fell on its face, the embedded quarrel snapping as its weight drove the bolt deeper into its skull.
She cautiously stepped toward her victim, pulling free the short sword on her back, and hacked at the thing’s neck. Once. Twice. A third time. The dull sword never quite severed the creature’s neck, but it was obvious by the way its mangled body lay askew of its head that she had killed it.
She swallowed, her hands shaking uncontrollably. A cold sweat flushed her body. She gritted her teeth. Now wasn’t the time to go into shock. Damn it!
Taking a steadying breath, she pulled her eyes from the creature’s body, willing herself to calm down. Alhena!
She dropped beside the tangle of the old man’s robes. Of course, robes. He claimed to be a wizard.
The creature’s fireball had smitten him near the top of his back, but his black cloak showed no sign of damage. With the greatest of care, she shook his bony shoulder. Nothing.
She leaned back and gazed down the co
rridor. The far door clearly showed the effects of the first fireball.
“You get it?”
Larina jumped. “What the…?”
“The beast. Is it dead?” Alhena’s pained voice answered.
“Pops! You’re alive.”
Alhena coughed and struggled to sit up. “Of course I am alive.”
She put an arm around his back to assist him. “But how? I saw you get hit.”
He held out a piece of his cloak between pinched fingers and winked. “Wizard’s cloak. Resistant to fire.” He looked around. “Where is my staff?”
She remembered the creature dropping it beside the broken table. “Here.”
“Help me up. We do not have much time.”
Larina clasped his hand and pulled him to his feet, his body weight insignificant in her grasp. He swayed for a moment, clutching the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fireball’s impact, and winced. As soon as he claimed his staff, the wooden rod pulsed bright orange—hidden runes sprang to life, seemingly infusing him with strength.
It was like someone had slapped her in the face. So many things about Alhena began making sense. She had never really put any thought into how someone so much older than everyone else kept up the way he did. She took it for granted that was who Alhena was. Just another person. She realized she hadn’t taken him for old, but more as someone experienced. For some strange reason, that had been all it took to mask the fact that Alhena could easily be her grandfather, if not her great grandfather.
Standing within the chambermaster’s quarters in awe, she smiled when he stopped in the hallway and asked, “Are you alright? Do you need a moment?”
The irony wasn’t lost on her. He had been struck full force by a fireball and yet he worried she needed time to recover.
She gave him a mock scowl. “Just a moment.” She rolled the creature over, scrunching her nose at his smell, and pulled the throwing knives free. She wiped them on the creature’s cloak and tucked them into the folds of her tunic. Retrieving the discarded crossbow, she jumped out of the room and followed Alhena down the hallway, neither one of them taking time to marvel at the damage the first fireball had done to the iron bound door as they passed through it into the hall beyond.
She fiddled another quarrel into the crossbow as they ran. Approaching the intersection, they slowed. Sadyra, as usual, wasn’t where she should’ve been. The tunnels were empty.
A dull roar sounded up the Chamber corridor to their left. Larina jumped into a sprint. Robes swishing, Alhena followed her around the long swooping bend in the passage.
She slowed down and threw herself against the righthand wall, her eyes wide. Alhena followed her example, his staff flaring to life. Up ahead, the shattered remains of the Chamber doors lay strewn upon the ground.
“What is it?” Alhena leaned out to peer past her.
Larina couldn’t find her voice at first. She shook her head. “I-I don’t know. A beast. It’s huge.”
Alhena tried to look past her.
She stopped him. “They’re in there with it.”
“It? Who is in there? Sadyra and Olmar?” With unexpected strength, he shoved past her and risked a look around the corner.
Sadyra and Olmar were running towards them. Sadyra swung around and fired at the beast, but it vanished, and her bolt went wide, thudding into a bench.
Olmar lumbered toward the door, his long strides overtaking Sadyra. He reached down, hoisting her off her feet. Catching sight of Alhena and Larina, he bellowed, “Run!”
Larina stepped into the middle of the tunnel and aimed. Her bolt should’ve flown true, but the beast reappeared unharmed on the opposite side of the aisle. The bolt took a beefy militiaman in the throat, dropping him instantly—several others crashed to the ground over the unfortunate guard.
The dimly lit tunnel flared to life. Beside Larina, Alhena’s staff pulsed. She nearly dropped the quarrel she was slamming home in preparation for a second shot when the top of Alhena’s staff recoiled, sending a fist-sized fireball sizzling over Olmar—just missing the beast as it winked out and reappeared across the aisle. The fireball impacted harmlessly against the stage beside the steps.
Alhena grabbed Larina’s wrist. “When I tell you, fire!” He let her go.
She watched in horror as Olmar slipped and overbalanced, dropping Sadyra who lurched and flailed her arms to keep from falling.
Behind them, the scaly monstrosity roared and leaped.
“Now!” Alhena’s staff pulsed bright.
Larina let her bolt fly, the snick of her crossbow jettisoning its missile corresponded with the hiss of Alhena’s magical blast.
The southern lip of the scrying bowl shimmered, the subsequent ripples rolling into the centre of the enchanted vessel.
Helleden held his hands over the bowl. It was happening. His rings flared to life, capturing the theurgical essence radiating toward the centre of the chamber from the eight tall panes of enchanted glass.
A second vibration roiled the liquid along the scrying bowl’s southern edge, this one more pronounced.
Incanting the words of a long dead language, Helleden siphoned energy from the magical responses of the two Wizard’s of the North—blending their power to orchestrate the final firestorm he required to destroy Zephyr.
The wizards unwittingly fueled the instrument of their demise.
Mister Keen
Karvus leapt high, swinging his mighty battle-axe over his head and brought it down with a furious chop, its razor’s edge severing one of the serpent’s toes clinging to the edge of the shelf. He needed to get his hands on the wizard’s staff before the serpent destroyed it.
Tygra sidestepped around him, almost knocking Karvus over the brink. Delivering his own crushing blow, his warhammer broke another one of the serpent’s toes.
The leviathan screeched, turning its head their way. Its eyes locked on their position as it struggled to maintain its precarious grip on the ledge with a single claw.
Karvus raised his axe, his shoulder driving Tygra out of the way, and swung at the final clawed toe, but he was too late.
A fireball took the creature in the eye. It lost its grip on the ledge, its last claw gouging out a chunk of rock that clattered down the wall to the cavern floor more than two hundred feet below. Its colossal weight was now only supported by its slipping grip on the thin bridge span as it swayed in half circles, desperately trying to regain purchase on the wall with its injured foot. It screeched its displeasure.
The wizard’s companion stood atop the pillar, an egg-shaped object by his feet. He started to make his way across the span, leery of the serpent’s claws wrapped around the narrow structure, but a resounding crack stopped him. The serpent’s weight was too much for the bridge.
The centre of the arch broke away from its edges and tumbled after the flailing beast.
The serpent landed with a resounding thud at the base of the pillar, the impact felt throughout the cavern. If the fall hadn’t killed it, Karvus was sure the massive chunk of broken bridge that landed on top of it, did.
Other than the patter of debris sifting down the wall in the wake of the bridge’s collapse, the cavern became deafeningly quiet.
“The wizard.” Tygra’s voice broke through his befuddlement.
Blinking several times, Karvus turned his attention on the wizard.
Tygra attempted to push past him but Karvus stood his ground in the middle of the narrow path.
The wizard, several paces up the ledge, had his back against the wall where the ledge ended and the remains of the broken span shot outward. Karvus’ first instinct was to strike quickly. If he could get to the wizard before the magic user had time to evoke another charge from his staff, he stood a good chance of ending the battle quickly. Caution held him back. Who knew how fast wizards enacted spells? If he proved too slow, the battle would be over before it started. Of all the ways he could think of dying, burning alive wasn’t high on his list.
Left with
no real alternative, he prepared to charge, but something about the wizard gave him pause. His eyes? His nose? The hair escaping from the sides of his cowl? It was hard to see in the peculiar light emanating from the pillar’s top combined with the orangey radiance of his staff.
“Mel! Those are Kraidic warriors! Kill them before they kill you!” the longhaired man atop the pillar shouted. “Mel! Do you hear me? Don’t trust them!”
“I hear you,” the wizard responded in an uncertain voice. A high-pitched voice. Not one of fright, but one that suspiciously sounded like a woman. Karvus shook his head. He must’ve imagined it. A woman, the Wizard of the North? Judging by the puzzled look on Tygra’s face, he hadn’t imagined anything.
Karvus lowered his battle-axe. If the wizard released a fireball, they were dead—they had nowhere to go. The man on the platform didn’t look to be carrying a bow—that was good. The black head of Tygra’s warhammer caught the corner of his eye. Barely moving his lips, Karvus muttered as loud as he dared without alerting the wizard, “Put your hammer down. We need to get close to the…witch.”
Tygra’s hammerhead crunched the shale at their feet.
“We come in peace,” Karvus lied. “We mean you no harm.”
“Mel, don’t trust him!”
Karvus glared at the man stranded on the platform. His gaze returned to the female spell caster. “I assure you, we only wish to help.” He jutted his chin toward the dead serpent lying far below. “I daresay you would both be dead had we not arrived, witch.”
“Wizard, thank you very much.” The wizard’s eyes narrowed, her staff increasing in brightness.
Karvus held up his free hand, palm out. “Whoa, whoa. Wizard then. Whatever you wish to call yourself. I’ve never heard of a female wizard is all.”
The staff’s glow diminished. “Wizard of the North, to you.”
Soul Forge Saga Box Set Page 68
