“Wizard of the North, of course.” Karvus nodded. “Forgive me, I should’ve known.”
“And you are?”
That gave Karvus pause. “We have travelled from Zephyr, looking for you,” he said, trying to buy time to debate the merits of providing the wizard with his true identity. He hadn’t known many magic users in his time, but felt he better stick to the truth as much as possible. One never knew the extent of a wizard’s power. He took a tentative step up the ledge.
“Looking for me?”
“Mel, don’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to get close to you,” Silurian’s voice rang out.
The wizard’s staff flared brighter. “Stay where you are.”
Karvus stopped, his hand held up. At the moment, he would’ve given a castle to anyone with a bow to shut the wizard’s companion up. “Easy. Your friend’s words are pretty harsh considering my friend Tygra and I have just saved you from your fate, don’t you think?”
The wizard considered his words. “Your intervention was timely,” her green eyes flicked to her companion, “though now we have another problem.”
Karvus smiled. This was the break he needed. “Your friend there? Aye, ‘tis a mighty leap he’ll be needing if he wishes to come back this way. Perhaps we may be of further assistance?” He took another step—Tygra matching him.
The wizard’s staff flared again.
“Hey, we want to help you. Your companion over there, what’s his name?”
The wizard said nothing, but her staff’s glare increased.
“As luck would have it,” Karvus said in a placating tone, “My friend has a length of rope. Show the nice wizard your rope, Tygra.”
While Tygra took off his cloak and pulled a small coil of rope from over his shoulder, Karvus said, “Mel, is it? Your name?”
The wizard didn’t respond. She seemed unsure how to react to his questioning, which was a good thing. If Karvus could take advantage of her indecision he might be able to get close enough to steal her staff. “Seems I have lost track of who the Wizard of the North is.” He advanced slowly as he talked. “I was under the impression that Fa…um, Phase…”
“Phazarus?”
“Yes. That’s it. Last I heard, Phazarus was Wizard of the North. I am obviously mistaken, for although I’ve never met him myself, he most assuredly was not a pretty, young lady. When did he, ah, stop being the head wizard, if that’s what you call it?”
The wizard stared at him, about to respond, but a shout from her companion made her staff flare brighter.
“Mel, stop him! He’s sneaking up on you!”
Her staff pulsed.
Karvus flinched and fell back a couple steps. “Whoa, easy with that stick, lady. Your friend over there is the one requiring our help. Or does he think he can jump the gap?”
“My name is Melody,” the wizard stated. “I’m no lady. I’m the Wizard of the North. If you desire to breathe again, I suggest you don’t get any closer.”
Karvus swallowed. Three quick steps and he had her but he couldn’t count on the fact that this wizard, as unsure as she seemed, wouldn’t discharge her staff in time. He sensed Tygra behind him.
“Melody it is. My apologies to the almighty wizard.”
“Don’t mock me,” the wizard growled, her fair eyebrows coming together.
“Again, my apologies. I merely offer you the praise deserving a wizard of your stature.” Seeing that Tygra was ready, Karvus added, “Well, it seems as if we are at an impasse. You don’t trust us, and we are leery of you. Your doubting friend over there has a great conundrum facing him. I find it highly implausible for him to descend that pillar the same way our dearly departed beastie climbed it, hmm?”
The wizard ignored his words. Instead, she called to her companion. “Where’s your sword? Did it work?”
The man lowered his head, slumping. He pointed toward the fallen serpent. “It’s down there somewhere.”
“What?” the wizard’s voice squeaked.
“I dropped it trying to get the damned egg out.”
Egg? Ah, the object at his feet, Karvus thought and nodded to himself. Even better. He’s not armed.
The wizard looked straight at him. “I have a proposition for you. What did you say your name was?”
If he mentioned his real name, Karvus was sure the only thing that would remain of him would be his smoking boots. “Keen. They call me Keen.”
Tygra shot him a look.
“Mister Keen, then. I’ll make you a deal. If you’re so eager to assist us, I need you to go down there and retrieve Silurian’s sword.”
Silurian? An odd name. So odd that he knew he’d heard it before. Recently, in fact, but where? Something his father had said? He envisioned his father pacing about the royal pavilion the day before Helleden’s pet had killed him, fretting over the sorcerer’s demands. No, it wasn’t his father who had mentioned it.
His eyes widened. Yes! Yes, it was. His father had mentioned the name. Years ago. Karvus had been a wee child when Helleden had come close to conquering Zephyr. If he remembered his father’s words correctly, a man, whose name escaped Karvus at the moment, had led the Band of Five, or whatever they called themselves, onto a battlefield. One of them had banished the sorcerer to another realm. Karvus was certain his father mentioned the name Silurian. He wasn’t sure whether his father had spoken Silurian’s last name, but the first name rung true.
Could it really be the same man? He studied the long-haired wretch standing dejected upon the platform. He didn’t appear fearsome, although Karvus knew appearances were false illusions at the best of times. The man looked old enough to have fought twenty years ago. How many Silurians could there be?
“Well?” The wizard’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Okay. Fair enough, Wizard of the North Melody. I will send Tygra, here, to fetch the sword, though if it’s under the monster, it may be difficult to retrieve.” He indicated with his forehead for Tygra to do as he suggested.
Without a word, Tygra slipped and slid down the narrow trail, his passage dislodging loose bits of shale that fell away with a clatter.
“Are you crazy, Mel?” Silurian stood at the edge of the break and leaned out over the gap, his baleful stare directed at Melody. “You can’t let them have my sword. Blast them and grab the rope.”
Tygra was already more than half way around the cavern wall. Everyone watched him leap the small break in the trail the serpent had inflicted.
The wizard’s next question made Karvus swallow. “How come you aren’t with Emperor Krakus’ army in northern Zephyr?”
Karvus stared open mouthed.
“Oh yes. I know all about the emperor’s movements. I’m not the Wizard of the North for nothing. You said you were sent to find me. How come? And how did you know where to find me?”
Karvus’ lips turned up as he lowered his head in mock shame. He looked up to the wizard with downcast eyes. “You mostly have the right of it, oh mighty wizard Melody. Tygra and I fled eastward, fearing the sorcerer Helleden’s wrath. The emperor seeks your help, and thus we have been sent to find you.” He left it at that. No sense spreading his words too thin. If the wizard sensed treachery, he and Tygra were finished.
The clump of Tygra’s boots impacting the cavern floor drew everyone’s attention. They watched him search the floor around the serpent’s body, moving small chunks of rock with the toe of his boot. He walked around the head of the serpent, stooping to peer closely at the beast’s face. He stood up again and continued toward the base of the pillar, his pace suddenly increasing. He leaned his warhammer against the pillar and bent down to push aside a pile of debris. Standing straight again, he held a sword in his hands. “I got it,” his voice echoed up to them.
“There. You see? We want to help.”
The wizard nodded, but Karvus could tell she regarded him with skepticism.
“Krakus wants my help? Then why has he joined with Helleden?”
He con
sidered his response. It had to be genuine. “Emperor Krakus believed…” He cringed at the slip up. If he read the situation correctly, the wizard was still under the belief that Krakus led the Kraidic Empire. A cold feeling tingled his skin. He was the emperor. Skulking about a slimy, foul smelling hole on the whim of a tyrant. His hackles rose. What was he doing? His unspoken criticism of his father’s cowardice thundered through him.
He cleared his throat. “The emperor believed the only way to the Ivory Throne lay in Helleden’s ability to manipulate the skies. It’s no secret our people covet Zephyr’s rich soils and limitless resources. Recently, however, I sense the Kraidic Empire evolving. Our ultimate ambition is to provide a more hospitable climate for our people. At least I thought so until Helleden happened along. The sorcerer’s promise of spoils has regressed the thinking of the Kraidic hierarchy—”
“You seem to know a lot about Kraidic nobility.” Silurian’s bitter words curtailed Karvus’ explanation. “Don’t trust him, Mel. There’s more to him than he’s telling us.”
Karvus threw his free hand up in mock frustration. “I’m not sure how else to explain my people’s desire.”
“Why not just trade openly with us?” Silurian spoke before Melody could. “Murdering our families for no better reason than coveting our land doesn’t lend itself to sit lightly with my people.”
Karvus bowed his head in mock obedience. “Your people? Forgive me, I had no idea you’re related to King Malcolm.”
Silurian muttered something that Karvus could barely make out—something like, “If you only knew the half of it.”
Shale crumbled and clattered far below. Tygra struggled to gain the ledge trail, his boots scrambling for purchase on the wall to help him hoist his large frame over the lip.
The wizard’s voice pulled Karvus’ attention back, her tone sounding like an effort to mollify the angst rising between her companion and him. “You still haven’t explained why you seek me. The Kraidic Empire has openly vowed to exterminate magic from the world. What would Emperor Krakus want, other than to kill me?”
Karvus was hard put not to swallow. The wizard had the right of it. Thankful to be a gifted liar, he said, “The emperor and his army had sought an alliance with Helleden, but Emperor Krakus sees the folly in that course of action. Unfortunately, the Kraidic army is under Helleden’s control. We need your staff to help us deal with the sorcerer.”
Melody stared hard at him. It was hard to tell whether she saw through his half truths or not. At least her staff only retained a soft glow.
Tygra’s footfalls came up behind him, his breathing laboured.
“Allow Tygra to cast your friend the rope,” Karvus said. When the wizard turned to regard her companion, Karvus muttered under his breath so that only Tygra could hear him, “Be sure not to secure the anchor knot.”
“First, throw the sword over,” the wizard directed.
Karvus dipped his head, “Of course.” It wasn’t what he’d prefer, but what could Silurian do, trapped on the far side of the gap? “If you’ll allow my friend here to approach?”
Not waiting for an answer, Karvus pressed himself against the cavern wall so that Tygra could sidle past him, a magnificent sword in one hand and his warhammer clutched in his other.
“Leave your weapon with mister Keen.” The wizard’s words momentarily confused Tygra Keen.
Karvus released his breath as Tygra comprehended the situation. He propped his warhammer against the wall before striding up to the wizard.
The wizard’s staff flared brighter the closer Tygra got.
Without looking at the wizard, Tygra passed her within touching distance and stepped out onto the broken span, warily testing what remained of the bridge as he went. He stopped near the jagged edge and knelt on one knee to tie an end of the rope around the sword’s hilt and cross-guard.
Even with leather gloves on, Tygra carefully gripped the sword’s blade in one hand and the hilt in his other. Without a word, he indicated with a nod of his head to the man called Silurian, asking him if he was ready.
The greasy-haired man on the far side of the gap nodded, adjusting his stance.
Tygra swung the sword back and forth twice and then launched it over the abyss.
Silurian reached out and caught the weapon’s hilt, struggling to hang onto it as the sword’s tip clanged off the broken face of the bridge at his feet.
A fetid odour wafted into the cavern heights, borne on a discernable breeze.
Everyone wrinkled their noses and cast their eyes on the dead serpent at the pillar’s base. As one, they all took in a heavy breath. A swirl of brackish water washed across the cavern floor. The tide was coming in—heralded by a distant screech that reverberated down the tunnel.
Abomination
Pollard never shied away from anything. Standing over eight feet tall, he rarely had reason to. As fierce as he was in his own right, he had the sense to recognise that the creature shaking the solid stone platform beneath its feet was going to be difficult to take down on his own, if not impossible. Judging by how the rest of those assembled gave the Sentinel a wide berth, he really didn’t have a choice. The massive battle-axe in his hands gave him little solace.
He had lost track of his companions in the pandemonium. King Malcolm was quite obviously dead. Yarstaff lay somewhere behind the beast, unmoving. A quick glance confirmed that Pik, the captain of the king’s guard, lay motionless against the wall. Pantyr Korn lay broken in a puddle of blood near the edge of the stage. Of Rook, there was no sign.
Had the Gritian militiamen possessed extreme courage, they had a chance to attack him from behind and he would’ve been powerless to do anything about it. The presence of the Sentinel, however, threw their bravado to the winds. No one in the hall wished to risk an encounter with the beast.
The Sentinel’s elongated face parted, revealing a mouth lined by jagged, meat-rending teeth. Towering four feet higher than Pollard, the dark-skinned beast lunged, raking the air in front of Pollard with a mighty swipe of its talons.
Pollard sidestepped out of harm’s way, banging his shoulder off the second-tier wall. Movement from down the aisle caught his attention. Sadyra! And Olmar! Where had they come from?
Olmar lumbered past Sadyra brandishing a sword at the confused guardsmen milling about the base of the steps. Where was his black hammer? As big as Olmar was, he looked to be wielding a child’s toy.
A guardsman dropped in the aisle, a crossbow quarrel protruding from his face. Sadyra dropped to a knee, hurriedly inserting another bolt into her weapon.
Pollard fleetingly wondered where she had come by a crossbow. And where was Alhena? All these things went through Pollard’s mind in an instant—his inner calm surfacing in the face of imminent death.
With a mighty roar, he swallowed his hesitancy, hefted his axe, and swung with everything he had at the Sentinel.
Bracing himself for impact, he staggered forward and sideways under the momentum of his swing. Surely the axe should’ve bitten into the abdomen of the beast, but the creature no longer stood before him. So great was his swing that he lost his grip on the weapon and it flew into the audience benches, shattering two different rows before clanging to the Chamber floor out of sight.
A movement out of the corner of his eye had Pollard diving to the stage floor and rolling away, the act saving his life as the Sentinel rematerialized on his left side and swiped its great paws at his head.
The beast bellowed its displeasure. Its head perked up, ignoring Pollard, red-slit eyes focusing on the new threat bounding up the central aisle. Two quick, stage vibrating steps saw the Sentinel at the top of the stairs.
The militiamen milling about below stumbled and fell in the rows of benches in their haste to get out of its way.
“Olmar! Sadie! Run!” Pollard shouted, desperation cracking his voice. He scrambled after the creature, unsure how he was going to be able to dispatch it without a weapon, but those were his friends down there. People he
had fought amongst and nearly died with. He wasn’t about to let them be killed.
In one fluid motion, the beast landed in the aisleway beyond the cowering guardsmen.
Pollard shuffled along the stage, his feet restricted by the shackles binding them. There was no way he could reach the creature in time, but his anxiety lessened as Olmar stopped and turned around.
High Bishop Abraham Uzziah’s voice rose above the calamity, urging his men to give the beast chase and bring it down. The guardsmen looked questioningly to the stage, their eyes full of fear, but the high bishop berated their cowardice, promising certain death to anyone refusing to comply. A group of reluctant militiamen filtered out from between the benches, half-heartedly giving chase.
Pollard descended the steps in two hops and raced after them as fast as his fettered feet permitted. Up ahead he watched dumbfounded as the Sentinel, running down one side of the aisle, suddenly disappeared, only to reappear on the aisle’s far side.
Olmar’s distinctive voice echoed around the massive cavern. “Run!”
The group of pursuing guardsmen directly ahead of Pollard came to a sudden stop. Pollard hammered into the back of the closest man and chucked him into the bench beside them. He had no time for them—the Sentinel chased Sadie.
Those closest to him turned in shock and fell back, brandishing their weapons.
A bright flash lit up the exit. A fireball sizzled over Olmar’s head, bearing down on the Sentinel, but the creature no longer stood in the missile’s path. Pollard felt the heat arc past him, the fireball exploding against the lower stage. A wizard?
Pollard put his hands up as the guards forced him backward. The closest man swiped a sword at him, its tip missing his stomach by a whisker. They weren’t looking to make him their prisoner.
Sadyra and Olmar needed him, but he failed to see a way past the guards. The stage loomed up behind him. Once there, he’d have to fight several seasoned militiamen armed with swords and polearms—remounting the steps fast enough to avoid them was not an option with his ankles bound.
Soul Forge Saga Box Set Page 69
