There was a loud crack. Cordillera waved away thick smoke and saw a man standing where the lightning had been. The man was shorter than the king, but beefy with broad shoulders. He was dressed in a shiny black leather jacket that went below the waist, and above the knees. The white tunic was buttoned up to the top. The wizard’s hair was cut short over the ears, and parted down the side. It was black hair, with streaks of grey. His hands were raised, and knees bent. He looked defensive, and Cordillera wondered if he’d somehow been alerted danger was present? Could he have sensed Pendora’s demise?
Ida aimed her lethal hands at the wizard holding him in place, as Cordillera made his way around the room. He glanced down at Galatia. Just like last time, she was out of it. If she were awake, and alert, she faked it well. He wasn’t concerned about her. Osuald demanded his full attention.
The smoke barely thinned; it was difficult seeing much of anything. The smoke, in fact, was more like clouds that whirled about as if a storm brewed inside the dungeon. Nothing dissipated. It was trapped inside the dungeon with them.
“Ida?” the magician said, moving around. “My Ida? Can that be you?”
Cordillera stopped walking. His smoke-teared eyes opened wide, despite the heavy burning sensation. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
His… Ida?
His?
His? What did that mean? His? The Mountain King felt suddenly betrayed. It could explain some things, such as why Ida always seemed timid. She let him think he was in control. Why had she never used her magic against him? Was this man the reason why?
“Who is Osuald?” Cordillera said.
“I’m her father,” the wizard said. He took a step closer to his daughter, and then another. He seemed alert to his surroundings, of the half-dead woman strapped to the table, the charred corpse in the cell on his left, and of the king standing in front of him. “Something’s not right here. Are you okay, Ida?”
“He can help us,” she said, holding up both hands as she pleaded.
Ida had seen how he’d handled Pendora.
Her father. She never said. It made sense. Explained why she had magic. Enough of this. Cordillera advanced on the wizard swinging the iron club towards the back of his head.
Ida screamed out a warning.
Osuald stepped out of the way. The momentum of the swing pulled Cordillera off balance. The ground chipped away as the club slammed into it.
“What’s going on?” Osuald backed away from the king; beads of sweat dotted his brow. His arms rose. The tips of his fingers crackled. Red, jagged bolts encircled his hands.
Cordillera regained his footing, and spun around. He growled, staring at Ida. She’d betrayed him. Had that been a part of her plan all along? Was she just by his side so that he’d bring her father out of hiding?
He lifted the club up, and bounced it over his shoulder, ready for another swing. The sweeping arc was wide, fast.
Osuald pushed his arms forward. Red lightning shot from his palms. The electric charge attacked the club. Cordillera’s body shook. His teeth clattered.
“Ida! Come with me!”
“Da,” she said, but stayed where she was. It was almost as if her feet were cemented to the floor.
Cordillera wondered if she was now torn between her king, and her father. He panted as he bent forward, and tried catching his breath. With his vision blurred from the current still coursing through his body, the intensity from the shock slowly lessened. The club was no match for Osuald. He should have figured the death of Pendora would have set off alarms. He’d missed the opportunity of catching the man off guard. Fighting him now could prove futile, even dangerous.
“Stay back!” Osuald barked out the command.
“Do you know who I am?” The Mountain King puffed his chest, and stood a little taller.
“I’m not sure it matters.” Osuald couldn’t keep his eyes on the king. They kept drifting left, and right, taking in the horrors surrounding him.
Cordillera saw the fear in the man’s eyes. He might be a powerful wizard, but he was still a man, and the man in front of him was clearly afraid. “I am King Hermon Cordillera.”
“I don’t care,” Osuald said. He kept one hand trained on Cordillera, as he reached out for his daughter with the other. “Come with me, Ida. I’ll get us far, far away from this insane person.”
Cordillera suppressed a laugh, and instead ground his teeth, and narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brow. With his jaw set, he threw a punch into the air in front of him.
A gust of wind came from behind the king, and twisted Osuald off his feet. The magic was Pendora’s, and the Mountain King loved the sensation as the power pulsed inside his veins and arteries. It was riveting! He wasn’t positive how he called on the magic, other than he was somehow aware of its presence. Did it now live inside of him like a separate being? Were they one in the same?
Osuald clapped his hands together as he was flung backward. Before he crashed into the dungeon wall, another crimson bolt leapt out of his palms and sped forward.
As Osuald fell onto the floor, crumpled, and unmoving, Cordillera batted away the misguided bolt with the iron club, and sneered. He then crossed the distance between them and swung downward. The club connected solidly with Osuald’s skull. The wizard right leg twitched, and jerked, before his body went still.
“Da!” Ida yelled. She found her legs, and ran forward. She dropped onto her knees and threw herself over her father. Sobbing, she gripped his clothing in her fists, and looked up at Cordillera. “That was my father. He was my father!”
“You knew!” It wasn’t a question, but a shouted accusation.
“How could you do that? He never did anything wrong to you!”
Her tears didn’t faze him. He raised the club. “You knew we’d be calling your father out of hiding. This was your plan all along. You were using me!”
“He could have helped us. He would have helped us! The three of us could—”
“Give me his magic,” Cordillera said.
“I won’t.” She lifted an arm, her hand high, fingers spread wide.
Cordillera waved his hand. Brilliant white lightning exploded out of the swirls of lingering smoke. Ida pulled away, the skin on the back of her hand blackened and burned. She let out a shocked scream, and crying, fell protectively over her father once again. He wasn’t sure how he stopped her, but he had. He wasn’t sure if his magic was stronger than hers, but she didn’t resist.
“We’ve a contract, an enchanted deal. You can’t break your word. I can’t break mine. You can keep your father. I won’t kill him. But I will have his power,” Cordillera said. “You will transfer his magic!”
Cordillera rolled the club around in his hands as if getting ready to swing it down onto the wizard’s head. Another blow would shatter his skull, if it wasn’t crushed already.
“Don’t!” Ida pleaded, a hand raised in surrender.
It was the most… normal she had ever seemed. There was an almost daughter-like quality to her blubbering. She didn’t resemble the ragged witch he was so used to seeing. “Give me his magic, and I will not ask again.”
“And then will you heal him?”
Daddy issues, Cordillera thought. This witch grew up without her father, and clung to him when he’d offer a form of salvation. With Osuald back, the tables turned. Predictability was shot, despite years of keeping her self-esteem broken; Cordillera saw something gleam in those black eyes. “I’ll heal him.”
Ida ran the sleeve of her cloak under her nose. The fabric absorbed snot and tears. “You must promise me, Your Highness. You must give me your royal word.”
He wasn’t going through this again. Not twice in one night.
He felt something then. It was an odd sensation. It throbbed inside his head, with color. He lowered the club.
Ida was looking around the dungeon, an odd expression on her face.
“Was that you?” Cordillera said. “Did you just use magic?”
She
shook her head. “It must have been my da. He’s not alert. His mind is reeling from you striking his head.”
Cordillera raised the club again, up over his head. “Transfer the magic now, witch, or I will finish off your da!”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it! Please,” she said, begging. “I’ll do whatever you want!”
“Nothing has changed. The plan is the same.” This time the king watched, and listened, as Ida began the spell siphoning away her father’s magic. It was time he learned. He was a wizard. Pendora’s power continued surging around inside him. Ida was not going to have the upper hand. He’d established his dominance, and once he ingested her father’s power, he’d be twice as strong, twice as deadly.
She spoke the spell from her knees beside her father. Her head tilted back, and rolled from side to side, as if the energy source pulled her into a trance. The flames in the bowls by the stairs bent away from the witch. A blast of wind visibly erupted out of Osuald’s chest. It rose above his still body like a skeleton and, in a gust, knocked Cordillera up off the ground, and backward. He slammed into the wall, and collapsed onto the rock and dirt floor with a grunt.
He kept his eyes open. He watched the wind wisp across the floor, and snake its way toward him. He inhaled every last bit of it. The power filled him. His muscles vibrated with energy. There was no denying the sense of strength he felt. He imagined it wouldn’t be impossible to be crushing cinders in his bare hands, if he wanted. If he wanted, he believed he could walk through castle walls. He felt ten feet tall.
He pushed himself up with both arms.
Too much ale made him feel this way at times. Invincible, but hazy. Unbreakable, but off balance. On his feet, he surveyed the room. Ida was draped over her father, crying.
He strode toward them, and stopped. This woman was showing such love for a man she never knew couldn’t have known, and yet she cried as if they had been as close as thieves since the start of eternity. She had no idea what real fathers were like, had she have met his father she’d react differently toward her own. It was embarrassing. This was the first time he could remember seeing Ida as more than a witch, but as a woman, a person. It disgusted him.
Ida looked up. It was like she saw something in his eyes she didn’t like. “You promised me,” she said.
Without a word he threw both arms out, hands aimed at Ida’s head. Deep green bolts shot from his fingertips. They zapped Ida with tremendous force, and blasted her back, and away from her father. The air crackled, and buzzed.
Ida shielded her body with a raised arm. The green electricity caught her cloak on fire. She shrugged out of the clothing, and fired back with a mass of spinning green smoke, laced with yellow sparkles; resembling yellow stars in a night sky. The cloud swirled, and spread and created a barrier around Ida, as she got slowly to her feet.
Cordillera walked forward, punching his arms toward her, increasing the amount of energy spraying from his fingers. The cloud fought the electricity, absorbing it into its mass. The green spun faster, and faster, funneling away from Ida and at him.
The king wouldn’t back down. He had the power of two wizards inside him. Their strength melded together, and ran through his body with such intensity that his arms trembled, and his muscles began to ache. “You cannot defeat me,” he said, mentally berating her, chopping down her morale, belittling her self-confidence. Those took a toll on such a weak woman. “We were going to stand strong together! United, and unbeatable. You’ve thrown that away.”
“You need me,” she said.
It might be true. She could be wrong. He thought he could summons the last wizard on his own without her help. “Then work with me,” he said.
“You are planning to kill my father.”
“I told you I would spare him!”
“I saw murder in your eyes! I sensed it in your heart,” she said.
“I have no need to kill him. You’ve given me what I wanted from him.”
“You won’t kill him?”
“I have no reason,” he said.
She dropped her arms. The cloud vanished.
Cordillera wasn’t ready for the retreat. His bolts zapped Ida again. It hadn’t been on purpose, but he wouldn’t apologize. She didn’t deserve an apology. It was clearly her fault that the fight started in the first place. She, if anything, owed him the apology.
She was flat on her back. Wisps of smoke rose from her clothing. Her face, slightly blackened around the mouth, nose and eyes, looked peaceful. Her eyes were closed. She appeared to be sleeping.
Sleeping.
He was tired, his eyelids felt heavy. His muscles were taxed. There would come a time for resting. Now was not that time. There was still too much that needed doing. Being this close to completing a lifelong dream gave him enough stamina to keep going, to not yet give in, or give up. “Ida!”
She stirred, groaning. She cupped her hands over her face, a thankful movement Cordillera appreciated.
Hermon Cordillera walked around Galatia’s seemingly lifeless body, and retrieved the dagger. He held it in both hands and studied the craftsmanship. It was a marvelous weapon, and he truly was impressed by the swirl of dragon tears inside the blade. The wizard shackled to the table wouldn’t be worth anything for a while. He wasn’t in the mood to wait. This was it. His time. He was so close. He couldn’t wait, not anymore, not any longer. “Who was the owner of this blade?”
Ida groaned. It wasn’t an answer.
“No more games, witch. Who owned the dagger? Which wizard?” Cordillera made his way around Galatia, again, and stopped at Ida’s feet, and kicked the bottom of her boot. She responded, curling in her leg. “Get up!”
It was almost as if an unseen presence fought her every movement, intent with keeping the witch flattened on the ground. She moaned, and gasped for air as she rolled onto her side, and pushed herself up into a sitting position.
Cordillera squatted in front of her. He showed her the dagger. “Who did this belong to?”
“His name was Matteo,” Ida said. “That is all I know about him.”
“And you knew the chalice belonged to your father, Osuald?”
“I did.”
“Did you know about Pendora?”
She nodded.
“Could you have summoned them, those wizards, without Galatia’s help?”
She shook her head. “No, Your Highness.”
He liked that. Contract or not, she reverted to calling him Your Highness. She knew her place. Her messing up had hurt their relationship. There was no way she could deny it, nor was she. Ida knew he was now a powerful wizard. If he could bear looking into her black eyes, he was positive he’d see something that resembled fear.
Cordillera stood up. “Help me call him,” he said.
“The sorceress is not ready,” she said. “The woman is spent. She needs the rest. You can kill her if you push too hard. How will she bear you a son if she is dead?”
Cordillera closed his hand into a fist, and almost struck Ida with a magic punch, but refrained. When they’d started this transformation, he’d needed Ida. She was the wizard, the witch. She had to be the one to give him Pendora’s power. “Get up.”
“I’m up,” she said.
“On your feet!” He wouldn’t need a son. If Galatia died, then she died. He wanted more magic, and wouldn’t be forced to wait.
The witch moved far too slowly.
Cordillera’s muscles tensed. “Get up,” he said. The power flowed out of him. It enveloped Ida, and lifted her off the ground. Cordillera waved his arm toward the torture table. Ida was flung forward. She stuck the edge, and doubled over, her body sprawled over Galatia’s legs.
He didn’t let her crumble to the ground, but held her up and on her feet. Setting the dagger into Galatia’s hands, he ordered the witch with a simple command. “Begin,” he said. His tone of voice compelled a reaction.
Ida’s flesh was bruised, and battered. Blood dripped from split lips, and a crushed nose. “She is goi
ng to die,” she said.
Cordillera lost his temper. “I don’t care!”
Something moved behind him.
Spinning around, Cordillera almost laughed. Osuald was on his feet. He stood like a wizard ready for some magical battle. He also looked terribly confused.
Now, Cordillera did laugh. “What’s wrong old man? Has your spark expired?”
“Father,” Ida said. “Don’t!”
The old man wobbled. His legs barely supported his weight. The wizard looked suddenly old, and frail. It was as if he’d aged decades in the few moments he’d been unconscious; since his magic had been stripped from his soul.
“I will handle this man, dear child,” Osuald said.
Dear child? Was the old man blind as a bat to boot? The Mountain King crossed his arms. “In half,” he said. Crisp, straight red rays shot forward as he quickly uncrossed his arms.
Ida screamed, “No!”
The beams sliced through Osuald’s flesh just above the waist. His torso fell forward. It splattered on the rock ground. The legs stood standing a moment later, before the knees bent, and then the lower half of his body toppled backwards.
“You didn’t have to do that!” Ida ran toward her father.
“He wanted to fight.”
“You took his magic. He was harmless. You knew that! You knew he couldn’t hurt you. He wasn’t a threat!” Ida said.
He shook a finger at the witch. “You took his magic. You gave his magic to me. I want us to be clear about that.”
She cried, burying her face into her father’s shirt. Cordillera wondered how she could do that, with all of his guts seeping out of his… extremities. He could smell the old man’s insides from where he stood. It was horrid, and offensive.
“Help me retrieve Matteo the wizard.” He said, “And I’ve grown tired of asking for everything more than once. Trust me when I say, I will not ask again.”
He gave her a moment for grief. Everyone needed time for mourning the loss of a parent, he supposed. When she raised her head, he didn’t hesitate.
He saw the fire in her eyes. She meant to kill him; to try and kill him, anyway. He would have none of that. He remembered how she’d transferred her grandfather’s magic. He called on that same spell. Ida’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t have time to counter. His siphoning spell slammed against her. It was a visible crash. Her head bounced backward. He thought he’d snapped her neck, it had been struck with such force he wouldn’t have been surprised if the magic decapitated her. That would have been a shame, of course, but he wouldn’t have been surprised.
Severed Empire: Wizard's War Page 21
