A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3)

by Vardeman, Robert E.

  “Lorens’ problem is ambition,” said Santon. “He served as Patrin’s apprentice for too long. He never learned, to handle power because his master failed to train him in its use. Given this boundless magical power, he runs wild.”

  “There is that,” said Lokenna, “but he is also weak and abuses what he has. The crown makes it seem as if it caused the change.” She frowned. “It does something more, too. There were hints.” “These were the matters you wished to discuss with Lorens?” asked Vered, who paced the cell like an animal. He rattled the bars in the tiny door window and found no weakness.

  “I received hints of a door…opening. The door overlooked a perilous land populated with hideous creatures.”

  “Demons?”

  “Yes, perhaps. I don’t know.” Lokenna turned and leaned against the wall, her head bowed. “It matters naught. He will kill us. He has the crown.”

  “In case you missed it, we’re under siege,” said Santon. “The rebel army is going to keep him busy. Knowing where they place the troops, where they attack, where their weaknesses lie, does nothing if Lorens cannot mobilize the castle’s defences.”

  “Theoll will have tried to regain the throne. He tasted power once after Duke Freow died. He wants it permanently.”

  “And I am sure others, such as this Lady Anneshoria the guardsmen mentioned on the way down to these fine quarters, see themselves as ruler.” Vered peered through the bars, then wiggled his hand down the front of the metal door trying to find the lock. He gave up when cramps caused his arm to twitch.

  “Do you think the rebels will win?” asked Lokenna. “I noticed one in particular while using the crown. He seemed a decent sort.”

  “A decent rebel? Pah! Goes to show how much you’ve to learn,” cut in Pandasso. “They burned my inn. They destroyed your home. That’s how decent they are!”

  “That was Dalziel Sef,” she said. “No, another caught my attention. Efran Gaemock.”

  “Lord Dews’ brother,” said Santon. “His name is unfamiliar.”

  “He’s supposed to have died years ago,” said Vered. “Or perhaps he turned tail and ran.”

  “He served as jester,” said Lokenna. “In the court of the duke.”

  “Efran Gaemock was Harhar?” Santon and Vered exchanged bemused glances. Santon grinned crookedly. “I always thought more lay behind those mad acts of his than need to make others jolly.”

  “Why did he have truck with Duke Freow?” asked Vered. “Why not go along with Theoll’s scheme to assassinate him?”

  “He and Dews Gaemock parted on their desire for stability in the kingdom,” she said. “Efran wanted one of royal blood on the throne and Dews wanted only change.”

  “Both have their wish now,” Vered said, grumbling. He dropped to his knees and examined the lock carefully. From inside the lining of his once-fine tunic he took a slender piece of springy metal. He worked it into the lock and sat patiently, working it about inside the mechanism.

  “Can he get us free?” Lokenna asked.

  “If anyone can, Vered is our man. He’s quite good at this.”

  Lokenna stared, but Santon saw that she did not watch Vered. Her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She said suddenly, “We need an ally. Against Lorens we have no chance. He is too powerful — and he knows how to use the crown.”

  “The crown is using him. Don’t care what you say,” Vered said as he worked at the lock. “You want us to join up with Harhar?”

  “Efran?” The woman smiled mysteriously. Santon wondered what thoughts ran through her mind. They were completely closed to him as he studied her face. “No, he lacks the power. We must find another.”

  “Who can possibly oppose Lorens?” asked Santon. The answer came to him before Lokenna spoke.

  “The Wizard of Storms. He is all-powerful while he remains within his Castle of the Winds.”

  “You mean he cannot leave or he loses his power? No one’s ever even hinted at that,” exclaimed Santon.

  “I don’t know how I know it. My senses spread out across Porotane and I touched on many bits of information. But I do know this. He can aid us. The storms he sends cloud Lorens’ power — and the wizard commands an army more powerful than any of flesh and blood.”

  “There!” called Vered. He drew the steel strip from the lock and pushed open the cell door. “Let’s go find our wizard.”

  “You agree we should ally ourselves with him?” Santon asked, startled at his friend’s easy acceptance. Vered had never shown any trust of any wizard.

  “If the Wizard of Storms is across Porotane, across the Uvain Plateau, and high in the Yorral Mountains, I’m all for seeking him out. I just want to be free of this stinking prison!”

  Vered stepped out of the cell and screeched in pain. Santon bulled his way forward and kicked hard at the metal door. It groaned as it swung on its hinges — and the abrupt exit saved Vered from a sword thrust by a jailer.

  “Where did he come from?” wondered Vered as he got his feet under him and danced away from the armed man.

  Santon’s meaty fist crashed into the side of the jailer’s head, knocking the man to the floor. Vered pounced like a hunting cat and grabbed away the sword. A single quick lunge ended this threat to their freedom.

  “I know where he came from,” Lokenna said from inside the cell.

  “Another insight from using the crown?” taunted Vered.

  “He came with the rest of the squad.”

  Santon and Vered spun. Facing them were six armed and armoured soldiers ready for a fight.

  “Here!” called Vered, tossing the nearest soldier the sword he’d captured. The soldier reacted as Vered had hoped. He grabbed for the sword hilt. As he moved out of position, Vered dived low and caught the guardsman just above the knees, bowling him over.

  Santon lost track of what happened then. A soldier taller and burlier than he bellowed and charged. Santon’s good hand caught the soldier’s thick wrist and forced the mace away. The soldier’s left hand drove hard into Santon’s exposed midriff.

  The air erupted from Santon’s lungs and he sank to the cold stone floor, gasping for breath. He was aware of Bane Pandasso rushing past him. A single blow from the huge soldier sent Pandasso crashing back into the cell.

  By the time his vision cleared and his lungs did not protest air seeping in and out, Santon saw that they were lost. More than a dozen alert guards crowded around, weapons drawn and ready to kill. It took him several seconds to realize that Vered was nowhere to be seen. Hope sprang up inside.

  “Don’t worry about your friend,” the big guardsman said, peering down at Santon. “He cannot get far.”

  “Even if he does escape us, he’ll never run far enough to get away from King Lorens,” boasted another.

  With a sinking sensation, Santon knew how true this was. A booted foot cut off his ruminations on the subject and drove him back into the cell.

  “Oow,” moaned Pandasso, nursing his face. Blood flowed freely from his broken nose and split lip. Santon wasn’t sure if this didn’t improve the piggish man’s appearance.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Lokenna.

  For an instant Santon thought the woman spoke to her husband. Lokenna ignored Pandasso’s moanings and had knelt nearby. Santon nodded. “I’ll live — at least until they see fit to execute us.”

  “Vered got away,” she said.

  “There is still a chance, then,” he said, but he doubted it. Vered was a single light against the darkness gathering around them. The entire squad of guards had stayed on duty outside. And what the one soldier said rang all too true. Whenever Lorens saw fit, he could use the Demon Crown to examine every niche in the castle and find Vered. The wizard-king need not leave the safety of the throne room.

  “I tried to help,” moaned Pandasso. “They were too well armed for me to do anything.”

  Santon said nothing. Pandasso’s attack had been ineffectual. Santon found Lokenna’s reactions more interesting. She ignored her husband tota
lly and ran light, probing fingers over the spot where the guardsman’s fist had struck him in the chest.

  “Bruised ribs,” she said, not telling Santon anything he did not already know. “But there is nothing broken.”

  “It takes more than that to stop me,” he boasted. A moment of giddiness passed when he heaved himself to his feet. He peered out and saw even more guards entering the cell block. Even if Vered recruited half the rebel army, there would be no chance of escaping this cordon of steel unscathed.

  “What’s wrong?” Lokenna asked.

  “Your brother might have remembered that there is no need to keep us around,” Santon said truthfully. He recognized an execution detail when he saw it. The sight of the commander of the castle guard personally in charge meant their deaths had been ordered.

  Santon watched curiously as Captain Squann dismissed most of the men present and positioned the few remaining at the entrance into the dungeons, well away from the cell. Hope flared until the commander spoke.

  “Your deaths have been ordered by King Lorens,” Squann said loudly.

  “It is as I suspected,” said Lokenna. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but it was her husband who took the sentence the worst. Wracking sobs shook Pandasso’s bulky body.

  “When?” asked Santon. He had lived on the edge of life overlong. He had known for some time that only luck kept him alive. Now, at least, he would join Alarice in her phantom wanderings across Porotane. Santon did not think that Lorens would allow a proper burial for enemies of their magnitude.

  “Keep protesting loudly,” whispered Squann. “I am here to release you, but the others do not know.”

  “What treachery is this? Do you hope to instil hope in us, then dash it to make the torture worse?” Santon studied Squann’s pain-etched face and again dared hope.

  “I have been ordered to kill you.”

  “Becoming a traitor to your kind is preferable?” asked Lokenna.

  “He cannot be my kind. He is cruel. I…I thought Baron Theoll might be able to unite the kingdom and stop this war. I was wrong.”

  “Lorens might be listening to us. You place yourself in jeopardy even speaking to us in this way,” warned Santon.

  “I know. It matters little to me.” Sweat beaded on Squann’s face. He pulled back his shoulders and winced. “I may be dying. Theoll tried to save me from a poisoned blade, but I fear his magic remedies failed.”

  “You do this to strike back at Lorens?”

  “I do this in the hope that you will be able to bring peace to Porotane.” Squann looked over his shoulder, then said in a voice so low that Santon almost failed to hear it. “You must not attempt to escape. Only then can I justify the minimum number of guards.”

  “What is your plan?”

  “There is a secret way from the castle.” Santon almost laughed at this. Alarice had known of one and revealed it to him and Vered. Lorens had re-entered the castle though another secret door. Did Squann know a third way? Castle Porotane leaked secret passages in and out.

  “We agree. Do you understand, Pandasso? We can get out of this with whole skins if you obey. Do you understand?” Santon kicked at Pandasso, who cowered in a corner.

  “I’ll go. Just don’t harm me.”

  “It means all our lives if you disobey the captain.”

  Santon and Lokenna exchanged glances. Her eyes were unreadable, but Santon hoped she could control her husband’s cowardice. Squann had no reason to lie to them. Lorens had them completely under his power and the giving of hope, then dashing it through a cruel twist did not seem his style of torture.

  “Out, prisoners,” ordered Squann in a loud voice. The cell door swung back. The guardsmen turned and drew their weapons, instantly wary. Squann signalled them to proceed. “They won’t try to escape. They are resigned to their fate.”

  “Never seen a prisoner going to his death who was resigned to it, Captain,” said one.

  “Ruvary, go on ahead and make sure the strangling posts are ready in the courtyard,” Squann ordered. The soldier who had spoken started to protest, then turned and left.

  Squann walked boldly forward toward the three remaining guards. “You, check the corridors to be certain no one obstructs our progress. You two, follow along behind to make sure they don’t dally on their way to execution.”

  As one turned, Squann drew his dagger and swung the handle down hard on the soldier’s head. A sick crunch told of a crushed skull. The other guard turned and for an instant ignored Santon. Santon’s powerful right arm circled the man’s throat in an unbreakable hold.

  “Should I finish him?” asked Santon. A curt nod from Squann spelled the guardsman’s death. Santon jerked and broke his neck, then cast him aside.

  “Hurry. We have little time before Ruvary wonders what’s become of us. He’s loyal to Lorens.”

  “You mean he’s after your job.”

  For the first time Squann smiled. “In other circumstances, I could like you. You understand what happens within these walls.”

  “I was here long enough to see how you people live,” said Santon. He started after Squann, then stopped. “Wait. Vered! We’ve got to find him!”

  “The one who tried to escape earlier?” Squann shook his head. “There is no time. Ruvary is suspicious of me. We dare not waste an instant reaching the tunnel.”

  “Vered might have already gotten free,” said Lokenna.

  Santon hesitated. He did not like the idea of abandoning his friend. The clank of heavily armed soldiers patrolling the corridor spurred him into action he did not like.

  “Let’s get out of here. If we’re caught, we’re no good to Vered.”

  “He might have escaped. He remains free, at least,” Squann assured him.

  They went through the dungeons and upstairs clogged with cobwebs and bold vermin larger than Santon’s hand. They came to a small arch that had been sealed years ago.

  “This is the spot. Begin pulling down the blocks,” ordered Squann. He tossed his dagger to Santon and turned to drag his sword blade along the lines of crumbling mortar.

  Santon balanced the dagger in hand for a moment, considering again the chance that this was a complicated trap set by Lorens. Again he had to assume that Squann had nothing to gain by such a charade — and neither did Lorens. The wizard-king took his amusement from other sources.

  “Where does this lead?” Santon asked, pushing a block through into the tunnel beyond. Fetid air gusted into his face and bespoke long years of entombment.

  “I don’t know. I came across it on an ancient map of the castle.”

  “What became of the map?” asked Lokenna.

  “I destroyed it. There’s no reason to let others know of this.” Squann grunted as he lifted down a block. His face had grown increasingly pale, but he motioned Lokenna away when she went to aid him. “There’s no time. We must get away from the castle. It matters naught if Lorens can see us unless he has the power to reach us.”

  Santon started to tell the captain about the king’s magic spells that had exploded the rebel troops into sausage, but Lokenna shook her head and silenced him.

  “Get into the tunnel,” urged Squann.

  “It’s dark in there. And I see red eyes staring out. There’s vermin inside bigger’n me!” Pandasso backed away. “You can’t make me go in there. I went through that damned tunnel in the mountain. But I won’t go here.”

  “Go or stay and die,” said Santon. He had no time for the man’s fears. He saw that Lokenna agreed. She stepped over the fallen blocks and went into the tunnel.

  “We need a torch to see,” she called back.

  “There’s nothing around here,” said Squann. “We dare not find one, either. I hear them searching for us.”

  Santon cocked his head to one side and strained. From the dungeon came sounds of pursuit. Ruvary had returned and found their handiwork. Two dead guards — and Squann missing. An ambitious man would see his chance and seize it. No matter what happened,
Ruvary would have Squann’s rank afterward.

  “I’ll lead the way. My night vision’s good,” said Santon. “Squann, bring up the rear.”

  “What about me?” cried Pandasso. “You can’t leave me here to die. They want to kill me!”

  “Tunnel or death — you choose.” Santon ducked his head and entered the tunnel, squeezing past Lokenna. He heard Pandasso sobbing as he swallowed his fears and entered the tunnel. Proceeding cautiously, Santon checked the floor for sudden pits or deadfalls. The musty odour increased as he walked, however, and he decided that any mechanical traps laid in this corridor had long ago fallen apart. All they needed to worry about was behind them.

  “You coming, Squann?” he called back.

  “Go on,” gasped out the commander of the guard. “I…the poison works faster at my guts. Get away. Do what you can.”

  His voice cut off suddenly and was replaced by the clash of steel against steel.

  “We have only minutes before Ruvary follows,” said Lokenna.

  “Longer,” said Santon. “Squann is dying but he has heart. Ruvary won’t find him an easy target.”

  Santon plunged on into the inky tunnel, worrying about what lay ahead and behind — and most of all about Vered’s fate.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Lightning danced along the chipped stone battlements of Castle Porotane. The vivid purple and green discharges blew away shards of stone and made walking patrol impossible. The guards protested to their officers, who dared not carry the complaints further, fearing what King Lorens might say. Along with the lightning came intense rain and a wind so strong that it ripped away the wizard-king’s banner and sent it fluttering into the night.

  “Bring the traitor up here,” ordered Ruvary. The soldier hesitated; Ruvary did not. He struck the soldier squarely on the side of his head, sending the man tumbling down a flight of stone steps. “When I give an order, you will obey it without question. The next time you think to disobey, you die!”

  He had to shout to make himself heard over the intense storm boiling around the castle walls. Ruvary settled down to stare into the turmoil, wondering if he had properly chosen his road to power. Supporting a demented soul like Lorens might mean death if a powerful enough wizard opposed him.