A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3)

by Vardeman, Robert E.

  “Long enough for there to be light outside,” said Santon. Then he frowned. The light had vanished. Pandasso ran full into him again. Santon winced as his withered arm scraped the rocky tunnel wall. He wished he still carried the glass shield Alarice had given him. That device had proven useful, not only in saving his life in battle but for protecting his weak arm. It would have been a true boon in this tunnel when the only guidance he had had was a hand along the wall and his sense of direction.

  “I hear a storm. Thunder,” Lokenna moved to join them. He did not mind her presence. If he had been able to see in the pitch-blackness of the escape tunnel, he would have killed Pandasso and left his body for the vermin…

  “There!” he cried. “Light again.”

  “It’s lightning,” Lokenna said. “The brilliance shines against rock and reflects into the tunnel.”

  “It lasts so long. The storm must be incredible. We might be better off in the tunnel until it blows away,” suggested Pandasso.

  Santon shook his head, then realized they could not see except in the flashes. “We leave immediately upon finding the exit. I don’t know why Ruvary didn’t pursue us. He might have been too interested in showing off what a traitor Squann was, but the tunnel is open behind us and a squad with a torch can cover the distance in a matter of minutes.”

  “I don’t like the tunnel, but getting wet would be even worse,” complained Pandasso.

  “Birtle is right,” said Lokenna. “It is dangerous remaining in the tunnel. We are captives limited to travel in only two directions — one, if you consider that we dare not return to the castle.”

  Santon continued his cautious advance until he came to the tumble of stones blocking the exit. He began pushing the rocks away with his good arm. Lokenna joined him. Only when he saw his wife struggling with the huge chunks of stone did Pandasso lend a hand. In a short while they had cleared a crawl space large enough even for Santon’s broad shoulders and Pandasso’s girth.

  “It’s been many years since this tunnel was used,” said Santon, looking over the stone. “Let’s hope the rebels don’t have a guard posted outside to watch.”

  “They don’t,” Lokenna said positively. “There is no feel of human presence.”

  Santon peered at her but the woman’s face was still cloaked in shadow. Even the purple flashes of lightning outside failed to show her expression. He wondered if she had become infected with the evil carried by the Demon Crown or if this was a knack she’d always possessed.

  “Birtle, you worry so,” she said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The crown has awakened much in me, but it has not harmed me. Truly, it hasn’t.”

  “Wait here while I scout and see where we’ve come out.” Santon wiggled through the hole and tumbled out into a raging storm. Wind caught at flesh and chilled him. Rain mixed with snow battered his face. He tucked his bad arm into his belt to keep it from blowing wildly in the gusty winds.

  For a minute, he sat hunched over, squinting into the night. The storm gave occasional glimpses of a surreal land populated by creatures from a demented nightmare. Santon slowly recognized those creatures as trees blown over by the storm, rocks strangely limned by the lightning, naturally occurring formations in the land itself. In the distance he heard the gurgling passage of the River Ty and knew his sense of direction had been accurate. The tunnel had twisted around but had eventually headed due east. He walked slowly to a rise and peered into the night. The ice floe-racked river lay a bowshot away — a perfect escape route for any wishing to flee Porotane.

  Santon turned and looked back at the castle. The wind and rain chilled his body. The sight of Castle Porotane locked in the grip of the storm chilled his soul. That could not be a naturally occurring storm. The sharp delineation between calm and storm showed that. It was as if a wizard had positioned the storm to strike only at the castle and those within it.

  “The Wizard of Storms shows his power,” Lokenna said at Santon’s elbow. He jumped. He had not heard her approach.

  “I thought you were going to stay in the tunnel until I scouted the countryside.”

  “There is no danger to us. Not when the Wizard of Storms directs his full wrath against my poor brother.” The woman tossed back her head. The wind caught her hair and sent it rippling in a long banner. Rain dotted her face and turned Lokenna into a being more than human. She looked at Santon and saw his expression. She smiled and it was the smile of a goddess.

  The night had turned infinitely colder for him.

  “I hurt my leg. Help me!” came Pandasso’s whining voice. “I can’t walk. You’ll have to carry me.

  “Walk or we throw you into the river,” Santon said. “I’m in no condition to carry you and your wife’s not strong enough.” Santon continued to grumble, saying under his breath, “A full team of draft horses might not be strong enough, you giant fat oaf.”

  An explosion knocked them flat. Santon shook himself and dared to look at the castle. A jagged bolt of purple and green lightning unlike anything he’d ever seen had smashed the uppermost castle turret. He blinked. He thought he saw a body fastened to the flagpole being whipped about by the storm.

  “The Wizard of Storms shows his distaste for Lorens this night,” Lokenna said. “Come. Let’s see if we can’t convince him to join us against my brother.”

  “We’re going all the way to the Uvain Plateau?” protested Pandasso. “My leg’s turning game. Can’t walk that much. It’s too far!”

  “Then stay.” Santon helped Lokenna to her feet and started walking in the direction of the rebel force. He would have preferred skirting their encampment but time pressed in on him like a weight. The Uvain Plateau lay a hundred miles to the northwest and, once on the plateau, reaching the Castle of the Winds meant another two hundred miles of travel. If they had to fight the wizard’s storms every second of the way, they might never get there.

  “I sense your uncertainty in asking help from the Wizard of Storms,” said Lokenna. “I do not like the idea of entreating a wizard of such power to help us, but Lorens and the Demon Crown are too strong to oppose in any other way.”

  “The rebels will deal with him. What good does the crown do him if he has no followers?” Pandasso hiked along behind them showing no sign of an injury.

  “The power lies within, not in his soldiers,” said Lokenna. “He can cause great woe if he uses the power of the crown for his own gain.”

  Santon fell silent. He remembered how Lorens had exploded the rebel troops when they had landed at the royal docks. Such magical power had not been present when they’d found the frightened apprentice wizard in the Desert of Sazan. The crown had greatly augmented his power and had turned him into a vicious, mad killer.

  Santon looked over his shoulder at the castle, wondering at Vered’s fate. He held back the tide of guilt mounting within but at great emotional cost. He stopped and stared. The huge flashes of lightning lit the landscape in a continuous, if flickering, display brighter than day. At the bramble barrier, near the spot Alarice had shown them, Santon saw movement. He strained and saw four figures emerging from the tunnel of thorns. “Lokenna, can you make out who that is?” She shook her head. “Not at this distance. If I wore the Demon Crown, it would be simple. But now?” She again indicated silently that she could make out no details of the four.

  Hope flared. Vered knew only the secret ways in and out of the castle shown them by Alarice and Lorens. The tunnel had been discovered by Squann and would be unknown to Vered.

  “We should wait. He might find us. That might be Vered.”

  “Who’re the other three? Friends? More’n likely, he’s traded us for his own hide.”

  “Spoken by one who knows true treachery,” said Santon, his shoulder muscles bunching tightly. His hand clamped so firmly around the hilt of the dagger that his knuckles turned white and the veins stood out in bold relief.

  “We are surrounded by the rebel army,” Lokenna pointed out. “Is this the place to wait to see i
f that is your friend?”

  The four emerging from the secret tunnel through the brambles mounted horses and rode at an angle from the castle. Wherever they went, it would require considerable hiking for Santon to catch up.

  His guts churned with indecision. He had no reason to believe that any of the riders was Vered. He only hoped that his friend had eluded Ruvary’s guardsmen and had escaped the castle walls. The notion that Vered had perished trying to rescue them, when they had already won free of the castle, pained Santon the most.

  “We need horses,” he said, still watching the riders battle their way through the storm. “Even if none of them is Vered, we need horses to reach the Uvain Plateau. I have no desire to walk all the way — and listen to his complaints.”

  Lokenna’s eyes locked with Santon’s and silent agreement passed between them. He found himself liking the woman more by the minute. She displayed courage and good sense, but the feelings he held for Alarice were not replaced by those for Lokenna. He admired Lokenna; he could never love her. She held herself apart, aloof, as if she were a spectator to all that happened around her rather than a participant.

  Santon glared at the woman’s husband. Bane Pandasso would never merit even grudging respect from him. Santon gestured for them to continue their slow march through the rain. The mud sucked at his boots and made walking a trial. Before they had gone a mile, Santon’s feet had turned to lumps of ice and he knew he would be unable to continue much longer.

  They needed food, shelter, fire — and horses.

  “The rebel lines must be ahead,” he said. He stared at the way the hillside had been torn up by scores of horses. Even the drenching rain had not been able to mask this spoor. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “See what you can steal, you mean,” grumbled Pandasso.

  “So you want to dance into the rebel camp and ask them nicely to give us what we need? How far will that get us?”

  “Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  Santon tried to tell himself not to get angry at Pandasso, but he refused to take his own advice. He could not forget the man’s continual whining — and past treachery. Even if Pandasso had betrayed Vered and the crown to Lorens for what seemed a good reason, Santon could never forgive him. They had lost the only bargaining lever they had with the wizard-king by that simple treason.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” asked Lokenna. He saw that she meant what she said. She would accompany him, if he thought it would help. How unlike her husband Lokenna was.

  “I’m safer alone. Wait a while. If I’m not back by sunrise, you go on toward the plateau. You don’t want to be caught between rebels and the castle. Better to be behind their lines where they are less apt to keep a sharp lookout.”

  Seeing that Lokenna agreed with his reasoning, Santon walked off into the storm-cloaked night. A dozen paces placed him in his own world, cut off from everyone else. Santon used his good hand to wipe the rain from his eyes, then bent over and advanced cautiously.

  His hunting sense worked for him again. He would have stumbled across a small sentry post if he had continued walking. He dropped into the freezing mud and wiggled on his belly, ignoring the filth. A moment’s thought about Vered and how his friend would have been complaining about ruining his fine clothes passed. Santon concentrated on the guards in the post.

  He counted five in a crude lean-to. Two slept, one snoring noisily. The other three huddled around a guttering fire continually assaulted by rain and the occasional snowflake.

  “Freezing our arses off and for what?” groused one. “We sit and wait when Sef knows that nothing will happen. Not in this demon-cursed weather.”

  The other two concurred. Santon made his way around the camp, careful not to make too much noise. The wind and rain and snoring drowned out any stray sounds he may have made. He got to the rude corral where they had penned their horses. Under a tiny shelter of limbs he found their tack.

  Santon wasted no time. The sky would begin turning pearly with dawn soon — if the storm allowed such light to show. He got a bridle and saddle from the shelter and outfitted the largest horse. Two more trips saw two more animals ready for travel. They whinnied loudly, but the storm prevented the miserable rebel sentries from hearing. Santon felt sorry for them. When their superiors learned that they had allowed a thief to make off with three horses — why not all five? — they would be disciplined severely.

  The thought of spare horses appealed to Santon. He readied a fourth and a fifth. In this way they could ride and allow two horses to rest. Lokenna was so light her horse might not need respite, but Santon and Pandasso both weighed down any animal with their bulk.

  Santon vaulted into the saddle and led the other four saddled horses from the corral. The rain lessened, then stopped. He urged the animals to greater speed. The sudden lightning of the sky told him that dawn would soon break over the Iron Range.

  “Birtle, we’re so glad you came back. There is trouble in the castle.” Lokenna was beside herself with worry.

  He stood in the stirrups and stared at the castle. The storm had disappeared quickly, again betraying its magical origin. The main gate of the castle caught his attention.

  “Lorens launches an assault on the rebel line. We’ve got to be away quickly!”

  “The storm blinded him. I felt him trying to use the crown and failing, but with the magic storm past, he can see everything.”

  Santon helped Lokenna into the saddle, wheeled his steed about, and put his heels to the heaving flanks.

  “We’re riding into the rebel camp!” cried Pandasso. “We cannot go there. They’ll kill us!”

  Santon hunched over his horse’s neck and spurred the horse on. The two spare animals raced along easily behind. He heard Lokenna’s horse and knew they would survive. Of Pandasso’s complaints he heard nothing. His plan would get them safely through the rebel ranks and to the plains beyond.

  With luck, they would ride unmolested. With luck.

  “Halt!” came the challenge. “Who goes there?”

  “Messengers for Dalziel Sef. There’s cavalry from the castle on the road. Lorens has launched a full attack. Spread the word!”

  The effect exceeded Santon’s wildest hope. The rebel guards vanished as they rushed to spread the word and awaken the sleeping camp. They had planned on siege, not defence.

  Through the centre of the camp rode Santon, Lokenna, and Pandasso. As they went, Santon called out his warning. He had no real love for Dalziel Sef, but his sympathies lay more with the rebel, in spite of all he had done to Fron and other villages, than with Lorens.

  Sef showed cruel ambition — Lorens wore the Demon Crown. That made the wizard-king the more dangerous.

  Even as he rode, Santon saw the type of soldier Sef had recruited. For the men, he felt a pang of sorrow. They were poorly equipped and did not react to this dire threat in a trained and military fashion. Most would die if Lorens’ field commander kept a tight control over his own troops.

  The damned civil war had raged for too long. Santon prayed that Lokenna was right and that some alliance with the Wizard of Storms could be forged.

  Santon reached the northernmost limits of the rebel camp, his voice hoarse from shouting the warnings. He heard the first clash of steel against steel. Lorens’ soldiers had advanced quickly to engage the rebels this soon after leaving Castle Porotane. Santon had no stomach for staying and lending his single strong arm to the fight.

  “Santon!” came Lokenna’s cry. “To the left. Lorens’ men!”

  He had no idea how they had penetrated this far through the rebel line in such a short time.

  Two armed and armoured riders urged their horses on to cut off his escape. Santon cursed his stupidity. When he had sneaked into the rebel sentry post he should have stolen more than tack. The dagger Squann had given him remained his only weapon.

  “Keep riding, Lokenna. I’ll slow them down.” He tossed the reins of the two spare horses to Pandasso. The man had the good sen
se not to let them drop. With his wife, Pandasso rode on as hard as he could. Lather already flecked the sides of his straining horse.

  Santon hoped the animal wouldn’t die of exhaustion. When he spun about to face the two royalist soldiers, he hoped he wouldn’t die. The dagger seemed an even more pitiful weapon now that he faced one rider with a lance and the other with a battle-axe.

  He gauged his chances, then spurred hard so that he rode between the two. At the last possible instant he jerked on the reins and dodged to the left, effectively cutting off the rider with the axe and engaging the lancer from his weak side. The soldier fought to lift his weapon and get it to his left.

  Santon ducked under the descending shaft and backhanded the rider, knocking him from his saddle.

  With one foe down, Santon kept riding, heading for a stand of trees where a rider with an axe would be at a disadvantage. He veered to the right and for an instant vanished directly behind the rider, who struggled to get his galloping horse turned for the pursuit.

  Santon grunted as a tree limb flashed past at head level. He kicked free of his stirrups and used his powerful left arm to swing like an ape. A sudden heave got him onto the limb. Panting, he lay flat and waited for the soldier to follow his trail.

  So intent was the soldier on the hoof marks in the muddy ground that he failed to look up. Santon slipped off the limb and looped his arm around the rider’s throat. A spiked gorget cut into Santon’s arm, but he cared less for strangling the soldier than he did with unseating him. They crashed to the ground, the armour putting the fallen soldier at a disadvantage.

  Santon used his dagger, driving the sharp point into an exposed armpit. The soldier died instantly.

  He sank to his knees and unfastened the axe from the soldier’s wrist and put it around his own. He still railed against the loss of his glass shield but having an axe once more made him feel complete.

  Santon got his horse and spent a few minutes rounding up the other two horses. He checked them for trail rations and found little. Lorens expected this attack to be a quick one. From the decreasing sounds of battle, Santon guessed that Lorens’ bold attack had crushed the rebels’ spirit.