A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3)

by Vardeman, Robert E.

  “I can get the blocks removed and begin tunnelling under,” he said more to himself than to the other prisoner, who again had fallen into a half coma. “I can start the tunnel, then pull out a block and let in the river. Let the water cut the rest of the tunnel. It would push away the stone flooring with ease.”

  He began to dig with more determination now that a plan had formed in his feverish mind. Vered worried if he would be able to survive the time between the cell filling and the water finishing the tunnel under the steel wall.

  “I can hold my breath long enough,” he mumbled. “And if I can’t, it might be just as well. I’ve always travelled with a full sail — and a big one!”

  The only sounds in the cell came from the knife blade scraping on dirt and the distant trumpets and noises of battle.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  “Look at them run,” crowed Efran Gaemock. “They run like cravens!”

  “No,” said Santon. He had no wish to defend those soldiers who had cast their lot with Lorens, but he felt obligated to point out what no one else wanted to. “They are not cowards. They run because they lack leadership. Where are the officers?”

  “We cut them down first. We had to,” said Efran. He watched as the squads broke into pairs of men and the pairs split into single soldiers seeking escape. “I see what you mean, though. They have no spirit, no need to fight.”

  “Consider how many surrender — and what they say. Two surrendered to me,” said Lokenna, still somewhat startled at this. “They begged me not to kill them.”

  “Lorens has taken to executing his own troops if he feels they have not lived up to his expectations. I spoke with one prisoner,” said Santon. “They had orders to take no prisoners and had been told we did the same.”

  “They came into the field thinking they would roll over us as easily as they did before,” said Efran. “If only Dews could see this with his own eyes.”

  “Hearing it from you will be as good,” Lokenna said, her hand on Efran’s arm. Santon noticed how the rebel leader moved closer to her without seeming to move at all.

  “I still cannot penetrate the castle with my spells. The Demon Crown blocks me. It…I feel more. My head. My head!” Kaga’kalb shrieked and clutched at his temples. Santon grabbed him with his good arm to keep the wizard from falling face forward into a snowbank.

  “What’s happening?” asked Efran.

  The peculiar expression on Lokenna’s face told Santon that the woman knew. She turned slowly, as if in a trance. Facing the castle, a look of utter horror began to spread over her lovely face.

  “My brother has released a demon. Demons! The crown has somehow opened the door and demons flood into our world!”

  “But they were banished,” protested Efran. “King Waellkin accepted the crown as proof of their — ” The look of horror spread over him, too, as he realized the depths of Lorens’ perfidy.

  “Lorens has invited them back to this world — to Porotane? He has unleashed the plague of demons upon us again?” Even Birtle Santon, who had come to believe the worst of Lokenna’s brother, found this outrageous and frightening.

  “He had no choice. He…he did not know what he was doing. The crown has perverted him. The lure of power made him believe he was invincible. When his scouts reported back that we had routed his personal guard, he accepted the demons’ offer of aid,”

  “What can we do to stop them?” Santon had fought the best and won, even though he had but one good arm. In a fight such as this, he felt totally helpless.

  “Let me up.” Kaga’kalb struggled and got to his knees. The wizard’s face was haggard and drawn. Santon saw that he had aged a hundred years — more — since this battle of magics had started. “I am not done. They cut me off from my Castle of Winds but I will show them. I know their secret. I advised Waellkin not to take the crown, but I know their secret.”

  “What?” Efran, Lokenna, and Santon chorused.

  “There might seem to be legions of demons, but if you defeat one, they are all defeated.”

  “You mean there’s really only one of them?” asked Santon. He preferred simpler fights. Man against man; axe against steel sword; that was his kind of battle.

  “Whether there is only one or many matters naught,” said Kaga’kalb. “All we need do is defeat one and the rest vanish. Then we must close the door through which Lorens has invited them!”

  “How do you fight a demon?” asked Efran.

  Kaga’kalb got to his feet. “Magic. They block me from the centre of my power, but they underestimate me. I am still strong. I will drive them back to where they come from!”

  Thunder rolled across Porotane in response to the wizard’s battle cry. Kaga’kalb threw back his sleeves and brought down bolt after vivid lightning bolt until the earth turned molten and flowed. Winds came up and blew the superheated liquid away.

  Revealed in the centre of this cauldron of molten rock stood a smirking demon.

  “So, Wizard of Storms, you again oppose us.”

  “Again I will send you back!” Kaga’kalb clapped his hands. An ice storm of bone-chilling severity blew across the land and swirled around the demon. The demon struggled and fought, but his movements slowed. Kaga’kalb brought down freezing rain, then whipped up a tornado. The ice accumulated faster around the demon, turning him into a statue of gleaming white and blue ice.

  Within the cold sheath Santon saw the malevolent dark eyes, the ruddy pallor of the creature’s face, the sharp, angular bones that threatened to rupture skin, the emaciated body — and always he returned to those haunting, dark eyes.

  “Do not gaze into his eyes,” warned Kaga’kalb. “They will steal your will.”

  “Kill him,” muttered Santon, captivated by those infinitely evil eyes. “I have to kill him.” He hefted an axe he had taken from the rebel camp and advanced on the ice-encrusted demon.

  “Wait, no, Santon, stop!” He heard Efran’s warnings. Lokenna’s joined the rebel leader’s. Even when the Wizard of Storms barked out a command to halt, Santon could not. He had to kill the demon. He had to stop this magical invasion and return Porotane to humanity.

  The muscles on his powerful arm knotted with the effort of bringing the heavy axe back and driving it directly for the demon’s skull. One swift, powerful stroke would end this invasion.

  The axe struck the ice. The explosion caught Santon up in an invisible and supremely powerful hand and cast him backward through the air. He landed in a snowbank, the air gusting from his lungs.

  The cold, the gasping for breath, the sight before him, all broke the spell the demon had cast on him.

  The demon lifted spindly arms and flexed wiry muscles. The sneer curling his black lips mocked not only Santon but all humanity. “Weakling. I played on your basest desires. I have no fear of this Wizard of Storms. His petty spells cannot harm me. I toy with him!”

  Santon rolled from the snowbank, got to his feet and charged, his axe already coming around in a vicious circle that would end with the axe blade sinking deep into the demon’s sunken chest.

  The shock that rolled along the blade, along the haft, up his arm and to his powerful shoulder rattled Santon’s senses. He staggered away, staring numbly at the axe. The edge had shattered against the demon’s rib cage.

  “You cannot harm me. No mortal can!”

  Laughing, the demon plucked the axe from Santon’s feeble grasp. He hefted it, then laughed even harder as he cast the axe in Kaga’kalb’s direction. The wizard sidestepped the spinning blade.

  “You are nimble for an old man,” complimented the demon.

  Santon turned and saw the demon’s trick. The heavy axe had missed Kaga’kalb — but it swung in a wide circle and now returned of its own volition, the heavy blade coming directly for the back of the wizard’s skull.

  Even before Santon could shout a warning, a lightning bolt crashed down from above and destroyed the axe.

  “I am nimble, Kalob.”

  “You misname me. I
am not Kalob. I am another.” The denial rang false in Santon’s ears.

  “Kalob will do as a name.” Kaga’kalb began an assault of the elements so fierce that Santon struggled to get up the slope and back to where the wizard, Efran, and Lokenna stood. Lightning even more intense, winds of hurricane force, tornadoes swirling in tight circles and sucking up everything in their centre, rain and snow and even dust tore at the demon. The ground around him bubbled and boiled and froze and spun as Kaga’kalb varied the type of elemental assault.

  During it, Santon closed his eyes and listened. An order came through the Wizard of Storms’ attack. It was as if he heard music. Soft here, louder there. Building to a crescendo, then slipping away into a more soothing beat. Kaga’kalb created a natural symphony of death to destroy Kalob.

  “He…he tries to escape. I must maintain this level of attack to pin him here. Go,” urged Kaga’kalb. “Go before I tire. Get the Demon Crown away from Lorens. It is our only hope.”

  “What?” Santon turned to Lokenna. “Do you know what to do with it if we can wrest it from your brother?”

  “I think so. The few times I wore it, it gave me great insight into its use — and misuse. I know nothing of how Lorens brought the demons here, and I do not know if I can drive them back. But I must try!”

  Santon looked from the maelstrom where Kalob was pinned by the elemental forces commanded by Kaga’kalb to the castle. “We ought to try getting in now,” he said. “Lorens will be blinded by so much magic. It’ll worry him, infuriate him. We have to take advantage of his confusion and fear.”

  “Wait here. I’ll bring horses.” Efran Gaemock rushed off. Lokenna turned to say something but he had already gone.

  “There is no need for him to go with us,” she said, her face lined with concern. “We can do this alone.” Lokenna turned and looked into Santon’s green eyes. “I can do it by myself. There is no reason for either of you to endanger your lives.”

  “You love him, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded her head slightly. “When I wore the crown the first time, I spied on him. For hours I watched and listened and he never knew.” She bowed her head. “I am so ashamed of myself. I was glad that Bane had died.”

  “Glad or relieved?” asked Santon. “There is a difference.”

  “Relieved. My choices are not easier, but — it does not matter,” she said abruptly. “We have much to do. If I fail, my feelings for Efran mean nothing.” She laughed weakly. “I dare hope too much. He cannot even like me. My brother has visited upon Porotane the worst plague since the days of King Waellkin. And…” Her face hardened.

  “And what?” Santon demanded.

  “Kaga’kalb is unable to summon his cloud warriors. I sense his dismay. His storms are all he can muster. His nearness to the crown robs him of his most potent weapons.”

  To this Santon said nothing. Matters became increasingly complex. He had seen how Efran looked at her when she was not aware of his interest. Still, Lokenna was right about them having much to do, and it was all dangerous. Their love lives could be straightened out afterward.

  If there was an afterward for any of them.

  “You do not have to go, Birtle. It is too risky.”

  “Vered’s alive in the castle. Alarice believes this, and so must I.”

  Before she could answer, Efran rode up leading two horses. He tossed the reins down to Santon and Lokenna. “We must ride like the wind. We dare not hope he can maintain this level of exertion long.”

  Santon saw that Efran was right. Kaga’kalb weakened visibly, yet any less effort on the wizard’s part would release Kalob from the pen of wind and fire that held him.

  Santon clumsily mounted, rubbed his withered arm, and flexed his good hand. The cold had begun to take its toll on his joints, yet he wished he had the security of the battle-axe on a leather thong weighing down his wrist again. There was no time to replace the axe; they had to ride directly to the castle.

  “I know a way in,” said Efran. “From my days as jester, I poked into every passageway until I found all Baron Theoll’s secret tunnels and spy holes.”

  Santon had to chuckle as they rode. Again he entered Castle Porotane and it was not by the main gate. He would learn every secret tunnel into the place before he used the way most entered.

  “The brambles,” said Lokenna. “They can hold back any attacking army.” She studied the thorny tangle. “I see why my brother is so frightened of Kaga’kalb. The cloud warriors could pass through unharmed.”

  “Or descend from the sky. Or even be formed within the castle, if Kaga’kalb could see where to cast the appropriate spell,” said Efran. “I have given him a map showing the layout of the castle, but he said he needs his scrying spell to work before he can send his magical warriors.”

  Santon and Lokenna exchanged glances. Kaga’kalb lied to Efran to bolster his spirit. There would be no cloud warriors. Santon settled down and watched closely for patrols as they rode. He saw none, even on the castle’s battlements. If he had not known better, he would have thought Castle Porotane to be deserted. They dismounted when they came to a particularly heavy patch in the bramble wall.

  “Here?” asked Lokenna. “There’s no way to crawl through without being cut to pieces.”

  “Therein lies the beauty of this tunnel,” said Efran. He poked around for a few minutes until he found what he sought. A loud click! sounded and he worked to push away a heavy door covered with camouflaging brambles. “Inside and hurry. It is not far to the innermost courtyard, but I do not want our king spying on us.”

  “What does it matter where we are when he sees us?” asked Santon. “With the crown, walls — or tunnels — mean nothing.” He remembered the brief glimpse through the magics of Kaga’kalb’s scrying spell. To see and hear like that all the time would be a boon second to none!

  “This tunnel is equipped with special…traps. It has floodgates built in near the castle proper. Should we be seen while in the tunnel, those gates can be opene.” Efran took a deep breath and exhaled, sending silvery plumes into the frigid air. “We would be drowned like rats in the bilge of a barge.”

  “A cheerful notion,” said Santon, diving into the hole. The darkness stopped him. He felt as if he had walked into a midnight black curtain. His eyes adapted to the darkness and he saw faint pinpoints of light along the roof.

  “Special holes cut through to provide guidance, but be careful,” warned Efran. “If you see a red light, stop and let me know. That marks a special deadfall that must be skirted.”

  Santon walked slowly, carefully picking his way in the muddy tunnel. He followed the twinkling pinpoints of light until he came to a red one. He called out the warning.

  “Turn to your right and walk forward two paces,” ordered Efran. “We’re following. Now turn left and continue. That should avoid the tripwire.”

  “What would it trigger?”

  “Who can say?” answered Efran. “I have been down this tunnel only once, and that was from the other direction. On rare occasions, I slipped away from the castle to meet with my brother to see how the war progressed.”

  “I see a brighter light,” interrupted Santon. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we have come to the end — and now the real danger confronts us.” Efran and Lokenna pressed close as Santon made his way up a slippery ramp to a stone door. He slipped his hand through the rusty metal ring and heaved. The door opened slowly and silently. Efran slid past, hand on his sword.

  “It’s safe. No one in sight.”

  Santon hung back a pace and let Efran and Lokenna precede him. When they reached the courtyard, he motioned for them to stop.

  “What is it, Birtle?” asked Lokenna. Her face was pale and drawn but he thought she held up well to the danger. “My brother is…in the throne room,” she finished. “I can feel his evil presence. The blackness fluttering around him is like a veil.”

  “I can do nothing against such magic,” Santon said. “I
want to seek out Vered. With another sword and his quick wit, perhaps we stand a better chance of defeating Lorens.”

  “Lorens is leaving the throne room,” said Lokenna. She turned as if she watched him. “He is climbing stairs, going to the battlements.” Lokenna stepped out into the courtyard, oblivious to the cold rain against her upturned face. “There. He is there.”

  Santon saw nothing where she pointed; the storm clouds obscured vision beyond a few score of yards.

  Efran Gaemock looked from Lokenna to the hidden Lorens and back to Santon. “Go, find your friend. I remember Vered with fondness. I wish you both well.” He clapped Santon on the shoulder.

  “I’m not abandoning you — we’re not,” he said, speaking for Vered, too. “We’ll join you when we can.”

  “Hurry,” said Lokenna. “Kaga’kalb weakens and Kalob is fighting his way free of the storm prison. We must get to Lorens quickly. Only the crown can drive Kalob back into his netherworld.” She started off, not waiting to see if Efran or Santon followed.

  “Luck,” Santon told Efran, “and save some of the good times for us. We’ll be there. I promise.”

  Efran Gaemock squeezed Santon’s shoulder in a comradely grip and then hastened after Lokenna. Santon stood in the cold, driving rain and wondered if he had lost his mind. Vered might be dead; hunting for him would take time and endanger Lokenna’s chances of besting her brother. They ought to remain together.

  Santon watched Efran and Lokenna vanish into the castle. He turned and ran for the door leading to the dungeons. Bare-handed he would fight his way to the torture chambers and get his friend out. Then they would help Lokenna against her brother.

  To Santon’s surprise, he encountered no guards as he spiralled down the stone staircase to the dungeon. The heavy metal grating barring entry into the cell block was easily opened. A departing guard had carelessly tossed aside the key. Santon jerked open the grating and dashed into the dungeon.

  Silence greeted him. He peered in one cell after another and saw the same sight. Bodies. Decaying humans. Emaciated corpses. The prisoners had starved to death. Hope died with each cell and left only drifting gauzy white phantoms.