He came to the end of the cell block and peered in the small grate. An obviously dead prisoner sprawled in the back, but Santon’s attention came to the hole through the wall into the next cell. He rushed to this door and peered in.
Empty.
He fumbled with his key ring and then saw it wasn’t necessary. This door was barred, a heavy pin holding the locking bar in place. He jerked free the cotter pin and drew the bar.
Santon stepped into the cell and yelled as he fell into a hole. He turned in the hole and looked back through the open door in time to see the flagstone in the floor rising. He jerked his right hand in an instinctive motion designed to get his axe into hand.
No axe. No weapon. He struggled to get free of the pit.
The flagstone slid back and a head poked through. “You’ve picked a fine time to open the door for me,” said Vered.
Santon leaned against the cell door and shook his head. Alarice had been right. Vered was a survivor.
All they had to do now was survive the battle with Lorens and the Demon Crown.
CHAPTER XXV
“Are you going to help me up? I am so giddy I can barely stand.” Vered crawled onto the cold stone floor and held out his hand for Santon to give him a boost. Santon’s meaty hand closed around Vered’s thinner one and heaved. Vered shot to his feet. “There. That’s better. Except for my finery. All ruined.” He made a futile brushing motion to dislodge the worst of the caked dirt.
“You hardly needed me. You were already out of the cell.”
“It took you so long getting here, I decided not to wait.” Vered wobbled. Santon had to support him.
“You appear a bit the worse for the lesson in patience.”
“Food stopped coming…a while ago.”
“I noticed its effect on the other prisoners.”
The stark silence in the dungeon emphasized Santon’s epitaph for the others. “How did you survive?”
“I was stronger. They had just put me in when the food stopped.” Vered looked at his bare feet. “I need new boots.”
“Easily done. There is a rack of guards’ clothing. They had to change after torture.”
“Bloodstains are difficult to conceal when you must attend state dinners,” agreed Vered. He walked on unsteady feet to the small wardrobe Santon had pointed out. He found a pair of boots that almost fit. He stuffed in a few rags to make up the difference.
“Food is what you need.”
“I need more than that,” said Vered, a twinkle in his eye. “And so do you.” In a conspiratorial whisper he said, “I know where to find your shield and the sword Alarice gave me.”
“Where?” barked Santon. He calmed. “I’m sorry. Food for you, first.”
“Not much. It would make me sick. Let me build up slowly. Then I’ll demand a full banquet.”
Together they left the dungeon and made their way to the deserted kitchens. Food was scarce; Vered got his wish not to be overfed. Santon’s belly rumbled from lack of food, too, but he let his friend eat what he wanted before sampling of the mouldy bread and tough, wormy meat.
“Lorens always did know how to set a fine table,” remarked Vered as he finished off the last of the bread. He spat out a gristle and rubbed his stomach. “It’ll take a few minutes for the food to give me strength. Remember our old quarters?”
“The shield is there?”
“Aye, and my sword. Look under the pile of blankets near the bed. And while you are rummaging about up there, bring me back another change of clothing. These rags simply will not do if I am to appear before a king.”
“Keep eating,” Santon said. “You need to fill out that form. You always were a trifle on the skinny side, even if you did eat like a team of mules.”
“If I eat any more, I might explode.” Vered poked at the maggot-infested meat. “Then again, if I don’t eat it, it might decide to eat me.”
Santon left and hurried through the corridors, wondering where the castle residents had gone. The entire time he had been inside he had seen no one. Even by straining, he had been unable to hear anything more than the crash and rumble of Kaga’kalb’s storms.
The thought of Lokenna and Efran facing Lorens alone added speed to his journey. He raced along the empty halls until he found their old quarters. Inside the room, he dived and slid on his belly to look under the blankets. He gusted a sigh of relief. Axe and glass shield supported Vered’s sword. He drew out the bundle and carefully fastened the shield onto his withered arm until he could manoeuvre it as he had in the past. His axe felt good in his grip once more.
With Vered’s sword thrust through his belt and an armful of clothing snatched from the wardrobe, he returned to the kitchens.
“What was that hideous sound?” he asked.
“I belched. I’m not tolerating this so-called food very well.” Vered belched again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Starvation might prove a more humane death than what this is doing.” He stood and came to the door. Santon noted the familiar spring in his friend’s step. He would be weak when it came to a fight, but his condition had improved greatly from the tainted food.
“Ah, my precious sword. And you have your shield,” said Vered. “Let’s not dally. Let me get into the clothing you fetched — your colour sense is abominable, dear friend — and we shall be off to do…what?”
Santon tersely explained the situation as Vered changed his clothes. “Kaga’kalb cannot hold Kalob prisoner much longer. When he weakens, the demon will be free again.”
“So Lorens let the demons back into Porotane.” Vered shook his head. “I never thought he showed any common sense. Too much power too soon and you sell out to the netherworld. It’s an old and sorry story.”
“You’d have done the same thing. I saw how the Demon Crown affected you.”
“Of course I would. I admit to avarice and a fine lust for power. I’ve never pretended otherwise. Now where is the battle taking place? I’ve seen no one around here.”
“I encountered no one in the upper corridors, either,” said Santon. “I find it strange.”
“Has Lorens slain everyone?”
“It is possible, but he would have left bodies littered all around — or he would have stored the prisoners in the dungeons.”
“There’s only one solution to this small riddle. Let’s ask the whoreson ourselves!” Vered pushed past Santon and went back into the courtyard.
“There,” said Santon. “There’s where Lokenna said her brother had gone.”
“You can see through this storm? Snow, fog, rain, what isn’t falling on our heads?” Even as he spoke, a clap of thunder sounded and a vibrant bolt of lightning lashed through the clouds to the uppermost turret.
“There’s Lorens.”
Santon and Vered made their way through the empty passageways and to the throne room. Lorens’ audience chamber contained a few bodies, some blown apart from the inside and others that had perished from severe sword wounds.
“Unless I misinterpret this,” said Vered, “Lorens has survived a castle revolt. Those poor wights with the blown-out guts tried to seize power. The ones with the swords defended — until Lorens made his wishes in the matter known magically.”
“He killed them all,” said Santon.
“The crown did it.”
They silently left the audience chamber and found the spiralling stone stairs that led to the upper levels. From here they heard the raging storm outside. Snow piled up at the end of a corridor, blown from above.
“What an invitation,” muttered Santon. “They’ve left the door open for us.”
Vered pulled his cloak tighter around him. He still shivered. With a small flourish, he drew his sword and waved it about. “Standing here does nothing to help Lokenna and Efran.” Vered looked at his friend. “Is Efran as clever and witty as he was when he pretended to be a jester?”
Santon didn’t bother answering. He made certain his glass shield rested easily on his arm, flipped the batt
le axe into his grip, then advanced. The biting wind cut at his face and arms, but he left the warmth of the castle and ventured onto the battlements.
Behind him he heard Vered panting and puffing with exertion. The man had yet to recover his full strength — Santon knew it would take days before that happened. It was their destiny that they were thrust into the fight before either was ready.
Birtle Santon swallowed hard and wondered if he would ever have been ready. The sight before him told the answer.
Lorens stood on the highest point in the tallest tower, his arms outthrust as if daring Kaga’kalb to bring down his lightning bolts. The Wizard of Storms did just that. Santon lifted his shield to protect his eyes when the prodigious blue-white bolt struck Lorens. The wizard-king staggered, but other than this small indication of weakness showed no injury.
The Demon Crown had drained the brutal thrust of Kaga’kalb’s energy.
“Where are Lokenna and Efran?” asked Vered.
“I don’t see them.”
“Then we should press on. We can’t let Lorens stare at the scenery overlong. He might get to enjoy it too much to stop.”
They started forward, the cold wind buffeting them. They hadn’t advanced ten paces when Santon sensed movement to one side. He spun, his shield coming up to protect his head. A heavy cudgel landed and drove him to his knees. As in prior fights, when one was attacked, the other countered.
Vered came around the side with a long lunge that spitted Santon’s opponent neatly. The glass tip entered the guardsman’s armpit far enough to kill with the single thrust. Vered recovered and let Santon stand in time to deflect a sword attack.
“Lorens’ personal guard,” muttered Vered.
“Green soldiers. Efran routed the personal guard outside the castle walls.”
“Why didn’t you say so? These younglings will fall quickly to a master swordsman such as myself!” Vered launched a flurry of thrusts, ripostes, and parries. Santon joined him, knowing that his friend’s strength would soon fade in the face of such opposition.
Vered drove one guardsman over the battlements to his death. Santon used his shield to catch another under the chin; the soldier’s head snapped back and made a crack so loud they heard it over the thunder. A third guardsman tumbled to the inner courtyard when Santon’s axe bit deeply into his thigh.
“This is all Lorens has left to protect him? How absurd. We can fight them all day long!”
Santon saw that Vered boasted. This minor skirmish had drained him of strength. Vered stumbled as they made their way forward. When they reached Lorens, Vered would be unable to lift even his light glass sword.
“Guard my back. Here come two more!” Santon rushed the guardsmen rather than letting them choose the battleground. He upended one and sent him tumbling over the stone battlement. He heard the poor wight’s screams of agony as he was impaled on the thorny brambles outside the castle wall. The second soldier fought more cautiously, avoiding direct blows from Santon’s mighty axe and turning to keep Santon’s shield out of position.
“You, soldier,” called Santon, his voice sounding faint and distant in the storm. “We have no quarrel with you. Is that the man you want as king? Up there?”
The guardsman cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Santon stepped back, both to give the young man a chance to study his liege lord and to rest. The cold robbed him of vitality faster than he would have liked. He worried at what this fight in the frigid wind did to Vered if he felt this drained himself.
Lorens shrieked and ranted and made gestures in the direction of the rebel camp. Santon did not know if the Demon Crown allowed the wizard-king to seek Kaga’kalb or if Lorens merely vented his wrath in the most convenient way. The expression on his face defied description. He had once been a handsome enough youth. The lines furrowed into his leather-skinned forehead were those of someone carrying the burdens of the world. His hair had turned white, either from frost or strain. Most telling of all was his frame. He had been well muscled when they had arrived in Porotane.
He now stood as gaunt as a demon, his cheekbones protruding and his eyes dark pits. Lorens shook all over as magical spells tumbled from his lips.
“Is he your monarch?” repeated Santon.
The young soldier looked back. “He has killed my friends. He has destroyed most of the people within the castle walls. He has done what the rebels were unable to do in twenty years of fighting.”
The soldier lowered his sword and waited. Santon turned, putting his back to the battlements and motioning the man by. The soldier cast his sword into the courtyard and then rushed past Santon and Vered, obviously glad to put this to an end.
“So much for inspiring loyalty,” said Vered, watching the young man descend the icy stone steps and vanish into the castle.
Santon wasn’t listening. He stared at Lorens, wondering if any shred of humanity remained in that fragile-appearing husk. It didn’t look like it.
He and Vered made their way to the steps leading to the platform where Lorens muttered his spells. The wizard-king’s attention was focused elsewhere. He took no notice of them.
“Can we kill him this easily?” Santon said, his voice a whisper.
“Trying is the only way to find out.” Vered wiped the snow from his eyebrows and gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles turned white with strain.
“Wait!”
They spun, ready to fight. Lokenna motioned them away. She had taken refuge in a small guard post at the base of the tower.
“Birtle, Vered, please!”
Santon backed from the steps leading to Lorens. The king remained oblivious to their presence. Attacking him now might be their best opportunity for victory. Even knowing this, he motioned Vered to join Lokenna, then ducked into the guard post.
The small room was crowded with two. With four it made for a closeness Santon didn’t want. Efran hunched over, holding his side. A bright red stain showed where a heavy sword blade had slashed through his light armour.
“He will be all right,” said Lokenna. The look on her face assured Santon that she did not speak simply to bolster Efran’s spirits. She truly thought he would live. “We must wait before we go after my brother. The crown gives him power beyond belief.”
“Can Kaga’kalb wear him down?” asked Santon. “That is what you’re waiting for?”
The stricken look on the woman’s face gave Santon his first hint that the battle of magics did not go well. Without his cloud warriors, Kaga’kalb had to rely solely on his storm-bringing ability — and this was limited by nearness to the Demon Crown.
“There is so little I can do. Kaga’kalb must carry on the fight while I stand and watch: The last of Lorens’ guard is gone. Beyond this…”
Vered poked his head outside into the storm and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the rain. He ducked back in and said, “Lorens shows no sign of weakening. If anything, he seems to be turning aside the worst of the storm.”
“What can we do?” asked Santon.
“I…I don’t know. When we came up here, I thought I could deal with my brother.”
“He’d never listen,” cut in Efran. “He is crazed with the crown’s power. Trying to reason with him was foolish on our part.”
“He killed almost everyone within the castle,” Lokenna said in a choked voice. “I hadn’t known that until we…until we came across the rooms where the bodies are stacked.”
Efran moaned, then bit his lower lip to keep from crying out again. Santon knew that they could not remain here indefinitely. Efran needed help desperately. Vered was still weak from starvation. Kaga’kalb’s power waned as the spell bat-tie raged on. The fight had to be carried directly to Lorens.
“Santon, where are you going?” asked Vered. Santon pushed his friend back and stepped into the storm. In front of him moved a patch of fog that flowed and took shape.
“Alarice?” he asked, not daring to hope.
“The demon comes. Lorens has worn down Ka
ga’kalb. You must act now, dear Birtle. Do it now or all is lost!”
Lightning flared across the sky and drove away Alarice’s phantom. Santon gave the leather thong on his wrist a quick jerk and brought the axe to fighting position. He went to the stone steps and started up. He hesitated when he felt a presence behind him.
“Vered, don’t,” he said, then stopped. With Vered was Lokenna and Efran — and behind them wavered a phantom.
“We all go or none do,” said Vered. “It is only fair. Why should it be any different from the way it’s always been?”
Lokenna nodded her agreement. Efran hefted his sword and held his ribs, anxious to engage. Behind them Santon saw Alarice’s face with its gentle smile. He turned and raced up the stone steps.
The turret had protected him from the worst of the wind. When he got to the top, storm winds buffeted him from all directions. Santon wavered for a moment, then plunged ahead, ignoring cold and snow and wind. Lorens and the Demon Crown became the centre of his universe.
With a bull-throated war cry, Santon swung his axe directly at Lorens’ throat. The heavy blade struck its target — and rebounded. Santon yelped in surprise as the shock worked its way back along his arm and into his shoulder.
Fighting instinct saved him. He threw up the glass shield as if to ward off a blow. Energies beyond any mere steel blade boiled on the rounded shield’s surface. Santon swung again, hunkered down behind the shield. This time he aimed at Lorens’ legs.
The impact again knocked him back. It also brought Lorens to his knees.
“Who dares attack me in this manner?” The voice came from Lorens’ mouth but the hollow, ringing quality to it was not human.
“You are Kalob, not Lorens,” accused Santon.
Ghastly, shrill laughter drowned out the thunder. “Kalob is my ally. I have allowed him to enter this world again. He fights the traitor Kaga’kalb.”
“You know his name!” Lokenna gasped.
“The Demon Crown reveals all to me!” Again Lorens laughed. This time Vered and Efran attacked him, one from each side. Efran’s steel sword failed to injure the wizard-king, but Vered’s glass blade dug deeply into Lorens’ side. Black blood trickled out of the wound.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 20
