“He’s not human,” muttered Efran. “He has become a demon, too!”
The three men attacked simultaneously, but failed to penetrate the ring of Lorens’ spells. Whatever magic he used now proved effective and kept them at bay.
“I know this spell,” Lokenna said in a small voice. “Attack him again. Now!”
The three men reacted as one. Vered swung at the man’s eyes. Santon’s axe drove deep into Lorens’ right thigh and produced a new artesian well of the inky blood. Efran lunged directly for the wizard-king’s heart. All three felt their weapons strike and wound.
Lorens screamed in pain, clawing at his injured eyes, hobbling on his leg, and geysering blood from a ruptured heart.
“No man can survive those injuries,” marvelled Vered. “He cannot be human!”
“Human or not, he dies!” Santon stood over Lorens, axe raised for the killing blow. As powerful as the downward blow was, the hand grabbing his wrist and lifting him off the turret was stronger. Santon struggled in the impossibly strong grip, twisting to see his attacker.
“Kalob!” he gasped.
“Kaga’kalb fights himself.” The demon sneered, black lips pulled away from bloody fangs. “I have escaped his traps. I stopped him from conjuring his cloud warriors. Now I must rescue my puppet. Lorens has allowed me back into this world. He will serve me well when the new order is established.”
Santon kicked and fought but could not free himself from the demon’s grip. Both Vered and Efran had collapsed on the turret, exhausted from the fight with Lorens — or under Kalob’s spell.
Only Lokenna remained on her feet. Beside her glowed the patch of mist that was Alarice.
“There is a way of forcing you back,” Lokenna said in a voice unlike her own. Santon ceased his struggles for a moment and stared at her. She had reached out. Alarice’s phantom sent out a glowing tendril that rested on Lokenna’s palm. “I know what it is. When I wore the crown, I knew it. My brother knows, also, but he is too weak.”
“You are weak, bitch!” roared Kalob. With a contemptuous gesture, he threw Santon across the turret roof. Santon skidded and managed to keep from falling to his death below at the last instant by clutching at Vered’s leg. Vered twitched weakly and moaned. He showed no other sign of life.
There is a different power, one I can use,” Lokenna said. “I have always known it — all my life.”
“You fear it, bitch. You cannot use it because you are weak!”
“I could not use it because I lacked the power, not the will!” Lokenna spun and reached out to take the Demon Crown from her brother’s head. Lorens jerked away.
Santon saw that Lokenna needed the crown if Kalob was to be forced back into his netherworld. Santon rolled and swung the edge of the glass shield at the back of Lorens’ neck. The impact knocked the wizard-king’s head forward. In a smooth motion, Lokenna snared the falling crown and held it.
The transition from ugly, corrupt green to the verdant emerald came abruptly. Kalob roared in anger as Lokenna put the crown on her head and began muttering the spells that would break the demon’s power.
Kalob fought. He reached out with his spindly arms and skeletal hand and caught Santon by the throat. He lifted and held the struggling man over the edge of the turret.
“Give Lorens the crown or I drop this feeble worm!”
“You cannot open your hand,” Lokenna said. Santon gagged as the demon’s fingers tightened on his throat. His feet kicked above a drop of two hundred feet — and hidden below in the swirling clouds lay the treacherous brambles. The six-inch-long thorns would kill him, even if the fall did not.
“Bitch! Do not oppose me in this. Return the crown. Now! Do it now!”
Lokenna stood for a few seconds, bathed in the vivid green glow of the Demon Crown.
“Release him,” she ordered.
Santon felt the demon’s claws opening. He grabbed for the spindly arm; he had no desire to die, but if he did, he would take Kalob with him.
The demon discarded him as if he were a piece of offal. Santon screamed as he fell away from the turret, tumbling over and over, falling to his death.
The wind he had hated for so long cut against his face, caught at his clothing — lifted him. Like some ungainly bird, Santon flew on the powerful currents. He swooped low over the deadly brambles and blasted upward into the sky. Clouds drifted under him and supported him with their misty substance. Lightning flared around him, lighting his way through the rain and snow and dust.
As light as a feather, the winds put him down in the edge of the turret again. The sight of the human returned from certain death shocked Kalob. He tried to utter a spell, to finish the job he had begun, but Lokenna’s voice cut deeper than any blade.
“Your legs are numb. Your vision fades. Kalob, your senses are being taken from you. Blind, deaf, without feeling, you are slipping away. There is no taste or odour in this world. Only yourself, only you, and you are growing weaker.”
“You cannot do this to me! I beg you! You have no idea how terrible it is in my world!”
Lokenna stepped forward. The crown sat on her head and drew every lightning strike. She was not the target of destruction; she was the centre of power. As she moved, her lips worked on the spells needed to banish the demon.
Kalob shrank in size. The fragility of his body increased. Santon moved forward and used the edge of his shield against the demon’s neck. Kalob’s head flew into the storm. Lokenna pointed and a bolt of lightning vaporized the skull. She reached out and lightly touched the still-wiggling body. It tumbled off the turret.
Santon saw it vanish as if it were mist evaporating in the morning sun.
“He is banished,” Lokenna said. “The gateway opened by my brother is closed — and will remain so.”
Santon sank to his knees, thankful for the respite. He started to speak and then saw the determination on the woman’s face.
“Lokenna, no, let me!”
Santon’s warning came too late. Lokenna went to her brother, who hopped on one leg. As she had done with Kalob, she reached out and gently shoved. Lorens shrieked as he lost his balance and tumbled backward off the turret.
Santon fell belly down and peered over the brink. No bolt of lightning vaporized Lorens. His body cut a tunnel through the clouds. Santon got a long look at the wizard-king’s twisted body impaled on the deadly thorns before the storm closed the pathway to death.
“There is no need to worry about me, dear Birtle,” she said, touching his cheek. “He was my brother, my twin, but he was also venal and…evil.” She straightened. “As my relative, it was my duty to do what had to be done.”
Lokenna turned from Santon, then fainted, falling face forward. He tried to catch her and only partially broke her fall. He lay beside her on the turret, too weak to move. Above, the storm began to abate. Within minutes blue sky arched above and soft, almost spring-like winds blew.
Santon remembered the rainbow before passing out.
CHAPTER XXVI
Vered stretched and leaned back in the cushioned chair, hiking his feet to the table in front of him. He took a morsel of bread and carefully ate it as he stared out the slit window in the room. Behind him Birtle Santon moaned softly.
“Are you awake, Santon?” he called.
“Awake? What?” The man came fully awake, hand reaching for his axe. Santon groaned again and got out of bed. Standing beside Vered, he said, “You’re looking plump. You must have been gorging yourself to put on so much weight in…” His voice trailed off. Outside the trees tried to put on leaves and the grass had turned green once more. The snows had gone and the day looked like a perfect spring.
“No, you’ve not slept that long. But three days is a long time.”
“Three days!”
“A little over. Much has happened while you’ve been dreaming away your life.”
Santon grabbed Vered’s shoulders and spun the man around. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“First
of all, you seem well enough after your sleep. Have some food. Nothing wormy in this scrumptious food. Efran sent for his brother and the peasants robbed their winter larder to provide decent food for the conquering heroes — that’s us.”
“Winter?” Santon went to the window and felt warm breeze against his skin. Tears came to his eyes. He had not thought to ever see spring again.
“It is winter, but this is Kaga’kalb’s coronation gift to Lokenna.”
“Is he in the castle?”
“He returned immediately to his Castle of the Winds. He was even more drained than you, but Efran and Lokenna would not let him go until they’d forged a strong treaty. He can create his masterpieces of clouds and his symphonies of thunder and lightning as long as he does it in the Yorral Mountains. No more of this perpetual winter, even though we are barely into autumn.”
“Then we will see winter again?”
“Soon, he said. But it will be natural and not the product of his magic. This unusual warmth is a reaction to the magic he used to defeat Lorens and the demon.”
“They are gone?”
Vered shuddered. “Lokenna has the way of a queen about her. She refuses to allow her brother’s body to be taken down from the thorns. He’s to remain until the crows pick his skeleton clean. Then she’s decreed that his bones be broken and sent to every corner of Porotane and put on display.”
“The crown?” Santon was hesitant to even suggest that the Demon Crown also corrupted her.
“No. She considers this justice for what he had done to Porotane.” Vered shrugged. “Mayhap she is right. The peasants seem to enjoy the thought of looking on the tyrant’s bones and spitting on them. But then you know how peasants are.”
“How can I have slept through all this?”
“You were exhausted by the battle. You of all, save for Lokenna and Kaga’kalb and perhaps Efran and myself, expended the most to save Porotane.” Vered popped another choice tidbit into his mouth and chewed contentedly.
“Then all is well in the castle?”
“As smooth as silk,” said Vered. “The formal coronation is slated for this afternoon. Most of the principals have recovered from the battle. Lokenna thought it was a reasonable time. She dares not wait too long or the kingdom will fall apart again and the petty warlords will stir up armies in opposition.”
“What of the Gaemocks?”
Vered laughed. “She has them firmly on her side.” Vered laughed even louder. “With Efran, she has more than this. She has him firmly in her bed.”
“From the looks he gave her when they were together, he is not complaining,” said Santon.
“Far from it. The court jester has now become the court favourite. It would not surprise me if she decides to make him more than consort. He is a valuable resource at this court. And if things do get dull, he can always cut a caper or two and liven them up. I suspect life will soon enough become dull here.”
“He knows the politics of rule,” agreed Santon. “And his brother? What of Dews’ ambition for the throne?”
“He is a strange breed of man, that Dews Gaemock. He always avowed that he had no desire to sit on the throne, that he opposed Duke Freow simply because he wanted to see someone competent ruling the kingdom — and not necessarily himself.”
“So he has bowed out?”
“Hardly. Lokenna would be suspicious of him if he had not exacted some post from her. He is now Marshal of Armies entrusted with maintaining order throughout the kingdom.”
“In certain ways, this is a more powerful position than monarch. He collects taxes.”
“He collects taxes and maintains the army against brigands, but Lokenna need have no fear of perfidy when he’s off in the provinces. She still wears the Demon Crown.”
The information worried Santon. Lorens had not been the evil fiend when he first donned the crown. He had been weak and from that weakness came the evil. The Demon Crown was a potent symbol, a magical relic of immense power. The potential for abuse and destruction was also great.
“Lokenna,” said Santon, “uses the crown in a fashion different from Lorens. Therein lies the safety of the kingdom.”
“She can still see or hear — spy on! — anyone anywhere she pleases. Except in the Castle of the Winds. That was part of the agreement between her and Kaga’kalb.”
“His magic prevents such use, anyway,” said Santon. “No, she does more than spy. She looks into a person’s soul and ferrets out emotion.” He remembered the times she had seemed to read his thoughts — and she had not even been wearing the crown.
“I’m not certain I want a ruler who can do that. There is blackness lurking within that I refuse to face. Why should someone else know what I cannot about myself?” Vered’s words hung heavy but his attitude dispelled any gloom.
“Will you stop eating for a moment?”
“Why? I am still famished. The time in the prison was awful — and be sure to remind me to always buy a high quality of boot. The leather in my old ones was well-nigh inedible.”
Santon stared into the countryside and saw a steady stream of people coming into the castle for the coronation. He asked Vered, “When is Lokenna to be installed as queen?”
“Soon. Get yourself into what rags you wish to be seen in publicly. Myself, I feel quite comfortable in these old things.” Vered stood and pirouetted to show off his finery. Santon noticed the tunic and breeches less than he did the gleaming daggers Vered had hidden away in the folds.
“Expecting a new war to break out?”
“They saved me once. Call me superstitious. I intend to always carry four daggers with me. And my glass sword, of course.” He tapped the hilt. Santon shook his head and went to dress. To his surprise the wardrobes overflowed with clothing that fit him as if tailor-made.
“I’ve had to do something to occupy my time. Choosing suitable clothing for you gave me some small respite from boredom.”
Santon thanked him and stood before the polished metal sheet to study himself. He cut a fine figure, he decided, even though he would never tell Vered. His friend carried the “better things in life” to extremes. Santon preferred to be astride a strong horse with the stars above. Even a wind in the face as he rode would not be amiss.
“Hurry, Santon. The ceremonies begin without us.”
Santon hitched up the glass shield and slung his axe in a belt loop. Crowning or not, he, like Vered, did not feel comfortable without weapons. They made their way down the back ways of the castle and came into the throne room through a side door.
“Isn’t she lovely?” whispered Vered.
“Aye, she is. A regal bearing for a true queen.” A catch came to Santon’s voice when Lokenna took the Demon Crown from a plush pillow and placed the gold circlet on her head. A hush fell over the assemblage as the crown turned a light green, then began to shine with a clear, pure emerald light.
Santon let out pent-up breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He had feared the crown would be the same ugly colour it had been on Lorens’ brow.
“Can you hear what she’s saying?” asked Vered.
“Not well. She’s thanking everyone. Kaga’kalb. Something about the alliance with the Wizard of Storms, blah, blah, blah. Dews Gaemock is Marshal of Armies.” Santon smiled. “Your rumour-mongering is accurate, it seems.”
“I hear something about Efran. Surely she is not appointing him court jester?”
“Nor consort. They’ve announced an alliance more binding. This is a coronation and a wedding.”
“A better choice than Bane Pandasso. She has learned quality in men, though why she chose him over me is something I will never understand.”
Santon looked around the large chamber and saw the rapt faces. Rebel soldiers stood next to royalists. Peasants mingled with the few nobles remaining in the kingdom. There would be much rebuilding. New orders of nobility awarded, a settling into peace that might stretch for years.
Porotane needed the healing. The civil war had been too de
structive for too long.
“Do you feel it, too?” asked Vered.
“What?”
“Sadness. It is over.”
Santon considered, then nodded. “There is one item that remains to be done.”
“I have no wish to stay in the castle and have them force baronies or even duchies on me. You know how I loathe it when beautiful women fawn on me and thrust riches into my hands.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Santon. “Shall we do what must be done?”
“Of course.”
Long before Lokenna, Queen of Porotane, came to their names on the lists of nobility, Birtle Santon and Vered had departed the castle.
One last obligation had to be met.
CHAPTER XXVII
The dust storm cut at their faces and hands and forced Santon and Vered to stop too often. Even worse than the biting dust was the freezing cold.
“I thought deserts were supposed to be hot. This is terrible.” Vered huddled behind his horse in a vain attempt to find shelter from the storm raging across the Desert of Sazan.
“It’s winter. There’s nothing to keep the heat in. Do you see anything but rocks and sand?”
“It wasn’t much warmer in the Iron Range when we came through the passes. Won’t this ever get any better?”
“Not until summer. Then the heat will fry your brains inside your skull.”
“I remember all too well,” Vered said glumly. “I think that’s already happened. There’s no other reason for us to be out here exposing our precious bodies to the elements.”
They had left Castle Porotane, taking horses and supplies for their long journey. Not bothering to consult with Lokenna had speeded them on their way. As Santon pointed out, the new ruler of Porotane could find them easily if she desired. All she had to do was don the Demon Crown and look for them.
The black, angular peaks of the Iron Range had brought fierce winter storms and bands of brigands who had not heard of the new law in the land. Each group they eluded or outfought reminded them that Dews Gaemock would not tolerate such thievery — but bringing law to this portion of the kingdom would take months or even years.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 21
