He closed his eyes and shot a thick bolt of white magical energy up into the cavern. The energy flashed so brightly in the darkness of the cave that the eels, and Zollin guessed whoever was controlling them, were temporarily blinded. Then he levitated himself up, just above the mass of eels and sped toward the archway where Offendorl had fled. He was hit by one of the giant eels again, but this time it only pushed him farther along his path, knocking him out of the huge beast’s reach and through the arch.
The tunnel surprised Zollin—it led up. He only had to go twenty paces into the tunnel before his feet could rest on solid ground. He stood in the tunnel, which was large and dark, but seemed safe enough to rest in. His magic churned hotly inside him, and his physical body was tired. His containment held his magic in check and allowed him to work most spells without draining his physical energy, but his lack of rest and inadequate food supplies had left him weak. He knew he wasn’t ready for the fight that lay ahead, but he didn’t have time to wait. His enemy was close and he moved forward, pushing down his pain and keeping one hand on the wall to hold him steady as he walked until his light-headedness passed.
He listened intently, keeping his magical shields up and holding his magical senses close around him. The tunnel went on and on, until Zollin’s legs began to burn and his breathing grew heavy. He wanted to stop and wait, to drink his water, to find food and perhaps even lie down to sleep, but he knew those comforts were beyond him now. He would save the water, he promised himself, until after he defeated Offendorl. It made sense to Zollin that the old master of the Torr was the last barrier to reaching Gwendolyn. He would need as much strength as he could muster to face her. And after that, it wouldn’t matter what supplies he had left. He would most like be dead or dying.
Eventually Zollin saw an orange glow coming from somewhere ahead of him and guessed it was more magma lighting the chamber. Offendorl had torches lit in the last chamber, and it made sense that the ancient wizard would like to be near light. Zollin crept forward. Whoever had controlled the giant eels knew he was coming, but he didn’t have to make his appearance easy on them. He stayed in the shadows and peered into the chamber beyond; it was large, and pillars of stone with chains hung from the ceiling. Lava flowed down the walls in several places and then disappeared into gaps between the floor and walls.
Chained to the pillars were large, grotesque creatures. Some had animal features, others were just deformed humans. All of them looked terrified and exhausted. Zollin saw no sign of Offendorl, but the wizard could be hiding behind any of the stone pillars.
Zollin moved out of the tunnel slowly. He decided it would be best to let his magical senses explore the room. It would telegraph his coming, but that wasn’t a secret anyway. And once he knew where his enemies were he could plan how to defeat them.
His magical senses flowed out and across the large chamber. It was a skill he’d learned from Kelvich and Zollin felt a pang of grief for his old teacher. Kelvich had been a good man, a sorcerer who had turned his talents for controlling magic users into a way to teach Zollin how to access and control the deep well of magical power inside him. Kelvich was killed by Mansel when the warrior had been under the witch’s control, and Zollin had never really had an opportunity to grieve for his mentor and friend.
He pushed those thoughts away and forced himself to concentrate. The wretched creatures chained to the stone pillars were a source of dark magic, like black shadows that his own powers refused to go near. Around the pillars were ancient markings carved into the stone. None of this interested Zollin. He might have found it fascinating under different circumstances, but he had only one goal in mind now. To find and kill Offendorl.
Zollin searched through the large cavern. There were a lot of stone pillars, most rising almost to the roof of the cavern. Only six of the pillars had creatures chained to them. Offendorl was near the rear of the cavern, standing close to an archway. Zollin’s magic felt a tug from the adjoining chamber. He immediately pulled his magical senses back. This was the final barrier to reaching Gwendolyn, he realized. He had felt a similar tug whenever his magical senses came too close to Kelvich. The old sorcerer had promised never to take control of Zollin’s magic, but not before he had demonstrated that he could usurp Zollin’s power completely.
Zollin reinforced his magical containment. The last thing he wanted was to have Gwendolyn take control of his power as well as Offendorl’s. He feared perhaps he had come all this way for nothing. The wriggling worm of fear and doubt gnawed into his conscious thoughts. What if Gwendolyn had wanted him to come? What if her power had increased so much that she could steal his magic even with the self created containment field he had cast around his inner reservoir of power? He had no answer for the onslaught of self doubt that battered at his mind. All he could do was face his fears and fight until his body and magic gave out on him.
He walked boldly into the larger chamber. The pathetic creatures chained to the pillars whined and hissed as he walked by. Some struggled against their bonds, but Zollin ignored them. Any one of the creatures would be difficult to fight and he had no doubt they would be unleashed on him sooner rather than later, but this was not the time to back down or be cautious. He was here to fight and so he was ready to get on with it.
“You, you, you,” crowed Offendorl in a high pitched whine when Zollin came within sight. “You just won’t die will you, wizard?”
“No,” Zollin said. Then he shouted, “Gwendolyn! I’m here to kill you.”
“You’re no killer,” said Offendorl. “You have made a mistake.”
“It wouldn't be the first,” Zollin said.
“Flee!” Offendorl shouted and Zollin saw a light of comprehension cross over the old wizard’s eyes as he said it. It was like a moment of clarity when a senile person remembers your name.
“I won’t,” Zollin said calmly. “But rest assured your torment will soon be over.”
Offendorl laughed again, the same high pitched cackle that echoed around the stone chamber. His eyes lost focus and he slumped. Then Zollin heard the sound he had been expecting: the unmistakeable clunk of manacles being unlocked, rusty hinges squealing as they popped open. Then the chains, pulled tight by the slaves as they stood in bondage, clattered against the stone pillars.
Zollin didn’t turn around. His magical barrier was up and fear churned his magic into a maelstrom. He wasn’t afraid of the creatures behind him, or even of the old wizard before him. He wasn’t even afraid of what he would find in the final chamber where Gwendolyn obviously waited for him. It was the realization that he was at the end of a very long journey and that soon he would most likely be dead. He didn’t want to die, but that was inevitable now. Whatever came next it was out of his hands. He had only to face it, but it made him sad. In that instant before the battle began he saw Brianna’s face, and his father’s. Even Mansel floated past his mind. He missed them all so terribly much and wanted more than anything to be with them, to see them just one more time. He wanted to tell them that he loved them, that they had meant so much to him on his journey, and that he wanted nothing but the best for them.
Then, as quickly as all those thoughts passed through his mind he pushed them away. He had to stay in the present, and focus all his power and energy on defeating the creatures rushing toward him with evil intent. His eyes narrowed and he turned around.
The first creature was running on its hands and feet. It was covered with fur and had long, thick teeth. It was obviously some combination of animal and man, not unlike the creatures Zollin had already fought. He didn’t hesitated but blasted the creature with a sizzling bolt of blue magical energy. The bolt hit the creature and made it shake so hard Zollin could hear the bones snapping as the creature’s muscles contracted from the spell. The beast fell, its corpse smoking and a black burn across its throat and chest filled the air with the foul stench of burning hair.
Zollin looked to the other creatures. Three of them turned and began running away. He couldn�
��t help but wonder what Gwendolyn thought of her pets running for cover. The next two creatures came at Zollin together. One was a massive man, his body so bloated with muscle that it had trouble walking. The other was a bear. It had a huge body, covered with coarse, shaggy brown, fur. It growled as it ran, and foamy spittle dripped from the massive jaws. The only exceptional thing about the bear was its skull. The fur was no longer growing along the top of its head and the skin was stretched tight with wide, blushing stretch marks. The head was abnormally large and Zollin guessed Gwendolyn had been trying to increase the massive beast’s intelligence.
Zollin brought his hands together, sending two separate waves of magical energy rushing toward the creatures from either side. To his surprise when magical waves hit the creatures they only staggered a little, then kept coming. He raised his hand and shot a bolt of lighting toward the bear, but it dodged to the side. Zollin tried a wave of fire, sending it rushing toward the creatures, but both jumped to the ground and covered their heads. The wave passed over them both, although the bear’s massive girth made its haunches stick up and the fire singed the beast’s fur.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” taunted Offendorl.
The creatures were getting close and so Zollin tried to levitate them both. They were heavy and they fought his power. Zollin had lifted massive stones and huge trees with his magic, but inanimate objects were much easier to grasp and hold onto. He was reminded of how he had practiced his magic shortly after he had discovered it by lifting fish from a stream that ran through the woods not far from the cottage he shared with his father. The fish wiggled, flapping their fins and twisting their bodies. Zollin had learned to keep his magic moving around their bodies so they didn’t wiggle free.
The creatures tried desperately to escape and Zollin’s power was taxed as he lifted them into the air. Of course holding them up accomplished nothing, so he swung them toward the nearest wall. The creatures roared, screaming with fury, but Zollin pushed them straight into a flow of lava, holding them there with his magic. He felt them struggling as the molten rock burned them alive. Their screams were nightmarish but Zollin’s resolve was as firm as the bedrock beneath his feet.
Once he dropped them, both creatures dead and limp, they fell down into the gap between the floor of the chamber. Zollin took a deep breath and was just turning around when he was swept off the floor in a similar fashion. Offendorl was using his magic to send him straight into the flow of lava in the same way as he’d just done with the two beasts.
Chapter 31
Mansel made up his mind and stepped forward. He planted both of his muscular legs on either side of Quinn and faced the horde of mindless soldiers moving toward them. His sword flashed out, the cold gray steel was covered in blood that was so dark it looked black. The blood flew off the sword in fat drops as the blade blocked the first creature’s sword stroke. The pack of bodies was so thick that the soldier behind the first pushed its companion forward, but Mansel had been expecting as much. He ducked down, catching the larger soldier at the waist and then sprung up, so the mutated fighter was flipped head over heels and fell hard behind Mansel. He heard bones snap as the huge body crashed into the muddy path.
Mansel didn’t have time to check on Quinn and he hoped that if the witch’s soldier who was now at his back managed to get back onto its feet, it would continue marching with the soldiers all around it, and not strike him down from behind.
Mansel’s sword flashed again, this time darting forward as the next soldier tried to lift its heavy weapon. Death’s Eye stabbed into the wretched creature’s throat and sent blood arcing through the air. The soldier gargled as blood filled its lungs and it dropped to its knees. The soldier behind kicked its companion and knocked the poor wretch’s head clean off.
“Come see Death’s Eye!” Mansel bellowed.
The mindless soldier stepped on the body of its fallen comrade and Mansel swung his sword straight at the creature’s knee. The blade struck true and the creature’s leg collapsed. The soldier fell to the side and Mansel almost lost his grip on the sword. He heaved mightily to jerk the sword free, and had to duck under a clumsy swipe from another of the mutated soliders who happened to be close enough to feel the urge to attack. Mansel stabbed out sideways at the soldier, ramming his sword upward, under the edge of the huge creature’s ribcage. Mansel had to ignore the soldiers long hair and feminine features. Most of the witch’s hideous army was so mutated it was impossible to tell what the gender had been before their bodies were warped into the oversized, lumbering, soldiers. But every once in a while Mansel saw glimpses of who the person had once been. It always made his blood run cold and even though it was hard to fight in the semi-darkness with only Quinn’s torch sputtering in the mud to give him light, he was appreciative he didn’t have to see more than he did of this opponent’s faces.
The crowd kept moving forward, forcing Mansel to fight and kill to save Quinn. Mansel wanted to bend down and check on his mentor, but there simply wasn’t time. Even with the bodies stacking up around him, he was forced to parry and attack time and again. The soldiers were forced to attack from further away because of the dead around Mansel, but that only played to their strength. At one point Mansel was surrounded by three of them, all hacking away at him with their arms extended and only the tips of their swords coming close enough to harm Mansel. He knew he would have to move from his protective stance over Quinn if he was going to harm his assailants. He simply couldn’t reach them any other way.
He swayed back from one deadly slash and then he remembered Quinn’s throwing knives. Mansel didn’t have the skill that Quinn had with the weapons, but all he needed was to inflict damage without leaving Quinn exposed. Mansel had to parry, first one assailant and then another, before finally being forced to duck. This time, instead of just bobbing down and right back up, Mansel squared low, holding Death’s Eye over his head protectively with one hand while he snatched one of the throwing knives from the hidden sheathe in Quinn’s belt.
When he stood back up he had to catch two heavy blows on his sword at the same time. The force of the blows nearly knocked Mansel down again and he had trouble handling Death’s Eye with just one hand, but he had a fraction of a second to make his throw. He hurled the knife and saw with satisfaction that it sank in the mutated fighter’s chest. The wretched creature looked down at the hilt sticking out of its chest and then it fell onto another of the witch’s already slain soldiers.
Mansel wanted to shout for joy, but he was too busy leaning to his left to avoid a savage thrust by one of the other two fighters. He batted down an attack from the soldier on his left and then ducked under another swipe from the soldier on his right. He snatched up Quinn’s other knife and hurled the weapon at the soldier on his right. It too found a home, this time in the solider’s stomach, but unlike the first throw, the knife didn’t kill the mutated fighter. He grunted and took a step back, then returned to the battle to Mansel’s dismay.
In the meantime another warrior had taken up fighting over the first warrior that Mansel had killed. The battle raged on, with Mansel ducking and swaying. He moved to avoid a savage thrust on one side and was forced to throw up his sword on the other, only to have the soldier’s blade bounce off and score a searing cut along Mansel’s left shoulder. He felt the muscle budging out of the cut, and the blood running hot down his arm and dripping off his elbow, but he had no time for the pain. He roared out a savage battle cry and fought harder.
He blocked another sword strike at his stomach and then ducked under a separate swipe that would have taken his head from his shoulders. He then launched himself at the fighter to his right, stabbing the large soldier in the chest. Then he bounded back to his left, being careful not to step on Quinn. He had to parry an overhead blow, but he let his opponent’s blade slide down his own and then he lashed out, the tip of Death’s Eye tore through the side of the mutated soldier’s throat.
Mansel didn’t have time to admire his handi
work. The third opponent was now crawling over the bodies of its fallen comrades. Mansel took up his stance over Quinn and beat down the solider’s off balance strike before thrusting his sword straight into the creature’s face. It wasn’t a killing blow, but the mutated soldier fell back and right onto the sword of the soldier behind him. That soldier flung the flailing body to the side and stepped toward Mansel.
Mansel was busy parrying this new fighter’s attack when a second warrior joined the battle from Mansel’s left. Before he knew it, he was surrounded again. His strength, boosted by the magic stone in the sword’s hilt, didn’t falter, but his wounded arm was starting to slow the young warrior. As he battled three opponents again, he realized he wouldn’t be able to stay with Quinn and survive.
“Come get me then!” he screamed, at the mutated soliders.
He was determined that if protecting Quinn meant sacrificing his own life, he would do it. He only hoped somehow Nycoll found a way to survive.
* * *
Brianna flew with Sorva. They had made pass after pass, spewing flame down onto the heads of the warriors, but they were forced to pull up and fight as the remaining Leffers attacked them in sets of two or three. Slowly she and Sorva had slain most of the Leffers who were close enough to rise up and attack them, but they hadn’t been able to make much of a difference fighting the mutated soldiers until now.
“I think that was the last of them,” Brianna said loudly to Sorva. She wanted to shout for joy, but all around them was a sea of the mutated soldiers and their progress had not been stopped by the king’s army. A sinking feeling hit her and sucked the joy from her heart. She knew what lay ahead, death and destruction. Zollin had failed to stop Gwendolyn and now the evil witch’s army would overrun the Five Kingdoms.
Five Kingdoms: Book 07 - Wizard Falling Page 23
