Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Closer than you think!” Malek defiantly stepped back and drew his sword. “My friends and I will join King Justin’s army on the battlefield to defeat Vellan once and for all.” Swirls of firelight reflected off his burnished blade and in the terrified eyes of Vellan’s men standing in the shadows. Istillig, though, appeared unfazed by Malek’s bravado.

  “So you plan to kill me before you leave?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Not what I expected from the noble souls of the mountain nations, such were the stories I’d heard.”

  Malek calmly eyed his opponent before glancing at Nicholas who seemed lost in a world of his own, appearing already defeated. “I wouldn’t waste a swipe of this weapon on such a worthless being, though you much deserve it.” He slipped his sword back into its sheath. “But since you appeared almost too willing to die for Vellan had I attacked you, maybe it’s an indication that a part of you is still alive beneath the layers of Vellan’s spell, still conscious of what your life once was before the Drusala’s hypnotic death imprisoned you. Perhaps a part of you craves death to free you from such misery.”

  “Nonsense!” Istillig jumped up with a pained look of disgust. Several of Malek’s men stepped forward to defend their leader if the situation went awry. “I live to serve Vellan! Your twisted words won’t change that fact or my mind.” He breathed erratically, his face reddened, flustered for the first time since encountering Malek and his soldiers. He again sat down, gradually regaining his composure.

  “Well, Istillig, if you care nothing about your past life, perhaps you can marshal a trace of empathy and try to imagine how other people still treasure their own,” Malek said. “Unless, of course, Vellan has wrung that ability out of you as well.”

  Istillig emitted an impatient sigh. “What is your point? I tire of your words and would rather be locked up in one of the prison cells than sitting here.”

  “You’ll get your chance soon enough,” Tradell chimed in.

  “My friend is correct,” Malek went on. “But if you have any sense of decency left, you can prove it by providing us information on a woman named Ivy who may have been brought to Deshla sometime this past winter.”

  Upon hearing Ivy’s name, a trace of hope stirred inside Nicholas’ heart. He glanced up at Malek with a grateful smile, firming his resolve not to give up so easily despite the bleak situation.

  “Ivy? Who is this Ivy woman you continue to speak of? There has never been a female prisoner inside these walls. My thorough recordkeeping will attest to that.” Istillig noted the looks of consternation between Nicholas and Malek, curious to know the story behind this mysterious woman. “Why do you think this individual would have even been brought here? Is she some famed warrior of the mountains?”

  “She may also have been referred to as Princess Megan of Arrondale,” Nicholas jumped in, his words uttered as if they were the last possible hope of finding the woman he loved. Istillig looked surprised upon hearing the royal title.

  “A princess of Arrondale in my prison? What an honor,” he said with amused pride. “Your story grabs my attention. But again, no. I’ve never seen nor heard of any such individual by either name.”

  “Are you sure?” Nicholas desperately asked, his pleading eyes locked upon Istillig’s narrow face now awash with indifference. But deep inside, he already knew the answer to his vain inquiry.

  “Quite sure,” he replied, glaring at Nicholas with growing annoyance. “Trust me when I say that there is no one named Ivy or Megan inside Deshla, nor royalty of any kind.” He looked up at Malek. “Are we through?”

  Malek offered Nicholas a heartfelt gaze, awaiting his response. But Nicholas, his chest aching and his throat tightening, merely shook his head in dismay.

  “And none of you know of this Ivy?” Hobin shouted to the other men behind Istillig as he stepped forward. “Speak up!”

  Most of the men shook their heads, not concerned with the fate of one woman as war waged nearby. One man, however, his face unshaven and hair growing down to his coat collar, stood passively behind the others as he observed the proceedings with interest.

  “Then that is that,” Max muttered to himself as he walked over to Nicholas, laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “He did as you asked,” he softly said, referring to Malek. “He led you to Deshla, but I’m sorry things didn’t turn out as you’d hoped.”

  Nicholas, as pale as a winter morning, barely heard Max’s words. He felt numb and lifeless just as he had for stretches of time while a prisoner on Brin’s raft. His anger, depression and rage momentarily drained out of his body, much like his will to fight on.

  “Maybe she was taken elsewhere,” Malek said, his words sounding hollow despite his sincerity. “We’ll search the local garrisons and Vellan’s stronghold when we’re able.”

  “But we should leave now,” Tradell said with renewed urgency. “War awaits us. We must give King Justin and the others every advantage while the fight is still young. A narrow road between the mountain and the trees ahead will lead us to Del Norác.”

  Malek nodded, knowing his duty. He assigned a group of forty men to secure the prison and patrol the area while the rest of the troops marched to the capital city.

  “Lock these prisoners and any others still outside in their own cells. Let them experience the same conditions they doled out to so many others over the years,” Malek said. “But feed them from the food stores within and treat them kindly. Mercy will be demonstrated in this morbid place, no doubt for the first time.”

  Malek walked to the archway and signaled for his soldiers to escort the prisoners to the cells, two of his men to every one. Tradell, spotting a set of keys hanging on the wall near where Nicholas was standing, reached for them. He was troubled by Nicholas’ plight especially after all he had done to free the Northern Mountains of the Enâri scourge.

  “Will you accompany us?” Tradell asked him as Istillig and the other prisoners were being led past. “We may not have found Ivy, but you can help us incarcerate those who have brought much pain to so many others.”

  Nicholas shook his head, emotionally drained. “I don’t care what you do with them,” he whispered, gazing at the vacant stares of the men as they trudged by, most of them under Vellan’s spell. “They’re already dead anyway, looking much like I feel. So it’s time that I accepted–”

  Nicholas suddenly went silent as a man near the end of the line drifted past. His whiskered face looked oddly familiar as the two briefly locked gazes. The prisoner turned his head away as Nicholas studied his features. For a moment, he was convinced that he had seen this man before yet was unable to place him. Tradell, Leo and Hobin all noticed Nicholas’ odd behavior, wondering what had shaken him from his growing stupor.

  “Are you all right?” Leo asked as Tradell looked on, the keys locked in his grasp.

  “That man, the third from the last. I’ve seen him before,” he said as the prisoner neared the archway. “I know I have. I–” Nicholas’ eyes immediately grew wide with bitter recognition, his face again flush with color and steely determination. “Don’t let him leave!” he cried, excitedly pointing to the last of the prisoners passing into the corridor.

  “Halt the line!” Tradell shouted, hurrying out to the archway where Malek was speaking with Max as the prisoners filed past. “Stay your positions!” he called to his men who brought the line to a standstill. Malek and Max looked up.

  “Trouble?” Malek asked mischievously. “Prisoners not marching in unison?”

  “Not sure yet,” he replied, handing Malek the key ring. He grabbed the third prisoner from the end by the upper arm and ushered him back along with the two soldiers who were guarding him. Malek and Max followed. “Is he the one?” Tradell asked Nicholas, holding the prisoner firmly by the arm as the unshaven man kept his head low.

  Nicholas breathed deeply, his heart pounding as old memories and familiar faces resurfaced. “That’s him,” he said with hardened disgust, his spirit reignited as the possibility of finding
Ivy again took hold. Nicholas grabbed the prisoner’s jaw and turned his face toward him, glaring into the man’s clouded eyes. He imagined the individual cleaner cut beneath the now scruffy beard and the disheveled hair.

  “Who is he?” Leo asked.

  “This is Brin’s cousin,” Nicholas replied, releasing his grip but still staring down an enemy that at the moment he ranked worse than Vellan. “He and four other Islanders took Ivy away from the raft.”

  “I assumed you’d be dead by now,” the prisoner scoffed, suddenly full of life since his secret was out. “Or at least I had hoped. A pity.”

  “Nice to see you again too, Cale,” Nicholas calmly replied with a grim smile. “Now why don’t the two of us have a little talk?”

  CHAPTER 102

  A Battle of Words

  Nicholas and Malek stood outside Deshla prison as daylight grew in the east under a thin veil of clouds. The bulk of the resistance army lined up nearby, preparing to march to Del Norác as Tradell and other group leaders barked out last minute instructions.

  “I wish I could have done more to help you find Ivy,” Malek said apologetically.

  “You brought me this far,” Nicholas replied. “If I can get Cale to talk, he’ll lead me to her.” He swallowed hard, nearly choking up. “I have to believe she’s still alive.”

  “Then get to it,” he said, indicating Leo and Hobin who were waiting impatiently in the distance. “Your friends are getting antsy.”

  “As are yours,” he replied as Max and Sala approached to say goodbye, their faces etched with worry.

  “Tradell is about to burst from impatience!” Sala remarked. “You’d better step it up, Malek, before he comes over and drags you back to the lines.”

  “Very well.” He shook hands with Nicholas. “All the best, my friend.”

  “With luck, we may yet all see each other again,” Nicholas said, though a hint of uncertainty clouded his words.

  After a heartfelt farewell, Nicholas’ friends joined the lines of troops bracing for war. Moments later, the small army marched off, following the road between the mountain and the woods until they disappeared into the distant shadows.

  “Now we head to our own battle. Are you ready?” Leo asked.

  Nicholas turned around, lost in thought as Leo and Hobin approached from behind. He smiled, glad that his friends were with him in these uncertain hours.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied with an uneasy sigh. “Let’s pay Cale a visit and see if he’s in the mood to talk.”

  Istillig and the other prisoners were locked in cells along the central tunnel, still proclaiming their allegiance to Vellan. Malek, however, had thought it wise to keep Cale isolated in the eastern corridor so Nicholas could question him without disruption. Though Leo and Hobin wanted to accompany him, Nicholas insisted on going alone to start.

  “Despite his distrust, Cale is familiar with me,” he said in the administrative chamber as the blazing fires drove the chill from the tunnels. A few of Malek’s soldiers pored over dusty ledgers and other documents in the background. “Cale might be more likely to open up about Ivy’s fate without all three of us breathing down his neck.”

  “Be careful,” Leo said, wearing his knit hat in the coolness of the tunnels.”

  “And do not go into the cell with him!” Hobin warned. “He’ll try to worm his way into your good graces before attacking you.”

  “I won’t do something that foolish–not right away anyway,” he joked.

  Moments later, Nicholas walked down the eastern passage bathed in sickly light from the hanging oil lamps, passing five empty cells on his left until he reached the sixth wooden door. He paused before cautiously peering through the square barred opening at eye level. Another oil lamp burned inside, lending an eerie glow to the disheveled figure sitting hunched in the corner on a small bench and picking at some food on a tin plate. Nicholas studied Cale’s rumpled body. His time in the wild, coupled with Vellan’s hypnotic hold on his mind, made him appear far older than his natural years.

  “Something you want to say?” Cale asked in a low, strident voice, looking up and tossing his plate aside. “Or are you going to rudely stare at me all day?”

  Nicholas felt as if he were viewing a caged animal that would strike if given the chance. He gazed upon Cale with a mix of pity and disgust, knowing the man could not be fully trusted should he offer any information. He would have to evaluate the prisoner’s words and mannerisms if he were to have any chance of saving Ivy.

  “Where did you and the others take Ivy, the woman on the raft?” The cold, gray days of early winter now seemed an age ago.

  “How did you escape from Brin?” Cale replied, stretching his legs and leaning against the stone wall, waiting for a response. But when none was forthcoming, he broke out in a taunting grin. “So here we are–two men with questions, but apparently neither one is willing to answer the other’s.”

  “I’ll tell you everything about your cousin if you respond to my questions first.”

  Cale grunted in amusement. “What a good deal for you. After which, I’m still trapped in here while you’re as free as a sparrow.”

  Nicholas leaned against the door, offering a friendlier tone. “Istillig thinks we’ll be defeated before the day is over, so perhaps you’ll be free sooner than you think.”

  “Then why should I give you any information at all about this Ivy, whether she’s a princess or otherwise?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do, Cale.”

  “The right thing to do is what benefits Vellan!” He sprang to the door, placing his face against the metal bars, his voice taking on a threatening dimension. “If you have any sense at all, you’ll release me at once. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, sir.”

  Nicholas stepped back, disturbed by Cale’s words though knowing that his speech and demeanor were taking on darker shades because he had drunk from the Drusala. He knew exactly who he was dealing with–a simple thug like Brin who was trying to move up in the world at others’ expense. Cale would say anything, whether promises or threats, to keep his plan on track. Nicholas knew he must remain cautious but appear confident and in charge if he were to get good information.

  “Where are the four others? Did they make it to Deshla? Did Ivy?”

  “This conversation will only go in circles while I’m at a disadvantage,” Cale said, turning his head slightly so that one eye gazed ominously at Nicholas through the opening. “Release me so we can talk face to face. Perhaps I’ll be more cooperative.”

  Nicholas, not wanting to give Cale the upper hand by revealing the anxiety eating him up inside, mustered every bit of restraint. He offered a casual shrug and stepped away from the door. “Perhaps you’ll be cooperative when you’re more familiar with your lovely accommodations. In the meantime, I’ve earned a proper breakfast. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Nicholas shuffled down the corridor, shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling as he disappeared into the shadows. Cale followed him with a searing gaze, muttering to himself. He trudged back to his seat, kicking his metal plate aside before slumping back down upon the wooden bench, his arms crossed and his breathing heavy as he pondered a way out of his unbearable cage of stone.

  Nicholas joined Leo, Hobin and a few other soldiers for a meal in the administrative chamber, though no one seemed to enjoy the food very much. All they talked about were their friends who had marched into battle. On top of that, Nicholas thought only of Ivy, wondering if she had been sent to the garrison in the city that was now most likely engulfed in the flames and ill fortunes of war.

  After breakfast, he walked outside with Leo and Hobin to clear his mind before questioning Cale again. The cool morning air was sweet with spring as the clouds began to break and reveal patches of blue sky. Soldiers vigilantly kept watch near the entrance of Deshla and along the base of the mountain. Nicholas and his friends wandered toward the woods, noting the Drusala River eerily flowing past less than a q
uarter mile to their right.

  “I’m going with you when you talk to Cale,” Leo said. “That’s not a suggestion.”

  “If you insist,” Nicholas replied, happy for the company. With Leo present, he thought Cale might show less bravado and be more inclined to bargain.

  “If you want, maybe I could talk to him,” Hobin offered, grinding a fist into the palm of his hand. “Perhaps a little less delicate line of questioning might do the trick.”

  Nicholas chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind if all else fails.”

  “You do that. And if I…”

  Hobin’s words trailed off as they neared the tree line, the narrow road to Del Norác to their left. In the quiet of morning, beyond the rustling trees and the songs of birds in flight, the din of distant warfare was barely audible through the woody maze of elm, maple and pine spread out before them. Whether a sharp clanking of metal or the frantic shouts of a warrior, the faraway yet all too near and familiar sounds of bloody battle were carried on the intermittent breezes. Nicholas, Leo and Hobin glanced at one another with a new sense of desperation.

  “Time to go back,” Nicholas said in urgent tones. “Time to get what I came here for.”

  Nicholas and Leo stood in front of Cale’s prison cell a few minutes later, staring at the man who was again slouched on his low bench in the corner. He glanced up in the dim light and grunted at his interrogators.

  “Missed me?” he asked with a crooked smile. Cale rose and ambled to the door, peering at Leo through the opening with a scowl. “What’s he here for?”

  “I asked him–”

  “I’m Vellan’s representative,” Leo said with all seriousness before Nicholas could finish. “He wishes for you to cooperate with us and answer all our questions.”

  “Do not mock the Wise One!” Cale cried out with unexpected ferocity, wrapping his fingers around the window bars. “Nor those who truly speak for him.”