Inside was a black box constructed of a strange metal that Dramus suspected was precious. As the soldiers raised the box, and placed it upon the dais, Dramus could see a small inset keypad.
Calistra looked to Erick, of all people, and the young aide whimpered. He began to shuffle forward, and Dramus got a better look at his haggard appearance.
Something has happened to him, Dramus thought. The young man’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed. There was a feverish gleam to his eyes that reminded Dramus of some of the looks that the headmaster had given him. He felt the inkling of his gift stir in the back of his mind.
Erick reached the device, and began to punch a sequence of keys. After a few moments, there came a chime and the lid of the box split. The two halves slid to disappear into the sides of the box. A faint mist roiled out of the case for a moment, and Dramus strained against his bonds to look inside. His view was obstructed by the sides of the container, however.
“Headmaster,” the baroness urged.
Colius, breaking his stare at Dramus, produced something from his robe and walked to the dais. Erick slithered to the side, turning his watery gaze upon his friend. The headmaster laid something upon the dais, before turning to look at Dramus as well.
“I hope you’ve read it well,” he said, smugly. Dramus looked past him and could see the fallout symbol clearly displayed on the book’s cover. For some reason, this latest invasion of his privacy rankled more than his imprisonment. It was like some final betrayal that tipped his mind from fear into pure rage.
“I hope you burn in hell, Hogmaster,” he spat.
Colius reddened. He took a step toward the young monk, before the baroness halted him with her voice.
“Colius,” she chuckled, “Don’t let him goad you.” Her voice was like velvet, and seemed to reach the man. He blew out a sigh.
“You don’t deserve it, you know,” he said, before moving back to Calistra’s side. Dramus didn’t respond. Turning his hate-filled eyes from the man, he was surprised to find Erick had moved within arm’s reach, looking at him curiously.
Dramus returned his look, feeling uncomfortable. This wasn’t the man he’d spent the last two weeks with. Something else hid behind his eyes, and his gift was buzzing in his skull. When Erick spoke, it flared to life.
“If only I could access the gifts…” Erick’s voice was not his own. Dramus immediately knew what he was saying, although his conscious mind struggled to put it together. It was like competing voices in his brain.
Something had taken up residence in the body of his friend, something sinister and old. Very old.
“…I wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble,” Erick was whispering now, and had moved within a hand’s breadth of Dramus’s face. He reached out and touched Dramus’s cheek and the other man flinched.
“I know you understand what the device is for,” he cooed. “If you don’t do as your told, there is a lovely little meat puppet I could slip into up in Akilo.” He let the statement hang.
The dawning horror on Dramus’s face was answer enough for the shade. Erick moved sharply away, giggling.
“Hiltsman,” the baroness called. He looked at her, still bewildered.
“I want the device operational by dawn. I plan on assuming the throne of my new kingdom by dinner,” she ended the statement with a peal of laughter. She sauntered up to him and placed a gloved hand on his chest.
“If you cooperate,” she said softly, “I may have room for you in my…entourage.” She offered him a sultry smile that turned Dramus’s stomach.
“My Lady,” Colius coughed. Calistra, still facing Dramus, rolled her eyes.
“Shall we retire?” the headmaster sounded like a little boy asking for cookies. The baroness winked at Dramus, and turned to face Colius.
“Hungry, you fat fuck?”
Colius blinked as if he’d been slapped. No one spoke as the baroness slowly stalked the fat man. With horror, Dramus noticed her emerald blade had somehow found its way into her hand.
“You’ve served your purpose, you odious excuse for a man,” she hissed, as Colius began to realize what was coming.
He started to blabber, trying to produce a coherent thought while he backed away from her.
“You can’t imagine how hard it was to keep up the charade of being attracted to you, let alone disguising my revulsion at merely sharing the same room with you.”
He came up against Duln and let out a yelp. Dramus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Erick giggled again, and a disgusted-looking Duln shoved the headmaster forward and directly onto Emberlock’s waiting blade.
There was a sucking noise that echoed through the silence. Dramus could see Colius’s face over the baroness’s shoulder, pale as a ghost, blood roiling from his gaping mouth. He reached up to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she recoiled, dumping his writhing form to the ground. The fat man gasped for air with blood-slicked lips, like a fish tossed upon the dock.
She immediately turned to face Dramus, sheathing the blade that now blazed a bright green.
“You see,” she called, “A slot has just opened for you!”
With that she burst into laughter, stepped over the writhing form of the headmaster, and left the room. The four guards who had carried in the device went with her.
Erick trailed along, but not before giving Colius a kick. The only people who remained were Dramus’s original guard and Wielder Duln.
Wet, choking sobs echoed. Dramus felt sick. He stared as Colius died badly, face frozen in a last gasp for breath. The man’s eyes were bulging, his hands clenched over a red blossom at his sternum. The young monk was naïve, but he was learning fast.; he saw his own fate in that of the headmaster.
Wielder Duln stepped toward him and he stiffened. He didn’t need his gift to tell him that this man wanted him dead. He couldn’t, for the life of him, see why.
It seemed irrational; Dramus had never so much as spoken to the man, and yet that one eye shone cold and hard. The warrior reached up and unlocked his shackles. Dramus immediately began to rub his throbbing wrists.
Duln placed a hand on the knife at his belt and there was a moment where Dramus feared the warrior would stab him. Instead, Duln glanced quickly at the other guard and then back to Dramus.
“Get to work,” he said flatly.
With that, he turned and left.
Dramus puffed out a breath in relief. He glanced at the guard, who stood with his face shadowed by a black helmet. He then stepped forward and, careful to avoid Colius - or his pool of blood - came to the dais.
He picked up the book, thinking of Gwyneth suddenly. Would she understand, he wondered? Would whatever wraith had possessed Erick possess her as well…or someone in her family?
He took a deep breath, looking at the symbol on the book. A symbol, he noticed, repeated on the conical device that lay within the black box. Beneath the symbol, he saw more archaic words.
WARHEAD NV-322 65,000TJ
Fear sliced into his gut, through the layers of shock he’d been experiencing. The device in the box was powerful enough to level the entire city.
He looked at the book with dawning realization; it had been no mistake that the manual had come into his possession. But how? He picked up the tome, as if trying to find answers from its heft.
“You think that your little lamb’s father found that all by himself?”
Dramus wheeled to see the Erick-that-was-not-Erick had stolen into the chamber and was hovering behind him. Dramus quickly moved around to the opposite side of the dais.
“Who are you, really?” he asked. His eyes were narrowed, and he felt as if all of his muscles were on edge, ready to bolt from whatever this thing that had been his friend.
Erick giggled, “I am a nightmare made real, my little pawn.”
The thing moved around the dais, and Dramus moved to match its speed.
“I am the doom of the Van Uther line, here to show them the folly of betraying me. I
am the Lord of the Moon come home.”
Dramus stopped, and his eyes widened, “Lord of the Moon…” he breathed.
The Erick-thing let out a guffaw. “Yes, Dramus Hiltsman, some children’s tales are true. I am the shade of Malavarius Drejth, and I’ve come for a reckoning. With your help, my revenge will bloom and spread its vines to infest the whole of the world.”
Dramus regained his composure, and straightened.
“I won’t help you,” he said, “I’m dead anyway. I’d rather die with a clear conscience.” He hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt.
“Don’t be a fool, Dramus,” the thing said conspiratorially, “I have further use for you. A man with your gift comes along once in…well, once in several lifetimes, if truth be told. I won’t allow such an asset to go to waste.”
“So you’d make me a zombie shell, to traipse around in, like you did with Erick?”
Dramus sneered, “No thanks.”
It moved around the dais and this time Dramus held his ground. The thing draped a lanky arm over his shoulder and waved the other across the room, as if sweeping a grand vista.
“Hardly,” it said.
“Think of it. The world set before you. No longer shut in a stone prison to scribble away day after day for men who grow fat on the fruits of your talent while hating you for it,” it gestured to the corpse of the headmaster.
“In my empire, there would be room at the top for one such as you. You could have a hundred girls, each one as pretty as your little Gwyneth, each one more willing.” The thing smirked lewdly.
“If it’s not girls you’re looking for, gold, gems, magic…it could all be yours, if you just. Serve. Me.”
It leveled a stern glare at Dramus.
“I think you can imagine what I’ll do, not only to you, but to your lady, should you refuse.
“I won’t kill you,” it said quickly, feeling Dramus stiffen, “Oh no, that would be too simple.
“You see, I’ve had a thousand of years to dream up what I would do to those who had crossed me. I really am eager to try some of my especially sadistic ideas out.”
With that, the Erick-thing disengaged, and whirled around the dais, “Get to work, Dramus. Time’s a’wastin’.”
It cackled with glee as it swished out of the chamber, its laughter echoing down the corridor.
Dramus stood silently, struggling with himself. He couldn’t see a way out. If he failed to activate the device, Drejth would make him and Gwyneth pay. He probably wouldn’t stop there.
But, if he made it work, he’d be responsible for annihilating the largest city of the Realm. Maybe he could find a way to sabotage the whole plan? He turned around, mindful of the watching guardsman, and hunched over the device as if to begin working. He thought about what Drejth had said, and what the baroness had intimated the device was for.
It looked to Dramus like the baroness was being duped. Could he bring it to her attention? Would it matter?
He couldn’t put his thoughts in real order. All he could think about was his love, and what the world would be like for her if he allowed this device to go off. What would it be if he didn’t?
He went around in circles for a time before he finally cracked open the book and began to work on arming the warhead. He couldn’t allow Drejth to hurt Gwyneth, and if he survived, perhaps he could work against the wraith in the future.
He felt weak for thinking that way, as if he were a coward for choosing life, but he started work just the same.
In the shadow of the corridor, Wielder Duln stared at Dramus’s back, fingering the blade of his knife.
Chapter 28
The audience chamber of Baron Günter Van Uther was a riot of competing voices.
Hade stood among the throng that gathered before the baron’s seat of governance, shaking his head. The man’s advisors were shouting over themselves to be heard.
“We’ve got to make plans to evacuate the city!” This from a turkey-necked stripling of a nobleman.
“You’d just cause a panic. Mobilize the infantry to storm the warehouse district, block by block.” growled the mustached commander of the watch.
“What if they catch wind of an assault and activate the device? No, a stealth team would have a greater chance of success.” This came from Jericho Darkcloak, but went mostly unheard over the clamor.
Finally, the red-faced baron held up a meaty hand for silence. Accustomed to the man’s authority, all the quibbling advisors grew quiet. He stood, his barrel chest and broad shoulders clearing the way as he moved to the center of the room.
“Gentlemen,” he boomed, “you forget yourselves.” He gestured to the newly arrived party from Freehold.
“We have yet to hear from the king’s own force.”
Hade looked uncomfortable. He stepped forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen. M’lord,” he nodded to Günter.
“I’ve been tasked by the king to root out the Baroness Emberlock and her team and neutralize them.”
He looked at them all in turn, warming to his speech.
“Much of what you’ve said is true; ideally we would try to evacuate, but in such a rushed fashion it would simply cause chaos. I believe the Darkcloak is right,” he nodded to Jericho, who touched the edge of his hood in acknowledgement.
“Why should we listen to you, Captain,” the commander asked, “I’ve never seen you before; how are we to know that your judgment is worth a damn?”
Hade stopped and turned to face him. Ethelrynne stepped forward, but Hade reassured her with a look.
“Commander Brevin, isn’t it?” Hade asked. The commander blinked in surprise.
“You don’t remember, obviously, but you have seen me before. Twenty years ago I was just ‘recruit Hade’ in the 8th division and you were a drill sergeant.
“Under your…considerate tutelage, I became a soldier. You took special care with me, Commander. I remember needing a heavier touch at the time.”
The commander stared, searching his memory. Frowning at his clouded memory, he waved a hand in irritation.
“Even if that’s true, I have no recollection of you, Mr. Hade. Your information doesn’t speak to your character.”
Hade seemed about to respond, before he was cut off by a voice from the crowd.
“Hade…Orin Hade?” an elderly man in rich clothing stepped forward to look the captain over more closely.
“The same,” Hade replied, a small smile growing on his face.
To the surprise of nearly everyone, the nobleman fiercely embraced the soldier.
“You covered your face with that beard, threw me off guard,” the old man said, his voice getting husky.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again, Orin.”
Hade patted his back, “Lord Palinor. I meant to write. How is she?”
Palinor pushed him to arm’s length, eyes misty, “She’s well, Orin. She’s still well…thanks to you.”
With that, the nobleman turned and presented Hade as if he were just arriving.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I can personally attest to this man’s worth. He saved my Ariya from drowning in the bay nearly twenty years ago now, and I’ll have words with anyone who questions his courage.”
The last was punctuated with a stern glance to Brevin. The commander had the sense to fade into the crowd, blushing.
There were murmurs and gasps, followed by people whispering amongst themselves. Ethelrynne looked at Hade with something like admiration, at which the soldier reddened.
The baron moved next to the two, giving Hade a bemused smile.
“Alright then, enough of this dog and pony show. What does my cousin have in mind?”
Chapter 29
It was late afternoon by the time Wielder Duln had screwed up enough of his courage to kill Dramus Hiltsman. He didn’t like the idea of murdering the innocent man, but he liked the idea of Drejth succeeding less. He’d come this far, and felt it was the easiest route to accomplishing his missio
n.
The young man was bent over the device, punching numbers on a keypad, pausing now and again to pick up one of the strange tools that were arranged inside to pull a wire here, make an adjustment there. It was quite beyond Duln’s ken, and he had to give some grudging respect to the young monk, even as he rallied his nerve to kill him.
“You’re relieved,” he said to the guard as he entered the room. His tone brooked no argument, and the soldier departed with a smart salute. Dramus had stiffened at the sound of his voice, and slowly turned to face him.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Dramus said. He was backing around the dais. Duln frowned.
“You know why I’m here,” it wasn’t a question. He slid the long-bladed dirk from its sheath at his hip. Dramus went pale.
“I’ve known since you first looked at me,” Dramus said, “I don’t know why, but your intent has been clear to my…perceptions.”
Duln nodded. Of course, he thought, the gift. It must allow him to read into body language as well. Interesting. Too bad he needed to die.
“Drejth is lying to you all,” Dramus blurted. Wielder stopped, the hand holding the blade drooped.
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t a mind-control device, or some artifact that will help Calistra form a rebellion. It’s a bomb.” Dramus nearly squeaked with urgency.
“A bomb? You mean this is a weapon?” Duln looked at the device with new interest. He knew the man could be lying, but he wanted to hear where this lead.
“Yes! An inconceivable weapon. Once it’s armed, it will have the capacity to level this entire city!”
Duln looked dubious.
“I know, it sounds impossible,” Dramus continued, throwing his all into the explanation, “Drejth must have dug this thing up from the Vault of Secrets beneath the Temple.
“It shares the same symbol,” he pointed to the book and the warhead, “that was on the door to the Vault.
“Anyway,” he hurried, seeing Duln begin to lose patience, “this symbol means radiation, fallout…it would be as if the sun itself touched down on the city and turned it to ash. Nothing would survive. No one would be able to live here for a thousand years or more!”
Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) Page 21
