Gregory lost his breath. He was floored. Ingrid had given him the impression that she killed the queen to gain Rolem’s favor, but it was the other way around. The deceit runs even deeper. But why?
With his hand on Gregory’s shoulder, he started walking him back toward the throne. “You see, Queen Carlotta hails from the kingdom of Rayland. You are familiar with Rayland, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Rayland is known to have the richest soil in the realm.”
“True. They are a neighbor to Mendes and a very rich kingdom. In the not-so-distant past, we warred with Rayland, but our marriage kept the peace for a time. With Carlotta gone, and with the help of a new queen, I had hoped to expand Mendes’s territory quite significantly. I was counting on Ingrid and her command of the Red Citadel to help see things through, but it seems we’ve hit a stumbling block. I don’t like stumbling blocks, Gregory. They often prove difficult to move.”
“How can I be of assistance, your majesty? I’d be honored to offer my services to hunt down Finster.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. You’ve served your purpose by lending your ear to my confession. You see, the priests in Mendes can’t be trusted, and I need to get my dark ambitions off my chest. Only you and I know about them.”
“I’m honored.”
“Good. You will have an honorable death.” King Rolem rammed his dagger through Gregory’s spine. The magus gulped for air and died in seconds. “Buckner!” the king hollered. He slid his dagger out of the man’s back as Buckner rushed in. Wiping the blade free of blood on Gregory’s clothing, he said, “Gather five hundred of your finest. The kingdom is in peril. A new hunt begins.”
“Yes, my king!”
Buckner departed. Rolem caressed Ingrid’s body. His gentle fingers found their way to her exposed abdomen. A gemstone that glowed with an internal fire sat inside her pierced belly button. “You will be avenged, my sweet.” He kissed her stomach. “We shall be reunited, and the realm will be ours.”
CHAPTER 24
Slouched over the saddle horn, Finster shivered. The northern winds kissing his face came with a nasty chill. His cold fingertips clung to a flask of wine he had acquired from merchants traveling the same road but in the opposite direction. He’d finished the first bottle an hour ago and was halfway into the second. “Barbarian, will you please tell me where we are going?” he asked, slurring his words. “It’s been four days, and we haven’t arrived anywhere.”
Ten horse lengths ahead, Moth rode a dapple-gray steed into the bitter winds. He was shirtless, but there wasn’t a chill bump on his body. His pale skin rippled with muscle.
Finster drank from the flask and hollered, “Moth, would you care for a drink? I’ll only offer it once, and that’s an honor. After all, I’m an all-powerful wizard, willing to let you put your lips to my flask. We shall share that drink. A man and an animal. No offense. Brr! It’s cold out here. One would think, with all the power at my disposal, I could stay warm, but I cannot.”
Swaying in the saddle, Finster began singing a song about field mice and fireflies. From time to time, he reached behind his back to scratch where the scarab with the Founder’s Stone was embedded. The beetle’s feet still dug into him. The wine dulled some of the chronic painful effects.
“Moth, I have an idea. Tonight, we will build a fire. I’ll sleep with the warmth to my back while you cuddle on a bed of varmints. I only say varmints—you know, raccoons and such—because I assume the bears are hibernating.” He took a swig. “Moth, do you hear me? I made a jest. An insult. I accused you of sleeping with animals. The fact that you aren’t outraged leads me to believe that I’m on to something.” He sneezed. “Oh, that made my head rush.”
The barbarian glanced over his shoulder. His protruding brows hung over his lazy eyes like the rocky mountain ledges. He turned his horse and vanished into the thickets.
Finster wagged his finger. “I saw that. You won’t lose me.” He lifted his voice. “I’m a magus. I’m a ranger!” He started laughing. “Oh-ho, that made my belly hurt.” His horse pushed through the thick brush. They moved higher into the hillsides. “It’s not very likely that we’ll find tolerable company in this bitter wilderness, but if you are taking me to a land filled with ample-breasted barbarian women, I say let’s have a go at it. So long as the journey does not extend too long. Perhaps I alone can breed the savagery from your kind yet.”
The journey continued the entire day. Finster lost sight of Moth an hour before sunset. He’d finished off the second flask and dropped it to the ground. Blurry-eyed, he rocked in the saddle. Head rolling from side to side, he didn’t see any sign of Moth. “Where did you go, barbarian? Huh? Are you hiding? Did you find a bear’s cave to cuddle in? Moth! Where are you?”
CHAPTER 25
Finster woke up the next morning freezing cold and with a blistering headache. Coals of a fire, hours extinguished, were about six feet from his face. He didn’t remember blacking out, but he did remember one more flask of wine. Pushing off the ground, he rubbed his head and eyes. “It seems sobriety diminished my inhuman tolerance. Never again.”
His horse nickered. Its reins were hung up in a bush.
“You could have left, you know,” he said, rising to his feet. The campfire was surrounded by small stones, sticks, and bushes ripped from the ground. They were all tangled and twisted together. It made a wall around him three feet high. Scratching his bald head, he said, “Humph. I suppose I must have done this. Interesting.” Lifting his robes, he stepped over the wall. Boulders bigger than a man were piled up in a neatly organized mound. It was over ten feet high. “I don’t suppose I’m going to remember why I did that either.”
The horse whinnied when he approached. He snagged the reins out of the bushes. “There, there, beast. Let’s feed you.” He fed the horse from a meal bag he’d acquired from the merchants. It wasn’t uncommon for him to travel and take whatever he thought he might need. He opened the last flask of wine, raised the bottle up to the rising sun, and said, “To the grand dawn that precedes the dreary day of despair.”
A spasm sent shockwaves through his back muscles. His teeth clenched. “Gah!” The scarab seemed to shift deeper into his body from time to time. It always burned like a candle flame an inch from his back. “I don’t suppose I’ll get used to that, either.” He stuck his shoe in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. “Let’s go find that barbarian.”
Finster had a keen sense of where Moth was. The Founder’s Stone gave him a sixth sense for magic. He could practically smell and taste the raw power emanating from the rings Moth had swallowed. The scent was strong. He hoped, at some point, Moth would crap out the rings. Finster had sifted through worse than barbarian slat for treasures worth far less.
Taking the cold air into his lungs, he sighed. “What to do? What to do? What is the most powerful magus to do?”
The horse trotted higher into the sparse woodland. Finster resumed talking to himself.
“On the one hand, I could leave the barbarian be. The rings would be lost forever, perhaps. After all, a savage would not know how to use such things. They don’t trust magic. They will destroy it.” He shifted in his saddle. “However, I can’t let those rings fall into the wrong hands. These savages have witch doctors. No, I believe what is best for the realm is that the rings stay in my possession. Perhaps I’ll redistribute them. I’ll reorganize the order of the Red Citadel. Certainly, that would bring decades of peace that would last for generations to come.”
He drank some wine.
“I would be the perfect Magus Supremeus, wouldn’t I?”
The horse flapped its ears.
“Oh, what do you know?”
The horse snorted.
“Yes, I realize that I should be satisfied with the power that I have, but I am not. You don’t understand. I’m protecting the realm. I’m doing it for them. Not for me. Besides, I just want to exercise a little with their power. That feeling you get when you place a magic ring on your fin
ger… there is nothing like it. The finest wines, supple women scented with erotic perfumes—even they don’t compare. Of course, you are a beast, and you don’t understand such things. No offense.”
He moved deeper into the hills. Snow dusted the tops of the pine trees that swayed in the wind. Near the top of the hill, the scarab pulsed. Grinding his teeth, Finster pulled his shoulders back. “We are close.”
The hill crested at a bald landing with a steep overlook. Moth’s horse stood alone. The barbarian was sitting on the ledge. He didn’t move when Finster approached.
The magus dismounted. There was a valley of trees hundreds of feet below. Small huts were thatched together in the clearing. Finster sat beside Moth, letting his feet hang over the rim. The barbarian’s broadsword, the one he’d taken from Crawley, rested in his lap.
Kicking his legs, Finster said, “I hope you came up here for the view of this savage land.”
Moth sat mute, unblinking. It was as if his sullen eyes were frozen open.
“Either you’ve come this far to meditate or to jump. I suggest you jump. I don’t think you’ll survive the fall. I’ll bet you a bottle of wine—no, a herd of sheep. You could feed your village or start a harem.”
Moth’s eyes remained fixed on the village below. There were dozens of small huts. People moved about, carrying tools and laboring in one plan or another. Their movements were very stiff and distinct, their limbs unnatural and rigid.
Goose bumps rose on Finster’s arms. He squinted and noticed white paint on the naked bodies of the men and women. Their eyes were black circles. “Those are Wargoth!” Finster said, exasperated. “You fool! Why would you lead us into their midst?” He stood up and backed away from the ledge. He slowly spun around. “If they sniff us out, they’ll flay us, cook us, and eat us!”
Farther down the mountain, a dry branch snapped. The horses whinnied.
Moth jumped to his feet. Out of nowhere, a huge, hairy beast rushed out of the woods and attacked Finster’s horse.
CHAPTER 26
A razor-backed grizzly bear, with a head bigger than two men, bit down on the neck of Finster’s horse. The bear drove the horse to the ground.
“Do something, Moth!” Finster commanded. He moved forward, fingers flickering in the air as he summoned his power. He could control most anything that wasn’t living. Nature was more of a weakness. Aside from being able to lift stones, there was little else he could do. Under his power, a rock the size of his fist lifted from the ground. Using his mind, he flicked it at the grizzly. The rock smacked hard into the bear’s head. It rose up to its full eight feet in height and roared.
Finster gestured, lifting another stone, but Moth shoved his hands down and gave Finster a fierce look that would crack a lesser man’s spirit. Finster let the stone fall. The bear dropped back onto all fours. Sinking its massive jaws into the dead horse, it dragged the animal over the hill.
“That was my horse! Not yours!” Finster said. He ran across the top of the hill and found a wine flask shattered on the ground. “And my last flask. Filthy maidens! From here on out, I’m riding your horse, and you are walking.”
Moth’s attention was back over the ledge.
Finster ran over and took a look. Wargoths scrambled up the hillside. It was a steep climb. It would take time, but the ghoulish men were undeterred. They were bred in the wild terrain. It would slow them little.
“I can only assume you have a vendetta against these fiends. Otherwise, why would you be here?” Finster asked. He started to pace. “Did they devour your herds? Steal your unruly children? It would be best to ride back down the hill and as far away from them as possible.” He took another peek over the rim. “Kings of Pain! They move fast!” He looked to Moth. “You aren’t going anywhere, are you?”
Moth thumbed the edge of his sword. The muscles in his tremendous body flexed like an animal’s. His nostrils flared. The fire behind his dull eyes ignited.
“The Wargoth’s touch paralyzes, I’m told. You don’t have a stitch of armor on. They’ll end you. They’ll end me, too.” He stepped in front of the barbarian. “Be reasonable. Ride out of here. Whatever your need is, we shall figure it out.”
Moth peeked over the rim.
Finster climbed onto the dapple-gray horse. “It’s not too late. We can ride south, find a tavern, be neck-deep in perfumed wenches by nightfall. Come now, Moth. Give me a chance to civilize you.”
The towering barbarian stood his ground.
Finster sighed. Why not let the man die? Perhaps I can come back and acquire the rings later. Even with the Founder’s Stone’s boundless power, he had no desire to wage war against anything out of his comfort zone. The Wargoths were many. It created uncertainties. There was risk.
It would be different if he had the rings. They would grant him another level of power, both offensive and defensive. He clenched his fist. Finster, why do you hold back? Just rip the rings from the savage’s stomach. You’ll be doing him a favor, just not as big a favor as you’ll be doing yourself. As it should be.
The horse stomped his hooves.
“They are getting closer.” Fingers needling the air, Finster reached out for the rings in Moth’s stomach. He’d been tempted to do it before, but there was an odd kinship with Moth that he couldn’t explain, so he’d held back. But now it was for self-preservation. The scarab pulsed on his back. From the distance, he could feel his fingertips on the rings. Moth turned and looked at him with a deadpan stare. “Just close your eyes. This will be over with in a moment.” The rings shifted away from his mystic touch. He closed his fist. “Horseflies! They evade me!”
Moth turned away. The first Wargoth climbed over the ledge. He was a bestial man with powerful shoulders. The white paint on his body was cracked, and his black eyes were sunken. He had long fingernails like a wild animal. His teeth were filed to points. Unarmed, he charged Moth.
Moth struck downward with his sword. The Wargoth dodged the sword and slipped behind Moth, locked his arms around his waist, picked him up, and slammed him to the ground.
Finster stiffened. The smaller man attacked the barbarian with the raw power of an animal. The Wargoth raked his sharp claws down Moth’s skin. Without a word, Moth cracked the Wargoth in the skull with the pommel of his sword. On the second blow, the skull gave. Red blood oozed from the wound. They bleed red! A good thing!
Woozy, Moth dragged the Wargoth corpse to the ledge and pushed the man over the rim. He staggered. The rips in the flesh over his ribs bubbled. His bald brows knitted together. A Wargoth’s head crested the ledge. Moth split the savage’s face, but he still climbed. Moth wrenched the sword free and hit him again. The Wargoth’s face and clawing hands slid back down the rim.
Five Wargoths appeared on the top of the hill. Finster heard more fast footsteps coming from the woods. A crude spear with a stone head sailed right past his nose. Suddenly, the painted men scurried out from all directions. He spun the horse around. Where in the kingdoms did they come from? He and Moth were surrounded.
CHAPTER 27
Finster tapped into the Founder’s Stone’s power. Do something. Anything! He hadn’t spent as much time learning about the stone’s abilities as he should have. He’d been more focused on the rings. Now it might cost him. His powers might be amplified tenfold, but he was still flesh and blood. As if from a burst of wind, he flung dust and natural debris into the faces of the savages.
Spitting the dust from their mouths, the Wargoths crept toward him. They clacked their sharp teeth. The sharpened nails on their fingers hung down at their knees, moving like the legs of spiders. An ancient evil lurked under their heavy brows, cold and compassionless. They weren’t so different from Moth—smaller, but still hulking and primordial. Without a word, they all rushed Finster at once.
Finster clung to the saddle horn. The master of the inanimate, the horse, and the saddle lifted into the sky. The horse whinnied. The Wargoth let out a dry, husky howling. Finster had used his power to lift the h
orse into the air by his saddle. The saddle’s buckles strained against the horse’s weight.
Concentrate, Finster, or you’ll have a dead horse on your hands. He lifted them about twenty feet above the ground. The horse kicked in the air. The savages’ necks were stretched skyward, haunting eyes fastened on him. Normal people would have fled in sheer terror by now. I miss normal people.
A Wargoth cocked back his spear and hurled it at Finster.
Oh, none of that, now.
In midflight, Finster took control of the spear. The missile made a loop in the air. It came down and pierced the middle of the Wargoth’s spine. His arms flailed, but the Wargoth did not scream. It grabbed the bloody spear and, with the help of another, pulled it out of himself hand over hand.
This will be a problem if they don’t die. They’re flesh and blood. They have to die. I’m going to have to see about not dying myself. Today will prove to be a good exercise for that.
The impaled Wargoth cocked back the same spear. Blood oozing from his backside and belly, he hurled the spear with all his might. The aim was true.
Finster stopped the spear in midair. Time to teach these ghouls a lesson, if at all possible. If the results aren’t favorable the first time, then make them even less favorable the second. He turned the spear around. He shot it like an arrow from a bowstring into the Wargoth’s face. The man landed on his back, arms outstretched, head pinned to the ground. Let’s see you throw it back at me now.
The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Page 9
