The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power

by Craig Halloran

  “Oh.” Raul waggled his brows a few times. “They are going to take Blue Toe—pardon me, Moth—to the waters and clean him up. Every time he comes in, he’s very messy. He does not seem so bad this time.”

  “He spends time here? Not among the cattle and sheep?”

  Raul held up a finger. “I’ll be back. Would you like one of my daughters to warm your lap?”

  Finster scanned the room. The women were little more appealing than the livestock. “Perhaps next winter.” Assuming it’s a bitter-cold one. “For now, the wine will do.”

  “Wine and soup. You will like Raul’s soup.” The tavern keeper hustled away, disappearing behind the bar and into the kitchen in the back.

  The smoke in the tavern stung Finster’s eyes. The longer he sat, the heavier his eyelids became. There were about fifteen people spread out between the bar and tables, eating and drinking. Light came in through skylights in the ceiling. None of the candles in the candelabra or wall sconces were lit.

  This reminds me of Tarley’s. Poor old Tarley. It’s not been so long, but I miss those days already. Farm people. I’d have to feed myself without them.

  Raul returned with a clear bottle of rose-colored wine in one hand and a baked-clay bowl of steaming soup in the other. He set the bottle in front of Finster and said, “Try this. It’s come down the river on a ship to Mendes from Rayland.” He winked. “I’ve got a connection that set me up with a case. Drink.”

  Finster pulled the cork from the bottle. He sniffed. “The bouquet is delightful.” He’d sampled some of the finest wines known to man. Often, the scent spoiled the taste. He tilted the bottle to his lips and drank. In this case, it was excellent. “Delicious.” Finster started chugging the wine. Raul’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. When Finster had finished off the bottle, he rapped it on the table. “Excellent, Raul. I’ll have another!”

  CHAPTER 31

  Drunk as a skunk, Finster floated around the room in a wooden chair. The patrons in the room either fled or hid beneath the tables. Raul was cowering behind the bar. He was waving a rag and pleading, “Finster! Finster! Please, you are frightening all of my customers. I will lose much money.”

  Finster glided around the room with a bottle of wine in his hand and a smile on his face. “It will be fine, Raul. Don’t worry yourself. Pretend it’s just an illusion. Someone, play some music. I like the strings.”

  A man wearing a brick-red scarf crawled beneath the tables on his knees and elbows. He was heading toward the exit. Suddenly, the table over him came to life. The legs of the table wrapped around his ankles and moved like a person, walking backward, dragging the man with it.

  Finster’s chair lowered, hovering inches from the floor in front of the man. He leaned forward and asked, “Can you play the lute?”

  “No, no!” the man said. He shook like a leaf.

  “Do you know anyone who does?”

  “There’s a woman who plays a lute with two necks. Please don’t kill me! I have many children that need me.”

  Finster rolled his eyes. “I don’t care, unless some of them can play the lute or the harp. Or perhaps the toot of an iron horn?” His voice rose. “Well, what are you waiting for? Find me this woman you are talking about. Quickly! And don’t have any more children. You’re ugly, and the world doesn’t need any more ugly.”

  The man fought to free his legs.

  Finster’s power pulled the man up by the neck with his scarf. The man’s legs were freed of the table, but his eyes were bulging. Tilting his head, Finster said, “I like this scarf. You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Good.” The scarf unwound from the man’s neck. It floated through the air and draped itself over Finster’s scrawny shoulders. The fear-stricken patron dashed through the curtained front doorway. Scanning the room and rising higher in his chair, Finster asked, “Where did everyone go? And why have your faces paled? I’m providing amusement.” He hiccupped. The chair dipped in the air. Flapping his hands, Finster rose up again. “I am a bird. Say, Raul, watch this.”

  A tray filled with metal dinnerware spilled out on the bar. Forks, spoons, and knives stood up on their ends. Piece by piece, they came together, forming two people a little over one foot tall. The fork heads made for hands and feet, fingers and toes. One had a spoon head, and the other had a fork head, the tines contorting and waving like womanly hair. Arm in arm, they walked across the bar right before Raul’s enlarging eyes.

  “Everyone clap, whistle, sing, or something!” Finster said. He drank with one hand and snapped his fingers in loud pops with the others. “Come now! When else will you get to see dancing metal people?”

  The cowering patrons slunk toward the door.

  Finster barred the exit with a stack of tables. “Don’t be rude, commoners! You will draw my wrath!” He shook his head. The entire building trembled. One by one, chairs lined up in front of the bar where the metal figurines danced. Finster addressed the patrons with a glowering look. “Take your seats.”

  The people scrambled to the chairs and planted their butts in the seats. Their sweat-glistening faces turned toward the metal figurines. The chairs and stools that were free of occupancy came to life. They took on the shapes of skinny men and clapped their wooden arms together in a steady rhythm of wood knocking on wood. The candelabras, now lit, floated from the walls to hover over the metal dancers, creating a warm, illuminating light. Tensions began to ease as the figurines started to dance.

  With the gentleness of a hospitable host, Finster said, “Enjoy the show, friends of the Swift River.”

  The metal figurines performed jigs and ballet. The audience oohed and aahed as smiles crossed their faces. They clapped and patted knees to the lively rhythm of the animated silverware. Raul’s cheerful face bounced from side to side. There was childlike wonder in his eyes. Finster, drunk as a skunk and with questionable intentions, had won them over.

  “Enjoy, enjoy,” Finster slurred. His lids became heavy. His chair lowered to the top of a table. He smiled at the other patrons. The hard lines in their faces started to ease. “Yes, enjoy, lesser peoples.”

  A shadow crossed the skylight momentarily, blocking the light from Finster’s face. He didn’t notice. He yawned and snapped his fingers while hugging the wine bottle to his shoulder.

  “Simple things for simple people.”

  The figurines finished a waltz and bowed. The patrons were clapping. A woman, one of Raul’s daughters, wiped tears from her eyes. An early night of terror had turned into one of splendid delight.

  Clapping his chubby hands together, Raul said in a voice that all could hear, “Thank you, Master Finster! Your gifts are most welcome here! Bravo!”

  The patrons cheered Finster, whistling and applauding.

  Finster nonchalantly flipped his hand at them. “Oh, please, I don’t deserve it. On second thought, yes I do! More, I say! More!”

  Shattering glass broke up the celebration. A black birdlike creature swooped into the room. With an earsplitting shriek, it bore down on Finster. It slammed into his body, knocking him from his chair, and driving him hard onto the floor. Hands like a bird’s talons wrapped around his throat.

  Finster’s gaze fell on Ravenlock’s face. She was more bird than woman now, with a crow-like beak for a nose.

  She pecked him hard between the eyes and shrieked, “I’m going to kill you, Finster!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Drunk and defenseless, Finster’s frail body couldn’t withstand Ravenlock’s viselike grip. She pecked at his face. He turned his head aside, fighting to summon his power, but her talons choked him.

  I can’t breathe!

  Focus was one thing. Survival was another. His baser instinct kicked in. He wriggled on the floor like a worm.

  “Does that hurt, Finster?” She pecked his noggin, peck-peck-peck.

  He couldn’t reply. His mind grasped at anything he could get ahold of. A table soared across the room and s
mashed into Ravenlock’s back. She shrugged it off, laughing.

  “I am at full strength, fool! Mortal objects cannot harm this immortal body! Die, Finster, die!” She slammed his head against the planks.

  Finster started to black out.

  No, I won’t go like this! I won’t be a meal for this harpy!

  The tables and chairs in the room clustered into man shapes.

  Ravenlock sneered. “No more of your tricks!” Still squeezing, she slammed his head hard into the planks. Bam!

  Finster’s body went limp. His concentration faded. The animated objects around him went still. With his own blood leaking in his eyes, his consciousness darkened like the night. His lungs burned like flames.

  Covering his mouth, she said, “Goodbye, Finster. The Wargoth are now avenged.”

  The pupils in Ravenlock’s bird eyes grew large. Her body was wrenched away from Finster. Coughing and rubbing his neck, he sat up.

  Moth had Ravenlock in a bear hug. In her bird form, she was as big as he was. She shook the barbarian off with supernatural strength, and he landed on the other side of the bar. She turned her attention back to Finster. “Fools! You cannot kill me!” She stretched her winged arms out wide. Her clawed feet raked the floor. “I am a goddess!”

  Moth sprang onto the top of the bar. Wild-eyed, he launched himself through the air onto the harpy. This time, he got his mighty arms wrapped around her neck. Ravenlock thrashed through the tables, trying to shake him off. He held fast, squeezing his forearm against her throat. She rammed her back into the walls, but the jarring impact didn’t loosen his grip. The barbarian remained silent, muscles popping out over his body as he increased the pressure. Her spine snapped with a loud crack. Moth twisted her head around until it came clean from the shoulders. He tossed it into the fire.

  The fire turned an angry green and blue. The burning face let out one final shriek that shook the tavern, then it exploded. Ravenlock’s body deteriorated into a pile of black feathers.

  Climbing into a chair, Finster said, “Goddess my arse. She was a harpy.” Wheezing, he added, “I hate harpies.”

  ***

  Late the next morning, Finster dug a spoon into a steaming bowl of breakfast stew. “It will give you the vitality you need,” Raul had said when he served it. Finster chewed. His jaw was sore for some reason. He didn’t remember getting hit in the jaw. He ran his fingers over the scabs on his face. Ravenlock must have pecked him a dozen times. I hope it doesn’t scar. I have enough scars. I prefer them inside as opposed to out.

  At the back of the tavern, Raul had piled up the wreckage Finster had made of the tables and chairs. He considered bending them back together, but he didn’t feel like it. It hurt just to think. His back ached as much as ever. He didn’t want to admit it, but using the scarab seemed to take a toll on him.

  Raul crossed his path. His eyes were puffy. He leaned forward on his broom and asked, “Are you leaving soon, Master Finster?”

  “I take it that I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “Well, this isn’t the first time my furnishings have been destroyed. It’s just that you make me, my daughters, and my patrons uncomfortable.” Raul started sweeping. “I hope you understand.”

  Finster cast his heavy stare in Moth’s direction. The barbarian sat at a table with a pile of food in front of him. The women that had bathed him were now feeding him. The pale-skinned brute was all cleaned up. His bloodstained trousers had been replaced with new ones with heavy leather stitching on the side, and he wore a vest made from sheepskin dyed dark red. Expressionless, he ate by the mouthful. There was a restlessness in Moth’s eyes, like he would spring at any moment.

  “And my stone-faced comrade? He’s welcome to stay?”

  “Blue Toe comes and goes. We are used to him, but not used to you.”

  “Are you saying ‘Blue Toe’ or ‘Bluto’?”

  “Bluto.”

  Finster eyed the man. “Are you making reference to the blue toes on his feet?”

  “He is Bluto. I don’t know how else to say it. His toes are not blue.” Raul craned his neck in Moth’s direction. “Even though I cannot see his feet at the moment, I don’t remember his toes being blue. Perhaps on a very cold day.” He reached down to take Finster’s food away. “I wish you well in your travels, Master Finster.”

  Finster froze the bowl in place with his mind. Raul tried to pull it away, but it wouldn’t budge. “I’m enjoying this, Raul. I suggest that you remove your fingers before I do it for you.”

  Raul’s jaw hung open. “Er, eat heartily. You’ll need your strength for your journey, wherever that might be.” He slipped behind the bar, keeping his head down, and started polishing it.

  Finster finished the stew one slow spoonful at a time. Across the room, Moth ate with vigor while the women giggled at his side. He hadn’t said a word, but the women were pawing all over the brute, whose rugged exterior was anything but handsome. Finster couldn’t figure it out. That man is as scary as any I’ve ever met. Yet they adore him. It must be the muscles. It could only be. It certainly wouldn’t be his mind. That’s what Isaac the Elemental would say. He hates muscles. He pushed the bowl aside.

  Raul moved in like the wind and scooped the bowl up in his hand. “No charge, Master Finster.” He hustled over to the door and pulled the curtain back. “Enjoy your journey.”

  Finster ground his teeth. He felt insulted. Hurt. Moth was welcome, but he was not. It didn’t seem natural. Of course, given the history of recent events, he remembered he was dealing with primitive people. Turning loose his powers must have terrified them.

  My powers are not something they can wrap their feeble intellects around. Perhaps, if I was inferior, I would feel the same. He pushed back from the table, got up, and headed for the door. Without a word, he passed beneath the blanket into the face of the bright, shining sun. He turned back to ask Raul about the ships that ran along the river, but the curtain was closed.

  CHAPTER 33

  King Rolem’s chief commander, Buckner, had surveyed many things in his life. He’d seen firsthand the bloody wounds of war. He’d smelled the reek of death. He’d watched men die right before his eyes. That was war. It took a toll, but he enjoyed the spoils as well. Now he was leading five hundred experienced riders after two men. The journey was unique.

  He picked up an empty flask of wine he found tossed in the grass. Not too far away was a camp where boulders were stacked up neatly, almost a dozen feet tall. Staring at it, he brushed his flowing blond hair back out of his eyes. Something snaked up his spine that wasn’t caused by the wind. He spoke to the man riding next to him. “What do you make of this, Satrap Chen?”

  Satrap Chen was an elegant man, clean-shaven, with a proud look in his slanted eyes. His garments were spotted like a bright leopard, colorful and garish, completely out of place with the soldiers who rode in full plate armor. His entire face twitched when he spoke. “What do I make of what?”

  “The stones? They are stacked up like a child’s building blocks, and these hills aren’t known for giants. I certainly don’t think the wind caused it.”

  “It could have.” Chen sneered when he said it.

  Buckner, gripping his reins with white knuckles, said under his breath, “I hate that man.” The satrap was highly regarded by King Rolem. He was a court wizard, trained in the black arts, known for his strange and sorcerous ways. He had been one of the king’s top advisors until Ingrid came along. Now the satrap was back on top, making the journey even more miserable.

  Buckner gave the signal. “Onward.”

  For the next few miles, they rode in silence, with only the wind whistling through their armor for company. The farther they rode, the more rigid the winds became. There was something stark in the cloudy hills that always lingered. It made Buckner itch. Still, he rode in the lead, spying the terrain, carefully following two sets of horse tracks.

  “How much farther?” the satrap asked.

  “Ah, he speaks, only to
ask a trivial question. I can’t answer because I don’t know how far our prey has traveled,” Buckner said.

  “You would know if you were a wizard.”

  “You’re the wizard. You tell me, Chen.”

  “Don’t be insolent, Buckner. I was not brought here to do your duty. But it is your duty to honor me. I have more favor with the king than you. Don’t think your knighthood and battlefield bravado is greater than that. This, I warn you.”

  Buckner laughed. “What in the Seven Kingdoms are you talking about? This is a manhunt, nothing more or less. You are here to help assess the strength of our enemy. Your talents, matched with mine, should help us apprehend them. Or kill them, for that matter.”

  “Your weapons will be useless against the ones we face.”

  Buckner stopped his horse and turned it aside, blocking Satrap Chen’s path. “You are more than welcome to apprehend the murderers without our assistance.”

  “Don’t be foolish, warrior.” Chen let out a lengthy sigh. “Your skills will be needed. Your shiny weapons and armor make for a marvelous distraction. That’s what pawns are good for—protecting the king and his higher subjects, like me.”

  “You overvalue yourself.”

  “Compared to you, a man with the wit of a tree stump? Your brawn might win some battles, but it’s minds like mine that win the wars.”

  “Have you ever been in a war, Chen?” He eyed him up and down. “Not a war-drobe but an actual war? Not something you play on the game boards in your lofty towers.”

  “It is in those towers that we forge the destinies of men.”

  “Really? And all this time, I thought that was where you perverts took silly captive women under the cover of darkness.”

  “You have a sharp tongue for such a young man.”

  “I’m not young by any means. I attribute my excellent exterior conditioning to the good loving I receive when I return home from conquered cities. The wife gives me my vitality. My mistress gives me everything else.”