The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power

by Craig Halloran

  Can I kill a man that can’t be killed? Everything dies, doesn’t it?

  With the stiff winds of the plains beating against her creaseless face, she ran through her checklist. The kingdom of Rayland had already blamed the death of King Alrick and his mother, the queen, on Moth and Finster. The River Knights of Rayland had been dispatched. There was another inevitable problem brewing as well. Word had quickly spread throughout the world of wizards about the slaughter at the Red Citadel. The Violet and Jade Citadels would certainly be involved—not only investigating but finding suitable replacements for the men and women who had led in the Red Citadel. No doubt they would hunger for the Founder’s Stone and the rings of power. If they acquired them first, it would weaken King Rolem’s position. The Circle had been hired to strengthen it. That was what Alexandria had set out to do.

  She’d dealt with the sorcerous benders of magic several times. They all had a weakness—primarily, overconfidence and a zeal for erotic pleasures. Many had died by the cut of her blade, completely oblivious to the danger the shapely woman posed. But the magi, the wizards, the sorcerers had strength and powers that she did not comprehend. Combined with wicked imaginations, their onslaught of power was life rending. She’d seen minds turned to mush from a sorcerer’s heated stare, leaving men drooling, crying, and running for their lives from unseen terrors that sent them hurtling from high ledges and cliffs. The sages and sorcerers were supposed to be the protectors of the kingdoms, the peacekeepers, advisors, but in truth, they were only puppeteers with their own ambitions. To Alexandria, the assassin’s guild was what truly kept the peace.

  Perhaps we should start our own kingdom one day.

  On a long stretch of road between Rayland and Varland, kingdoms hundreds of miles apart, Alexandria and her assassins entered a town called Rickle. It was a small, thriving livestock community, with straw-roof cottages all over the area and stony buildings no bigger than two stories tall. The air was rich with the smell of manure and hay. They hitched the horses to posts outside the only tavern late in the night. The door creaked open, and they entered a smoky pub half-full of drunken men and women with glazed-over eyes. With cackling in the background, they sat at the bar and ordered wine.

  A woman rose from a corner table and approached. She sat down beside Alexandria as a mildly obese bartender with clammy hands filled her goblet. The woman was one of the Circle’s eyes. She was older, with wispy brown hair and two front teeth missing. The moment the bartender moved out of earshot, the woman said, “It’s been a long time, Alexandria. A pleasure to bear witness for you.”

  “Out with it, Carlyn,” she said, taking her first sip.

  “The man who served you, his son fitted the Raylander woman, Dizon, with horses and gear.” Carlyn licked her cracked lips while she eyeballed the wine glass. “Eh, that’s the good news. The bad news is, other interested parties have been informed. They pay well for information that my budget could not stifle.”

  Without looking at the woman, Alexandria pushed her wine glass to Carlyn. “Who else pursues the king’s business?”

  The older woman drank. “The River Knights of Rayland. Twenty stalwart men.” She drank down half the glass and wiped her mouth against her moth-eaten sleeve. “Not to mention a few other strangers who passed through on thundering hooves. The roads are very busy with pursuit for Moth and this Finster.”

  “You are certain of their passage through here?” Alexandria asked in her callous tone.

  “Aye, the barkeep’s son, enchanted by the woman, Dizon, took tail after her. He saw her and the men you seek. The boy’s a talker. She tried to use discretion on her departure, but the captivated boy’s passion sent him into a deeper pursuit and took after her. The boy said they moved toward Varland, but he gave up the journey quickly. Said he got too far and got hungry. He’s a homer.” Carlyn scratched a fuzzy patch under her chin. “I, however, managed to make speed before the knights pursued. Heh-heh. I claimed witness and pointed them west, back toward the Free River.”

  “You think Finster went toward Varland?”

  “That I cannot say for sure without seeing myself, but that is what the boy says. I just sent the knights in the direction I thought would be most unlikely,” Carlyn said.

  Alexandria nodded. “You’ve served well.”

  “I serve the Circle. Always.” Carlyn finished the goblet of wine. “My life is yours to give or take.”

  Alexandria pressed a small purse of jacks into the woman’s palm. “You gave. You will have reward.” Her eyes fell on the barkeep. “The father and son. We can’t have them talking to anyone else. You know what to do.”

  Carlyn sniggered. “Yes. What they know will die with them.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Finster slept with Dizon in his arms on the fifth floor of the Black Tower. Rinny slept in the arms of her mother. One lone torch in the circular room still burned. A steady breeze made a low howling through the portal window, just enough to freshen the stifling, muggy air with a hint of honeysuckle. Still, it was a restless sleep. No matter how hard Finster tried, there was no comfortable position. The scarab saw to that. It probed into him, nudging him into a direction that he did not want to go—the direction desired by the stone and not him. The stone wanted Finster’s body as a vessel to serve its own dark ambitions. It was anxious and hungry now that it was free. Its will wrestled against Finster’s. He tossed from side to side, fingers flexing. Relief was nowhere to be found.

  The Founder’s Stone was every bit the powerful relic that he’d imagined it to be. It enhanced the powers of the user tenfold, if not twenty or more. But there were other powers within the stone, ancient, dark, and wondrous. It wanted to exercise that power with devastating effect. It wasn’t a bauble created to protect mankind, it was a weapon created to destroy the host’s enemies or any threats to it. Finster pushed back against it, but he wanted to give in. It was him against the will of it. He couldn’t give in to his own desires. The stone would turn him into a weapon.

  I swear to protect the weak, the wealthy, and the living of our kind, through the fires, the trials, and creeping ice of times. I am a magus. This is my sworn creed.

  Decades ago, he’d made that pledge, but every man and woman that made it broke it at one time or another. Now he felt that he might be the only man in the world likely to save the order. Zuulan the Arcane was all-powerful but had been a total fool to be seduced by the witchy sorcerous Ingrid, who Finster, of all people, had trained.

  I suppose I feel guilty. I should have known better than to trust that wretched, power-hungry girl.

  Dizon’s soothing fingers reached down and massaged his calf with a caressing touch. She was softly snoring when she did so. The woman had not asked him for one single thing. She cared nothing about his craft; she earnestly wanted to be with him. Which made him suspicious.

  I came upon her by chance, did I not? Or was she waiting on me? Was I lured in? Sleep, Finster, sleep. Please, lords of the sea, let me have one good night of sleep.

  He lay there for long minutes, eyes shut tight, then finally decided after the hundredth consideration. With the Founder’s Stone, I don’t need any sleep.

  He slipped his arms away from Dizon. Perhaps I’ll go and see what the savage is up to. He’s probably mating with a willow tree or one of those giant snapping turtles.

  In the shadows behind him, he caught a stirring in the window out of the corner of his eye. A mannish figure crawled silently through the window. At first, he thought it was Moth, but the silhouette of the figure had a leaner, muscular build. A second man eased through the same portal, moving like a spider. Finster’s neck hairs rose. With a flick of his finger, he sent the torch sailing in the strange invaders’ direction.

  Arms raised, they cowered from the light. Long arm hair hung from the men’s naked arms. Long strands of bone-white hair hung down past their shoulders. Their eye sockets were big and hollow, but small white pupils shone like diamonds deep inside them. They stretched their
webbed fingers out, revealing sharp claws like hooks made to tear through flesh. They bared teeth like an animal. Humanity was far removed from them. They were the savages of the swamp called the bog men.

  The bog men coiled low on their legs. Oversized knuckles rested on the ground. They swayed side to side, looking past the torch, fixing their eyes on Finster. Murder lurked in their gaze.

  It seems we might have overstayed our welcome in the swamp. The question is, where is Moth?

  Perhaps Finster had taken it for granted that Moth prowled the swamp like a watchdog. Over the last few days, that had seemed to be the case. Frankly, Finster hadn’t thought anything would slip by the savage barbarian. Now his absence posed another concern. What if Moth is in danger?

  All the while, Finster sent a coil of rope slithering like a snake behind the bog men. At the same time, he moved the torch side to side, blocking their view of him. The bog men’s heads swayed as they dodged the light. Ignoring the torch, they crept forward, stretching forth their long, sharp fingernails.

  Dizon rolled over onto her side. Looking up at Finster, she said, “What are you doing?” Her expression turned into a look of horror as her eyes followed Finster’s to the bog men. She let out a sharp gasp.

  The bog men launched themselves right at Finster.

  With a twist of his fingers, Finster commanded both ends of the rope. It coiled around the bog men’s sinewy necks and instantly constricted. At the same time, the rope lifted the bog men off their feet. The swamp dwellers clawed at the line, their legs kicking wildly.

  Finster used his power to strangle the life out of their flailing limbs. The bog men’s tongues stuck out of their mouths. They tugged at the rope and kicked out a few more times. Their faces turned beet red and purple. Both of them spasmed violently one more time and quietly died.

  With his heart pounding in his ears, Finster took a quick breath through his nostrils. “I have a feeling there will be more. There are always more. Always.”

  Dizon was on her knees. She cradled a half-sleeping Rinny in her arms. With a shaky voice, she asked, “What do we do?”

  Finster held a finger up. He heard the sound of soft footfalls coming up the stairs. He made out the shadows of men moving toward them. The torches that were still lit in the fourth level below them cast light against the movement. He positioned himself between the women and the stairwell. “Stay behind me and ready the quiver.”

  As more scuffling sounds slunk up the stairs, Dizon grabbed a nearby quiver that lay among their supplies. Finster had had her purchase a few other items that he could use for weaponry. Among them were scrap pieces of metal and arrows. She removed the arrows from the quiver and tossed them into the air.

  Finster snatched the arrows with his thoughts, and like the rope, the arrows hovered with a life of their own at shoulder height beside him.

  A bog man slunk to the top of the stairs. His hollow eyes landed on Finster. He made a lip-smacking sound that seemed to be a signal to the others.

  With a flick of Finster’s finger, an arrow jetted across the small expanse, burying itself deep in the bog man’s heart. Clutching its bleeding chest, the bog man stumbled backward and fell down the steps.

  A wild, angry howl swelled up from the horde of swamp dwellers below. It grew louder. Feet slapping against the stone, they came up in a rush.

  “Lords of the Black Island!” Finster exclaimed. “There must be dozens of them.”

  CHAPTER 68

  “Finster! The windows!” Dizon cried out.

  More bog men squirmed through the spade-shaped window portals.

  With perfect timing, the fully awake Rinny let out an earsplitting shriek.

  Cringing, Finster said, “Must she do that?” Without the slightest movement of his fingers, Finster, using the power of the Founder’s Stone, willed all portals in the room shut. The stone blocks closed like a mouthful of giant’s teeth, crushing the bones of the bog men caught between them.

  Savage, pain-filled howls echoed through the barren chamber. The bog men pouring up the step surged. They came at Finster in a furious knot of muscular, primordial swamp men.

  “Back up! Back up! Back up!” Finster ordered Dizon. As she backpedaled away from the stairs, Finster pointed his fingers at the oncoming bog men. The arrows shot forth. The feathery shafts blasted through the savages as if shot from a close-range longbow. Arrows passed through bone and body and punched into the next bog man behind them. The ones that didn’t die kept coming, shafts protruding through their bodies. In a matter of seconds, Finster, backing away, had used all ten of his arrows. “I need more arrows!”

  “That was all of them!” Dizon yelled back.

  With the wild white-haired savages screaming for blood less than thirty feet away, Finster had to think fast. With his mind the only weapon that he had left, he pulled the stones from the floor in front of him with the power of the Founder’s Stone. Blocks, squares, rectangles, octagons, and many other shapes ripped out of the floor. The gap stretched from one side of the room to the other. He sent the loose, suspended stones hurling into the bog men’s bodies. The blocks hit with ramming force, cracking bones and crushing skulls. The first wave of rock wiped out half of the bog men. The second wave he flung hit them like an aerial avalanche. He piled the stones up, sweeping the dead along with them, filling in the stairwell with tons of mangled flesh and rocks.

  At the moment, they were safe.

  Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Finster said, “I really hated to tamper with outstanding architecture. I suppose I can put it back. It will just be messy.” He peered down to the fourth level, where there was a twenty-foot drop between the floors. Dozens of bog men still gathered below. Growling and howling, they jumped high in the air, raking their claws at Finster but never coming close. “They won’t stop until they have us. There might be hundreds more out there.”

  Dizon stood beside him, looking over the edge. “They are a vile people.”

  “Primitive and evil, I’d guess. People that time forgot who somehow migrated here. My guess is they are relatives to Moth,” he said. “Speaking of which, I wonder where he might be.”

  “Perhaps he is hiding,” she said.

  Rinny held tight to her mother’s waist. “Moth does not hide.” She took a look over the edge at the group of salivating men. “What are they doing?”

  The bog men started piling up atop one another, creating a tower from their bodies. In seconds, they would reach the ledge.

  Dizon looked at Finster. “Primitive, huh?”

  “Just because one’s kind is primitive does not mean that they can’t think for themselves.” Using his power, Finster pulled another stone from his floor loose and sent it flying into the face of the bog man anchoring the tower. The bog men above him tumbled. Some landed on their feet, while the others landed hard. Finster rubbed his chin. “They won’t stop until I find a way to dissuade them. You might want to look away.”

  “Why?” Rinny asked.

  “Because I’m going to brutally kill them all.”

  The girl shrugged.

  Dizon covered Rinny’s eyes and backed away from the ledge. “Do what you must do, Finster. I don’t want to see it.”

  Finster used the same stone he had used before to bust up the men, with devastating effect. It was them or him, and the blood-coated rock plowed through them. Chasing the scuttling wild savages around with a bloody hunk of stone became tedious and tiresome. Using the stone empowered him. It grew stronger the more he used it. He flew the stone—something he could never lift under his own natural power—as easily as if it were an apple.

  Just how powerful am I?

  As he spread his fingers out wide over the gap, the green veins underneath his skin glowed and pulsated. His brilliant mind accounted for the carefully laid-out stones on the fourth level, and he dropped the entire bottom out from underneath the bog men. He didn’t stop there. As the men tumbled through the air, he dropped the floors of the third and second levels
. All of the savages, howling for their suddenly fleeting lives, met their deaths at the bottom level.

  “Hmph,” Finster commented with a degree of satisfaction. “That wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it might be.”

  Rinny broke out of her mother’s arms. “I want to see.” She almost went off the ledge. Her mother caught her by the back of the pants. Rinny stared into the eighty-foot-deep gaping hole that was illuminated by the still-burning torches. “Whoa,” she said with awe.

  All of the bog men that had fallen were dead. A few of the ones from outside crept in, looked up, turned, and ran.

  “I don’t think they are going to bother us anymore,” he said. With a wave of his hands, he put each and every stone back in place. “I’m getting used to this. I like it.”

  “What about Moth?” Rinny asked, tugging on Finster’s robes. “Where is he? We have to find him.”

  Chin up, Finster said, “And we will once I finish reveling in my own glory.”

  CHAPTER 69

  Finster waited until morning before he ventured out of the Black Tower. There weren’t any signs of the bog men. He wanted to think with certainty that they wouldn’t be back, but with wild men, there was no telling for sure. So he created two stone golems from the surrounding rubble and the many stones he had pulled loose from the tower. They were crudely made men, like something a child would make from building blocks of wood, with only a head, body, legs, arms, hands, and feet. Standing tall and foreboding, they moved quietly, as their mystically bound joints did not allow the stones to rub together. Wherever Finster walked, they remained close behind him.

  With the help of Dizon and Rinny, they searched the tower’s perimeter, looking for any sign of Moth. Since none of them were trackers of any sort, they didn’t notice any signs of Moth’s oversized feet. But what they did find were some of the tracks showing where the bog men had come from and where they had fled.