“Finster, what do you think we should do?” Dizon asked. Black bags clung beneath her tired eyes. The luster of her fair skin had begun to fade thanks to the lack of sleep and harsh, bug-ridden elements. “I know the barbarian is prone to roam, but I don’t think he would abandon us.”
“No, I don’t either,” Finster said, “but I don’t have any desire to go deeper into this marsh. I think it would be best to wait him out for a few days.”
“Moth is in danger. I can feel it,” Rinny said. “We have to go after him. Something is wrong. I know it.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that,” Finster said to the girl.
Rinny shook her fist at him. “You only say that because you don’t care about him.”
“While that is true, that is not why I am saying that.” He looked to Dizon. “Can you not bridle her tongue? She was so quiet when we first met, and now her lips buzz like a hummingbird’s wings.”
“Rinny, be silent. Lord Finster knows what is best.” Dizon put her arm around her daughter and added, “We can always look together. And we will. But for the time being, let’s be patient. Moth will most likely return.”
With her bottom lip stuck out and arms crossed over her chest, Rinny said, “Moth is in danger.” She slipped out of her mother’s grasp and walked away.
Watching her daughter go, Dizon said to Finster, “I believe her.” She rubbed her upper arms. “I feel something haunting about this swamp. A watcher of some sort.”
“Perhaps the bog men,” he said.
“No. Moth would not have let the bog men attack unless he was indisposed elsewhere.”
Finster couldn’t agree more. Even he’d come to know Moth well enough to realize that he wouldn’t let them be endangered. The savage might not care for Finster, but he was fond of the girl at least. Finster looked at the tower. At first, he thought he might have accidentally buried Moth. He put every stone back in place, fastening them by the magic that enchanted them from within. In doing so, he learned that the tower had been enchanted long ago. This made his efforts easier, though he did not understand its purpose. He looked away. Still, there were no signs of the savage northerner who had been raised on the icy steppes.
I have the power to shatter temples, but I can’t find one lost man. He lifted a brow. Or can I?
“Dizon, do you mind? I want to try something,” he said. One of his stone golems dropped to its hands and knees, forming a bench. Finster sat down.
“What do you want me to do?”
“The scarab is nagging. Just let your magic fingers do some walking, if you will. I need to concentrate and recall a spell that I haven’t used in quite some time.” He placed his hands on his knees and stared out into the forest. “It usually requires other materials, but with the Founder’s Stone, it might be possible.”
“As you will, Lord Finster.” Dizon’s strong fingers went to work massaging the tight, irritated muscles between his shoulder blades. “Is that helping?”
“No offense, but please, let me have silence.” Manipulating inanimate objects had always been Finster’s strongest talent. He was, however, very good at many nuances of the craft. He would not have ever become a magus of the higher orders if he had not been. In deep concentration, eyebrows knitting together, he inwardly recalled a magic protection spell that he practiced very often. When he was younger, he had often searched strange places for magic trinkets. As he matured, he practiced finding sources of magic that came from the earth. With those sources, he built up his practice in the town of Marcen, giving the local people aid in Tarley’s Tavern. He did it with nuts, herbs, grasses, weeds, all ground up and mixed for one purpose or another. Now he used the spell he’d used countless times before to seek out the rings of power. They would leave a strong mystic trail. All he needed to do was get a sense of it. He envisioned Moth and a possible path the brute might be on.
Finster blocked out everything: the burning in his back, the sound of the wind rustling through the branches, Dizon’s soft breath on his skin. There was just his mind, snaking through the swampy jungles, with mental tentacles stretching out to taste a mystical scent. Through the slimy varmint-infested bogs, he searched far, deep, and wide until, finally, he came upon a trace of magic that lingered in the air, hanging on the petals of a swamp lily. Finster mentally latched on to the magic scent. With invisible hands, he grabbed onto the mystic trail as if it were a rope and gave it a tug. His fingers tingled.
Finster opened his eyes and said with a wry smile, “I have it.”
Dizon broke off her massage. “You found Moth?”
Rolling his neck side to side, Finster replied with new brightness in his eyes. “Assuming the rings are still attached to him, yes, I can find a trail to him.” The spell had worked, and this was even better news for Finster. Now that he’d locked onto the rings, he should always be able to find them. Hence, Moth could never slip away from him again.
Why didn’t I do this all along? It would have saved me a great deal of trouble. Perhaps the scarab in my back distracted me. Oh well. Onward.
CHAPTER 70
Standing on a stone, Finster glided over the murky water of the swamp. To his left and right, Dizon and Rinny were separately carried by the stone golems that floated along with him. The strong magic scent of the rings of power led him quickly out of the swamp to the edge of the lakes that fed the murk. The shoreline of the lake was rich in green algae and foamy water that brushed up against the reeds on the bank. The winds from the plains sent ripples over the water. The green water was still blanketed by the late morning mist. There was no sign of Moth—not a footprint or anything that Finster could detect.
With growing concern in her voice, Dizon asked, “Have you lost him, Lord Finster?”
“No. I can still sense the rings. I’m just wondering what in the world brought him out here.” His gaze swept over the water. Small islands were scattered all over the massive lakes of the marsh. “I fear that a more sinister element is at work here.”
“What does that mean?” Rinny asked.
“Hush,” Dizon said.
Finster could see the faintest aura of the trail that the rings’ passing had left. It was like a faded rainbow. His fingertips still itched as he kneaded them against his palm. “I am close. I can feel it.” He gave Dizon a glance. “You’ll be safe here. Wait until I come back.”
“Finster, no, don’t leave us on the edge of this abysmal lake all alone,” she said.
“Do not fear. The stone golem will protect you, but I’m taking the other one with me.” Still standing on the block, he sailed over the lake. The breeze kissed the thickening whiskers on his face. He looked down to see the water bubble up in different places. The marsh lakes were known for great fish that swallowed smaller fishing boats whole. With the golem in tow, he floated up higher. As for Dizon and Rinny, they were on their own. He had no way of seeing any danger that might threaten them. He had only told them the golem would protect them to give them a sense of security. Hence, he had lied, but with his skin crawling, he knew they were safer away from him than with him.
He was a mile away from the shoreline when he came upon an island that stood on a long bluff of stones above the water’s wake. Goosebumps rose on his arms. A chill trickled down his spine.
Moth is here, but something else is as well. Something dark and hungry.
For the first time, Finster believed that Moth, indeed, could be in danger. In theory, with the rings appearing under the skin of the savage’s fingers, it was possible that the random power the barbarian tapped no longer worked the way it did before. Moth would have no idea how to actually use the rings’ powers, but they should still protect the man to some degree.
Time to take a closer look.
The misty island was half-covered in dead trees with gnarled branches and limbs that seemed to climb out of the ground. The surface was otherwise livable, with hard-packed dirt and wild moss and grasses. Judging by the tiny gray-black birds that darted from limb
to limb, the inhospitable place was plenty big enough for a village of wild people, bog men, or hermits to live on. Finster moved along the outer bluff, quickly sailing along at a mile over the perimeter if not more. There were no canoes or skiffs or a dock of any sort along the rocky bluff. Of course, if the bog men were behind Moth’s disappearance, they would have no need for a boat, as they were born with webbed fingers.
How did the savage get himself captured? Blue-toe savages are hard enough to trap as it is.
With the mystery lingering in his thoughts, Finster did his best not to assume anything. On the one hand, the bog men would have a leader, but on the other hand, were they smart enough to capture a man like Moth? He had to expect something else. From his rock, he moved deeper into the island’s woodland, following the aura of the rings. More than one hundred yards in, he heard an eerie yet comforting call pulling at his sensibilities and luring him deeper within.
The call reminded him of the stories of the sirens that wrecked the ships and minds of sailors at sea. The beckoning harmony plucked at his mind and cradled his pounding heart. He floated closer and closer to the source of the sound.
Don’t be a fool, Finster. You will not be taken down like this.
Strong, unseen hands grabbed ahold of his body, reeling him into the soft warmth promising a better today and an even better tomorrow. He glided onward, slow and steady, weaving through the trees, whose branches brushed across his elbows. He didn’t resist the soothing sound of the welcoming chant. Instead, he let the words take him right to it. He floated lazily into a massive grove that was surrounded by a ring of towering pine trees. The floor of the grove was a bed of mushrooms, many of which were bigger than him. Large slabs of stone from a structure that had fallen ages ago were half-covered in moss. Transfixed by the music, Finster found himself coming to a stop less than fifty feet away from the prone form of Moth.
The savage was covered in snails with fuzzy mustard-brown and forest-green shells. Long, slimy antenna-like tentacles fanned out of the little monsters’ heads and burrowed into Moth’s clammy skin. The tentacles pulsated with a strange illumination.
Finster’s stomach recoiled. His heart shot into his throat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the disturbing scene. Finally, with effort, he turned his head, averting his gaze from Moth as new movement caught his eye. A few yards behind Moth, a snail shell the size of an elephant sat in the bed of mushrooms. The pinwheel shell was partially coated in fuzzy green-brown moss that would camouflage it with nature. The harmonious humming that Finster heard emanated from its body. The shell moved. Its front end tipped upward. A slimy, bulbous body started to emerge.
The stone Finster rode on lowered toward the ground. Snails from the grove, tentacles waving, began the slow crawl his way. The stone golem wobbled loosely in the air as Finster fought to maintain control of it. The stones that made up the animated golem dropped to the loamy ground, crushing the mushroom spores beneath them and sending up a yellow dust cloud. He coughed.
From underneath the giant shell, a humanish figure emerged. It appeared as a man coated in a wet and shiny slime. Antennas adorned the snail man’s head. His features were that of the bog men—human—with long muscular arms and slender, glossy fingers that spread out like fans. The snail man’s haunting eyes, green as the shrubbery on the banks, fastened on Finster’s. He came forward, hard chest outward, hands extended.
Finster’s limbs seized. Sweat dripped into his eyes. The field of snails crept dangerously closer.
Finally, the huge half man, half snail spoke with an open mouth full of gooey saliva. In a voice that bubbled, he said, “Welcome, feast. Inslay hungers.”
CHAPTER 71
Dizon stared out over the lake with her hands cradling her elbows. By her side, sitting down on a rock, Rinny shared her view. The former member of King Alrick’s harem had felt empty the moment Finster vanished from sight. When she was in his presence, she felt secure. The sorcerer, unlike most men she’d been with, had an inner warmth to him. It made her comfortable no matter the setting. She was uncertain what drew her to him. He had a handsome yet bookish demeanor. His physique lacked the vibrant firmness she preferred, yet here she was, ready to follow him to the end of the world. Hardly a moment had passed, and her heart ached.
Rinny tossed a stick into the lake. “They aren’t coming back, are they?”
“Of course they are,” Dizon said. “Why would you say that?”
The girl shrugged. “Men always part company with us. They are due.”
Rinny gave Dizon a stark lesson of what life must have been like for her. Men came in and out of Dizon’s home, wealthy men, mostly. Many made promises, but not one of them was kept. They came on the ships, and some stayed for days, pretended to be family, only to return to their true homes later. Rinny had liked them at first, but over time, she had seen through the veil and gained a better understanding of what her mother was. Moth and Finster were the closest thing to a family that they had had in a long time. Perhaps the relationship had run its course.
Dizon sat down. She cradled the girl in her lap. “Rinny, nothing in life lasts forever. What you love, enjoy it while you have it.”
“You won’t be with me forever either?” the girl asked.
“Of course I will be, so long as I last.” She kissed the girl on the cheek. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“I miss Moth. I didn’t think he would leave me.”
“Men like Moth are hard to love. As you grow older, you’d be better off loving one that is more settled.”
“Well, I just wanted to be friends with the savage. I didn’t want to marry him.”
Dizon’s loud laughter carried across the water. Ducks skimming the lake scattered. She gave her daughter a fierce hug. “I needed that.”
The sound of stone landing on stone made both woman and girl jump. The stone golem had fallen into a pile.
“Oh no,” Rinny said. Her chin trembled. “They are dead.”
In her heart, Dizon wouldn’t believe it. “Don’t think that. Not for a moment, don’t think that at all. Remember, Moth is invincible.”
“I hope that’s true. Maybe only Finster is dead then.”
Dizon took her daughter by the hand. “Let’s try not to think about it. Finster is probably too far away, but he’ll be back. I’m certain of it. Let’s walk and keep our minds off it.” She turned back toward the lake and gasped. A host of bog men had crept up on them and stood ankle-deep in the lake. All Dizon could say was, “Run, Rinny! Run!”
CHAPTER 72
Inslay, the giant-sized half snail, half man, stopped a few yards short of Finster. Though he was imposing in size, his head was little bigger than that of a normal bog man’s. The tentacles on the top of his head swayed left and right. His fingers slowly crawled in the air. Bog men emerged from the sagging woodland by the dozens. His voice froze Finster’s blood when he said, “I am the god of this isle. This lake. And beyond. You slew my bog men. Many, many children. For that, you will die slowly and painfully. I will drain the magic that you hold, same as the savage, and make it all mine.”
The scarab burrowed in Finster’s back pulsated, sending the constant signal of pain right through him. That reminder was the only thing that kept Finster’s mind from being lulled into a deeper sleep. “You think you know pain,” he said to Inslay. “Come, take it from me. I dare you.”
Inslay’s jaw tightened. The fatty ridges on the top of his back rippled. “You speak? You dare? My snails will nibble on your tongue for days.”
Seizing control of his own powers, Finster cast a stone into a row of snails, crushing them all with a notable crunch. “Were you talking about those snails or the others? And should I address you as Inslay or the snail god?”
Inslay’s voice rose. “You dare toy with me? At the height of my power?” He stretched farther out of his shell, coming face-to-face with Finster. “Perhaps I should kill you instantly. Or better yet, human defiler, perhaps I should kill the woma
n and the child.”
Finster let out a startled “What?”
Bog men marched into the grove, carrying Dizon and Rinny in their arms. His friends’ heads dangled, and their long, wet hair dragged on the ground. They were tossed onto the ground like discarded sacks of grain and lay limp.
“Please, human, harm another shell or bog man and watch my bog men peel the skin right off their bones.”
“Perhaps you and I can make a bargain,” Finster suggested.
Inslay recoiled and laughed out loud. “You are in no position to bargain. I will have what you have and suck the marrow from your bones.”
Finster lifted a finger. “Yet, god of slime and saliva—no offense—you hesitate.” He looked Inslay dead in the eye. “I sense you need to understand the powers that you draw upon.”
Inslay’s fists balled up. The muscles in his arms clenched. “I will drain the answers I seek out of you.”
“It would be easier if I just told you.” Finster lazily scanned his surroundings, searching for anything that might be helpful. He was borrowing time as Inslay’s music continued to take a toll on him. Though mentally strong, he still battled for consciousness. He reserved what he could, waiting to strike when the time was right. He tried honesty. “How about I tell you about the power in the savage and the magic residing inside of me? After all, it was you that sent your bog men to rob me. What did you expect? That I wouldn’t defend myself?”
“You are a trespasser,” Inslay said.
“I am a magus of the Black Tower, and I have a feeling that you were once a magus too. How else could you have become so abominable? Did your pursuit for eternal life go awry, Inslay?” Finster’s statement was a guess, but he caught a flicker in the snail man’s eyes. He noticed something else too. Moth’s broadsword, the one he had taken from Crawley, stuck in a knee-high mushroom. “Tell me.”
The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Page 23
