If that was true, though, Calibot gave no indication. He just rode on each day, speaking only when spoken to and constantly gripping the hilt of Wyrmblade.
Liliana wasn’t much better. She had ceased prattling on about her experiences as Gothemus’s apprentice. Occasionally, she asked a question, or she might offer them an update on how far away she expected they were. Sometimes, she hummed a song Devon didn’t know. Otherwise, she didn’t speak either.
He sighed. He couldn’t remember ever being this lonely. It was hard serving in Duke Boordin’s army, finding many of his fellow soldiers attractive but always, infuriatingly, the straight ones. The sense of danger from battle and the lack of someone to love had made life difficult.
But this was worse. The love of his life wasn’t speaking to him, and it didn’t seem to be out of malice or jealousy or rage. He was just gone, even though he was sitting only a few feet away.
And, as if that wasn’t enough, there was nothing to look at. The plains rolled over the earth to the horizon. As far as Devon could see, there was nothing but tallgrass turning gold for the fall and hills that went up and down before and behind them. There was nothing to distract him from his misery – no sights, no conversation.
The nights were worse. It was turning cold with autumn, and, with no campfire, nothing took the chill from the air. Calibot simply curled up under a blanket and went to sleep after they’d eaten. He didn’t invite Devon to snuggle with him, and Devon had no desire to anyway. Calibot was too distant. It made for long, cold, lonely nights, though.
On the third day of this drudgery, he began to wish for some sort of change. The silence and the distance were driving him crazy. He knew they couldn’t possibly be close to their destination, but he fervently wished for the dim outline of Gothemus’s tower to appear on the horizon.
Around noon, he saw something entirely different. He had made a habit of periodically checking behind them for signs they were being followed. As they got to the bottom of a valley, he saw movement in the grass at the top of the hill behind them. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just blowing in the wind, but some of the grass seemed to move differently than the rest. He was experienced with the swirling winds of the plains and understood that his eyes could just be playing tricks on him.
But he was also a veteran soldier, and he knew not to ignore his instincts when they told him something was amiss. He began checking more regularly. When they crested the next hill, he fell back and took a good, long look behind them. He became more convinced he saw movement in the grass that wasn’t caused by the wind. It was subtle. If someone was following them, they were very good at not being seen.
They went down into the next dale, up another hill, and down again. At the bottom, Devon was certain someone was following them. At the top of the hill, he was sure he saw a head. It didn’t stay there long – only a second or two. But it was staring down the hill, and then it vanished into the grass. The Eldenbergians had caught them.
“How close are they,” Calibot asked.
Devon turned to stare at him. He hadn’t spoken for hours and had given no indication he’d noticed they were being followed.
“You’ve been looking over your shoulder for over an hour,” Calibot explained. “You must have seen something. If you hadn’t, you’d have let it go by now.”
“They’re an hour at most behind us,” Devon answered. “If they weren’t trying to stay hidden, they would have caught us by now.”
“Who?” Liliana said.
“The people who murdered my father,” Calibot said.
“We don’t know it’s the people who murdered your father,” Devon said.
“True,” Calibot admitted. “But, if not, they were sent by the people who killed him. They want to make sure we don’t reach his tower.”
“How many of them are there?” Liliana said.
“I can’t tell,” Devon replied. “I only saw one person, but they know there are three of us. It’s a good bet the odds are at least even.”
Liliana looked back at the hill, then turned to look at Devon. For the first time since they’d met her, she looked worried.
“What do we do,” she asked.
Devon thought for a moment. Out here in the open, it was going to be difficult to gain an advantage. They couldn’t run far enough away, and they could be attacked from a distance.
“We should crest the next hill,” he said. “Then we can go down a short ways and wait for them. When they come over the rise, we’ll attack.”
“No,” Calibot said. His voice had a note of command Devon had never heard before. “I have a plan.”
Chapter 17: A Key to the Tower
Zod had never been so glad to see Silver Lake in his entire life. The Wild Lands were finally behind them. Gothemus’s tower could be seen in the distance on the horizon. It would take them awhile to cross the lake and land on the opposite shore, but at least he no longer had to worry about nightly assaults from the Wild Lands’ monstrosities.
The final death toll had been three hundred twelve. Most of them were soldiers, but he’d lost about half the crew of the barge as well. He’d come with seven hundred soldiers and fifty sailors. He had barely four hundred soldiers left. If he had to take the tower by force or encountered other resistance, he was going to be weaker than he was planning.
“What the hell did you do, Gothemus?” he wondered aloud. “What mess did you get yourself into that you ended up dead in Eldenberg?”
He sighed. Damn Gothemus anyway. He was always messing around with things best left alone and not explaining himself to anyone. Now it had caught up to him. Worse, it had caught up to Zod.
The Council of Elders had to be responsible. Who else would have a motive to murder Gothemus? Actually, probably a lot of people. The two of them made a lot of enemies in the old days. But not many of them had the ability to pull off such a spectacular crime, and, since he had gone to Eldenberg, it was illogical to assume anyone else had done it. Gothemus’s rivalry with Lord Vestran practically assured it.
It seemed likely Zod would be able to persuade Duke Boordin to ally with him against the Council. Boordin was both a practical and a reasonable man. He had no love for Eldenberg, and he had benefitted greatly from the arrangement Gothemus put together.
But it would be difficult with barely four hundred men to force the duke to cooperate. And, assuming Boordin was amenable, Dalasport would still have to provide the majority of the army, and that meant he would be in position to dictate terms. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
On the other hand, he had a key to Gothemus’s tower. Assuming it hadn’t been somehow broken into and ransacked, there were two things in there that would make a difference: Wyrmblade and the Eye of the Dragon. He’d need Alistair to master the second one, but the first was his specialty. Gothemus had been promising him for months the modifications would be done. They had to be. Why would he have gone to Eldenberg without completing it? It wasn’t like him.
Even if they weren’t done, Boordin and the Council of Elders wouldn’t know that. He could wield it as-is and still intimidate them. The sword was legendary – allegedly forged with the blood of the great dragon Immolon by the ancient sorcerer Penterus and given as a gift to the first Duke of Dalasport to seal a peace accord. It was said to be able to slice through stone, deflect magic, and subdue dragons. Its name was universally hated by the sentient creatures of the Wild Lands and feared by humans. The person who wielded Wyrmblade was thought to be invincible.
How Gothemus came into possession of it was never really clear to Zod. It was one of the few treasures they hadn’t acquired together; Gothemus had gotten it himself. But he had promised to give it to Zod after first making some modifications. Gothemus believed he could further enchant the sword to make it even more powerful. When he was finished with it, it would give its wielder the might to make himself king over the Known World.
That had been the plan. Zod would use Wyrmblade to become king over
all. Gothemus would use the Eye of the Dragon to subdue the Wild Lands, and Zod would conquer the human world. Together, they would be all-powerful and invincible.
Then he’d gone off to Eldenberg and gotten himself killed. Now, everything was a mess. The Wild Lands were alive with malice, Zod didn’t have the sword, and who knew what the situation was with the Council of Elders. For all he knew, they had an army waiting for him at the tower.
Zod watched the glassy waters slide by from the bridge of his barge. Around him, his crew worked wearily. They were clearly as relieved as he was to be free of the Wild Lands, but they were also exhausted and frightened. If they ran into trouble onshore, would they be ready? How good were the four hundred he had left?
He didn’t know, but he was unconcerned. His brother was murdered, and the world was upside down. Wyrmblade was a day’s sailing away. He would seize it, and then he would set about making Gothemus’s killers pay for their crimes.
***
Elmanax lay on a large stone staring up at the clouds scudding slowly across a grey sky. He preferred overcast days like these. They were unlike the darkness of the underworld, but the clouds at least blocked out the hateful sun. A cool breeze blew across his skin. He didn’t care much for the sensation, but it had the virtue of being cold like underground.
He tried not to be bored. It had been days since Calibot’s escape from Eldenberg. It would be days more before he arrived here if somehow Vicia didn’t get lucky and catch him. Elmanax knew he was coming, and he knew Vicia was pursuing him. But it would still take time to cross the rolling plains between Eldenberg and Gothemus Draco’s tower. There was nothing to do but wait.
He told himself to be patient. He was a gnome – an immortal fairy. He had lived for hundreds of years and would live for all eternity. Time was not a commodity that concerned him. At least it didn’t use to. That was before Cob expelled him, though. That was before he was banished. Now, every moment was agony. Every second he didn’t have the Eye of the Dragon, didn’t have his proper place in the underworld, was torture.
He’d been waiting for so long for his chance to kill Gothemus Draco and take back the Eye. He’d worked so hard to bring this all about. And he still didn’t have what he wanted. He still wasn’t finished. It wasn’t just irritating; it was maddening. He wanted Calibot here now. He wanted to kill the little bastard and take Gothemus’s ashes and use them however was necessary to get into the tower, get the Eye, and get out of the world of humans.
He continued watching the clouds slide slowly across the sky. Their quiet progress calmed him. They reminded him that everything proceeded forward. Those clouds would get where they were going, however slowly. They would fulfill their destiny of dropping rain on lands somewhere past here.
It was the same with him. He would get there. He would complete his destiny and return the Eye of the Dragon to the underworld. He would be restored. He just needed to be patient.
Still, he wished for something to happen. He wanted to see Calibot’s horse rising over the horizon, or for some other development to occur just so it would break up the tedium.
To his very great surprise, he got his desire. He heard noise behind him in the direction of the lake. It sounded like a lot of people. Someone was barking orders.
Elmanax rolled over and saw an enormous, black barge landing on the shore of Silver Lake not far from the tower. Beautifully sculpted with silver gunwales and a large fist on the prow, Elmanax recognized it immediately. It belonged to Zod the Fearless, and his red banner snapped in the breeze from its lone mast.
His breath caught in his chest. He’d forgotten about Zod. He’d been so caught up in the events of the past week, so obsessed first with uncovering Gothemus’s secrets and then with getting the ashes back from Calibot, he’d forgotten Zod would be coming. Zod would surely have learned of his brother’s death by now and come marching on Eldenberg to exact his revenge. Vicia had convinced the Council to make Gothemus’s death public. It was only a matter of time before the thief’s brother came for revenge.
Vicia said something else to the Council that buoyed his spirits now. What if Zod had some way into the tower? What if, on his way to Eldenberg, he planned to stop here to plunder his brother’s treasures? What if Zod could become his key to unlock the safe that was Gothemus’s tower?
Hope and delight piled up in Elmanax’s heart. This might be the solution he’d been looking for. And if it wasn’t, he’d still have the chance to avenge himself on the other man who’d stolen his treasure and gotten him cast out of his home.
He rose from the stone, beaming. The day had gotten much brighter. By the end of it, he might finally be holding the Eye of the Dragon. If not, he’d still have the satisfaction of having the blood of Zod the Fearless on his hands.
***
Zod stared up at Gothemus’s tower rising into the sky. Its grey stone ascended into the heavens some one hundred feet. It didn’t look very wide from the outside, but there was plenty of room within, Zod knew.
He had no idea how his brother had built the damned thing. Gothemus had always just smiled and said, “Magic.” Zod didn’t doubt it. He’d never heard of anyone just summoning a house up from the earth, but, if it could be done, Gothemus was the man who would have pulled it off.
“So this is it, eh?” Alistair said.
Zod regarded him carefully for a moment. His chief advisor stared up at the impressive monolith with sparkling eyes. He licked his lips. Zod would have grinned at him if he hadn’t been in such a foul mood over the events that brought them here. No doubt Alistair couldn’t wait to see what sorts of secrets Gothemus Draco had been hiding all these years. If nothing else, professional curiosity demanded it.
“Yes,” he answered. “Excited?”
He hadn’t meant the remark to be cutting, but his tone was too acidic. Alistair pulled his eyes away from the tower and looked sheepishly at Zod.
“Sorry, my lord,” he said. “But, yes. It’s terribly exciting.”
Zod nodded as though he understood. He didn’t, of course. Nothing about magic was comprehensible to him, even though his brother had been the foremost practitioner of it anyone had ever known. Zod understood swordplay and commerce and commanding soldiers. There was no room in his mind for conjuring things from thin air.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll get us in. You follow me. You can look but don’t touch anything. Not without my permission, anyway. There’s no telling what condition it’s in or what sorts of traps Gothemus may have on things.”
“Right,” Alistair said.
His face was a war of excitement and worry. He probably thought he was going to see treasures beyond any he had imagined. But he also understood Gothemus’s reputation better than his master. He had to be concerned as well.
Zod stepped forward and ascended the stairs to the door. Alistair followed, staying back a few paces. Zod produced the key Gothemus had given him years ago. It was long and black, and forged to resemble a great dragon with its wings spread.
Zod took a deep breath and fitted it into the keyhole. Then he turned it.
For a brief second he felt power surge through his arm. Then there was a terrific blast, and he was thrown backward in a flash of light.
He landed hard on the ground and felt all the air go out of him. His mind swam with confusion. He was aware only of the pain that coursed through his entire body and seemed to be strongest in his arm.
“Ugh,” Alistair moaned.
Zod rolled gingerly to his left and saw his advisor a few feet away, stunned. What the hell had happened? Why didn’t his key work?
“Well,” a tiny voice drawled. “It seems your dear, departed brother didn’t want you poking around inside his home post mortem either.”
Zod shook his head and tried to find the source of the taunt. Approximately, fifty feet to his right, he saw a very small form. He concentrated to get it to come into focus. His eyes opened wide when he saw a little man, only a foot or so tall with a l
ong, white beard, glaring at him. Was it him? It couldn’t be!
“I see you remember,” the little man said. “That’s right, Zod. It’s Elmanax. I’ve already killed your brother for what you stole from me. Now it’s your turn.”
The gnome raised his hands to cast a spell. Zod reached for his sword, but it was already too late.
Chapter 18: Sundered
Devon laid on his stomach in the tallgrass and waited with his sword in hand. The sun was fully down, and he couldn’t see much.
The darkness didn’t affect his ears, though. He could hear their pursuers coming through the grass, creeping towards the camp. They moved carefully, but, as they drew nearer, he could hear the soft rustling of their approach.
This was Calibot’s plan. Make camp at dusk to reduce visibility. Hide in the grass and wait for their pursuers. Ambush them once they had an accounting of how many there were.
Devon had to admit it was well thought-out. It employed the same strategy his had, but it gave them additional cover and a better element of surprise. He didn’t know how Calibot had suddenly come by this sharp command of tactics, but his ideas were sound.
He couldn’t see the others. Calibot had instructed everyone to lie in wait at different points around the camp, so they’d be able to surround their pursuers. The horses were tethered to a spike driven into the ground. They’d stuffed some saddlebags and supplies under blankets to make them appear to be sleeping bodies. Now it was just a matter of waiting.
The air was getting chilly, and Devon could see steam from his breath in front of him. He worried the trackers might see it, but holding his breath was impractical until he knew where the enemy was.
A twig cracked only a few feet from him. The night suddenly got very still. All his muscles tensed. He tightened his grip on his sword. After a moment, he heard whispers and the unmistakable sound of bows being drawn taut. Then there were several twangs – one of them very near.
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