After a few swallows, her vision cleared. A man in blue robes held the ladle in one hand and her back in his other. Just past him, looking concerned, was Lord Hedron. He wore a green robe with the Eldenberg crest embroidered on its chest, and a ridiculous-looking torq sat on his forehead and held his long, grey hair in place.
“Is that better,” the man she didn’t know asked.
Vicia nodded. He took the ladle away and eased her back down. She was lying on a cot inside a tent. What was Hedron doing here? Where was she?
“Lord Vicia,” Hedron said, “What happened?”
“When?” she croaked out.
His question made as much sense to her as her surroundings did. Hedron sighed and looked irritated.
“When you confronted Calibot Draco and his companions,” he snapped.
At the mention of Calibot’s name, a host of unpleasant memories came flooding back. Spending days creeping through the prairie grass, tracking the little bastard. The irritating smell of the huntsmen. The attack and Calibot sundering her staff. By the gods! Her staff!
Suddenly, she remembered everything. Her mind snapped into focus, and she tried to sit up. She was immediately punished for that, wracked by pain in almost every muscle. Unable to do anything else, she crashed back to the cot and another spasm of coughing took her.
“Try to take it easy,” the unfamiliar man said.
Hedron looked irritated again. Vicia took a breath and tried to speak again.
“He has Wyrmblade,” she said.
“Yes, we know that,” Hedron snapped. “You told us so yourself back in Eldenberg. What happened when you found him?”
“They were waiting for us,” she said. “They must have seen us following them. They ambushed us. Calibot sundered my staff with the sword.”
Hedron stared hard at her. The other man looked worried.
“Where am I?” she said.
Hedron paused before answering. He appeared to be turning thoughts over in his mind.
“Not far from where you were ambushed,” Hedron said. “One of your huntsmen escaped and found us. He brought us to you.
“You’re lucky to be alive. The destruction of your staff transformed the earth around you and left you with significant burns. When we found you, you were in shock. Our healers spent considerable time tending your wounds and casting spells. You’ll recover.
“Did you kill any of Calibot’s party?”
She shook her head. Hedron nodded. He must have known they hadn’t. If they found her, they no doubt found Erebus and the other slain huntsman. She’d never bothered to learn his name, and Erebus rarely mentioned it.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“You requested the Council send an army to support you in case Zod the Fearless was marching against us,” he said. “I am leading it.
“The Council did some scrying and discovered you were correct about Zod. He is indeed traveling to Gothemus’s tower. He has run into considerable trouble in the Wild Lands, but he is resourceful and tenacious, and he has a small army with him. We therefore assume he will reach his destination. We cannot allow him to gain the Eye of the Dragon.”
Vicia tried sitting up again. She was more careful this time and succeeded. It still hurt.
“How far are we from the tower?” she said.
“A few days’ march,” he replied. “Do you think you can travel?”
“Yes,” she said.
She wasn’t really sure that was true, but she wasn’t about to let Hedron take complete control of the quest to get the Eye of the Dragon. She’d risked too much, listened to too many of Elmanax’s lies, and worked too hard to let Hedron steal her victory. She wasn’t even sure victory was possible, but, if it was, she wasn’t going to let him take credit. This was her path to the presidency of the Council of Elders. She would get what she wanted or die trying.
“Then I suggest we get marching,” Hedron said. “We still have a long journey ahead of us, and Gothemus’s son has a good head start.”
“I’ll need a staff,” Vicia said.
Hedron sighed again. She wasn’t about to back down. There was no way she was going into battle without the full strength of her magic.
“I’ll signal the Council to have a wand sent,” he said, sounding disgusted.
“A wand? Hedron, you know I won’t be at full strength with just a wand. I need something larger.”
“That’s Lord Hedron,” he said, barely controlling his anger. “And a wand is the best I can do. They’ll send it by owl or crow, so that it has a chance of overtaking us. A creature that size can’t carry a full staff. You’ll have to make do, Lord Vicia. You shouldn’t have let the brat sunder your staff.”
Vicia pushed herself up off the cot. Standing was agony, but she wasn’t about to let him speak to her like that, and she certainly wasn’t going to let his ignorant remark go unchallenged. She walked over to him, trying not to let it show how much it hurt.
“Listen, Lord Hedron,” she spat, when she reached him, “I didn’t let him do anything. He’s wielding Wyrmblade. He swatted an eldritch bolt aside with minimal effort and then cleaved my staff like it was dry tinder. That weapon is extremely powerful, and he seems to know what he’s doing with it. I wouldn’t underestimate him, or maybe he’ll destroy your staff too. And maybe you won’t be as lucky as I was.”
She glared hotly at him, and he returned it with relish. They didn’t like each other, and neither of them cared to deny it. That was just fine with her. When she was named president, he’d find himself off the Council altogether. If he survived.
“I suggest you have the physician dress your wounds and get a bite to eat quickly,” he growled. “We march in thirty minutes.”
He turned and went out. Vicia stared after him. The odds were in Lord Hedron’s favor right now. He had a staff; she didn’t. If she was lucky, she’d get a wand, but that would still leave her underpowered.
But she knew a few things he didn’t, and one of them was that she had a gnome as her ally. She was betting Elmanax was already at the tower waiting for Calibot. Hedron was in for a few surprises when they arrived. And then the scales of power would tip in her favor.
Chapter 21: Emissaries from Zod
Calibot had never been so glad to see his father’s tower. He hated that place. It had been a prison in his youth, with his father the warden, always insisting he learn things in which he had no interest. Always making him assist in Gothemus’s research. Always scolding him for not liking magic.
But now, the sight of it rising up grey and imposing across the plains meant this horrible journey was nearly over. They could scatter Gothemus’s ashes according to Liliana’s instructions, and then he and Devon could go back to Dalasport, never to return to this awful place. If the Council of Elders pursued them, Duke Boordin would protect them, and Eldenberg wasn’t interested in a war with the duke.
He hadn’t been back here since leaving his father. He’d sworn then he was never returning. He’d told his father he’d never see him again when he walked out. He’d been right about that, he supposed. The next time he’d laid eyes on Gothemus, his father was lying dead on that slab in Eldenberg.
But here he was, back at the tower. Offhandedly, he wondered if it was his now. Had Gothemus made some sort of will? Was Calibot his heir? The executor of his estate?
He hoped not. There was nothing he wanted here. He just wanted to put his father to rest and then be gone. Gothemus had never tried to reach out to him in the intervening years. As far as Calibot could tell, his father hadn’t missed him. There was no reconciling now. It would be best to just finish this business and leave.
He turned and looked sidelong at Devon. The man he loved stared ahead into the distance, a sad look on his face. Calibot ached for him. He wanted his touch, and he wanted his comfort. Why couldn’t Devon understand?
Devon turned and looked at him. Embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t explain, Calibot immediately glanced away. He couldn
’t face that judgmental stare. What had happened that his love had suddenly become so disapproving?
Calibot thought he knew. He had changed. He’d had to make some decisions and take some actions that were uncivilized. He felt bad about them. They weren’t the kinds of things he liked to do.
But they were necessary. Why couldn’t Devon see that? He was a soldier. He’d killed in battle. He knew you had to do it sometimes. Why was he so down on Calibot for killing those people? Why didn’t he understand the importance of all this?
The truth was Calibot didn’t understand it himself. He didn’t know where he was getting his ideas. He would be staring at the situation, and suddenly he would know what to do. It would come into his head with a clarity unlike anything he’d ever known. It was sharper and more focused than when he found the right turn of phrase for a poem. He knew what to do, how to do it, and when.
He knew he’d have to kill that watchman to create a distraction and effect their escape from Eldenberg. He’d understood exactly how to ambush Lord Vicia and her huntsmen. And he hadn’t been wondering what to do or been trying to divine a solution to the situations as they arose. He’d just known what to do at the exact moment he needed to. He’d known precisely when to act.
That eerie knowledge wasn’t the only thing in his head that scared him. He’d been dreaming almost every night since they’d left Dalasport, and the vision was always the same. He stood atop a hill. All around him people were dead. He held Wyrmblade aloft as it blazed. And he knew he was the one who had killed them all.
Sometimes, there were little variations to it. On occasion, he wasn’t standing on a hilltop. Instead, he sat on a throne. And a few times, he’d seen his father’s tower in the background. Lately, in addition to the corpses, there were also people bowing to him.
But he never saw Devon or Duke Boordin in these dreams. No one he knew was ever in them. And, worse, he was growing to like the images more and more. They made him feel strong and comfortable. He felt steady and sure and revered and mighty. It felt good.
That terrified him. He’d never dreamed of power. He only wanted to be a poet – possibly a great one. This nightly vision was nothing he’d ever aspired to.
He was fairly certain it was coming from the sword. Somehow, Wyrmblade was influencing his mind. It was making him see and want things he never had before.
And he did want them. That was what frightened him most of all.
He sighed to himself. He’d never traveled to the tower before, and certainly never from the west, but he estimated, based on how large it loomed on the horizon, they had another hour’s ride before they were finally there. For about the hundredth time, he wished they were traveling in the other direction – any direction that would carry them away from his father’s home.
***
Thirty minutes later, Calibot could see they would not be alone once they arrived. There was a large encampment set up near Silver Lake and the tower. Smoke rose from several cooking fires. Banners were raised, but Calibot was too far away to read them. It didn’t matter. He knew whose they were.
“That’s a sizeable force there,” Devon said. “At least in comparison to us. There are several hundred soldiers. They’ll be able to overwhelm us pretty easily if they’re not friendly.”
“Who are they?” Liliana said.
“It’s my uncle,” Calibot answered.
“That would make the most sense,” Devon said. “Which means he knows Gothemus is dead. He’s likely come to salvage what he can from the tower.”
“And for revenge,” Calibot added. “He plans to make those responsible for my father’s death pay.”
“Well, we can help him with that,” Liliana said. “It had to be that Lord Vicia. And if it wasn’t her, it was someone in the Council of Elders.”
“I think we need to be careful what we tell Zod,” Devon said.
“But why?” Liliana said. “Lord Vicia is dead.”
“If my uncle thinks the Council of Elders is responsible, there will be war,” Calibot said. “Whether the actual perpetrator is dead or not.”
“Exactly,” Devon agreed. “If Zod is as bloody-minded as Calibot assumes, he will want satisfaction from the Council. Judging by the size of Zod’s force, he’ll need help to lay siege to Eldenberg. The only place he can reliably get it is Dalasport. Thus, he’ll attempt to persuade Duke Boordin to join him.”
“But why would he,” Liliana asked.
“The duke has no love for the Elders,” Devon answered. “If he sees a reasonable opportunity to topple them, I believe he will take it.”
“And the duke could become the most powerful man in the Known World,” Calibot added.
“I think your uncle would have something to say about that,” Devon said. “He won’t make a deal with the duke without there being something in it for himself. But you’re right. There’s more at stake here than Zod’s revenge. Duke Boordin will see the opportunity to change the balance of power, perhaps even make himself a king.”
Devon was right, of course. Calibot hadn’t seen his uncle in years, but he knew he had a conqueror’s mind. He would definitely attempt to position himself as a king or a kingmaker. He just wasn’t sure, based on the size of Zod’s force, whether he would be able to take the crown himself.
“What are you going to do then?” Liliana said.
Calibot thought the question was directed to him, but it was Devon who answered. Calibot was happy to let him. He had no idea what he was going to do, and no mysterious answer had popped into his head yet.
“First, we need to talk to Zod,” Devon said. “We need to know how much he knows and what he intends. Once we have a better picture of the situation, we can decide our next move.”“What if he’s not very friendly towards us,” Liliana asked.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Devon said. “Calibot’s his nephew.”
“He has a key to the tower,” she answered. “If he’s been inside, he’ll know Wyrmblade is missing. That might make him angry.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Devon confessed. “If he sees Calibot has it, he could try to take it. Given the size of his force, if that happens—”
“He’ll die,” Calibot said.
Both Liliana and Devon gaped at him. Calibot hated them for that. He was as shocked by the statement as they were, but he also knew it was true. If his uncle attempted to take Wyrmblade from him, he would kill him. The sword would make him. The thought scared Calibot, but his face was stony. Without knowing how, he allowed none of his inner fears out.
“All right,” Devon said, “we need to talk.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Calibot replied.
Devon looked angry, so Calibot pointed in the direction of the three horsemen riding towards them at a gallop. One of them carried a banner. It was red, emblazoned with a black fist in front of a black sword – the mark of Zod the Fearless.
“Oh, hell,” Devon said.
The riders were dressed all in black. As they got closer, Calibot could see they were wearing black tabards bearing the same mark as the flag, only in red. The two not carrying the banner had lances. It they meant harm, they had a pretty big advantage.
“Hail!” one of them shouted. “Identify yourselves.”
“I am Devon Middleton,” Devon shouted back. “With me is Calibot Draco, son of Gothemus and nephew to your liege. Also Liliana Gray, apprentice to Gothemus Draco.”
Devon’s answer was effective. The riders pulled up on their reins abruptly. They slowed and came to a stop. Then they conferred.
“Keep riding,” Devon instructed. “On the off chance they mean to harm us, we want to be close enough they can’t charge.”
Calibot was pretty sure his uncle’s minions had no instructions to harm them. Zod probably thought Calibot and his companions were Eldenbergians. He suspected Zod didn’t expect Calibot to be involved at all. Why would he?
Still, Devon’s strategy was sound. It was best to eliminate Zod’s scouting party�
�s tactical advantage.
The patrol seemed content to let them approach. They did not challenge them, and Calibot and his friends rode up to them until they were only a few feet away.
“Greetings and well met,” Devon said. “We are returned from Eldenberg with Gothemus Draco’s ashes, which we are to properly put to rest. I am certain your lord will want to be a part of the ceremony and to confer and commiserate with his nephew. I humbly request you escort us to him.”
Calibot smiled inwardly. His outward expression remained stone-faced, but, on the inside, Devon made him happy. He was not only a skilled soldier but an excellent courtier. He’d perfectly phrased his order so that it implied the importance and urgency of their mission while at the same time asked rather than ordered them to do what he needed. He was truly a fine politician.
“Well met indeed, Devon Middleton,” one of the soldiers without the banner said. “I am Marco Rivella, sub-captain in the First Forward Army of Zod the Fearless. My men and I were dispatched to determine your identity and purpose. However, I must confess we weren’t given instructions on what to do if we found you. Were you Eldenbergian, we were to order you to turn back and to slay you if you did not comply. Were you other travelers, we were to order you to alter your route around this place.
“But my Lord Zod didn’t say what we should do if we met his nephew and companions en route to interring Gothemus Draco’s ashes. I am at a loss.”
Calibot smiled inwardly again. The mysterious knowledge that just appeared out of nowhere told him this was good. That Zod hadn’t expected Calibot meant he knew nothing of what had transpired in Eldenberg or that Calibot possessed Wyrmblade.
“Well, my good man,” Devon said. “I believe your lord will want to see his nephew. In times of grief, every man wants the comfort of family. Please conduct us to mighty Zod, so he and Calibot may properly lay their family member to rest.”
Rivella seemed to think about it. He clearly wasn’t sure what to do in the absence of specific instructions, and he feared doing the wrong thing. Zod was not an easy master. Calibot knew it was time to help him make his decision.
The Sword and the Sorcerer Page 14
