by Steve Feasey
Crossing the room, he lowered himself into a chair. He was exhausted. Occasionally it was necessary for the lich to return to the phylactery, due to the tremendous strain its occupation of him placed on Kelewulf. This was one of those days, and the young necromancer was glad for the brief respite.
You need to look after our body, the lich would tell him. Do not push yourself so hard that we cannot complete our work here.
Tired like never before, it occurred to him he was unable to remember the last time he’d slept or eaten, and this last thought made his stomach growl angrily. ‘Get something to eat, then rest,’ he mumbled to himself.
Getting up, he was about to go down to the kitchens when an almighty crash below – the force of which was powerful enough to make the entire edifice shake – stopped him in his tracks. He hurried to the window again and, with a mixture of horror and fascination, stared down at the creature he and the lich had summoned to do the work they were incapable of doing themselves.
The Earth Elemental, a colossal, man-shaped thing made out of rock and stone, lumbered towards the vast block it had dropped. The creature was capable of moving the huge things, each of which were taller than Kelewulf, without tiring. And yet it was clumsy to the point of being downright dangerous. Only yesterday Kelewulf had almost been crushed to death beneath one of the blocks when the creature had dropped it.
The Elemental was hauling the cube-shaped blocks into place. There were nineteen so far and they would eventually form a great arch that would dominate a large section of land out there.
These blocks – objects created from powerful majik – were strange to look at up close: formed from black, glass-like material known as shadowglas, sinister-looking things moved around inside them, things that were there one moment, gone the next. Each took almost half a day to produce and the effort of doing so had exhausted Kelewulf’s reserves of majik and willpower.
He needed to create eleven more, or so the lich said. The mere thought of the energy the task would take filled him with dread.
When it was finished, the arch would become a portal between this world and the Void. But it would only be open for a matter of minutes due to the vast effort required. Any longer might kill him. And yet, in those short moments, the terrifying panoply of monstrous creatures that would enter this world would make it quake.
Without warning Kelewulf’s knees buckled beneath him and he only just managed to stop himself from falling to the hard stone floor by clutching the heavy curtain hanging beside the window.
The reminder of his weakness was a timely one. He needed to restore his body’s strength, and quickly, because unleashing the monsters here at Vissergott was only the start of their plan – an audition of their combined powers. Afterwards, he would have a long and difficult journey ahead of him. A journey that would enable him to achieve his ultimate goal: the return of the dark god Lorgukk to this realm.
But that was not possible without the heart. The heart was the key to everything, and it was thousands of miles away in the lands of Hasz.
With no heart, there could be no return of Lorgukk. And with no Lorgukk, Kelewulf would never realise the immeasurable power he’d always sought – because the dark god would surely grant his redeemer anything their heart desired. He could be Lorgukk’s commander-in-chief, the most powerful mage the world had ever seen, and together they would create a reign of terror.
Kelewulf regretted that he would not be around to see the panic and pandemonium the portal would cause here in the Six Kingdoms, but he satisfied himself that the Volken people would eventually know it was he who was responsible. He could almost hear the lich’s voice inside his head. They underestimated you at their cost. We will make them pay. Just as we made your cousin Erik pay.
Kelewulf frowned, remembering what they had done. Without the lich inside him, whispering its dark thoughts so that they seemed almost his own, he knew that he had never wanted his uncle dead. He had planned to merely weaken the king, and to throw suspicion on the girl, Astrid, who had always hated him. That had been before the incident in the boatyard. Following that night, the lich had argued that Erik had seen or heard too much. They must create an environment of chaos, one in which the finger of blame could not fall upon them, and then they would leave Stromgard. Through a fog that threatened to envelop his mind at the time, the lich had argued that Kelewulf’s uncle should die and his cousin Erik would face execution for his murder. Among the fear and confusion Kelewulf must have agreed, although he had no recollection of doing so. And so the lich had taken over the prince’s body, and made him commit the terrible deed. The perfect crime was how the lich had described it. A world of chaos, remember?
What have I done? The thought had no sooner formed than Kelewulf banished it. He could not let sentiment weaken him.
He shivered. He felt, he realised, empty without the lich, as though he were half a man. The power he’d always craved was at his fingertips when the creature was in possession of him – a wealth of knowledge acquired over many years. But he resented having the creature privy to his every thought and emotion.
He shook his head as if to clear it of the jumbled thoughts and emotions he felt. Exhaustion was making him confused. Confused and … weak.
He must not let his resolve break now. He would find a way to acquire the heart, and through it he would return Lorgukk to this realm. Then the world would quiver, hailing him, Kelewulf, for his might and power. He wouldn’t need a crown or a throne. And he wouldn’t need the lich. Kelewulf could command his own army of hellish creatures and strike horror into the hearts of those who had sneered at his frailties. Those who had, like his father, mocked his inability to wield a sword or a shield would bow down on the ground at his feet and beg for mercy.
With this thought in his head, he turned from the window and crossed the room to the straw pallet set up in the corner. Lowering himself down on to it, his head had no sooner hit the pillow than he was fast asleep.
* * *
The lich was pleased. Once again, the boy thought himself alone, when all along he was there, just hidden. The lich would need to be careful, however. Subtlety and cunning were needed. Now was the crucial time if he was going to wrest control of this physical shell for himself, and he couldn’t rush this; the boy needed to think himself in charge, until it was too late. No, little by little, the lich would erode the boy’s mind from within until there was nothing left. Then, and only then, would Yirgan, the last great mage, truly show the world what he was capable of.
Stromgard
22
‘Would killing him give you a feeling of retribution? Would you feel justice has been done?’ Astrid asked her brother, her eyes unblinking and fixed on his.
It was a slanting, quizzical look that reminded him of their father.
‘Yes, I think it would,’ Erik said, from atop the throne that had almost been denied him. ‘He’s a traitor.’
His sister nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable. The only other person in the great hall, aside from the guards, was the witch, and such was her beauty that Erik found it hard to look at her without the colour rising to his face.
It was Fleya who spoke next.
‘Granted, his methods were underhand and deceitful. I myself hold little regard for the man, but I believe Jarl Glaeverssun, at least in his mind, was acting in a way he thought would benefit the kingdom.’
‘By wresting power away for his own benefit? By trying to have me killed?’
‘That sentence was decided by the court.’
‘A court he set up.’
‘King Erik,’ Fleya continued, her voice calm and equable. ‘In his place, with the same evidence, you would almost certainly have come to the same judgement. I understand that you seek vengeance, but it is time to think like a king. It is time to think like your father.’
‘I shared a cell with a rat.’
‘The same cell the jarl now resides in,’ Astrid pointed out.
Her brother h
esitated.
Fleya studied the new king as he considered their counsel. Like his father at the same age, he was handsome and well built. The Rivengelds came from good stock, and she doubted there was a more handsome family among the Volken people. The young man had the opportunity to be great.
She had seen what a great king he could be if he chose the right path in life; and how poor choices could ruin him – especially during his early years on the throne. This was one of those moments. For whatever reason, she knew that the destinies of Glaeverssun and Erik Rivengeld were closely entwined with a thread that was not supposed to be cut. Not yet, at least.
The fire in the long trough down the centre of the hall made a loud pop, an ember leaping clear of the flames but dying before it reached the packed earth of the floor. The sound shook the witch from her thoughts, and seemed to have the same effect on the king, who had clearly come to a decision.
‘Your words are wise. I will spare Glaeverssun’s life, but he is to be banished. He has done too much harm here to be trusted. He will leave Stromgard this evening, on foot, with what he can carry and no more. If he is seen in this kingdom again, his life will be forfeit.’ Erik nodded to himself and rose from the throne, signalling the discussion was ended. He stepped down from the low dais so that he was on the same level as the two women. ‘How is your nephew?’ he asked Fleya, his voice gentle.
‘Physically, he is unharmed. But he still will not speak. He is in shock.’
The young king sighed. ‘I have seen this before. In men returning from wars. Something happens to them, something that is related to the things that they do in the heat of battle.’
Fleya nodded. ‘Lann killed a man. The weight of such a deed is causing great distress to his young mind.’
‘The man was a vile murderer,’ murmured Astrid.
Fleya shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter what sort of man Oknhammer was. Lann took another human life, a terrible deed that he must somehow find a way to make peace with.’
‘I am sorry that I was the cause of your nephew’s pain,’ the king said. ‘I am in his debt.’ Turning to glance at his sister, he added, ‘We both are. So too are the people of Stromgard. I would like to grant him a jarldom. The very same one Glaeverssun is about to vacate. The people of those lands need a good man as their Protector.’
‘That is a kind offer, but—’
‘Good. Then it is decided.’
The witch nodded her thanks. ‘Your Grace, we know now that the person who killed your father – and framed you for that murder – was your cousin Kelewulf. It is vital that I know where he is. The fate of this kingdom, possibly the world, might depend on it. Do you have any idea where he might be?’
Erik shook his head. ‘I wish I did.’
‘Is there no childhood place that was special to you both?’ She watched him closely as he frowned in thought. ‘It might have been little more than a cave, a forest clearing or a building in some remote spot. Somewhere that you went as children, long since forgotten. Does nowhere like that come to mind?’
‘I’m sorry, Fleya,’ the king said. ‘It is strange – I feel like I do know such a place, but when I try and recall it –’ he shook his head in frustration – ‘my mind is a complete blank.’
My mind is a complete blank … Fleya reached out and placed her hand firmly on the king’s arm.
‘King Erik,’ she said, fixing his eyes with her own. ‘Is … is your mind “blank” in the same way it was when you tried to remember being in the market and acquiring the poisons that killed your father?’
The significance of her words seemed to strike the king like a physical blow. ‘You mean that this memory could have been deliberately removed too?’
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘Then there is no hope of discovering this place you seek.’
‘Not necessarily.’ She moved nearer to him, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Memories of a life are not so easily stolen. They can be buried, yes, but not erased. With your permission I might be capable of restoring that which was hidden from you.’ She paused, looking her king in the eye in a way that left him in little doubt he would rather not hear the words she would speak next. ‘But it would bring back all the memories you were robbed of.’
There was silence as the weight of this sank in.
Fleya studied the young king’s face. Despite being a puppet of another creature during the deed, Erik had killed his father – a man he loved more than any other living being. She knew he was glad to have no memory of the vile act. Even so, Fleya could also see how he desired justice, and in the end this emotion was the stronger of the two.
‘How?’ He looked down at his hands as he wrung them.
‘Your memories have been obscured using strong majik. They can be unlocked in the same way too.’
Erik swallowed. ‘If it will find my detestable cousin and the lich responsible for the wrongs done to my family, I will do it.’
The witch nodded. ‘Tomorrow. I will need time to prepare myself.’
‘Tomorrow it is.’
23
Sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in his thoughts, it occurred to Lann that somebody was knocking at the door to his room.
‘Lann? May I come in?’
It was a woman’s voice. But not his aunt’s. Dimly he remembered that Fleya had knocked earlier. He had not answered and she eventually left.
How long had he been sitting here like this? He stared down at his bare feet resting on the stone floor. They were blue-tinged and numb with cold. Raising his head, he noticed the untouched plate of food on the small table a short distance away.
‘Who is it?’ he asked in a voice he hardly recognised as his own.
‘Astrid.’
Astrid? The princess. He recalled her face: beautiful and fierce, with large, grey eyes and a determined chin.
He wanted her to go away. Why wouldn’t they all just go away?
He sighed and lowered his head again. A small beetle had appeared from a crack between the flagstones. Having squeezed its chitin-covered body out of the tight space, the shiny black thing proceeded to make its way through the gap made between his feet. What must that colossal, flesh-coloured valley look like to the little insect? And did it know the precarious nature of its journey – how, at any instant, those vast walls could simply lift up into the air and come down again, crushing it to death?
Another knock. ‘Please?’
‘Go away,’ he whispered under his breath, but he heard the door creak open.
She didn’t come in immediately, and Lann guessed she must be standing on the threshold, looking in at him. Then he heard the tread of her brisk steps. There was a scrape of wood on stone as she moved the small table and used it as a seat, so she could sit directly in front of him. Leaning forward, she dipped her head, making it impossible for him to avoid her face as she peered up at him.
When he sat up she mirrored the movement.
‘I wanted to come earlier, but your aunt said you wanted to be alone.’
He gave a small shrug in response.
She paused before going on. ‘I wanted to thank you. What you did—’
‘What I did was kill a man.’
‘I understand how you feel.’
Her response lit a hot spark of anger inside Lann.
‘Do you?’ He held her eyes with his own. ‘Have you ever killed anybody?’
‘No.’
‘Then you don’t know how I feel.’
‘I can’t …’ she started to talk, then stopped.
He looked down at the floor again, but the beetle was gone, disappeared under the bed.
‘Then tell me.’
‘What?’
‘Tell me how you feel.’ She paused. ‘Tell me. Because I need to know. Please.’
He struggled to organise his thoughts, to find a way that might even begin to explain. Eventually he came up with a single word to describe himself. ‘Empty,’ he muttered. That was it. That was how
he felt. Empty. As if somebody had taken a great spoon and scooped out all the good and decent parts of him, leaving this worthless husk behind.
She nodded, then took a deep breath before going on. ‘I’m sorry. I really am. I can understand that you don’t want my thanks. But … you saved my brother. You saved me.’ She frowned, considering her words. ‘And there are others who owe you their thanks, those you will never meet. Frindr Oknhammer was a man of violence, who killed indiscriminately for anyone willing to pay his price. He had done so in the past, and he would have gone on to kill again. But you stopped him. So, I’m also thanking you for their lives too.’
‘Killing is killing.’
‘No.’ Her voice took on a hard edge that made him look up. ‘Not all killing is wrong, Lann. These times we live in have shown us that. My father killed thousands.’ She paused, as if it were difficult for her to utter these words. ‘He killed them with his armies so his own people could live and prosper. It’s what a king does. Maybe those deaths left him feeling like you do now … Empty. And yet, he was not a bad man. He did what he felt had to be done to protect his people. He taught me that sometimes it is hard to do what is right. So no, killing is not just killing.’
They sat in silence for a few moments. Lann eventually broke the silence.
‘Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.’
‘Good.’ Her voice changed and became softer again. ‘I know it isn’t an easy thing to live with. But you saved many lives. Remember that, Lann.’
He gave her a nod.
She stood and held out her hand. ‘Now. Come with me.’
‘What for?’
Her expression was impish now. ‘You’ll need decent clothes.’
‘Clothes?’
‘You don’t want to meet King Erik looking like a street beggar, do you?’
He paused, but it was clear she was not going to leave. Her hand was still held out to him, her eyes fixed on his.
