Malik nodded, more than a little worried. “If it doesn’t, then—” He stopped short as the scepter suddenly flashed a dull but sharp ebony color, illuminating the overcast ground around them.
“I think that question got answered,” she said as the light of the rod flared around them but did little to aid in the illumination of the area. It didn’t matter, as the undead creatures appeared shambling toward them from the mist that started to coalesce around them, thicker and thicker by the minute. It didn’t appear to be a natural phenomenon, and they could only wonder at what power could be so strong as to affect the weather itself.
The first of the creatures increased speed once they became aware of them. They appeared ready to attack until they came within range of the ebony light from the scepter, and then they stopped. A half dozen of them, at least. Most were skeletal in nature, though a couple were bloated corpses that appeared to have at least deceased in the current century.
Holding the scepter high, Malik said, “Step aside.”
The creatures complied, shuffling and lowering their heads as they moved away from the direction they had been traveling, allowing the pair to pass between them. The creatures’ eyes maintained their bright red glow, accented now by an ebony ring of light around them. They parted and waited for them to pass.
Malik grabbed Isolda by the hand after sheathing his sword, and led her deeper into the swamp. They traveled until it was dark and then made camp on a relatively dry small rise. They slept fitfully surrounded by the creatures that had followed them but had made no move to attack. At dawn, they rose and continued again in a northwesterly direction until Malik noticed the lonely hill that rose in the swampland, indicating they were close to the tower.
“It’s about three rises over in that direction.” Malik pointed due west. More creatures appeared out of the mist, but they were already subdued and made no effort to attack or interfere.
“My client will welcome the news, though I can’t say the guild will approve,” Isolda stated. “Are you ready for this?”
“Are you?” Malik asked in return.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she asked.
“Because,” Malik said as seriously as he could convey, “the creature you are about to meet will make that Akun cleric seem like a child. I worry you will falter, as I did, when you meet it . . . I mean him.”
Isolda nodded. “Understood. I’ll do my best.”
The pair finished their journey and stood on the last rise, looking at a tower that was older than anything she had ever seen before. The entire ground was water logged around the area, and it looked like some remnants of a stone wall ringed the structure, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. There was nothing to indicate that the tower was inhabited, and with a nod at each other, they walked the rest of the way to stand at the flagstones that led from the ruins of a gate to the tower door.
From the ruined remnants of a waist-high wall to the open doorway of the tower was a good stone’s throw away. There was no door on the rusty iron hinges; it had rotted away eons ago. “Let’s get this over with,” Malik said, walking to the tower, and Isolda followed him. Once they reached the doorway and stepped inside together, Malik called out, “Azor, I have returned.”
A light came from a railingless stairwell as the Lich descended to meet its guests. “Well met, Malik Terrel of Ulatha and Isolda Warring of Balaria.” His words were most polite and formal.
“I feel sick,” Isolda said as a wave of nausea hit her at first sight of the undead creature. Malik resisted the urge to tuck away the scepter and instead used his one free hand to grab her shoulder and wrap his arm around her back in support. It didn’t work. As the Lich approached, Isolda’s eyes glazed over and rolled back into her head as she fainted, falling to the ground.
Malik’s support cushioned her fall, and he was forced to let her lie there as Azor approached. Malik held the scepter out in front of him and said, “Stay back.” It flashed a brighter light than its normal ebony hue, indicating that its power was being either utilized or awakened.
The Lich stopped instantly, and its eyes flared in anger. “You dare to command me?”
“I do,” Malik said. “There will be an understanding between us before you receive your prize.”
“I think not,” Azor said. “I rule and you serve.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Malik said. “I hold the Scepter of Death, and you are dead. I can command you in these matters.”
Azor tilted his skull and peered at Malik intently. He chose his next words carefully. “As you say, Master Malik. Do you have my staff?”
“I do,” he said. “First, release the woman from your grasp.”
“I have not done anything to her outside the normal effect my aura has on the living. Wake her yourself.”
Malik took a step back, and without ever taking his eyes off the Lich, he pulled his water flask out, opened it, and splashed some water on her face. She started to come to immediately. “What happened?” she asked.
“Don’t look at it,” Malik told her, handing over the flask to free one of his hands.
She took it and averted her eyes from the glowing creature. “Is that . . . ?” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“Yes,” Malik said.
“How long was I out for?” she asked.
“Only a minute,” Malik said. “It could have easily been an hour had I not intervened. Can you stand? If so, take my hand.”
She saw his free hand extended to her and took it. With his aid, she quickly regained her feet and stood next to Malik, facing him with the Lich to her side. “I feel almost paralyzed,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “It will pass soon enough.” Malik continued to watch Azor the Lich as the creature stood motionless, much like a statue.
Once they had composed themselves, Azor spoke. “She is unharmed. Now, you have the item that I requested?”
His polite tone wasn’t lost on Malik, and he knew the Lich was feigning deference in order to obtain a staff, one that would free him from this prison and, presumably, make him more powerful than he already was. “I have your staff. Isolda, pull the bag that Kaynin gave us and withdraw it.”
Malik used his free hand to open his cloak, keeping the scepter in front of him and continuing to stare at the Lich. “Got it.” Isolda held it up and then opened it, pulling out the staff, which was always odd if not unnerving to see happen with the magic bag.
Azor’s eyes flared brighter once the staff came into view. It was hard to determine the exact effect on the undead creature since its eyes had no pupils and were simply two balls of red light hovering within the skull’s eye sockets. “Give it to me,” Azor commanded, reaching out with his good skeletal hand.
Isolda gave the staff to Malik, only seeing the Lich in her peripheral vision. Malik took it and held it up first for Azor to see and then said, “Swear your oath to fulfill your promise to me first.”
The head tilted yet again, and Azor spoke ominously. “You had my oath. Another is not necessary.”
“Speak it or I shall depart from here with the staff forever,” Malik said, stronger this time.
There was a long pause as Azor assessed the situation that had developed. He anticipated something like this, but not exactly as it was transpiring. The Ulathan fool seemed to have been given critical information regarding the Scepter of Death, and this meant the Lich had to adjust his plans quickly. Finally, Azor spoke. “I swear to execute your revenge on the Kesh who invaded your realm.”
“And you will not harm me or anyone under my protection . . . ever,” Malik added for good measure.
The pause was disconcerting as Azor thought carefully on his choice of words. Both the staff and the scepter would hold him to his oath, such was the power of the Akun priest. “I swear to not harm you or those you declare under your protection.”
Malik nodded, offering the staff. Azor slowly reached for it, and Malik withdrew it slightly, adding, “I declare t
hat Isolda of Balaria is under my protection.”
“Clever,” Azor said. “Understood. Now give me the staff.”
With some reluctance, Malik held the metallic staff with its bright gemstone glowing ever so slightly atop its pointed tip as it emanated a soft blue hue and a glint of the staff’s gold color reflected around the room. Azor the incarnate took the Kesh staff. The effect was immediate and stark. The staff glowed a bright and steady blue light that permeated the room and surrounded the mage, as well as his eyes, which were ringed with the color encircling the red orbs.
“Finally,” Azor said, and the first thing he did was touch the stump of his arm, murmuring ancient incantations. Slowly, the arm glowed a bright blue and a bony hand grew from the stump in much the same way a plant would grow from a seed. Holding up the new member of its body, Azor admired his handiwork, flexing the new hand and listening with much satisfaction to the bones grind against one another.
“The scepter shall remain with me,” Malik said, interrupting the Lich’s ritual. “It will be a form of insurance for you to keep your word.”
Azor looked at Malik and nodded. “I see that the Akun cleric has counseled you well on this matter. You do realize that we no longer need to gather an army.”
“No,” Malik shook his head. “What do you mean?”
The Lich pointed at the scepter with the tip of his staff and said, “You have command of an army now. Go outside and look for yourself.”
Malik backed away from the creature, keeping his eyes locked on it constantly. He used his free hand to pull Isolda back with him and didn’t turn to look out the open doorway until he had put a good distance between himself and the Lich. There, outside the ringed and crumbling remains of the tower’s outer wall, were scores and scores of the undead. All with red eyes blazing, and all waiting patiently for movement from their new leader.
“Where did they all come from?” Isolda asked, her eyes wide in amazement.
“They have been near here for centuries, waiting for the call of power,” Azor began. “They have answered that call for their fifth and final time.”
“Who do they obey?” she asked.
“The dark one rose them from the abyss,” the Lich said. “Now they answer the call of their new master.” His nod at Malik surprised them both.
Malik’s face grew grim as he returned his attention to the Lich. “So our business is done, then?”
“Quite the contrary, Master Malik. We have only just begun,” Azor said, his constant feral skull grin seeming to grow in intensity.
“What now, then?” Malik asked.
“Now, I fulfill my oath. Now I liberate myself from this prison, and we liberate your realm as well.” With a great motion, Azor raised the staff and spoke arcane words of lore, drawing on the charged particles streaming from the atmosphere all around them. He slammed the bottom of the staff down on the floor and sent a blue shockwave that emanated outward in a concentric circle, nearly knocking Malik and Isolda off their feet.
The wave of power destroyed the magic barrier that held him confined to the castle. He had been free to leave at any time, but he would not have had control over his own mind and faculties without the protection from ancient magic that was imbued in the walls of his tower. His spell broke those bonds and created a power of force around his own body that moved with him. The Black Queen would no longer be able to reach his mind, and he was free to finally leave the only place that allowed him free will—the old tower.
Motioning for them to move, the Lich followed them outside, and the pair of living humans stepped to the side to allow the creature to walk past the remnants of the old tower’s wall and into the soggy marshland. The other undead creatures gazed at the Lich and moved out of his way. Azor looked into the dim sky and laughed. It was disembodied and deep, enhanced and echoing off the very air, as if supernatural. “Free at last,” the Lich said. “Come.” He motioned for them to follow.
“Where to?” Malik asked, yet knowing the answer.
Azor the Lich looked at him and said, “Time to kill.”
Chapter 22
Prison Break
“Who goes there?” the gate guard challenged the dark figure approaching his post. It was a lonely postern door that was at the rear of the castle complex, and the man was coming from the secure area of the fortress.
The man didn’t answer until he had finished walking all the way up to the guard. Then he pulled his hood back and placed his hands on his hips, pulling back slightly on his open cloak, revealing a glint of silver in the dim torchlight of his command baton. “Who is challenging me?” The man answered the guard’s question with a question of his own.
The guard stood at attention and said, “Trooper Breakers.”
“Why is there only one of you at the door?” the man asked.
“Normal rotation,” Breakers said. “Begging your pardon, Commander, but what unit do you lead?”
Dorsun paused for effect. “I was the leader of the Red Throat Company.”
The other man’s eyes widened. The legendary company was known for its brutality and discipline, as well as its high attrition rate, especially in combat. The company was also known to have been in Ulatha for most of the year, so the man’s revelation was a surprise to the castle guard. “I didn’t know the Reds were back in town.”
“We’re not,” Dorsun said, noting that despite the man’s simple name, he was more educated than the common soldiers who were the norm for enlisted men in the military. Guarding the main complex of the Kesh wizards, including the location of the Onyx Tower, would require a higher level of certification than simply being a hired killer. “I’m on special assignment for the new High-Mage.”
The guard nodded in understanding. If the former leader of a Kesh military company managed to make it through the main gates, then his credentials must have been properly vetted and the soldier would comply with the man’s requests, including answering his questions. “Yes, sir, Commander . . .”
“Drako,” Dorsun lied. What Dorsun didn’t tell the man was that his entry into the complex was as a simple soldier, along with eight others returning from a night on the town. Dorsun had simply fallen in behind them and acted intoxicated. Nine inebriated Kesh troopers returning to their barracks was no more uncommon than eight. A Kesh commander of any company, however, would elicit questions that would need answering. Uncomfortable questions, and Dorsun sought to avoid those. Once inside, however, the baton served a different but useful function.
“What can I do for you, Commander?” The guard brought his weapon, a short pike, closer to his body and straightened his stance.
“There are traitors everywhere.” Dorsun leaned forward in a conspiratorial sort of way and lowered his voice as if confiding in the other man. “The new High-Mage doesn’t trust every member of the Black Guard.” The term referred to the garrison’s name for the special soldiers who guarded the Onyx Tower and its complex.
“What can I do?” the guard asked, playing into Dorsun’s plan.
“I need to know if the rear gate sergeant is with us or against us,” Dorsun explained. “He’d recognize me for sure if I entered the rear gate quarters. The High-Mage needs to know if the man is at his post or not. Can you enter the barracks there and locate him? Don’t talk to him or disturb him, just find him and report his location back to me.”
The man’s eyes widened, and then he frowned. “Commander, I would comply, but you know the rules about leaving a posted position. I can’t leave my position unattended.”
“That is why I am here,” Dorsun said, pulling back on the other side of his cloak, revealing his sword in its sheathed position. “I will man the gate door for you, and you will report back to me as quickly as you can and then resume your post. No one will know you were gone, and I’ll personally let the High-Mage know of your cooperation.”
The man lit up slightly at the thought of doing something dutiful for their ruler and leader, but then he thought again of his du
ty. “My sergeant can be a real . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, letting his inference convey his concern.
“I understand.” Dorsun spoke kindly to the guard. “I’ll deal with him personally if he impedes the High-Mage’s investigation.” Dorsun wasn’t sure how many times he was going to have to throw the title of their leader out for consideration, especially seeing that this was a basic gate guard.
The man finally had enough encouragement. “Yes, Commander, I’ll leave my pike on the weapon’s rack.” The man then fidgeted slightly before asking, “Do you know the password, sir?”
Dorsun was wondering if the man would get around to asking for something like this. He became stern rather quickly. “I do, and I find it disturbing that you haven’t asked me for it earlier. Come to think of it, you haven’t given me the answer to the challenge, either.”
The man’s brows went up, and his face indicated a bit of surprise. “Ah, Commander, I’m the guard.”
Obviously the guard challenged and the entrant answered, but Dorsun wasn’t entering from outside the complex. “Perhaps I chose wrongly,” he said, putting a hand up to his chin and looking as pensive as he could for a Kesh warrior. “Never mind, I’ll inform the High-Mage that there were . . . problems with obtaining cooperation from his guards.”
“No need for that, sir.” The man ran into the small cubicle that held the weapon’s stanchion, as well as a small table and chair for any officer needing the space. A small chest held a few small items for the maintenance and operation of the postern door, and it was on the floor next to the latch mechanism that controlled the door bolts. “I’ll be right back.” The man left, striding quickly along the outer wall toward the main rear gate and barracks that served that section of the complex.
Dorsun waited for a full minute once the man was out of sight to ensure that he was alone, and then he walked into the small soldier’s station and grabbed the door latch, pulling it inward. The sound of two large iron bolts sliding against a greased trackway came to his ears, indicating the postern door was now unlocked. He walked outside and around to the door itself and pulled it open.
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