Sword of Power

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “I don’t know you, Polonius, and I’m not interested in knowing you, either,” Lukas retorted. “I only want my sister back. After that, I promise you, we’ll leave you in peace. Regardless of what you’re planning to do.”

  Lukas meant what he’d said. He honestly didn’t care what Polonius was plotting. All he wanted was Elsa. His nagging, smart-mouthed, occasionally intolerable sister whom he loved more than anything.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” Polonius smiled coldly. “I need your sister. And besides, you do know me, Lukas.”

  “How would I know you?” Lukas asked, shrugging. “And I’m still not interested in knowing you.”

  “Ohh, but yes, Lukas. Yes, you do know me. And yes, you are interested in who I am.” An insane grin flitted over the alchemist’s face. “Just look more closely. You . . . know . . . me!”

  Suddenly Polonius’s voice sounded different, strangely familiar. At the same moment, he began to change. The hunched old man seemed to stretch out; his features transformed, and his entire body twitched and trembled. Polonius straightened up, and his frock tore in several places where it was now too small.

  Then another man was standing in the center of the star.

  “Schönborn,” Lukas whispered. “I should have known!”

  XXVII

  The laughter ringing out now was only too familiar to Lukas. The inquisitor had hardly changed. At most, the pale-blond hair beneath his silk cardinal’s cap had thinned out slightly, and his face had grown more angular, which made his aquiline nose stand out even more. Schönborn was tall and gaunt, much taller than Polonius had been. Only the eyes were the same. Lukas thought back to their first encounter at the White Tower. Polonius’s eyes had seemed strange to him then. Now he knew why.

  I should have recognized him by his eyes, Lukas thought. Polonius is Schönborn.

  Elsa turned away and paged through the Grimorium, as though her brother wasn’t worth thinking about any longer. Her lips moved silently as she read.

  “Yes, I’m Polonius,” the inquisitor told them from the center of the hexagram. “That old fool. We used to work so well together. His animal experiments were practically flawless—we were moving in an excellent direction—but he had scruples about experimenting on humans.” Schönborn shook his head. “What a waste of talent. You saw for yourselves what my bear-man was capable of. A deadly beast, almost as perfect as my frozen ones.”

  Lukas thought back to the sad creature in the White Tower, the monster that had once been a person like himself. “You’re the beast, not that poor creature,” he spat contemptuously. “You killed Polonius so that you could take his form, didn’t you?”

  “Killed? It was more an act of mercy.” Schönborn shrugged. “Polonius was ancient and useless anyway. The Kaiser was planning on throwing him out like a rabid cur because he wasn’t making any progress on creating gold. Really, I was only doing the old man a favor,” he said with an evil smile. “Besides, I had to keep you all from recognizing me.”

  “I liked him a good deal better as Polonius,” Paulus growled. Like the others, he had stepped up beside Lukas. “Polonius was just an old wretch, but at least he was an old wretch who could be killed.” Furiously, he kicked the invisible wall. There was a buzzing sound, almost like a bolt of lightning. Paulus cried out as he flew back several paces, where he lay on the floor, groaning.

  “The spell wall is growing stronger!” Schönborn exclaimed. “Lilith’s power is flowing through the room. Soon we shall achieve our goal.”

  “You orchestrated all of this, didn’t you?” Giovanni piped up. “You brought us to Prague. You had Matthias bring us those messages, and you hid the fake Regalia around the city.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Your friend the Marquis de LaSalle said something about a game. Is that what this is to you? Just a game?”

  Waldemar von Schönborn’s eyes glinted derisively. “All this effort, just for a game? You ought to know me better than that, clever boy.”

  “Don’t you all understand?” Lukas exclaimed to his friends in despair. “We brought him Elsa! Without those damned Regalia objects as bait, she’d never have left Castle Lohenfels. All he ever wanted was her and the book!”

  Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “But then why didn’t he just kidnap her from the castle?” she asked quietly. “If what he says is true, you’d never have been able to stop him. So why go to all this trouble?”

  “I hate to agree with a girl,” Jerome remarked, “but I’m afraid Gwendolyn has a point. Why do all of this?”

  Lukas hesitated. His friends were right. He was missing something here. He glanced back at his little sister, who was still brooding over the Grimorium. Elsa lifted her head and smiled at him evilly. Her features were eerily similar to those of Schönborn, her father.

  She’s becoming more like him every day, Lukas thought sadly. From one spell to the next . . .

  And then it hit him.

  All at once, he understood the devilish plan Schönborn had been following. He recalled all the times Elsa had used her magic here in Prague. And how every spell, every moment spent with the Grimorium, had drawn her a little further to the dark side. Every time she’d cast a spell, she’d become a little more like her father.

  “The spells!” he exclaimed loudly. “Schönborn just wanted Elsa to use magic! That’s why he created all these obstacles and hiding places.”

  Giovanni shook his head in disbelief. “You mean that the only purpose to this whole game of hide-and-seek was to make Elsa spend more and more time with the Grimorium?”

  “The more she uses it, the more spells she casts from it, the more she becomes like . . . ,” Lukas replied. “Don’t you see? The spells have changed her! Schönborn might have been able to kidnap Elsa from Castle Lohenfels, but she’d never have gone with him willingly. He needs her help, because the Grimorium has chosen her, not him. He needed her to use magic, to cast large, powerful, evil spells.”

  Lukas looked over at Schönborn, who remained silent, smiling thinly at Lukas’s revelation. He thought back to Elsa’s first spell in front of the marquis’s palace, where she had made them all invisible. At Castle Prague, she’d used the book to kill the bear-man. Later, she’d slaughtered an entire unit of Prague guardsmen as though they were annoying insects. Her spells had become ever stronger, ever more horrible, and so had she. The book had continued changing her, until finally she’d followed her father, Schönborn, of her own free will.

  The inquisitor’s plan had worked perfectly.

  And we were all just little pawns in his game, Lukas thought. Zoltan, the Black Musketeers, even Senno.

  “As Polonius, I was always nearby, able to watch you and influence you.” Schönborn laid his hand on Elsa’s shoulder. “You were so kind as to bring me back the daughter I love above all else, and together, we are invincible!”

  Desperately, Lukas turned his attention to his sister. Now he understood that he didn’t need to save Elsa from Schönborn, nor from any frozen ones or golems. No, he had to protect her from her worst enemy.

  Herself.

  “Elsa, do you recognize me?” he pleaded. “It’s me, your brother.”

  Elsa stared at him with eyes full of hate. “Of course I recognize you, you idiot,” she sneered. Her voice was strangely distorted, deeper than before, full of contempt. “You’re the big brother who always wanted to keep me small, the one who thought of me as just his annoying little sister who liked books and other nonsense. The brother who never believed I was capable of anything. Just like Mother. Yes, you two always got along wonderfully. You were so much alike!” She practically spat the last word out.

  “Elsa, what are you talking about?” Lukas whispered.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why Mother only speaks to you in your dreams?” Elsa asked. “Why she talks to you, but not to me? It’s because she knows that I’m stronger than she is! My father promises that I’m going to be the most powerful sorceress in the world. Unlike Mother, who
was just a useless herb lady who conjured lizards’ tails back on and helped a couple of old fools get some porridge. Such a waste!” Elsa’s voice grew louder and shriller as she spoke. Her eyes sparked with fury. “She had so much power, but she didn’t use it,” she went on. “Ever since the Battle of White Mountain, she had the Grimorium Nocturnum, the most powerful magic book humanity has ever seen! But she just kept it hidden away. She failed. All of you failed! But not me. I’m on the winning side now!”

  “Elsa, think about what you’re saying,” Lukas begged. “That’s not you. This black magician is putting ideas into your head.”

  “That black magician happens to be my father, in case you’ve forgotten. You never let me do magic because you were jealous. Thanks to him, I know how much power lies dormant within me.”

  Lukas shook his head. “That’s nonsense. Don’t you see that this monster is exploiting you for his purposes?” He feared he’d lost Elsa for good, and it made him feel nearly paralyzed. He cursed himself for not having seen the signs sooner. They’d driven Elsa straight into her father’s arms.

  Waldemar von Schönborn stroked his daughter’s hair. The gesture might have seemed almost loving if it hadn’t been for the sinister, calculating look on his face. “Good girl,” he cooed. “Now, we shouldn’t let these fools disturb us any longer. We have a ritual to finish, so let’s continue the incantation.”

  Elsa nodded eagerly. Then she began singing again in her high voice.

  “WALDO . . . IN SUPERIO . . . MADAGASTAN . . .”

  “As long as we have to stand here watching you,” Giovanni piped up in a loud voice, “at least tell us what it is you’re planning.”

  “What I’m planning?” Schönborn raised an eyebrow. “Elsa and I are going to extend the war.”

  “Extend the war?” Jerome echoed, gaping at him. “But what do you get out of that? I figured you’d be doing a ritual to conjure yourselves a pile of gold. A couple of pretty girls, maybe—but war? That doesn’t benefit anyone.”

  Schönborn laughed as Elsa went on singing. “You fool!” he said. “The war has plenty of benefits. Influence, money . . . it ensures that the strongest survive, while the others become slaves and subjects. It reorders the world to my advantage! I’ve invested plenty of ducats in Wallenstein’s army, to make sure they will continue to rob and plunder.” He shrugged. “There have been troublesome attempts to end the war recently. People are getting tired of it—even Wallenstein is dithering.” He gestured to the three articles of Imperial Regalia. “With these powerful objects, we are weaving a dark spell that will keep the fires of war burning for many years, maybe even decades.”

  “You mean you’re going to create an entire army of frozen ones?” Lukas breathed.

  Schönborn grinned. “A fine thought! But Elsa and I are not powerful enough for that. Not yet,” he added. “Besides, I need to improve my little darlings first. I must make them invincible, fire-resistant. But until then . . .” He shook his head. “We will only need one death spell to extend the war.” He winked at the friends. “Aimed at the German Kaiser himself.”

  Lukas stared at him, thunderstruck. “The Kaiser? You’re planning to murder the Kaiser?”

  “The Kaiser is well guarded in Vienna,” Schönborn explained. “No assassin can get anywhere near him. But thanks to this spell, he’ll fall over dead in church tomorrow, right in the middle of morning Mass. Some will blame the Protestants, others the German princes, others the Swedes. The war will continue.” He gestured up at the firmament, clearly visible through the open roof. The sky was already taking on a pinkish hue—dawn was approaching.

  “The stars are in a unique position tonight,” Schönborn continued. “Mars is in Leo! Everything points to death and destruction. When the Kaiser dies today, the astrologers will all moan and lament and prophesy a dark future. The war may well stretch out for decades. Plus, with these three genuine objects of Imperial Regalia, I can blackmail all of Europe. Without them, there can be no coronation.” He giggled. “Perhaps the French king would like to be emperor next, maybe the Russian czar? Or perhaps some sultan? It isn’t important who rules, as long as he only rules under me.”

  “And you’re using my sister for all these sinister plans of yours! Monster!” In his fury, Lukas was nearly ready to throw himself against the invisible wall again.

  Then he heard a humming sound behind him.

  Lukas glanced over his shoulder. It was Gwendolyn, loosing an arrow. But she wasn’t shooting at Schönborn—she aimed it straight up into the air. The arrow hurtled into the sky until it could no longer be seen, and then finally plummeted back to earth, landing on the floor amid the runes of the hexagram without doing any damage.

  “Wonderful,” Giovanni sighed. “Now we only have two arrows. Our prospects are looking rosier all the time.”

  “I’m growing weary of your foolish attempts,” Schönborn said in an arrogant tone, kicking the arrow into one corner of the six-pointed star. “I left you all alive for Elsa’s sake, but now it’s too late.” He snapped his fingers. “Time for you to face your last opponent.”

  Something rumbled. Lukas glanced to his right, where a gigantic creature appeared in the large doorway. Though Lukas had never seen this colossus before, he still recognized it instantly.

  It was the golem.

  XXVIII

  The thing stepping into the hall was absolutely massive. Lukas guessed that it was at least three paces tall. Its chest was broad like an ox; its arms and hands looked like they could smash entire walls into dust. The golem was naked and angular, like some sculptor’s experiment gone horribly awry.

  It really did appear to be made of clay. Its skin, brown and cracked, looked as hard as the thickest armor. Even so, its movements were anything but ponderous—it moved toward the friends with the grace of a well-trained fighter, shaking the ground with every step it took.

  “Kill them!” Schönborn ordered from safe within the hexagram. “All of them!”

  The golem raised its fist and sent it flying at Lukas, who jumped aside at the last moment. Immediately, the clay monster wound up for its next attack. This time, it hit the wall behind Lukas with a thundering crash. Lukas felt the wall tremble under the force of the impact; small stones and bits of plaster rained down from overhead, and a large crack appeared in the middle of the wall. The golem was obviously unimaginably strong.

  Lukas’s three friends hurried to his aid. Paulus threw himself at the golem with a loud yell, but the creature merely smacked him away, flicking the heavy, muscular boy aside like an annoying fly. Paulus flew through the air and smashed against the wall, and then finally landed in one corner of the room, where he remained, motionless.

  “Oh, Lord, Paulus!” Lukas dashed over to his friend, knowing that he had to be severely injured from the blow, if not dead. Tears sprang to his eyes as he knelt before Paulus. “I’m . . . I . . . I’m so sorry . . . ,” he stammered. “How—”

  “Christ almighty, save the drivel for my funeral. We don’t have time right now.” Paulus sat up with a groan and reached for his schiavona again. His head was bleeding, and his left arm hung lifelessly against his side, but apparently not even a golem could break Paulus’s thick skull.

  He growled. “Nobody just throws Paulus through the air like that. Not even a damn golem.” He got to his feet and went in for another attack.

  Meanwhile, Giovanni and Jerome were dancing around the monster, dodging its powerful blows. The golem was standing with its back to Paulus, so he launched an aggressive horizontal strike directly at its middle. The blow was so forceful it would have cut a steer in half.

  There was a clattering noise, and the broad, nearly four-foot-long schiavona lay splintered on the floor.

  “Damn it, my favorite weapon!” Paulus grunted. He was still clearly reeling from his injury, but he was boiling with rage despite it—or perhaps because of it. He glanced around for a new weapon, and finally chose one of the burning torches on the wall. Roaring, Pau
lus launched it at the golem, and it landed on the creature’s back. Unlike the frozen ones at the Prague cemetery, however, the golem didn’t even notice. The torch fell to the ground and went out.

  Lukas knew that this was going to be the hardest battle they’d ever fought.

  He was about to launch himself into the fray, but Gwendolyn held him back. “That won’t help us,” she whispered. “The golem is invincible, you can see that. This would really be a perfect time for some of your magic.”

  “God in heaven, how many times do I have to say it?” Lukas scowled furiously. “I can’t do magic!”

  “We’ll have to go about it another way, then.” Gwendolyn gestured to the hexagram, which Schönborn and Elsa were still inside, both singing an ominous chorale. The book lay on the floor in front of them, open.

  “If we can grab the Grimorium or disrupt the ritual somehow, maybe Schönborn won’t be able to control the golem anymore,” Gwendolyn suggested.

  Lukas laughed bitterly. “You’re forgetting the barrier. We can’t get through there.”

  At that moment, Jerome dodged another of the golem’s blows, so that its fist crashed into the invisible field. Even the golem’s massive powers were no match for the magic wall, which only made another humming sound. The golem hesitated briefly, and then began another attack.

  “See what I mean?” Lukas hissed. “Not even that thing can do it.”

  Gwendolyn nodded. “We can’t overpower it from the side, but maybe from above.”

  “From above?” Lukas asked, astonished.

  She winked at him. “Do you really think I shot one of my last three arrows for no reason? I wanted to see what happened when they fell down into the field from above. And did you see what happened?”