He laughed then. What did it matter?
And he saw Shia, standing beside the tall Orsa Khan, and the hole in the portcullis gate through which Gothir soldiers were scrambling. Meaningless, he thought, though he felt a shaft of irritation that he would no longer have the opportunity to enjoy her body, his enhanced memory recalling again the smell of her skin and her hair.
“Ekodas! For the sake of all that’s holy, help us!”
For all that’s holy! What an amusing thought. Just like the temple, the Source was created by men as a prison for the soul, to prevent stronger men from enjoying the fruits of their power. I am free of such baggage, he thought.
Dardalion had said the crystal was evil. Such nonsense. It was beautiful, perfect. And what was evil but a name given by weak men to a force they could neither comprehend nor control?
“Now you understand,” whispered a voice in his mind. Ekodas closed his eyes and saw Zhu Chao sitting at a desk in a small study.
“Yes, I understand,” Ekodas told him.
“Bring me the crystal and we shall know such power, such joy!”
“Why should I not keep it for myself?”
Zhu Chao laughed. “The Brotherhood is already in place, Ekodas. Ready to rule. Even with the crystal it would take you years to reach such a position of power.”
“There is truth in that,” agreed Ekodas. “It will be as you say.”
“Good. Now show me the battle, my brother.”
Ekodas stood and, the crystal in his hands, walked to the doorway. Beyond it he saw Miriel dive to the floor and roll as the beast lunged for her. Senta, one hand clutching his ribs, had drawn a dagger and was stumbling forward to the attack.
Foolish man. Like trying to kill a whale with a needle.
The injured warrior plunged his dagger into the beast’s back. The beast half turned, and a mighty fist crashed into Senta’s neck. He crumpled to the floor without a sound. Miriel saw him fall and screamed, the sound full of fury. Hurling herself forward, she thrust her blade into one of the open mouths, plunging it up into what should have been a brain.
Ekodas chuckled. There was no brain there, he knew. It was situated—if brain it could be called—between the heads, in the enormous lump of the shoulders.
The beast caught hold of Miriel, lifting her from her feet. Ekodas found himself wondering whether it would tear her apart or merely bite her head from her shoulders.
“Such confusion in the beast’s mind,” said Zhu Chao. “Part of it is still Bodalen. It recognizes the girl, the twin of a maid he killed by accident. See it hesitate! And can you feel the rising anger from the souls that were once of the Brotherhood?”
“I can,” admitted Ekodas. “Hunger, desire, bafflement. Amusing, is it not?”
A figure moved in the background.
“More entertainment,” whispered the voice of Zhu Chao. “Sadly I cannot retain the spell and must miss the inevitable conclusion. We will share the memory in Gulgothir.”
The sorcerer faded from Ekodas, and the young priest returned his attention to the gladiator who had entered the hall.
You shouldn’t have come, he thought. You are too weary for such an adventure.
Angel had heard the awful screams and was already running as he entered the hall. He saw Senta stretched out unconscious on the floor and witnessed the monster lunge down, grabbing Miriel and dragging her into the air.
Reversing his sword, holding it like a dagger, Angel angled his run, first leaping to a metal table and then launching himself at the beast’s bloated back. He landed knees first and plunged his sword deep in the creature’s flesh, driving it down with all his weight. The monster reared up and swung. Angel was thrown clear. It still held Miriel in one huge hand, but now it turned on Angel. Half-stunned, he rolled to his feet and staggered.
The boy carrying the torch ran forward, thrusting the burning brand at the beast. One of its many arms thrashed out, but the boy was nimble enough to duck and run back. Angel, his pale eyes glittering with battle fury, saw the beast charge again. Instead of running away, he hurled himself at the grotesque colossus, his hand reaching out for Senta’s sword where it jutted from the swaying belly. Massive fingers caught at Angel’s left shoulder just as his own hand curled around the sword hilt. The beast lifted him high, the movement tearing the sword free of its prison of flesh. Blood gouted from the wound. Angel smashed the blade into the brow of the second head, splitting the skull.
The creature dropped Miriel as pain from the awful injury flared through it. Angel struck again and again. Another hand grabbed Angel’s leg, drawing him toward the gaping mouth and the saber-long fangs.
Miriel swung to see Ekodas holding tightly to the crystal and leaning on the door frame to watch the drama. Running to him, she pulled his sword from its scabbard and returned to the fray.
“Between the shoulders,” said Ekodas conversationally. “That’s where the brain is located. Can you see the hump there?”
Holding the broadsword two-handed, Miriel sent a powerful cut into the beast’s leg, just above the knee. Blood spurted from the wound, and the creature staggered back, one hand releasing its hold on Angel’s leg. The former gladiator hacked his sword into the arm holding him. The great fingers spasmed, and he fell to the floor. Blood was pouring from the monster, gushing from both heads and from numerous wounds to the body.
Still it came on. Miriel saw Angel backing off and knew he was trying to draw it away from her. But now Miriel felt the power of the crystal enhancing her talent, filling her with rage. Images flooded her mind, radiating from the beast: confusion, anger, hunger.
But one image flickered above the rest. Miriel saw Krylla running through the woods, a tall wide-shouldered man pursuing her.
Bodalen.
And she knew. Locked within this loathsome beast was the man who had murdered her sister.
A huge arm swept down toward her. Ducking under the clumsy lunge, she ran to the left, then charged in at the beast, leaping high, her foot coming down on one massive knee joint. Using it as a foothold, she propelled herself up onto its back. A hand reached for her, but she threw herself forward. Reversing the sword, she stood high on the beast’s shoulders. “Die!” she screamed. The blade lanced down through the bulging hump. As it pierced the skin, the sword seemed to accelerate, for there was no muscle beneath to hold it back, and the skin split like an overripe melon, brains gushing out.
The beast reared one last time, dislodging Miriel. Then it swayed and fell.
Angel ran to where Miriel had fallen, reaching out and helping her to her feet. “Thank the Source! You’re alive!”
He put his arm around her, but she stiffened and he saw her staring toward the still form of Senta. Breaking clear of his embrace, she ran to the fallen swordsman, turning him to his back. Senta groaned and opened his eyes. He saw Angel and tried to smile.
“You’re wounded again,” he whispered. Angel could feel the blood trickling from torn skin on the side of his face.
Angel knelt by his side, noting the blood at the corners of his mouth and the unnatural stillness of his limbs. Gently he reached out, squeezing the man’s fingers. There was no answering grip.
“Let me help you up,” said Miriel, dragging on his left arm.
“Leave him, girl!” said Angel, his voice soft. Miriel slowly let the arm down.
“Not much of a place to end one’s days in, eh, Angel?” said Senta. He coughed, and blood sprayed from his handsome mouth, staining his chin. “Still, I guess I couldn’t … be … in better company.”
Angel swung toward Ekodas. “Can you do anything, priest?”
“Nothing. His neck is broken, and his spine in two places. And his ribs have pierced a lung.” The priest’s tone was light, almost disinterested.
Angel returned his attention to the dying swordsman. “Fancy letting a creature like that kill you,” he said gruffly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am.” He smiled and closed his eyes
. “There’s no pain. It’s very peaceful, really.” His eyes flared open, and fear was in his voice. “You’ll carry me out, won’t you? Don’t want to spend eternity down here. I’d like to be able … to feel the sun … you know?”
“I’ll carry you myself.”
“Miriel …!”
“I’m here,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I’m … sorry … I had such …” His eyes closed again. And he was gone.
“Senta!” she shouted. “Don’t do this! Get up. Walk!” Standing, she dragged on his arm.
Angel rose and grabbed her. “Let him go, Princess. Let him go!”
“I can’t!”
He drew her into a tight embrace. “It’s over,” he said softly. “He’s not here anymore.”
Miriel pulled away from him, her face set, her eyes gleaming. Spinning on her heel, she walked to the dead beast, dragging her sword clear. Then she turned on Ekodas. “You bastard! You stood by and did nothing. He would be alive but for you.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Perhaps not.”
“Now you die,” said Miriel, suddenly running forward. Ekodas raised his hand. Miriel groaned and halted so suddenly that it seemed she had run into an invisible wall.
“Calm yourself,” said Ekodas. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Destroy the crystal, priest,” said Angel, “before it destroys you.”
Ekodas smiled. “You don’t understand. No one would who had not felt its power.”
“I can feel it,” said Angel. “At least I would guess it is the crystal that is filling me with the desire to kill you.”
“Yes, that is probably true. On a lesser mind the crystal would have that kind of effect. I should draw back. Return to the fortress.”
“No,” said Angel. “You were sent here by those who trusted you. They believed only you had the strength to resist the … thing. They were wrong, weren’t they? It’s overpowered you.”
“Nonsense. It has merely enhanced my considerable talents.”
“So be it. We’ll wait for you at the fortress,” Angel said with a deep sigh. He stepped forward. “One small point, though …”
“Yes?”
Angel leaned back and kicked out and up, his boot hitting the crystal and sending it spinning from the priest’s hand. Ekodas tried to punch out, but the warrior rolled away from the blow and swung his elbow into the priest’s face. Ekodas staggered. Angel sent a thundering left cross that cannoned into his opponent’s chin. Ekodas hit the floor face-first and did not move.
Miriel, freed from whatever spell Ekodas had cast, moved toward the still body.
“Leave him be, child,” said Angel. “He was not responsible.” Moving to the crystal, Angel felt its power reaching out to him with promises of strength, immortality, and fame. Angel reeled back. “Give me the sword,” he told Miriel. Taking the hilt in both hands, he smote the crystal with one terrible blow.
It exploded into bright, glittering fragments, and a great rush of cool air filled the hall.
Ignoring the fallen priest, Angel walked wearily back to Senta’s body and lifted it, letting the head fall against his shoulder.
“Let’s take him back to the sunlight,” he said.
20
ZHU CHAO WAS trembling, sweat trickling down his cheeks. He struggled for calm, but his pulse was racing and he could feel the erratic hammering of his heart.
He cannot reach you, he told himself. He is one man. I have many men. And there are the dogs. Yes, yes, the dogs. They will sniff him out! He sat down at his desk and stared at the open doorway, where the two guards waited, swords drawn.
The hounds had been shipped from Chiatze, formidable beasts with huge jaws and powerful shoulders. Hunting dogs, they had been known to drag down bears. They would rend him, tear the flesh from his bones!
The sorcerer poured himself a goblet of wine, his trembling causing him to spill the liquid over several parchments lying on the oak-topped desk. He did not care. Nothing mattered now save that he live through this fear-filled night.
“Lord!” pulsed Casta.
“Yes?”
“One of the dogs is dead. The others are sleeping. We found the remains of fresh meat by one of them. I think he poisoned them. Lord! Can you hear me?”
Zhu Chao was stunned and felt his reasoning being swept away on a tide of panic.
“Lord! Lord!” pulsed Casta. But Zhu Chao could not respond. “I’ve ordered all the men into the main palace grounds,” continued Casta. “And we’ve sealed the ground floor, and I have men guarding all three stairways.”
The sorcerer drained his wine and poured a second goblet. The drink steadied his failing courage. “Good,” he pulsed. He stood and swayed, catching hold of the side of the desk. Too much wine, he realized, and drunk too swiftly. Never mind. It will pass. He took several deep breaths and felt his strength return.
Swiftly he crossed the room and stepped into the corridor. The two guards snapped to attention. “Follow me,” he ordered, and marched toward the stairwell leading to the dungeon chambers. He made one man walk before him on the stairs, the other following, sword in hand. At the foot of the stairwell they emerged into a torchlit corridor. Three men were playing dice at the far table. They sprang to their feet as Zhu Chao stepped into the light.
“Bring the prisoners to the inner sanctum,” he said.
“Lord!” pulsed Casta, his voice triumphant.
“Speak!”
“He is dead. One of the guards found him scaling the roof. They fought, and the assassin was killed and hurled to the stones below.”
“Yes!” roared Zhu Chao, his fist sweeping up into the air. “Bring his body to me. I will consign it to hell!” Oh, how sweet life felt at that moment with the words in his mind singing like a nightingale: Waylander is dead. Waylander is dead!
Leaving the men, he entered a small room at the end of the corridor, locking the door behind him. From a hiding place beneath a desk of oak he removed the Fifth Grimoire and studied the ninth chapter. Closing his eyes, he spoke the words of power and found himself floating above the walls of Kar-Barzac. But there was no way past the pulsating force that radiated from below the fortress. Then, as suddenly as sunshine following a storm, the power faded and died. Zhu Chao was stunned. Swiftly he sent his spirit questing into the labyrinth below the citadel and found the priest Ekodas nursing the crystal. He could feel the surging of the man’s talent, his growing ambition, his burgeoning desires.
He spoke to the priest, sensing a kindred spirit, and when Ekodas said he would bring the crystal to Gulgothir, Zhu Chao knew he was speaking the absolute truth. He fought hard to keep his triumph from Ekodas and returned to his palace.
Waylander was dead. The crystal was his. And in a few short moments the souls of kings would be dedicated to Shemak.
And the son of a shoemaker would be the lord of the earth!
The Gothir forces had fallen back again, but the defenders manning the walls were fewer now and desperately weary. Dardalion moved among the Thirty, pausing only at the body of fat Merlon. He had died at the ruined gateway, hurling himself into the mass of warriors surging through the ruptured portcullis. Orsa Khan and a score of Nadir warriors had joined him, and together they had forced back the attackers. But just as the Gothir had retreated to their camp, Merlon had slumped to the ground, bleeding from many wounds.
He had died within moments. Dardalion knelt by the body. “You were a good man, my friend,” he said softly. “May the Source greet you.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Angel emerge from the hall, carrying the body of the swordsman Senta. Dardalion sighed and stood. Miriel came next, a small boy beside her. The abbot walked across to them and waited silently as Angel laid down the body of his friend. In the presence of the silver-armored abbot the small boy eased back and vanished into the hall.
“Where is Ekodas?” Dardalion asked at last.
“He’s alive,” said Angel. “And the crystal is destroyed.”
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“The Source be praised! I was not sure that even Ekodas would have the strength.”
He saw that Miriel was about to speak, but Angel cut in swiftly. “It was a creation of great evil,” he said.
Ekodas appeared in the doorway, blinking in the fading light. Dardalion ran to him. “You did it, my son. I am proud of you.” He reached out to embrace the priest, but Ekodas brushed him away.
“I did nothing save let a man die,” he whispered. “Leave me, Dardalion.” The priest stumbled away.
The abbot swung back to Miriel. “Tell me all,” he said.
Miriel sighed and related the story of the fight with the monster and the death of Senta. Her voice was low and spiritless, her eyes distant. Dardalion felt her pain and her sorrow.
“I am so sorry, my child. So terribly sorry.”
“People die in wars all the time,” she said tonelessly. As if in a dream she walked away toward the battlements.
Angel covered Senta with his cloak and then stood. “I’d like to kill Kesa Khan,” he hissed.
“It would achieve nothing,” replied Dardalion. “Go with Miriel. She is fey now and could come to harm.”
“Not while I live,” said Angel. “But tell me, Abbot, what is it for? Why did he die down there? Please tell me it was worth something. And I don’t want to hear about Uniters.”
“I cannot answer all your questions. Would that I could. But no man can know where his steps will ultimately lead or the results of his actions. But I will tell you this, and I will trust you to keep it in your heart and not speak of it to any living soul. There she is, sitting on the battlements. What do you see?”
Angel looked up and saw Miriel bathed in the fiery light of dusk. “I see a beautiful woman, tough and yet gentle, strong and yet caring. What do you think I should see?”
“What I see,” whispered Dardalion. “A young woman carrying the seed of future greatness. Even now it is growing within her, tiny, a mere spark of life, created from love. But that spark could one day, if we survive here, give birth to a flame.”
In the Realm of the Wolf Page 31
